The procurator’s villa was a rich farm in a small river valley with views of low green hills. The soft climate seemed well-suited to a man with a pain in his ribs. The house was full of books and toys. His wife and children had retreated to Londinium after the Saturnalian holiday, but I could imagine what life was like in summer when they were here. It was a house where I could have languished for a long time, the sort I wanted one day for myself.

Gaius amused himself pottering into Durnovaria to officiate as local magistrate. His objectionable niece was at the villa, but she kept to herself. Had I liked Helena Justina better I might have thought her shy; as I didn’t, I called her unsociable instead. Since she had not returned to the comforts of Londinium with Aelia Camilla, she presumably intended going back to Rome now, but plans for her journey remained happily vague.

I was enjoying myself in this hospitable house. By day I read, wrote letters, or limped around the farm. The staff were friendly and being pampered felt quite acceptable. Every evening I talked cheerfully with my host. Even in Britain this was an ideal Roman life. I did not want to find the energy to leave.

One day, when it was raining too dismally for Gaius to drive off and impose fines on Celtic cattle thieves, he approached me. “Rufrius Vitalis asked me to have a word with you. I gather you had arranged to fix him up with a passage to Rome, acting as Helena’s baggage master?”

“Let me guess—he doesn’t want to go?”

“Well, it’s partly my fault,” Gaius grinned. “I was impressed with him. I’ve offered him a contract in the lead mine, clearing up the procedural abuses as my official auditor.”

“Good choice. He’ll do well for you. Besides which,” I chortled, “I reckon he and a certain dumpling called Truforna cannot bear to part!”

The procurator smiled in his prim way, avoiding details of other people’s personal lives. Then he pointed out that if Vitalis was absenting himself, someone else would have to shepherd Helena…

“Has she spoken to you, Falco?”

“We don’t speak. She thinks I’m a rat.”

He looked pained. “Oh I’m sure that’s not right. Helena Justina appreciates all you have done. She was deeply shocked by your condition when she picked you up at the mines—”