“Oh Marcus—” Helena murmured. And at that moment I first heard the great door creak. “Allow a man his civic rights,” she begged. “Give him the chance; see what he makes of it. Let me give him the sword—” She had done it before I could stop her, that fine clear-eyed face open as day. Of course he had it at her precious throat at once.

Camillus Meto had no more honour than a stinging nettle and the lass had brushed too close. He scrunched one hand deep into the soft body of her hair, flinging Helena to her knees. She took on a grey look. One move from either of us and he would slice her like a smoked Spanish ham.

I ordered him steadily, “Let her go—” as I tried to keep his eye.

“Oh Falco! Your real weak point!”

“No, sir—my strength.”

Helena did not struggle or speak; her eyes were scorching me. I took a step.

“No closer!”

He was standing between me and the door. It gave him the best light, but I had the best view.

“Behind you, Camillus!”

“Oh gods!” he sneered. “Not that world-worn trick.”

I raised my voice: “Partner! You took your time.”

Helena cried out as her uncle hurt her, twisting her hair in a merciless grip that was aimed to distress me. That was his mistake. I was keeping my eyes on him, because of Helena, but at the end he heard the furious footfalls rush.

He began to turn. I shouted: “Yours!”

Then Publius moved; I leapt, and spun Helena away.

I buried her face, turning her, forcing her head down against my chest.

Before it was over she stopped struggling; she understood. I released her very gently, then held her close while I cut the ropes binding her, before I let her look.

Her uncle was dead. Beside him, in a pool of blood a sword: not his own. Beside that, his executioner.

The senator Decimus Camillus knelt on the ground. For a moment his eyes were closed tight. Without glancing up he asked me dazedly, in the voice he used when we were cronies at Glaucus’ gym, “What does your trainer tell us, Marcus? To kill a man with a sword takes strength, speed—and a real desire to see him dead!” That was indeed what honest Glaucus generally said. It had been a good strong blow with his whole heart behind it, but I would never tell him that. “Oh my brother, Hail and Farewell!”

Still holding his daughter with one arm, I approached and offered the other to bring him to his feet. Still clinging to me, Helena fell on his neck. I embraced them both together. For that moment we three were equal, sharing our deep relief and pain.

We were still standing together when the Praetorians arrived. Petronius Longus appeared in the doorway, pale as milk. Behind him I heard the trundle of the waggons being returned.