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kissed his master’s hand. ‘I shall, master, as all the gods are my witnesses, I shall.’
    Vespasian stroked Hormus’ hair and then helped him up. ‘Your first duty as a freedman is to supervise a slave to pack my things as we’re leaving for Rome.’
    ‘Yes, master; it’ll be my pleasure.’
    Vespasian pointed to the five Arab greys grazing in the paddock next to the house, his pride and joy since receiving them as a gift, five years previously. ‘And tell Pallo to have the stable slaves ready my horses for the journey.’
    ‘Indeed, master; will they be going back to the Greens’ stable?’
    Vespasian beamed at his treasures: ‘Yes, and so much the better for some time out in the country. Magnus will see to their return.’
    Hormus inclined his head and went about his tasks.
    ‘That was a surprise,’ Sabinus said as the rest of the household returned inside.
    ‘He deserved it and I thought that here and at this time was a suitable place to do it.’
    ‘Yes, here was a good place to choose,’ Sabinus said, looking around at their land. ‘I don’t know when I’ll get the chance to come back here again, what with my duties in Rome and my estate at Falacrina.’
    ‘I’ll come as often as I can to make sure that prayers are spoken over the tombs; and I’m sure that Uncle Gaius will want to come out here as soon as he can to pay his respects to his sister.’
    ‘Once justice has been seen to be done.’
    ‘Indeed, Sabinus; once justice has been seen to be done. We’ve much to do in the coming days.’



CHAPTER III
    ‘D EAR BOYS, I shall get over the bruising, and the cuts will heal as will the soreness from the splinters in my … well, you know where; I’ve had one of my boys try to remove them all but I think he’s missed one.’ Gaius helped himself to another consoling honeyed cake, popping half of it into his mouth, and then shifted the position of his ample posterior on the deeply cushioned wicker chair, wincing as he did so. ‘But what I’ll never get over is the humiliation of it all: left unconscious in the street with a torch …’ Gaius shook his head unable to complete the sentence. ‘As, apparently, some wag said: like a crude, lopsided model of the Pharos lighthouse protruding from its island in Alexandria.’
    Vespasian and Sabinus leant back slightly in their chairs as a blond-haired youth of outstanding beauty set down another platter of cakes on the table, fresh from the oven by the smell of them; the slave’s short tunic exposed more than was decent as he leant over.
    ‘That will be all, Ludovicus,’ Gaius said, eying the revealed flesh appreciatively before resuming his outraged expression and devouring the other half of the cake. ‘It’s all round the Senate and beyond; I’m a laughing stock. I’ve even heard people refer to me as the Pharos behind my back!’
    ‘And there was no question that it was Terpnus who did it?’ Vespasian asked once the slave had withdrawn to wait upon his master by the lamprey pond in the middle of Gaius’ courtyard garden in his house on the Quirinal Hill.
    ‘None. He was wearing a wig and had a cloth tied around his face but I recognised his voice – I’d just been listening to it for hours. Nero was wearing a curly blond wig and the theatrical mask of a slave in a comedy but he ululated, high-pitched, constantly, like some crazed Fury, if Furies can be male, which I don’t think they can. All the others had disguises of varying competence but on such a dark night they were hardly needed; it was their voices that gave them away. But it was Terpnus, may Mars rot him, who committed all the outrages done to my person, including the …’ Unable to vocalise the basest of the outrages, Gaius fortified himself with one of the freshly baked cakes and washed it down with some reviving wine. ‘But worst of all was that I was prevented from seeing my sister at the end. Did she ask after me?’
    ‘Yes, Uncle,’ Sabinus lied; Vespasia had