always the first to jump in blindly when he ought to suspect a catch.
“Don’t I? They are builders, aren’t they?” I knew where all the contractors were rushing off to currently. “Now. I owe this to your parents: one of you has to stay in Rome and mind the office. Agree between you who wins the chance to travel. I don’t care how. Draw counters from an urn. Throw dice. Ask a dirty astrologer.”
They were reacting too slowly. Justinus got there first: “Falco knows!”
“They’ve gone to a project known as the Great King’s House. Am I right?”
“
How
do you know, Falco?”
“We are looking for two builders. I make sure I know what’s being talked about in the building world.” It was a coincidence—but I could live with assistants who thought I had magical powers. “This is an enormous, glamorous palace being built for an old supporter of Vespasian’s. The Emperor takes a personal interest. Unluckily for us, the great one—who has an unpronounceable name, which we must learn to say—is king of a tribe called the Atrebates. They live on the south coast. That’s the south coast on the wrong side of the Gallic Strait. It’s an evil stretch of water, and it separates us from a ghastly province.”
I stood up. “I repeat: one of you can pack a bag. Bring warm clothes, a very sharp sword, plus all your courage and initiative. You have three days to kiss the girls good-bye, while I finalize our commission.”
“Falco! What commission?”
“One Vespasian has particularly begged me to accept. Our commission from Sextus Julius Frontinus, Provincial Governor of Britain, to investigate the Great King’s House.”
It was horrible—but neat.
I would go; I would have to take Helena; that would mean we took the children. I had sworn never to go back, but oaths are cheap. Gloccus and Cotta were not the only lure. I would drag along Maia, removing her from Rome and from Anacrites’ grasp.
I set it all up very quietly. I had to arrange things at the Palace so discreetly that Anacrites would not find out. Only then did I warn Maia.
Being one of my sisters—immune to good sense, careless of her own safety, and thoroughly bloody-minded—Maia refused to go.
VIII
M Y PLAN had been to slip out of Rome quietly. By now, the Fates must have woken up with a real hangover. The journey took forever and it was terrible.
The
first
time I went to Britain, I had the army looking after me. Nothing to worry about, except pondering why in Hades I had ever joined up. It was all easy. Kindly officers planned my every waking moment so there was no time to panic; practiced supplies managers ensured that food and every kind of equipment accompanied us; good lads were with me, all wanting their mothers just like I did but not saying so.
The
last
time I went out there, it was me and a one-man travel pack. I prepared it for myself without a kit manual, while others added an imperial pass to see me through and a mapskin showing the long road north. On the way back, it was me and a highly strung, furious young divorceé called Helena Justina. She was wondering what it would be like to go to bed with a brutal, outspoken informer, while I was very carefully avoiding the same thoughts. A thousand miles was a long way, trying to keep my hands off her. Especially once I started to sense that she wanted me to stop trying.
“Seems a long time ago,” I murmured, standing on the quayside in Portus, the main docking harbor at Ostia. It was five years.
Helena still had the art of talking to me privately, even amid a hubbub. “Were we different people then, Marcus?”
“You and I will never change.” She smiled. The old wrench caught me, and I spread my hands on her, the way that dangerous dog five years ago would have loved to do.
This time, our luggage for the trip to Britain covered half the dock. While Nux raced around barking, Helena and I skulked off towards the massive statue of Neptune, pretending that the sea of chests
“Don’t I? They are builders, aren’t they?” I knew where all the contractors were rushing off to currently. “Now. I owe this to your parents: one of you has to stay in Rome and mind the office. Agree between you who wins the chance to travel. I don’t care how. Draw counters from an urn. Throw dice. Ask a dirty astrologer.”
They were reacting too slowly. Justinus got there first: “Falco knows!”
“They’ve gone to a project known as the Great King’s House. Am I right?”
“
How
do you know, Falco?”
“We are looking for two builders. I make sure I know what’s being talked about in the building world.” It was a coincidence—but I could live with assistants who thought I had magical powers. “This is an enormous, glamorous palace being built for an old supporter of Vespasian’s. The Emperor takes a personal interest. Unluckily for us, the great one—who has an unpronounceable name, which we must learn to say—is king of a tribe called the Atrebates. They live on the south coast. That’s the south coast on the wrong side of the Gallic Strait. It’s an evil stretch of water, and it separates us from a ghastly province.”
I stood up. “I repeat: one of you can pack a bag. Bring warm clothes, a very sharp sword, plus all your courage and initiative. You have three days to kiss the girls good-bye, while I finalize our commission.”
“Falco! What commission?”
“One Vespasian has particularly begged me to accept. Our commission from Sextus Julius Frontinus, Provincial Governor of Britain, to investigate the Great King’s House.”
It was horrible—but neat.
I would go; I would have to take Helena; that would mean we took the children. I had sworn never to go back, but oaths are cheap. Gloccus and Cotta were not the only lure. I would drag along Maia, removing her from Rome and from Anacrites’ grasp.
I set it all up very quietly. I had to arrange things at the Palace so discreetly that Anacrites would not find out. Only then did I warn Maia.
Being one of my sisters—immune to good sense, careless of her own safety, and thoroughly bloody-minded—Maia refused to go.
VIII
M Y PLAN had been to slip out of Rome quietly. By now, the Fates must have woken up with a real hangover. The journey took forever and it was terrible.
The
first
time I went to Britain, I had the army looking after me. Nothing to worry about, except pondering why in Hades I had ever joined up. It was all easy. Kindly officers planned my every waking moment so there was no time to panic; practiced supplies managers ensured that food and every kind of equipment accompanied us; good lads were with me, all wanting their mothers just like I did but not saying so.
The
last
time I went out there, it was me and a one-man travel pack. I prepared it for myself without a kit manual, while others added an imperial pass to see me through and a mapskin showing the long road north. On the way back, it was me and a highly strung, furious young divorceé called Helena Justina. She was wondering what it would be like to go to bed with a brutal, outspoken informer, while I was very carefully avoiding the same thoughts. A thousand miles was a long way, trying to keep my hands off her. Especially once I started to sense that she wanted me to stop trying.
“Seems a long time ago,” I murmured, standing on the quayside in Portus, the main docking harbor at Ostia. It was five years.
Helena still had the art of talking to me privately, even amid a hubbub. “Were we different people then, Marcus?”
“You and I will never change.” She smiled. The old wrench caught me, and I spread my hands on her, the way that dangerous dog five years ago would have loved to do.
This time, our luggage for the trip to Britain covered half the dock. While Nux raced around barking, Helena and I skulked off towards the massive statue of Neptune, pretending that the sea of chests
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