Their sudden focus was extraordinary, thought Jane. At once their whole attention was on the scene before them and nothing else. Neither God-hurled thunderbolts, nor nine different types of plague, nor even a herd of mammoths would have distracted them from what was happening in front of them. Well, all right, maybe the mammoths.

First to arrive was a group of citizens, chanting slogans – in Latin, obviously – and stamping their feet in rhythm. Behind them came a wooden carrying-chair with its carvings all picked out in gold and purple. It was a substantial affair and the bearers were sweating heavily. The chair’s purple curtains were pulled well back to give everyone a good view of the occupant.

‘Typical Caesar,’ said Peterson softly, palming his recorder. ‘He’s not going to miss an opportunity to ingratiate himself with the crowd.’

‘He doesn’t need to,’ said Van Owen. ‘They love him already.’

And they did. A cheering mob surrounded Caesar’s chair, jostling it good-naturedly.

Van Owen groaned. ‘Poor sod. Do you remember, Max, when we were here before? How sick I was?’

‘He doesn’t look much better,’ said Maxwell. She frowned. ‘Is it me or does he look a bit yellow?’

‘And older,’ said Peterson. ‘And it’s only a few months since he last saw us. He’s aged a bit, hasn’t he?’

‘Less hair, more nose,’ said Markham, summing up the deteriorating health of the most powerful man in the world at this moment. ‘He hasn’t brought the girlfriend then?’

‘Queen of Egypt she might be, but she’s still not allowed in,’ said Maxwell. ‘Tim, are you all set to follow them inside?’

‘I’m ready to try.’

‘I still wish you were taking Markham.’

‘They might let me in on my own – they’ll never let me in if I’m accompanied by Piltdown Man here.’

‘Is everyone getting this?’ enquired Maxwell, ignoring Piltdown Man’s indignant squawk.

The ensuing silence answered that question.

‘Well, at least we know today’s assassination attempt will be successful,’ said Markham, chattily. In answer to Jane’s puzzled look, he said, ‘We had an earlier assignment. Some years ago for us but only a few months for him. To check out Caesar and Cleopatra. Someone had a go at them with a bowl of asps. We had to leave town quite quickly. There were herds of stampeding bullocks and Sonic Screams and all sorts. For some reason, everyone blamed us.’

‘Can’t think why,’ said Peterson, not taking his eyes from the scene in front of the Curia. Caesar was alighting from his chair and straightening his robes.

‘He really doesn’t look well,’ said Maxwell, ‘and I think it’s more than just motion sickness.’

The shouting and cheering increased.