The face I was wearing belonged in a chain gang but I said, “No. Helena Justina, I am open to offers—but don’t assume you can dictate which I accept.”

“Didius Falco, I assume nothing about you; not any more!” We were sparring, but without our usual relish; her concentration seemed to be painfully distracted. “Given your choice—and acceptable pay—will you consent to escort me home?”

I had intended to refuse. Helena Justina looked at me steadily, acknowledging that. She had clear, sensible, persuasive eyes in an intriguing shade of brown…I heard myself saying, “Given the choice, of course.”

“Oh Falco! Tell me your rates.”

“Your father is paying me.”

“Let him. I’ll pay you myself—then if I want to end your contract I will.”

Every contract should have an escape clause. I told her my rates.

She was evidently still angry.

“Is anything the matter, ladyship?”

“I’ve been down to the coast,” she told me, frowning. “Trying to organize our crossing to Gaul.”

“I would have done that!”

“Well, it’s done.” I watched her hesitate. She needed somebody to share some trouble; there was only me. “Done, but not without annoyance. I found a boat. But Falco, there was a ship at the shale yards that I hoped would have taken us—the captain refused. The ship belongs to my ex-husband,” she forced out. I said nothing. She went on brooding. “Petty!” she remarked. “Petty, unnecessary, bad-mannered, and vile!”

The hysterical edge in her tone had disturbed me. Still, I make it my rule, never to interfere between married couples—even when they are not married any more.

When we went to the coast, Flavius Hilaris embraced me on the quayside like a friend.

Of all the men I met on this business I liked him the most. I never told him that. (I know he realized.) But I did tell him, no one but me could have found a case where only the civil servants were straight. We both laughed, as we grimaced with regret.

“Look after our young woman,” Gaius commanded me, hugging Helena goodbye. Then to her, “And you look after him!”

I suppose he meant, if I was seasick. Which I was, though needless to say I looked after myself.

XXXIII

We had a long sea crossing, in a boat wallowing under a load of blue-grey British marble, to Gesoriacum in Gaul. Then overland to Durocortorum, where we turned off through Belgium into Germany and down the military corridor on the Rhine.

Use of the Imperial courier service is a dismal privilege. The special messengers on horseback cover fifty miles a day. We classed ourselves as a less urgent despatch and took an official carriage: four wheels on stout axles, high seats, change of mules every dozen miles, and after the double distance food and lodging—all charged to the locals thanks to our pass. We were bitterly cold all the way.