I say no more. The old woman had her hood up, and though she seemed to know me, I cannot claim that it was even the crone. As for the rest, she said think on it, and that is what I have done, many times. And if I have an answer, it lies in what I have done, which is to tell it as it was, no more or less.

Balbus, restless and bored, returned to London, pleading unexpected business that could not wait. Leisure did not suit him, just as absence from her prattling circle of friends did not suit Lucretia.

She discovered from the servants that the neighbouring villa, which lay about three miles off, was the country residence of the aristocrat Quintus Aquinus, the man who had stepped into the government of the city during the Saxon siege. At once she despatched one of the footmen with a message announcing her presence, and waited for an invitation. When none came she quizzed the servant. Was the senator not at home? Was he ill or infirm? To whom had he delivered her note?

I was in the courtyard outside the window. From within I heard Albinus let out a harsh laugh and say, *Perhaps he does not wish to see you.'

There was a pause. I stopped by the herb-bed to listen. *Leave us!' Lucretia cried at the servant. Then, turning on Albinus, she demanded to know how he could be so cruel, and could he not see that she was at the end of her tether, and what had come over him since they had come to this horrible house in the country, for he had been nothing but captious and insolent, even though she had sacrificed everything for him.

The footman, emerging moments later into the courtyard, caught me smiling. *Tell me, Fabius,' I said, *what do you know of this Quintus Aquinus?'

He glanced up at the window, where they were still loudly bickering. *I cannot tell you much, master Drusus,' he said in a low voice. *It is a great old house a" my niece works there, and she is treated well. The land is well tended, and lacks for nothing, because old Aquinus has made it so. He has lived there all his life, and his ancestors before him, time out of mind.'

*Have you met him?' I asked.

*I have seen him, but only from afar. They say he is a good man' a" his eyes darted significantly to the noise behind a" *a good, decent man, and I wish there were more of his kind hereabouts.'

I was curious. I decided to go and see for myself. Perhaps, after all, the girl, or the crone, had something to do with this house.

The night on the hilltop had filled me with a yearning; it had touched places in my soul where desire lay, and need, and dark questions that demanded satisfaction. It was as though, just beyond my grasp, there lay the special thing my soul burned for. I felt it; yet I did not know what it was, or how I should recognize it. It drew me on. And so, two days later, on a clear, fresh morning, I took apples and cheese and a loaf from the kitchen and set out across the brook, over the stepping-stones and through the wooded strip of rowan and willows. From there, I followed a cattle track, up over the low ridge and through fields of yellow barley, pausing at the top to get my bearings.

The track led south, skirting the fields until it vanished in a deep swathe of forest. Beyond, in the distance over the treetops, I could see more fields, and sheep enclosures in undulating land. The house, I supposed, must be in one of the valleys, out of sight. I walked on.

From the ridge the forest had seemed easy to traverse; but once I passed between the oaks and high beeches the bright day was reduced almost to twilight, and the track began to twist and turn between dense undergrowth and the contours of the land. Still I followed, supposing it must lead to the other side; but after some time it ended at a great barrier of twined bramble.

I ought perhaps to have turned back then and retraced my steps. But I could see the way ahead was easier a" mature beeches, their massive trunks soaring like columns up to the high canopy, with leaf-strewn open ground between a" and so I pressed on.

I found I was thinking of something the girl had said: how the gods and spirits come in dreams, or speak through signs, or show themselves in mortal men. I felt like a man who finds the ground beneath him, which he had taken to be solid and immobile, suddenly shifting. What signs did she mean anyway, and how did one know?

I took an apple from my bag, and ate. In the corner of my eye I sensed movement. A rust-coloured squirrel was crouched at the foot of an oak, scratching at the forest floor. He paused and considered me with his head cocked; then, deciding I was no threat, he carried on at his work. Presently I came to another track, recently trodden. But the marks in the churned-up earth were boar, not man. I followed it even so, seeing nothing better. The way narrowed into a defile of hazel and prickly ilex; then, just as I thought the track would peter out, it opened into a grass clearing lit by shafts of slanting sunlight. At the far side, so grown-over with ivy and creeping shrubs that it looked at first glance no more than a rocky outcrop, was a small circular temple.

I stepped forward. The building looked derelict and forgotten. The facing on the walls was crumbling, showing red brickwork beneath. One of the columns had collapsed outwards; it lay like a fallen tree-trunk on the ground. I came to a high double-door, of old weathered wood studded with copper turned the colour of verdigris. The door stood half open, fixed ajar, its hinges rotted away. It would not shift when I pushed, but there was space enough to squeeze through.

Within were ochre columns and frescoes of woodland scenes, creating the illusion of openness. But what held my attention was the cult-statue, which stood in front of me, set back in a recess. It was old Keltic work, of a maiden holding in one hand the crescent of the moon, and in the other a spear. At her feet lay a fallen stag, its head rearing up to regard her. Traces of offerings lay about: burnt-out candles, a clay lamp, shrivelled fruits and old flowers.

I paused in the silence. I had plucked a sprig of white-flowering bryony outside; it seemed fitting now to lay it at her feet. But as I knelt I looked up and caught sight of the statue's eyes.

I froze, and caught my breath; and stared. The eyes were green agate, luminous green, the colour of moss. I remained a long time still, assembling my thoughts, wondering what motions of chance or fate had brought me here.

When at length I returned outside, the sun was obscured by cloud and the clearing was in shadow. I paused on the stone porch-step, looking about me, considering what path to take. I had lost all sense of my direction. Suddenly the silence was broken by a rapid stirring in the undergrowth. I remained motionless, listening, remembering the boar tracks. But I heard nothing more. Keeping my back to the wall, staying under the narrow encircling colonnade, I stepped over a fallen branch and edged around to where I could get a better view. There was a sudden beating in the branches above. I jerked my head up, startled; but it was only a bird, rising in a flurry of wings through the canopy. I let out my breath. Then I heard a crack behind me a" the sound of dried wood splintering underfoot. I swung round, realizing what it was. But I was too late. A spear-blade pressed into my ribs, and a voice said, *Keep still, or I will kill you.'

The cold steel pressed through my tunic, sharp against my skin. It was skilfully held, keeping me pinned against the wall; but not enough to cut me, unless I moved.

My mind turned fast. He had spoken in good well-cadenced Latin; it was not the voice of some country bandit trying his luck. I recalled a lesson Durano had drummed into me: think, decide, then act fast and certain. I said, *If you kill me it will be the worse for you,' and even as I spoke I was gauging the distance ahead and to my side. In one sudden curling movement, while my words still hung in the air, I leapt away from the blade, grabbing at the javelin-shaft and twisting it.

I had caught him off his guard. He had loosed his grip. The twisting motion forced the javelin from his hands and I seized it. I span it round and turned it on him, and forced him back at the tip of the blade. Only then did I look at his face. He was handsome and sturdy, with clear grey eyes and heavy bronze hair turned gold by the sun. He was staring at the spear-point with a deep frown which showed the fine lines on each side of his mouth. The palms of his hands were open, and below his tunic I could see the muscles in his legs were taut, ready to spring.

But I was not going to let him use my own trick. I jabbed at him, forcing him back against the column.

His eyes moved from the blade to my face.

*Who are you?' he demanded. *This is my land.'

I could tell he was angry with himself for having let me catch him so easily. I scanned his body for weapons. He was dressed in a leather hunting jerkin with a wide brown belt. I could see no sign of a hidden dagger.

I grinned. *Now we are even,' I said.

Keeping my eyes on him I tossed the javelin away behind me. It clattered on the stone. He relaxed a little after that, and his eyes studied my face.

*What are you doing here?'

*I was lost.'

*You were in the temple. I saw you.'

*What of it? I wanted to see inside.' I spread my hands, to show I had no knife. *You can fight me if you want. It is an even contest now.'

He paused, furrowing his brow, and once again his face moved in a frown. He shook his head. *No. I don't want to fight you.'

For a moment we stood looking at one another, both of us wary. Then he took a tentative step forward and offered me his hand.

I took it. It was broad and strong.

*All this is my grandfather's land,' he said, gesturing over his shoulder, *but I live here too.' He smiled, adding, *My name is Marcellus.'

I told him mine, and where I had come from, standing straight, filling my lungs and feeling pleased with myself for having bested him. But then, as I took half a step back, my foot caught on the discarded spear-shaft and I tripped. He grabbed my arm before I fell, catching my weight in his grip. I clutched onto him. I had to, or I should have fallen sprawling on my back. It dispelled all my cock-pride in an instant.

*Well, Drusus,' he said, *it looks like my spear was some use after all, don't you think?' He heaved me up and I dusted myself off, trying to regain my dignity. When I next looked up he was grinning.

*What?' I said crossly. But it was no good, and after a moment I was smiling back at him. *Here,' I said, taking up the javelin and handing it to him. *You'd better take it, before I really hurt myself.'

As I looked at him, something in me, which had long slept, stirred to life. I think I knew, even then, that whatever it took, I wanted this beautiful youth as my friend.

He said, *I hear Lucius Balbus the merchant has that house. Are you his son then?'

*Oh no!' I cried, appalled that he should think so.

*Then why are you there? Are you visiting?'

I explained, and as I spoke he looked into my face, not insolently, but with genuine concern.

*I heard what happened to your father,' he said, when I had finished. *Grandfather told me. I am sorry; it is a hard thing to bear.' He paused, then asked, *Do you still grieve?'

I shrugged. It seemed a long time since anyone had cared what I thought, and I found the words did not come easily.

*He was wronged,' I said eventually. *I think about that sometimes . . . Where is your own father? Is he at the house too?'

*He died when I was young. I don't remember him.'

*Then I am sorry too.'

*He died of a fever. It was with the gods, I suppose. What happened to yours is worse. It is the injustice of men.' He looked into my eyes. *Come, I'll show you where the house is.'

We stepped out. Suddenly, as we began to move, there came from behind me in the undergrowth a violent scrambling, the same noise I had heard before. I leapt round startled, shouting out.

But Marcellus laughed, saying, *Don't worry, it's only Ufa,' and from the cover of the bracken a shaggy grey wolfhound came bounding out. It strode up to me, wagging its tail and snuffling, and pushing its nose into my hand.

*See, he likes you. He's a good judge.'

I petted the creature's head and let it sniff me. *But he wasn't there when you were in trouble,' I said with a grin.

*No.' He drew down his brows. *Well he's not much of a guard-dog really. I suppose he thinks I can look after myself. I can, usually. Where did you learn a trick like that?'

As we walked, with Ufa strutting beside us, inspecting the undergrowth, I told him something of how I had learned to wrestle and fight. I was halting and unsure at first a" it made me aware of how long it was since I had had a proper conversation with anyone. But before I knew it, I was telling him about Albinus and my aunt, and my life in London.

He listened, commenting now and then. He was about my age a" sixteen a" and, as I had already noticed, he was taller than I, though only by a little. Where I was dark, he was fair. His forearms and the backs of his hands were brushed with a fine golden down, and the sun had tanned his skin the colour of burnished bronze. As we walked he absently swung the javelin to and fro, swishing it at the bracken beside the path. He moved well, I thought, with the powerful grace of a young male deer.

Presently we emerged from the trees, and I realized I had not stopped talking since the temple. I broke off and looked at him. I had never told so much about myself to anyone before.

I thought, *He is walking with me out of good manners, and to see me off his land, no more than that, though he is too well-bred to say so.' I was about to excuse myself and tell him he need not trouble himself further, but he stopped me with a touch on the shoulder and resting his hand there pointed across the fields.

*See that far ridge, where the tall trees are? The house is below it, in the valley. It's quite a way still, but you can make out the roof between the trees. Stand closer. There, that's better. Now you can see.'

I looked, shading my eyes with my hand. Over the rolling barley-fields and sheep-dotted meadowland there was a line of black poplar and spreading elm, and in their midst, half-obscured, the red-tiled roof of a house. Even from this distance I could make out high pediments and soaring arches, and towers and long walls.

*Is that yours?' I asked, impressed. It looked as big as the governor's palace in London.

He gave a quick, shy laugh. *Well it's Grandfather's . . . But yes, it's mine too; it's my home. The house has belonged in our family for generations, since our ancestors built it in the time of the emperor Marcus, and brought all the land under cultivation. As a house it's too much really, just for Grandfather and me and my mother. But it's where we belong, I suppose.'

*Your mother is alive, then?'

He looked at me and laughed. *How not? Losing one parent is enougha"' But then he stopped himself. *What, did the emperor take her too?'

I shook my head, and tapped and dabbed at a tuft of grass with my toe. *No, it wasn't that. She died in childbirth, when I was born. I never knew her.'

The dog came up and nuzzled at my hand, demanding attention. I knelt down and ruffled his ears; he rolled over and smiled up at me, pawing the air.

I heard Marcellus set down the javelin. He crouched beside me, pushing his hand into the dog's fur. Our fingers touched, and then I looked up. I knew my face was reddening; I felt I had stirred old embers of a fire long dead, and found them glowing still.

*But she was beautiful,' I said. *I know. My father had a picture.'

*I'm sure she was, if you are her son. I can see it. It's a shame we didn't find a better way to meet.'

I do not know what possessed me then a" some god, perhaps, or some noble spirit, the sort that draws from us the right word at the right time, and makes cowards brave and weak men strong, and discovers for us our potential in the unseen corners of our souls. But I answered saying, *Any way is better than none.'

For a moment he looked surprised. And then he smiled. *Yes, I think so too . . . I suppose I feared, after we almost fought each othera"' He broke off with a shrug. For a moment I even thought he was blushing. But no doubt it was just a trick of the light, for by then the sun was sinking into a towering sunset of vermilion cloud.

*Well,' I said, standing, *I ought to get back.'

*Yes.' He hesitated. *I'll walk with you; I've nothing else to do.'

*It's out of your way.'

*I don't mind a" unless you'd rather not?'

*No,' I said quickly. *I'd like it.'

And so we walked, this time skirting the woods and taking a dusty trail beside the fields, talking all the while.

When at length we reached the brook with its barrier of rowans and lime-leaved willows, I said, *So, here we are,' and immediately felt foolish.

*Yes. Goodbye then, Drusus.'

*Goodbye.'

But we paused, looking at each other. Then we both said at once, *But whena"?' And then we laughed.

*Tomorrow?' I said. *I'll come to the house, now I know the way.'

*Yes, tomorrow. Good . . . Until tomorrow then?'

For a moment he looked at me, as if there were something else. But then, suddenly self-conscious, he gave a quick nod, turned on his heels and strode off.

I watched him as he receded along the path, with the slanting sun on his back, and the wolfhound prancing happily behind him, until in the end he passed over the ridge and was lost from view.

SIX.

THE SUN WAS SINKING over the honeysuckle courtyard by the time I returned. Albinus must have been waiting; even before I had mounted the last of the steps he came rushing out.

*Where have you been?' he demanded. *Mother has been looking all over.'

I pushed past him. If I had been attending more carefully, I should have realized he already had an audience. He had a particular way of speaking when his mother was in earshot.

She was waiting just within the door, in the dark of the atrium, with her arms folded tense across her chest, and a face like death in triumph.

*Do not ignore Albinus when he speaks to you!' she cried. Her voice was shaking with anger. I had seen her like this before. She had worked herself to such a peak of rage that she could scarcely control herself. *He saw you with that youth,' she went on, *so do not deny it. You have been to the house of Quintus Aquinus. Who summoned you there? What business have you with him?'

So that was it, I thought. She supposed I had been invited when she had not.

I answered with the truth, saying I had not met Quintus Aquinus, nor had I been summoned by anyone. I had met his grandson a" the boy Albinus saw me with a" only by chance.

But she was beyond listening. The sinews in her face were moving, waiting for me to finish.