I spent each afternoon helping my uncle, at his offices, or down at the docks, or at his fashionable shop of perfumes and fine wares under the forum colonnade.

He knew that better-born men looked down on him; but did not care, so long as he grew rich. He had no time for learning, other than what he perceived he could use, and made jokes about my early-morning lessons with Sericus, saying he saw no point in them: I could count, and read a manifest; what need more?

He assigned me tasks, saying I would learn by doing. At first I had thought, if I found myself at a loss, the clerks at his office would help me. But that was before I understood them.

From the outside, they appeared obedient and dull and timid, like a field of sheep. But now I was among them I discovered their lives were riven with feuds, bitter jealousies, and complicated intrigues. When I needed help, they were suddenly too busy, or, worse, they would affect to explain, only to confuse me. It did not take long for me to realize, as I saw them smirking and making eyes at their colleagues, that this game amused them and they wanted me to fail.

All except one. The others, out of spite, gave him the nickname Ambitus, because he worked hard, and because he laughed at their backbiting. But he wore the name with pride, saying that if they wanted to mock him for trying to make something of himself, then that was the least of his concerns.

He was a small-boned youth with a clever monkey-like face and close-cropped black hair. His example held up a mirror to the others' laziness and stupidity, and they hated him for it. He did not care. He had his own plans, which did not include them.

When he saw me struggling, Ambitus came to me and said that I must ask him if ever I needed help. And so it was that he became my first friend in London.

Some mornings, every small matter a" a tiny error in an inventory, a mislaid scroll or tablet, a late delivery a" would send my uncle into a fury, making him bang his fist on the long clerks' table, and rage and curse.

When I asked Ambitus what was wrong he said, *You ought to know more than anyone.'

*Is it me?'

*No, not you. He likes you. It is her. Nothing he does is enough. She has him like this.' And with his small brown thumb he made a motion of squashing an insect on the bench.

But Balbus's outbursts were like summer squalls. One waited, and kept one's head down, and they quickly passed. He was not choleric by nature, and, in his way, he was big-hearted. The same, however, was not true of my aunt.

She perceived slights everywhere, and brooded on them till she had worked herself into a frenzy of incandescent rage. She accused the house-slaves of trying to thwart her, and of laughing behind her back. The Christians claim they are all one another's brothers and sisters: rich and poor, freeman and slave a" even the wild Saxons, who delight in slaughter, and would kill us all. Yet I have never seen one person treat another with such habitual lack of humanity as Lucretia treated those who served her. She did it because she could, because she had power over them; and they, since they had no choice, swallowed her abuse and took her blows meekly.

But they gained their revenge in other ways, making it look like an accident: they overheated the water for her bath, and I would hear her hoarse, enraged voice screaming through the house with impotent fury; they spoiled the food when she wished to impress her friends with a lavish dinner; they spilt water on the charcoal of her pretty ornamental brazier, so that it filled the room with acrid smoke.

Her friends, over whom she lorded it in the most shameless way, she suspected of falseness, and of liking her only for her money. But that year, as Ambitus dryly explained, her main complaint was the house. Balbus dishonoured her, she said, because he was content to live on the eastern side of the city, though he knew very well that she hated it. It was not fashionable; all her friends a" Volumnia, Placentia, Maria a" lived better, and did he not see how they made her feel it, with their polite comments and tolerant smiles and pitying faces? Volumnia had even commented on the smell, one day when the wind was blowing up the river. How could Balbus cause her to suffer so? The humiliation was making her ill.

In most matters, Balbus accommodated her whims. But in this one thing he was adamant: he liked the house and the suburb; he wished to be close to the city docks, among his friends and fellow merchants, who would not look down their noses at him. He would not move.

At first, when I went out each day with him, Lucretia had been glad to see me go, thinking the lowly work must be a misery and humiliation to me; for she had formed the opinion, without justification and without evidence, that I was a spoiled, pampered brat.

She was less happy when she realized I did not care about the dull work, and even enjoyed the diversion. After that, scarcely a day passed when she did not summon me to her private sitting-room, with its silk hangings and plush cushions and clutter of gilded furniture, to complain of my wickedness. Why had I scrubbed the walls of Sericus's room without her permission a" did I suppose I now owned the house? Why had I spoken disrespectfully to Albinus of the bishop, who was a dear friend of the family? What had I been muttering about to Claritas the housemaid in the courtyard? What had the cook been saying about her?

If I said nothing to these outbursts, she accused me of being sullen and recalcitrant. If I answered her, she complained that I was insolent.

One afternoon, when I was sitting with Sericus in the damson courtyard, I wondered bitterly what my uncle could find to like in such a woman.

Sericus glanced up from the scroll that lay spread across his lap and mine and said, *He is losing his hair and going fat. And she is young.'

This was tart for Sericus, but we had been reading Terence that day, which always put him in a good mood.

*It seems a poor trade then,' I said. *I had rather have no wife at all than one like that.'

*Yes, well; his choice is not yours. There are some men for whom the bloom of youth is everything.'

He said no more, and we bent our heads back to the scroll.

But presently, when he thought I was not looking, I saw a private smile pass across his old lined face.

It is in the nature of youth to hope. During those first months, whenever I heard a knock on the door, or a carriage in the street, my ears pricked up, listening for the messenger with the summons from my father to return home. But the weeks passed, and no messenger came, and as autumn advanced I ceased to say to myself each morning, *Maybe today.'

One day, when the first winter storms had closed the sea-lanes and Balbus was at home more than he cared for, I swallowed my pride and asked if he had heard news of my father.

He shook his head and ruffled my hair. *Perhaps soon, my boy; perhaps soon. I expect we shall have something of him in the spring.'

But though he had spoken kindly, I noticed he did not meet my eye.

He had told me, soon after I arrived, that more than one hundred thousand people lived in London. It seemed an almost impossible number to be gathered all together. The best place to live was westwards, on higher ground across the stream called the Walbrook. It was this fine suburb that Lucretia coveted, with its large mansions, high walls, and hidden gardens. And it was the old dock quarter, whose noises could be heard even from the house, that she detested most of all a" a warren of steep shadowy alleyways, climbing the hill between tenements, taverns, brothels, and cheap eating-houses.

After dark, the torchlit streets seethed with ship-workers and river bargemen, and anyone who preferred to make their purchases, or their sales, under cover of night. And when they had filled their bellies with drink, they emptied their purses at the gambling dens and whorehouses, where companions were to be had at any price, and of either sex.

As for my uncle Balbus, his interest was solely the business at the docks, not the entertainment in the streets behind a" as he told me himself, many times, and at some length. But one morning, as we were walking down the narrow stepped street to the river to see off a barge of Samian ware, a coarse-featured girl leered from a window and enquired when he was coming to visit her again.

*The foolish blind trollop,' he cried, hurrying away, *she mistakes me for someone else, of course. I expect she is drunk. Has she no shame?'

I agreed, and looked away smiling.

When, later that morning, we made our way back, I noticed he was careful to go by a different route.

If Albinus wanted something from me, he would demand my immediate attention; otherwise he ignored me. Although his mother doted on him, there were times when they would quarrel, and then he would enlist me as his ally against her, telling me in vehement tones that he hated her.

At first, being lonely, I was quick to trust, and mistook these advances for friendship. But as soon as their squabble was made up, he would once again turn against me; and if I had been foolish enough during that time to confide in him, I found he had stored away this knowledge as a squirrel stores acorns, to use against me when it suited his purpose.

His slyness he got from his mother; but whereas her every waking moment was driven by ambition and resentment, he cared for nothing. He was lazy and slovenly; he would lie in bed until midday unless she sent a slave to rouse him; he washed himself only when told, and never exercised his body. Just the sight of such dissipation was a kind of discipline to me.

Lucretia's life-work was the promotion of Albinus in the Church, and this task she pursued with unfailing single-mindedness.

She would make secret, expensive gifts to the bishop; and when my uncle found out, I would hear them in his study, him remonstrating and pleading, and her yapping back at him.

She always won these bouts, for after hours or days of her silences and sulks he would grumpily declare, *Oh, let the bishop keep the silver casket' or, *Curses on it, take those silks to him if you must' or, *Yes, I shall send the amphora of Moselle, have Patricus see to it.' Afterwards, all would be calm and honeyed smiles, until the next time.

Never have I met a cleverer politician. She knew when to grant her favours, and when to withhold them. Ambitus was right. She spun him like a top.

I took little notice, not realizing that I was soon to become a tool in her great scheme. But that winter, one early grey morning, she summoned me to her rooms.

*I have a small errand for you,' she said, setting down a dish of sweets she was eating. *I wish you to go with Albinus.'

I had arranged, that morning, to go with Balbus to his shop in the forum, to meet his agent from Colchester, who was at that time visiting.

*He no longer needs you,' she answered briskly, when I reminded her of this. She began plucking at the beads of her bracelet, and did not meet my eye. *Now do not stand disputing with me. My hairdresser is waiting, and Volumnia and Maria are coming for dinner.'

Albinus, when I found him already dressed in his boots and winter cloak, was equally tight-lipped. *Come along, then you'll see for yourself,' was all he would say. He even attempted a smile. I should have guessed then that he was up to something.

*Are you coming or not?' he demanded.

*Yes, I'm coming.'

We set out west through the city, taking the street past the stone-gated entrance to the forum, then over the Walbrook and into the old quarter of shabby houses built on rising ground around the fort. The place had once been fashionable, before the wealthy citizens had moved out to the more spacious suburbs. Now the houses were run-down and subdivided.

*This way,' said Albinus, striding ahead.

We passed a group of women washing clothes at a fountain-house, conversing at the top of their voices in a pidgin mix of British and barrack Latin. Children stared from open doorways. Ahead, over the roofs, I could see the old towers and walls of the fort, with tufts of stone-crop growing in the crumbling mortar.

I wondered again what business Lucretia could have here, and what part I had to play in it. I was about to call out to Albinus when we rounded a corner at the top of the hill and emerged into a wide, open square, planted with linden trees.

I glanced about. I could see the square had once been fine. The northern side was dominated by a half-ruined temple. Gimcrack timber houses spread around its stone base. Some of the lindens had been felled, leaving gaps like broken teeth.

*What is that place?' I asked, calling to Albinus.

He tossed his head. Sneering he said, *Diana's temple, what's left of it. But it will soon be gone, and good riddance when it is.' He spat, to show his disgust.

But I walked off across the precinct and climbed the ancient steps. The tall doors under the columned porch were gone, and in the grey light I could see the inner walls had been stripped of their facing marble, leaving bare red brick.

*Come away from there!' cried Albinus, who had held back.

He was standing beside a doorway built into a high wall. The door stood ajar. As I crossed to him, I saw that within there was a paved forecourt, and a low sprawling building behind. The walls were rough and undecorated. Pieces of sculpted marble, pillaged from the ruined temple, had been crudely mortared in between the brickwork.

*This way,' he said, beckoning. *There is someone who wants to meet you.'

I eyed him suspiciously. *Meet me? Who wants to meet me?'

*Oh, it's only the bishop.'

I stared at him, then looked again at the squat, ugly building behind.

*The bishop?' I cried. *Are you mad, Albinus? What business do I have with him?'

I pulled back; but he caught me by the sleeve.

*You can't go now! He's expecting you. What shall I tell him a" that you were afraid, and ran off like a girl?'

He was right: I was afraid. In my mind I was imagining every sort of horror. But before I could answer, or pull away, a door across the forecourt opened and a gaunt black-cloaked figure stepped out.

*Who's that?' I said, staring. Already the man had seen us. He was approaching, treading across the flags with odd tiptoe steps, like someone picking his way across a muddy field. *Is that him?'

*No, of course not. That's Faustus. He's the deacon. Now come along, little soldier-boy, or are you going to run away and let him think you're nothing but a coward? He only wants to speak to you. Are you scared even of words?'

The Bishop of London rose from his upholstered couch. *My dear Drusus, greetings. How pleased I am. I have been looking forward to this opportunity to chat for some time.'

He was a short, fat man, with hair done in the ecclesiastical manner. An air of sweet Asiatic scent hung about him. He motioned with his small, plump hand at the seat opposite and asked me to sit. His fingers, I saw, were festooned with rings a" thick bands of silver and gold, set with huge, glittering gemstones. He put me in mind of an expensive merchant.

I sat, uneasily, on the edge of the seat. He was looking at me with a pleasant smile. But I saw, under his thin black brows, that his pinprick eyes were appraising me.

Albinus had gone to stand apart, by a sideboard of carved ebony. I glanced angrily at him, but he ignored me. Then the bishop snapped his fingers and a manservant appeared from behind an embroidered hanging, bearing a silver tray.

He poured two cups of honey-coloured wine, from a flask of cut glass, and set them on the low table that stood between us. He offered nothing, I noticed, to Albinus, nor to the strange deacon called Faustus, who was waiting by the door.

The bishop drank, then took up a silk napkin and dabbed his lips. *For some time,' he said, *ever since dear Lucretia mentioned your stay in London, I have been hoping you would come to visit me. Your poor father Appius has been much on my mind.'

*You know my father?' I said, staring.

*Why naturally. You seem surprised. Yet it is only to be expected that men of significance should know one another. Did he not speak of me? a" No? Well, perhaps not. But we were acquainted nevertheless, and often had cause to discuss questions of importance.'

I narrowed my eyes at him, disliking his unctuous manner, his quick smiles that died on his lips, and the smooth self-conscious movements of his bejewelled hands.

He paused, then sat forward. *And now,' he said, beaming, *your father is in difficulty; it is most unfortunate. In a way, that is what I wished to speak of. But what is it? You have gone quite pale. Here, drink your wine. You are not thirsty? No matter; the kitchen-slaves will help themselves to what is left, no doubt.'

He smiled, and once more drank, taking his time, touching the little napkin to his mouth afterwards.

*The Church,' he continued, *has great influence. After all, the emperor Constans is one of our own, and heeds our guidance, as do all good servants of the One God. Many things are possible. A word here, a letter there. The bishop in Trier might be persuaded to speak up for your father. You see, Drusus, I am a man who is listened to, and I have many friends.'

He sat back into the heavy cushions and looked at me, forming his fingers into an arch. His tunic was of some fine close-woven cloth, the kind of thing my uncle imported from the East; and on his feet were bright red-dyed doe-skin slippers, clasped with Keltic silverwork in the shape of twisting serpents, with gaping mouths and bulging eyes. What was this man saying? I asked myself. That he could bring my father back? That I could soon go home again? He must have seen the confusion in my face; but, whatever it was he was leading up to, he seemed in no hurry.

*Lucretia has told me so much,' he went on. *I feel already that we are friends. How old are you now a" fourteen, isn't it?'

*Fifteen.' I had turned fifteen during the autumn.

*Well, you are almost a man . . . and a handsome one too, wouldn't you say, Albinus?'

Albinus grunted. The bishop smiled and then drew down his thin black brows, giving the appearance of considering what to say next, though I had the sense that he had long ago thought out this conversation.

*You know, perhaps there is something you might do for me. A favour for a favour, you could say.' He eased himself forward from the couch and stood. *But come, let us walk, and discuss what may be done.'

Across the room Albinus and the deacon moved to follow, but with a snap of his finger the bishop gestured at them to stay. Then he placed his hand on my shoulder and guided me under the hangings, out through a door into a cloistered courtyard. He talked as he walked, I do not recall of what a" commonplaces, something to do with the Church, the city, and his own importance. I was feeling uneasy. I did not like the feel of his hand on the back of my neck, nor the rich, sickly scent that filled the air around him.

But he had said he could help my father; and so, remembering this, I steeled myself.

He halted at a door and slipped the latch. *Let us go this way,' he said, easing me ahead of him into the narrow vestibule beyond, into what seemed at first to be total darkness.

I stood blinking and realized, as my eyes adjusted, that we were in a long chamber. At the far end, a weak glimmer of light penetrated from a high aperture. The air smelled of incense, and old earth, and unwashed humanity.

*This,' whispered the bishop, *is our place of worship.'

I stared into the gloom. Thick squat pillars receded into the blackness, like tree trunks in a night-time forest. Within the body of the room there was a stone-topped table like an altar. I shivered, remembering the stories, expecting at any moment grasping hands to lunge at me from the shadows. Where else, I asked myself, did these Christians obtain their blood to drink, if not from living victims? I wondered what kind of god could be pleased with such a lightless, ill-smelling place.

Beside me the bishop's voice sounded, smooth and amused. *Are you afraid?' he asked.

*No,' I said loudly, and my voice echoed in the silence. I took a step forward, to show I meant it.

*This was a bathhouse once,' he said. *What could be less fitting? But soon I shall clear it all away, and in its place build a proper monument, something to the glory of God that men will tremble at. In the meantime this serves for our followers a" poor townsfolk and slaves for the most part, know-nothings looking for food and salvation.' He gave a quick sardonic laugh. *They count for little, but they are useful foot-soldiers; infantry in a war they do not understand.'

I heard the shuffle of his slippers on the stone, and felt his damp fingers on the nape of my neck. I turned sharply. He took his hand away.

*What do you want from me?' I demanded.

He let out a sigh.