Jane thought how nice it was to be with people who actually knew what was going on.

She watched the man addressing Caesar speak urgently again, his face as close as a lover’s. Caesar nodded politely. Again, the man gestured to the scroll. Whatever the contents were, they were obviously important.

‘I wonder,’ said Max, thoughtfully.

‘Wonder what?’ said Peterson.

‘There was always a story that Caesar was warned beforehand. By lots of people, including his wife. That someone actually handed him a list of the conspirators and that he was distracted and never looked at it.’

Caesar, obviously not giving the man his full attention, nodded politely and turned to face the crowd, acknowledging them and their cheers. The shouts of acclaim redoubled.

And then, in one of those tiny moments that can change the course of History, a gap opened up in the mass of people standing around him. Jane, still unable to take her eyes off the scene, watched Caesar automatically unroll the scroll and glance casually across the road. His gaze alighted on Peterson, moved on and then snapped back again. As in all the best romances, their eyes met. Suddenly, the scroll was forgotten.

‘Shit,’ said Peterson, out of the corner of his mouth. ‘Max, I think he’s recognised us. Me, anyway.’

She spoke without moving her lips. ‘Doesn’t help that we’re wearing the same clothes as last time.’

‘And he’s famed for his memory,’ said Van Owen, stealthily stuffing her recorder in a hidden pocket.

‘Now you tell me.’

Caesar’s eyes darted from Peterson to Van Owen. Then on to Max. Then to Markham. There was no doubt he remembered them. That he recognised the peculiar people who, only a few months previously, had been involved with the asp incident in his own home.

‘Obviously not forgotten or forgiven,’ said Markham, trying to usher them all down the steps and through the crowd.

Caesar drew himself up to full height, clutched his toga with his left hand and pointed dramatically with the other. The scroll dropped unheeded to the ground and bounced slowly down the steps. Out of history.

Caesar the orator, Caesar the general, had no difficulty making himself heard above the clamour around them. ‘Seize them.’

Markham was pushing them all down the steps by sheer brute force. ‘Move. All of you. Shift.’

Luke, being shoved along with the rest of them, became aware of dissent in the ranks.

‘Dammit, Markham, we’re going to miss the assassination.’

‘Just move.’

‘But that’s why we’re here.’

Markham turned to Luke. ‘Help me get my team out of here, will you?’

‘How?’

‘They’re historians. Sometimes you have to jump-start them. Just push.’