Lindsey Davis - Last Act In Palmyra

'The Twins have alibis, at least for Ione's death. Grumio in particular. I saw him otherwise occupied myself. For what happened at Petra, they're vouching for each other. Of course they may be conspiring – '

Byrria looked surprised. 'Oh, I don't think they like each other that much.'

'What do you mean?' Helena picked it up at once. 'They spend a lot of time together. Is there some rivalry?'

'Plenty!' Byrria replied quickly, as though it ought to be well known. Uneasily, she added, 'Tranio really does have more flair as a comedian. But I know Grumio feels that's merely a reflection of Tranio having more showy parts in plays. Grumio is much better at standing up to improvise, entertaining a crowd, though he hasn't done it so much recently.'

'Do they fight?' Musa put in. It was the kind of blunt question I like to ask myself.

'They have occasional squabbles.' She smiled at him. Must have been an aberration. Musa found enough spirit to mock himself by basking in the favour; then Byrria seemed to blush, though she could have been overheated by the nearness of the fire. I must have been looking thoughtful. 'Does that help, Falco?'

'Not sure. It may give me a way to approach them. Thanks, Byrria.'

It was late. Tomorrow there would be more travelling as we pressed on to Canatha. Around us the rest of the camp had quietened. Many people were already asleep. Our group seemed the only active party. It was time to break up. Glancing at Helena, I abandoned the attempt to bring the reluctant pair together.

Helena yawned, making the hint refined. She began collecting dishes, Byrria helping her. Musa and I confined our efforts to manly procedures such as poking the fire and finishing the olives. When Byrria thanked us for the evening, Helena apologised. 'I hope we didn't tease you too unbearably.'

'In what way?' Byrria responded drily. Then she smiled again. She was an extraordinarily beautiful young woman; the fact that she was barely twenty suddenly became more evident. She had enjoyed herself tonight; we could satisfy ourselves with that. Tonight she was as near to contentment as she might ever be. It made her look vulnerable for once. Even Musa seemed more mature, and more her equal.

'Don't mind us.' Helena spoke informally, licking sauce off her hand where she had picked up a sticky plate. 'You have to make your life as you wish. The important thing is to find and to keep real friends.' Reluctant to make too much of it, she went into the tent with the pile of dishes.

I was not prepared to let this go so easily. 'Even so, that doesn't mean she ought to be afraid of men!'

'I fear no one!' Byrria shot back, with a burst of her hot temper. It was a passing moment; her voice dropped again. Staring at a tray she had picked up, she added, 'Maybe I just fear the consequences.'

'Very wise!' quipped Helena, reappearing in an instant. 'Think of Phrygia whose whole life has been embittered and ruined by having a baby and marrying wrongly. She lost the child, she lost her chance to develop fully as an actress, and I think maybe she also gave up the man she should really have been with all these years – '

'You give a bad example,' Musa broke in. He was terse. 'I could say, look at Falco and you!'

'Us?' I grinned. Somebody had to play the fool and lighten the conversation. 'We're just two completely unsuitable people who knew we could have no future together but liked each other enough to go to bed for a night.'

'How long ago was that?' demanded Byrria hotly. Not a girl who could take irony.

'Two years,' I confessed.

'That's your one night?' laughed Byrria. 'How carefree and cosmopolitan! And how long, Didius Falco, do you suppose this unsuitable relationship may last?'

'About a lifetime,' I said cheerfully. 'We're not unreasonable in our hopes.'

'So what are you trying to prove to me? It seems contradictory.'

'Life is contradictory sometimes, though most times it just stinks.' I sighed. Never give advice. People catch you out and start fighting back. 'On the whole, I agree with you. So, life stinks; ambitions disappoint; friends die; men destroy and women disintegrate. But if, my dear Byrria and Musa, you will listen to one kind word from a friend, I should say, if you do find true affection, never turn your back on it.'

Helena, who was standing behind me, laughed lovingly. She ruffled my hair, then bent over me and kissed my forehead. 'This poor soul needs his bed. Musa, will you see Byrria safely to her tent?'

We all said our goodnights, then Helena and I watched the others go.

They walked uneasily together, space showing between them. They did stroll slowly, as if there might be things to be said, but we could not hear them talking as they left. They appeared to be strangers, and yet if I had given a professional judgement I would have said they knew more about each other than Helena and I supposed.

'Have we made a mistake?'

'I don't see what it can be, Marcus.'

We had done, though it was to be some time before I understood the obvious.

Helena and I cleared the debris and did what packing we needed, ready to drive on before dawn. Helena was in bed when I heard Musa returning. I went out and found him crouched beside the remnants of the fire. He must have heard me, but he made no move to evade me, so I squatted alongside. His face was buried in his hands.

After a moment I thumped his shoulder consolingly. 'Did something happen?'

He shook his head. 'Nothing that matters.'

'No. I thought you had the miserable air of a man with a clean conscience. The girl's a fool!'

'No, she was kind.' He spoke offhandedly, as if they were friends.

'Talk about it if you want, Musa. I know it's serious.'

'I never felt like this, Falco.'

'I know.' I let a moment pass before I spoke again. 'Sometimes the feeling goes away.'

He looked up. His face was drawn. Intense emotion racked him. I liked the poor idiot; his unhappiness was hard to contemplate. 'And if not?' he squeezed out.

I smiled sadly. 'If not, there are two alternatives. Most frequently – and you can guess this one – everything sorts itself out because the girl leaves the scene.'

'Or?'

I knew how low the chances were. But with Helena Justina asleep a few feet away, I had to acknowledge the fatal possibility: 'Or sometimes your feeling stays – and so does she.'

'Ah!' Musa exclaimed softly, as if to himself. 'In that case what am I to do?' I assumed he meant, If I do win Byrria, what am I to do with her?

'You'll get over this, Musa. Trust me. Tomorrow you could wake up and find yourself adoring some languid blonde who always wanted a flurry with a Nabataean priest.'

I doubted it. But on the off chance that he might be needing his strength, I hauled Musa to his feet and made him go to bed.

Tomorrow, if a cold blast of sanity seemed less likely to damage him, I would explain my theory that it is better to show off your multifaceted personality in their own language than to bore them stiff reciting poetry they cannot understand. If that failed, I would just have to get him interested in drinking, rude songs, and fast chariots.

Canatha.

It was an old, walled, isolated city huddled on the northern incline of the basalt plain. As the only habitation of any substance in this remote area, it had acquired a special reputation and a special atmosphere. Its territory was small. Its commercial activity was greater, for a major trade route up from Bostra came this way. Even with the fine Hellenic attributes we had come to expect – the high acropolis, civilised amenities, and heavy programme of civic refurbishment – Canatha had strange touches. Hints of both Nabataean and Parthian architecture mingled exotically with its Greek and Roman features.