Lindsey Davis - Shadows in Bronze

'In order to do what, sunshine?'

'To be a wall painter in Pompeii.' I told Larius if he wanted to be so stupid I was still not in the mood.

I had a good look at him; he seemed to have filled out to a more easy-going figure while we were away. He dropped the fresco painting plea, but I had the impression that was only because it was all fixed anyway.

'Well, give Ollia my congratulations on her escape from motherhood-'

'About Ollia' Larius began.

I groaned, trying not to laugh. 'I can guess. Ollia has decided her great dream is a poetry-reading lank with ochre paint in his fingernails? Larius hid his hands but I was pleased to see he stood up to me.

They had one of those sweet, neat plans young people so rashly inflict on themselves. Larius insisted on describing it to me: home to Rome; explain to his mother; back to Pompeii; learn his trade; earn enough to hire a room with a balcony 'Vital equipment for a bachelor on his own!'

'Uncle Marcus, why are you always so cynical?'

'I'm a bachelor blessed with a balcony!'

Then they would get married; wait two years while Larius saved more money; have three children at two- year intervals; and sedately spend the rest of their days deploring the raggedness of other people's lives. There were two possibilities; either they would grow out of each other and Ollia would run off with a sandalmaker – or, knowing Larius, he would manage the whole daft scheme.

'Helena Justina found out all this? What does she think?'

'She thought it was a good idea. Helena gave me my first commission,' Larius told me with a sly look. 'I drew her a still life: you, fast asleep with your mouth open.'

'She never kept it?'

'Oh yes! She wanted a souvenir of her holiday…'

I said nothing, because a sailor gave a cry: Capreae.

When we set out the day had been overcast. Passing Surrentum the shoreline cliffs had been a shadowed mix of dark-green vegetation and honey-toned rocks against the hazier colours of the mountain range behind; the sea was a rippling pewter grey, slightly threatening beneath the sullen sky. Now, as we approached the island which lay like the double hump of two basking whales, the cloud cover thinned. Only the frothy white triangle which often hovers above Capreae still served as a marker from afar. We sailed on in bright sunlight, over a blue sea of gemstone intensity.

The island seemed to rush nearer at a faster speed. From the main harbour a small regatta of pleasure boats streamed out, their sails making a line of dark red dots in apparently haphazard chase. If the kit Africans had been among them we should never have picked her out, but as Curtius Gordianus gave Laesus directions we left the little boats far to one side while we pressed in close to the sheer crags. Slowly we explored these deep secluded bays where access could only ever be by water. Sometimes dark cave mouths gaped in the rock wall above. All round the island there was plenty of activity from fishing and excursion boats, though none disturbed the limpidly bright lagoon where the Sea Scorpion finally crept in and found the Isis moored.

Crispus and Pertinax were bathing. It was a strangely relaxed scene.

We sailed closer without fuss, and Laesus dropped anchor. The swimmers were watching us. Keeping his face hidden, Gordianus hailed Crispus cheerfully, like some old friend whose arrival today was a happy coincidence. We saw Crispus float on his back as if he were considering, and possibly cursing, us; then he set off to his yacht with a lazy overarm stroke, following Pertinax who had started swimming at once. Once it became clear they were not weighing anchor the Chief Priest and I were rowed across to them, taking Milo, in a skiff.

When we clambered abroad, Aufidius Crispus was towelling off on deck, a squat, muscular figure covered in dark hair. Pertinax had disappeared into the galley, as if to dress in privacy; perhaps he hoped we were casual visitors who would not stay. Crispus pulled on a loose red tunic whose metallic braid was well tarnished from frequent exposure to salt spray. He shook water from his ears with a vigour I remembered him applying to other things.

'What a surprise!' he said, with no surprise at all on his swarthy jowls. He was expecting the magistrate, but accepted we had come to take over the arrangement, for he called out robustly, 'Gnaeus! Come out here; I want you to meet some old friends!'

Since there was little else for it, Atius Pertinax shuffled on deck. He wore a white tunic already belted, and his usual tight expression. When he recognized Gordianus his river-water eyes became guarded. Reluctantly he grinned; then slouched closer, offering to shake hands.

Remembering his brother, Gordianus hand dropped. He could not bear the proffered handclasp. I stepped forward myself.

'The name's Falco,' I announced, as our quarry jerked his head in annoyance and shock. 'I'm supposed to be dead – but so are you.' Then I stood to attention and formally announced: 'Gnaeus Atius Pertinax Caprenius Marcellus, also known as Barnabas, in the name of Vespasian Augustus you are under arrest! I am taking you into custody and transferring you to Rome. You have the right to a trial by your equals in the Senate, or you may exercise every citizen's privilege and appeal to the Emperor himself. To do that,' I informed him with relish, 'you must prove who you are first!'

'What are the charges?' Pertinax blustered.

'Oh, conspiracy against the Empire, murder, religious arson, assault on a Roman watch captain – and intending to murder me!'

Pertinax looked as if he was really seeing me at last. Yet his arrogance was barely dented. I think he failed to grasp how for the second time since their plot had failed he was threatened with a jail term, while his associates were coolly abandoning him. I almost pitied his plight – but when someone wants to kill me, my better nature fades.

I stood with my feet planted slightly apart, aware of the shifting deck beneath them, and the fragility of the Lass after the Sea Scorpion's workaday bulk.

Pertinax shot a wizened glance at Crispus, evidently supposing he would be arrested too. Crispus shrugged, and failed to enlighten him. I nodded to Milo. Since the skiff we had come across in was too small to take more than three, Milo transferred first to the Sea Scorpion with the prisoner, then sent it back empty for Gordianus and me.

While we waited none of us spoke.

The skiff came creeping back towards the yacht. Crispus exchanged courtesies with Gordianus, wishing him well for his position at Paestum. They both ignored me with a sort of polite deference, as if they were at a highly important banquet and had spotted a happy weevil winking out from a bread roll.

I myself was in no mood for self-congratulation. The sight of Atius Pertinax only made me feel sour. Until I landed him in a very solid jail cell, I would not relax.

I sent Gordianus down into the skiff first.

'Well, thanks for the delivery, sir!' The yacht rolled, such a delicate craft that the motion disturbed my balance; I grabbed at the rail. 'You can rely on Vespasian's gratitude.'

'I'm glad,' smiled Crispus. Here on his yacht in his holiday clothes, he looked older and shabbier than when he was fired with confidence at the Villa Poppaea – though more like a man you could go out with on a fishing trip.

'That so?' I asked levelly. 'So I can rule you out of any wicked schemes I've found involving Egyptian grain ships?'

'Dropped it,' Crispus admitted, frankly enough apparently.

'What – no joy from the fleet?

He made no attempt to repudiate the plan. 'Oh, the commander and the trierarchs will drink with anyone who pays for the liquor – but the marines all think of themselves as soldiers. Give your man his credit, Falco; Vespasian has the army's full loyalty.'