Lindsey Davis - Shadows in Bronze

The house lay in silence.

'Let me go first -' I was her bodyguard again, keeping her close to me as I helped her from the chair, glancing round behind us as we went into the portico, then stepping ahead through the house door before I steered Helena in herself. Because we were in the country there was no need to summon a porter; the great doors pushed open easily without bolts or bars.

'Come with me, Falco; it's vital that we talk-'

At intervals along the corridors small pottery lamps burned, though no one was about. Helena Justina hurried to the upper floor. We reached a heavy oaken door to what I guessed was her bedroom. As I put my hand on the latch I inspected her set face. I said briefly, 'I can't work in a bad atmosphere. Being rude to a client was unprofessional; I apologize.' Then I opened the door without waiting for an answer, and moved her in past with a light touch of my arm.

There was a short corridor where a slave could sleep, though Helena was never the type to keep attendants by her all night. Beyond a closed curtain the bedroom was lit, but after I closed the door behind us the length of six paces lay dark. I said something conventional like, 'Can you see your way?' Then I found Helena in the darkness, turning back to answer me, so I had to decide rapidly whether to step back deferentially – or not.

The decision made itself. It was a long kiss, with a great deal of pent-up frustration on my side, and if I really thought she was sleeping with the magistrate you may wonder why I did it.

I was wondering myself. But I had no objection to showing the young lady that whatever she was obtaining elsewhere, she might find better value in the rough grip of her bodyguard.

Just as I was deciding I had convinced her, a metal lamp crashed over in the room.

Blazing with indignation, Helena reached the inner room first. I glimpsed someone scrambling out through a folding door, narrow ribs, thin legs, light hair and jaw-line beard, dressed in a white tunic, yet familiar. I ought to have caught him; we were equally surprised, though his lying in wait for the lady gave my anger a real edge.

I had to let him go. I had to, because when she rushed into her bedroom, Helena gasped and stumbled in a faint.

I managed to support her as she fell; she was unhurt. I lifted her onto the bed, caught up a handbell and shook it ferociously, then rushed outside to look. A long balcony ran the full length of the building with several stairs to ground level and doors into all the upper rooms. The man had vanished. I sped back to the indoor corridor and bellowed to raise the alarm.

Helena was already coming round. Muttering reassurance I stooped over her, unknotted her belt and unhooked her blue beads; she started protesting confusedly. She wore a fine chain too, which was twisting against her neck. I freed that, expecting an amulet.

Stupid: Helena drove off the evil eye all by herself. Hung on the chain was my silver ring. Instinctively she grabbed it back from me.

In response to my rumpus people started invading the room. I shoved my way out past them, leaving Helena to explain, then set off after our trespasser. I had no doubt it was Barnabas.

I hared round to the stables, convinced that was where he lurked. The trainer Bryon appeared, looking startled. He was muscular and a substantial weight, but before he knew what was happening I had him by both arms and had grazed his head pushing him backwards against a wooden post.

'Where is he?

His eyes went automatically to the block where they kept the race horses. I set off, running lightly across the yard. The high-strung champion, Ferox, reared up in panic and struck his hooves on the woodwork, though his bottlebrush companion whinnied at me with pleasure. I glanced round frantically. Then I knew: a short wooden staircase led up beside the rackety nag's stall to an overhead loft. I went up without a second thought. The freedman could easily have smashed in my skull as I pushed up the hatch; luckily he was not there.

'Oh highly salubrious!'

It was the best-appointed hayloft I ever saw: a fretted bed, an ivory table, a cupid with a superb bronze patina holding a conch-shell lamp, a shelf of flagons, the remains of a three- course meal on a silver table tray, olive stones scattered like rabbit droppings – an untidy man… No occupant.

The evil green cloak was hung on a peg, close beside his bed.

Bryon was calming Ferox when I descended the stain. 'Well, I'm still looking for Barnabas – only now I know he's here.'

There was no doubt that the staff had been told to keep mum about the freedman's existence. Bryon scowled at me sullenly. 'He comes and goes. Mostly he goes; he's gone now.'

Ferox struggled wildly again, and Bryon complained I was frightening the horse. 'We can do this the easy way, Bryon – or not!'

'I don't know where he is, Falco – maybe talking with the old man. Discussing him is more than my life’s worth-'

'From what I know of Barnabas, that's true!'

I stormed out.

I knew I had no hope of finding him, but if the old man and he were in open confederacy I reckoned the freedman would feel safe to remain on the premises.

I raged all through the farm frightening chickens, then searched the house. This time I meant everyone to realize I knew about him. I burst into empty salons, opened up attics, invaded the library. I turned over bedrooms, sniffing the air to judge whether anyone had recently been using them. I pawed the latrine sponges, counting how many were wet. I checked dining couches for dust or lack of it. Not one of the bleary-eyed slaves whom I rousted from their cubicles would be able to claim any longer that they did not know a thin man with a beard had been in their master's house, and that the Emperor's bad-tempered agent wanted him. They tumbled out and stood around half-naked until the villa was a blaze of lamps: wherever he had hidden himself, he must be stuck there now.

I made them drag chests from inglenooks and turn over hogsheads that stood empty in corners. After my efforts it would take them a week to put the place to rights. There was not a bale of unwashed laundry I had not unroped with a stab of my knife, or a grain sack I had not kicked until it split. A bag of chicken feathers they were saving to stuff a mattress made a fabulous mess. Cats fled yowling from my path. The roof-top pigeons shuffled their feet in the darkness, and cooed unhappily.

In the end, I banged into the day room where Helena and Marcellus were sitting together in silence, shattered by the devastation I had caused. Helena had a long woollen shawl wrapped tightly round her chest. I threw an extra stole across her knees.

'Did you find him?' asked the Consul, no longer pretending.

'Of course not. I'm a stranger; he must know your villa inside out. But he's here! I hope he's cramped in a bread oven with his face in the ashes and a loaf-rake poked in his ear! If he's taken to threatening your daughter-in-law, I hope someone lights the oven while he's there!'

I dropped on one knee beside Helena Justina. Marcellus must have seen the way I looked at her. I no longer cared. 'Don't worry; I won't leave!'

I could sense her suppressed anger as she addressed Marcellus over my head in a voice that shook with indignation. 'This is incredible!' It seemed as if she had been waiting for my support before she tackled him. 'I can hardly believe it – what was he doing in my room?'

'Foolishness. Did you recognize him?' the Consul asked guardedly.

'I should do!' blazed Helena. I had the odd sense that what she was saying meant more to Marcellus than to me. 'I suppose he wants to speak to me. I won't see him tonight when I'm tired and overwhelmed. Let him come tomorrow, and be properly announced-'