Lindsey Davis - Last Act In Palmyra

We signalled to him. He sent around his collection cap one last time, then knotted the top on the money and joined us; we told him the news. Visibly shocked, he wandered off to tell the rest. In an ideal world I ought to have gone with him to observe their reactions, but in an ideal world heroes never get tired or depressed; what's more, heroes are paid more than, me – in nectar and ambrosia, willing virgins, golden apples, golden fleeces, and fame.

I was worried about Byrria. She had hardly spoken since we found her at the sacred pools. Despite her original bravery, she now looked chilled, horrified and deeply shocked. Musa said he would escort her safely to her tent; I advised him to try and find one of the other women to stay with her that night.

Not being entirely hopeless, I did have something urgent to attend to. Once I had seen Helena back to our own quarters, I forayed among the orchestra girls to try and learn who Ione's fatal lover was. It was a hopeless quest. Afrania and a couple of other dancers were easy to find from the noise. They were expressing their relief that it was Ione who had ended in trouble and not themselves. Their hysterical wailing only varied as they opted to shriek with feigned terror when I, a man, who might be slightly dangerous, tried to talk to them. I mentioned the well-known medical cure for hysteria, saying that it would be smacks all round if they didn't stop screaming, so then one of the panpipe-players jumped up and offered to ram me in the guts with a cart axle.

It seemed best to retire.

Back at my tent, another crisis: Musa had failed to reappear. I had a look round, but apart from the distant rumpus from the orchestra (and even the girls were tiring), the whole camp now lay quiet. A light shone dimly in Byrria's tent, but the side flaps were rolled firmly down. Neither Helena nor I could imagine that Musa had managed close relations with Byrria, but neither of us wanted to look stupid by interrupting if he had. Both Helena and I lay awake worrying about him most of the night.

'He's a grown man,' I muttered.

'That's what I'm worried about!' she said.

He didn't come back until morning. Even then he looked perfectly normal and made no attempt to explain himself.

'Well!' I scoffed when Helena went outside to tend the fire and we were free to indulge in men's talk. 'Couldn't find a woman to sit up with her?'

'No, Falco.'

'Sat up with her yourself then?' This time he made no answer to my dig. He was definitely not going to tell me the story. Well that made him fair game for ribbing. 'Jupiter! This doesn't look like a fellow who spent all last night consoling a beautiful young woman.'

'What should such a man look like?' he challenged quietly.

'Exhausted, sunshine! No, I'm teasing. I assume if you had asked her, the famously chaste Byrria would have pitched you out into the night.'

'Very probably,' said Musa. 'Best not to ask.' You could take that two ways. A woman who was used to being asked might find reticence strangely alluring.

'Do I gather Byrria was so impressed, that she asked you? Sounds a good plan!'

'Oh yes,' agreed Musa, smiling at last like a normal male. 'It's a good plan, Falco!' Only in theory, apparently.

'Excuse me, Musa, but you seem to lead your life in the wrong order. Most men would seduce the beauty and then get shoved off an embankment by a jealous rival. You get the painful part over with first!'

'Of course you're the expert on women, Marcus Didius!' Helena had popped back without us noticing. 'Don't underestimate our guest.'

I thought a faint smile crossed the Nabataean's face.

Helena, who always knew when to change the subject, then soothed Musa adroitly. 'Your host carries out intrusive work; he forgets to stop when he comes home. There are plenty of other aspects to investigate. Marcus spent some time last night trying to ask Ione's friends about her life.'

Musa ducked his head rather, but said, 'I have found some information.'

He sounded shy about his source, so I demanded cheerfully, 'Was this while you were sitting up all night comforting Byrria?' Helena threw a cushion at me.

'The girl who played the tambourine,' said Musa patiently, as reluctant to name the corpse he had seen naked as he was to specify his informant, 'had probably been connected with Chremes the manager and with Philocrates the handsome one.'

'I expected it,' I commented. 'Chremes exacted a routine dalliance, probably as the price of her job. Philocrates just thought it was his duty as a seducer to go through the orchestra the way a hot knife skims a dripping pan.'

'Even Davos probably liked her, I am told.'

'She was a likeable girl,' Helena said. There was a trace of rebuke in her tone.

'True,' Musa answered gravely. He knew how to handle disapproval. Somebody somewhere had taught him when to look submissive. I wondered if by chance the sister he lived with in Petra was like any of mine. 'It is suggested that Ione was most friendly on a regular basis with the Twins.'

Helena glanced at me. We both knew that it must be Byrria who had made these suggestions. I reckoned we could rely on her information. Byrria struck me as observant. She might not like men herself, but she could still watch the behaviour of other girls curiously. The others may even have talked freely to her about their relationships, though they were more likely to avoid a woman with Byrria's reputation, thinking her stuck-up and sanctimonious.

'It would fit,' I answered thoughtfully. 'The Twins were both at Petra. Both of them are already on our suspects list for killing Heliodorus. And it looks as if we can straight away narrow the focus to one, because Grumio was making the Gerasenes crack up with laughter by insulting their neighbours all night.'

'Oh no!' Helena sounded regretful. 'So it seems to be Tranio!' Like me, she had always found Tranio's wit appealing.

'Looks like it,' I conceded. Somehow I never trust solutions that appear so readily.

Instead of breakfast, which I could not fancy, I went out for an early prod at the personnel. First I cleared the ground by eliminating those who were least likely to be involved. I soon established that Chremes and Phrygia had been dining together; Phrygia had invited their old friend Davos, and for most of the evening they had also been joined by Philocrates. (It was unclear whether Chremes had deliberately brought in the arrogant actor, or whether Philocrates had invited himself.) I remembered seeing this group sitting quietly outside the manager's tent the night before, which confirmed their alibis.

Philocrates had had a later appointment too, one he readily mentioned. He was proud to tell me he had been chalking up a success with a female cheeseseller.

'What's her name?'

'No idea.'

'Know where to find her?'

'Ask a sheep.'

However, he did produce a couple of ewe's milk cheeses -one half-eaten – which I accepted at least temporarily as proof.

I was ready to tackle Tranio. I found him emerging from the flute-girl Afrania's tent. He seemed to expect my questions, and struck a truculent attitude. His story was that he had spent the evening drinking and doing other pleasant things with Afrania. He called her out from her tent, and of course she backed him up.

The girl looked as if she were lying, but I was unable to shake her. Tranio had an odd appearance too – but a strange expression won't convict. If he was guilty, he knew how to cover himself. When a winsome flautist declares that a man with all his faculties has been bedding her, any jury tends to believe it's true.

I looked Tranio straight in the face, knowing these defiantly flashing dark eyes might be the eyes of a man who had killed twice, and who had attempted to drown Musa too. An odd sensation. He stared straight back tauntingly. He dared me to accuse him. But I was not ready to do that.