A DYING LIGHT IN CORDUBA

truth. In fact I did. She was too shrewd for deceit. In sudden relief she dropped her face in her hands and burst into tears. It was involuntary, but the worst punishment she could have chosen to whack me with.

I reflected sadly on the fact I was still half drunk and bound to have the ghastly breath to prove it. Rubbing one hand over my chin, I met relentless stubble. Then I crossed the room and gathered my poor cumbersome darling into my arms, taking the opportunity to slide my own body alongside her on the bed.

I had reached the point of comforting Helena just in time. I needed to get horizontal. The ravages of the night before would have had me keeling over otherwise.

We were still there, collapsed in a comfortable mound, about an hour later. Helena had been holding me and staring at the ceiling. I was not asleep, just slowly recovering.

'I love you,' I gurgled eventually, to take her mind off whatever dark thoughts held her transfixed.

'You do know when to splash out on a romantic phrase!' She gripped me by the bristled chin and stared into my bleary eyes. A girl of great courage, even she went slightly pale. 'Falco, your raffish good looks are the worse for wear.'

'You're a charitable woman.'

'I'm a fool!' She frowned. Helena Justina knew she had let herself be lured into caring for an unsatisfactory lowlife who would only bring her sorrow. She had convinced herself she enjoyed the challenge. Her influence had already refined me, though I managed to conceal the evidence. 'Damn you, Marcus, I thought you had been carried away by the excitement of your orgy and were lying in the lap of a dancing girl.'

I grinned. If Helena cared enough for me to be upset there was always hope. 'There was a dancing girl at the party but I had nothing to do with her. She was got up as Diana in a fraction of a costume. Spent her time leaning backwards so you could look right down-'

'At your food bowl, if you were sensible!'

'Exactly,' I assured my beloved.

She gave me a fierce hug; by accident I let out a revolting belch. 'Then I thought you had been set upon and were bleeding in a gutter somewhere.'

'Just as well it didn't happen. I was carrying a valuable quantity of top-quality liquamen, which I managed to pinch from the party as a gift for my lady love, whose pregnancy has given her insatiable cravings for the most expensive kind of sauce.'

'My unerring good taste! As a bribe, it's virtually enough,' she conceded. Always fair.

'It's a whole amphora.'

'That's the way to show your remorse!'

'I had to borrow two slaves to drag it home.'

'My hero. So is it from Baetica?'

'The label on the shoulder says Gades.'

'Sure it's not just cheap old Muria?'

'Do I look like a second-class tunnyfish salesman? Entrails of prime mackerel, I promise you.' I had not tested the garum but the boast seemed safe. Given the high standard of food at the dinner, the condiments were bound to be excellent. 'Am I forgiven, then?'

'For not knowing where you live?' she jibed pointedly.

'Yes, I'm suitably embarrassed.'

Helena Justina smiled. 'I'm afraid you will have to face quite a lot more embarrassment. You see, Marcus my darling-I was so worried by your nonappearance that I rushed out at first light to see Petronius Longus.' Petronius, my best friend, was not above sarcasm when it came to my escapades. He worked as an inquiry officer in the local watch. Helena gurgled prettily. 'I was distraught, Marcus. I insisted he get the vigiles to look everywhere for you…'

Helena assumed the demure expression of a girl who intended to enjoy herself, knowing I was condemned to suffer in a very public manner. She did not need to continue. Everyone on the Aventine would have heard that I disappeared last night. And whatever lies about my drunken return I tried telling, the true story was bound to come out.

SIX

Luckily Petronius must have had enough to do chasing real villains. He had no time to come looking for me.

I spent my morning in modest domestic pursuits. Sleeping. Asking for headache remedies. Giving attention to the selfless woman who had chosen to spend her life with me.

Then a distraction turned up. We heard a man who was hot and fractious arriving on the outer stairs. We ignored the noise until he burst in on us. It was Claudius Laeta: he seemed to expect rather more ceremony than the quiet stare he received from both of us.

I had got myself bathed, shaved, massaged, combed, dressed in a clean tunic, revitalized with several pints of cold water, then further nourished with a simple meal of lightly cooked cucumber in eggs. I was sitting like a decent householder at my own table, talking to my own woman and politely allowing her to select whatever subject she liked. The chat was undemanding because Helena had her mouth full of mustcake. She had bought it for herself that morning, half suspecting I would turn up eventually with some disgraceful tale. There had been no suggestion of offering me any.

So we sat, decorous and peaceful after lunch, when a man with a commission I didn't want or care for burst into our home: for an informer, this was a normal event. I greeted him resignedly. Luckily we had our temporary table in the room without the obscene plasterwork. I took my time fetching another seat from a cubbyhole. I knew whatever Laeta had come to say would be burdensome.

Laeta sat down. Here, in a low street on the turbulent Aventine, the great man was well out of his fishpond. Like a grounded carp he was gasping, too. I never told anyone my new address, preferring to let trouble go to the old one. He must have stomped up the six flights to my room across the road, then stumbled down them all again before Lenia at the laundry (who had callously watched him going up) drawled out that I also leased an apartment over the basket shop opposite. He had vented his curses on the ox-wagon driver who had knocked him down as he was crossing Fountain Court.

'Perhaps Marcus Didius can advise you on suing the driver?' murmured Helena, with the refined patrician mockery which was the last thing he could cope with in his present indignant state.

I introduced her formally: 'Helena Justina, daughter of Camillus Verus, the senator; he's a friend of Vespasian, as I expect you know.'

'Your wife?' quavered Laeta, alarmed by the incongruity and trying not to sound surprised. We smiled at him.

'What's the problem?' I asked gently. There had to be a problem, or a high-class official would not have dragged himself here, especially without an escort.

He cast a wild glance towards Helena, meaning I should get rid of her. Not easy. Not easy, even if I had wanted to. Quite impossible while she was two months away from giving birth and shamelessly exploiting it: groaning with restrained discomfort as she settled into her wicker armchair with her tired feet on her personal footstool. She folded her stole around herself and smiled at Laeta again-then continued with the remains of her cake. He was not worldly enough to suggest he and I go out to a wine bar, so Helena prepared to listen.

As she licked her long fingers I watched her wicked brown eyes survey the top clerk. He was sweating badly, partly from his hike up to my old aerie and partly from agonies of awkwardness here. I wondered what Helena made of him. In fact, I wondered what I really made of him myself.

'Did you enjoy the dinner, Falco?'

'Excellent.' Years of encouraging difficult clients had taught me to lie smoothly. I seemed to have a prospective client here. Well I had already turned down people who were more important than him.

'Good; good… I need your help,' he confessed.

I raised an eyebrow as if that sordid idea had never crossed my mind. 'What can I do for you?'

This time Laeta turned to Helena directly. 'Perhaps you have some weaving you want to attend to?' He was