Thamyris was a wide, squat, shabby typical countryman, in his sixties, wearing the usual rough tunic and a battered hat which he kept on even though when we arrived it was the lunch break. He and his men were gathered on benches, a peaceful group. They had mastered the art of making their working day revolve around the time they took off. Some were eating, some whittling. There was easy-going chat. Nux jumped from our cart and went to sit with them. She guessed correctly they would pet her and feed her titbits.

Nobody showed any curiosity about us. If we had wanted to buy grain we would have had to wait. The men stayed where they were and carried on enjoying their break; Thamyris stayed put and talked to us. Helena was allowed to sit on one of the benches, which a lad willingly swept of straw first, using the back of a fairly clean hand.

I explained what I wanted. Thamyris replied slowly and thoughtfully, as if he had answered these questions before. I asked him; he said he was always being consulted these days about Claudius Nobilis. For years the man had worked in this labour gang unremarked, but now the local authorities had a definite eye on him. It might have been awkward, had he not already taken himself off somewhere.

‘Do you know where he’s gone?’

‘He said something about the family. Knowing what they are like, I kept my nose out of that.’

‘So who else has been asking about him?’

‘Men from Antium. A man from Rome.’

‘I’m supposed to be the man from Rome—who was the other bastard?’

‘Someone like you!’ The grain dealer enjoyed the joke. I pressed him for details and came to the conclusion he had been visited by one of Anacrites’ runners.

While I brooded on that, Helena changed the subject pleasantly: ‘What was your impression of Nobilis when he worked for you?’

Thamyris summed up like an employer who noticed things: ‘He did the work, though he didn’t push himself.’

‘Did he fit in? Was he one of the lads?’ I asked.

‘Yes and no. He never said much. If we were all sitting around like this, he would be with us. If we went out for a drink together in the evening, he would tag along. But he always tended to move off a little distance from the group.’

‘Did he strike you as at all odd?’ Helena then wondered.

‘He had his obsessions. He liked talking about weapons. He collected spears and knives—nasty big ones. He seemed a bit too interested, if you understand me.’

I nodded. ‘Trouble?’

‘He never gave me any.’

‘But he came with a reputation?’