Last Act In Palmyra

Somewhere beneath these flash trappings lay a small-featured young woman with a sharp wit and a big heart. She was brighter than she pretended. I can handle it, but for most men that's a dangerous girl.

She had noticed Musa gaping. Her grin widened in a way that did finally make him look uncomfortable. 'Hey you!' Her shout was raucous and brisk. 'Better not stand too close to the Golden River – and don't go near the double pool! You don't want to end up as a soggy sacrifice in the Festival of Maiuma!'

Whether or not the Petran mountain-god Dushara demands that his priests be chaste, Ione's boldness was too much for ours. Musa rose to his feet (he had been squatting on his heels like a nomad while we were held up by the customs officer). He turned away, looking haughty. I could have told him; it never works.

'Oh bull's balls, I've offended him!' laughed the tambourinist easily.

'He's a shy lad.' It was safe for me to smile at her; I had protection. Helena was lolling against me, probably to a

'Gods, don't you know? I thought it was famous.'

'It's an antique nautical festival,' Helena recited. She always did the heavy reading-up when we were pla

'Good idea! While we're here, let's try to take in an evening of sacred pond-watching. I like to collect a salacious rite or two to liven up my memoirs – '

'Shut up, Falco!' I deduced that my senator's daughter was not pla

'Falco?' Whether it was Helena's use of my name that roused her, Ione suddenly bolted down the last of her bread. She squinted at me sideways, still with crumbs on her face. 'You're the new boy, aren't you? Hah!' she exclaimed derisively. 'Written any good plays lately?'

'Enough to learn that my job is to provide creative ideas, neat plots, good jokes, provocative thoughts and subtle dialogue, all so that cliche-ridden producers can convert them into trash. Played any good tunes lately?'

'All I have to do is bash in time for the boys!' I might have known she was a girl who liked i

Helena joked: 'Falco's idea of a good day at the theatre is watching all three Oedipus tragedies, without a break for lunch.'

'Oh very Greek!' Ione must have been born under the Pons Sublicius; she had the authentic twang of the Tiber. She was a Roman; 'Greek' was the worst insult she could hand out.

'Ignore the silly patter from the tall piece in the blue skirt,' I said. 'Her family all sell lupins on the Esquiline; she only knows how to tell lies.'

'That so?' Ione gazed at Helena admiringly.

I heard myself admitting, 'I had a good idea for a play I want to write myself.' We 'were obviously going to be stuck in customs for a long time. Bored and weary after the forty miles from Philadelphia, I fell into the trap of betraying my dreams: it starts off with a young wastrel meeting the ghost of his father-'

Helena and Ione looked at each other, then chorused frankly: 'Give up, Falco! It will never sell tickets.'

'That's not all you do, is it?' young Ione demanded narrowly. After my long career as an informer, I recognised the subtle air of self-importance before she spoke. Some evidence was about to emerge. 'They say you're sniffing out what happened up on the magic mountain in Petra. I could tell you a few things!'

'About Heliodorus? I found him dead, you know.' She presumably did know, but ope

'Maybe you should ask why they did it?' Ione was like a young girl teasing me on a treasure hunt, openly excited. Not a good idea if she really did know something. Not when most of my suspects were all close by and probably listening.

'So are you able to tell me that?' I pretended to grin in return, keeping it light.

'You're not so dumb; you'll get there in the end. I bet I could give you some clues, though.'

I wanted to press for details, but the customs post was far too public. I had to shut her up, for her own sake as much as for my own chances of finding the killer.

'Are you willing to talk to me sometime, but maybe not here?'

In response to my question she glanced downwards, until her eyes were virtually closed. Painted spikes lengthened the appearance of her eyelashes; her lids were brushed with something that looked like gold dust. Some of the expensive prostitutes who serviced senators at Roman di

Unable to resist the mystery, I tried suggestion: 'I'm working on the theory it was a man who hated him for reasons co

'Ha!' lone barked with laughter. 'Wrong direction, Falco!

Completely wrong! Believe me, the scribe's ducking was purely professional.'

It was too late to ask her more. Tranio and Grumio, who were always hanging about near the orchestra girls, came mooching up like spare waiters at an orgy wanting to offer limp garlands in return for a large tip.

'Another time,' Ione promised me, winking. She made it sound like an offer of sexual favours. 'Somewhere quiet when we're on our own, eh Falco?'

I gri

Tranio, the taller, wittier clown, gave me a long dumb stare.

Chapter XXVI

The customs officer suddenly turned on us as if he could not imagine why we were loitering in his precious space, and shooed us off, Without giving him a chance to change his mind, we shot in through the town gate.

We had come about fifteen years too early. It was not much in the scheme of town pla

It was turmoil. In this town we were just one small act in a mad circus. Gerasa had such a reputation for riches that it drew buskers from all the parched corners of the East. To be offering a simple play with flute, drum and tambourine accompaniment was nothing. In Gerasa they had every gaggle of scruffy acrobats with torn tunics and only one left boot between them, every bad-tempered fire-eater, every troupe of sardine-dish spi