his favourite cronies and went up to see about the body.'
'I saw it later,' I confirmed.
'Well, I left them to it and slipped away.'
We sat on rugs and cushions. Our Nabataean guardian seemed shy of small talk. Helena and I had a lot to think about; the apparent murder at the High Place had upset both of us, and we knew we were in a sticky predicament as a result. I stared into my supper bowl.
'Didius Falco, you have three radishes, seven olives, two lettuce leaves and a piece of cheese!' listed Helena, as if I was checking the equality of our rations. 'I divided it fairly, so there would be no quarrelling:'
She had spoken Greek herself this time as a courtesy to our silent guest. I switched back to Latin, like the man of the house being stubborn. 'Well, that's probably the last we'll hear of the drowned man, but you will gather you and I are now the subject of a tense political incident.'
'Can we shed this overseer?' she queried in our own tongue, smiling graciously at Musa and serving him the burned segment of our flat Petran loaf.
'Afraid he sticks.' I spooned him some mashed chickpeas.
Musa politely accepted our offerings, though with a worried air. He took what he was given – then did not eat. He probably knew he was the subject under discussion, and given the brevity of his instructions from The Brother he may have been feeling anxious about being alone with two dangerous criminals.
We tucked in. I wasn't his foster-mother. If Musa chose to be picky, as far as I was concerned he could starve. But I wanted my strength.
Knocking summoned us to the door. We found a gang of Nabataeans who did not look like passing lamp-oil salesmen; they were armed and determined. They started jabbering excitedly. Musa had followed us to the threshold; I could tell he disliked what he heard.
'You have to go,' he told me. His startled tone seemed genuine.
'Leave Petra?' It was amazing these people managed to conduct so much lucrative commerce if everyone who came to their city got sent away so promptly. Still, it could have been worse. I had been expecting The Brother to decide we should stay – probably in custody. In fact I had been pondering ways I could sneak us down the Siq to collect our ox-cart from the caravanserai in secret, then dash for freedom. 'We'll pack!' I volunteered eagerly. Helena had jumped up and was already doing it. 'So this is goodbye, Musa!'
'Oh no,' replied the priest, with an earnest expression. 'I was told to stay with you. If you leave Petra, I shall have to come.'
I patted his shoulder. We had no time to waste in argument. 'If we're being asked to leave, no doubt somebody forgot to countermand your orders.' He was unimpressed with this reasoning. I didn't believe it myself. If my corns had been in The Brother's boots, I too would have made sure an underling followed us to the Nabataean borders and put us firmly on board ship. 'Well, it's your decision.'
Helena was used to me acquiring eccentric travel companions, but looked as if this one had stretched her tolerance. Grinning unconvincingly, I tried to reassure her: 'He won't come with us far; he'll miss his mountains.'
Helena smiled wearily. 'Don't worry. I'm quite used to handling men I could do without!'
With as much dignity as we could muster we allowed ourselves to be marched out of Petra. From shadows among the rocks, dark figures watched us leave. The odd camel did us the honour of spitting after us disparagingly.
Once we stopped. Musa spoke almost crossly to the armed escort. They didn't like waiting, but he darted into a house and came back with a small baggage roll. Equipped with Nabataean underwear and toothpicks, presumably, we were hurried on.
By then night had fallen, so our journey took place by the light of flares. Their pallid flames flickered eerily on the lower carvings of the rock tombs, sending long shadows up the sandstone. Columns and pediments were glimpsed, then quickly lost. Square-topped doorways assumed a menacing air, their openings like mysterious black cave mouths. We were on foot. We let the Nabataeans carry our baggage across the city, but when we reached the narrow gorge through the mountains it was clear we were being sent on alone – almost. Musa definitely intended to stick all the way. To reach the outside world, I had to grapple with our baggage while Helena lit our way with a flaming brand. As she strode ahead of us in high annoyance, she looked like some devastating sibyl leading the way down a cleft into Hades.
'Lucky I hadn't spent my inheritance on a lifetime's supply of bales of silk and incense jars!' muttered Helena, loud enough for Musa to hear. I knew she had been looking forward to what ought to have been an unrivalled chance to make luxury purchases. If her mother was as efficient as mine, she had come with a three-scroll shopping list.
'I'll buy you a pair of Indian pearl earrings,' I tried offering to her stately back.
'Oh thanks! That should overcome my disappointment:' Helena knew the pearls would probably never materialise.
We stumbled down the rocky path between cliffs that now craned together in complete blackness overhead. If we stopped, occasional tumbling stones were all that broke the silence of the Siq. We kept going.
I was now feeling mild despair. I always like to accomplish my tasks for the Emperor with dispatch, but even by my economical standards spending barely one day in Petra was not a good basis for briefing His Caesarship on the usual dire subjects (topography, fortifications, economics, social mores, political stability and mental state of the populace). I could just about manage to tell him the market price of radishes – information Vespasian probably knew from other sources, and not much use for helping a war council decide whether to invade.
Without hard information to offer, my chances of screwing a fee from the Palace must be slim. Besides, if Anacrites had sent me here in the hope that it would be a terminal journey, I could assume he had never budgeted for a large outlay. Probably nobody expected to see my happy grin at the accounts kiosk again. It meant that not for the first time I was nose to nose with bankruptcy.
Helena, who discovered her sense of discretion whilst she was trying to handle a wildly flaring torch, found little to say about our situation. She had money. She would, if I allowed it, subsidise our journey home. I would let her do it eventually, if that was the only way to spare Helena herself discomfort. Biting back my pride would make me pretty short-tempered, so for both our sakes she refrained from asking pointedly what plans I had now. Maybe I could extricate us myself. More likely not.
Most likely, as Helena knew from experience, I had no plans at all.
This was not the worst disaster of our lives, nor my worst failure. But I was dangerously angry about it. So when a small group of camels and ox-carts came rattling down the gorge behind us, my first reaction was to stay in the middle of the gravel track, forcing them to slow and stick behind us. Then, when a voice called out offering a lift on a cart, irrational frivolity took over. I turned round, dumping my load. The first cart stopped, leaving me gazing into the dolorous eyes of an edgy-looking ox.
'Your offer's welcome, stranger! How far can you take us?'
The man grinned back, responding to the challenge. 'Bostra, perhaps?' He was not Nabataean. We were talking in Greek.
'Bostra's not on my itinerary. How about dropping us at the caravanserai here, where I can pick up my own transport?'
'Done,' he said, with an easygoing smile. His intonation had the same overlay as mine; I was now sure of it.
'You from Italy?' I asked.
'Yes.'
I accepted the lift.
Only when we were ensconced on the waggon did I notice what a raggle-taggle company had picked us up. There were about ten of them, split between three carts and a couple of moth-eaten camels. Most of the people looked white-faced and anxious. Our driver caught the question in my eyes. 'I'm Chremes, an actor-manager. My company has been ordered to depart from Petra. We saw them lift the curfew to let you out, so we're doing a quick flit before anybody changes their mind about us.'
'Might somebody insist you stay?' I asked, though I had already guessed.
'We lost a friend.' He nodded to Helena, whom he must have recognised. 'You are the couple who found him, I believe. Heliodorus, who had the unfortunate accident up on the mountaintop.'
