'I said, all right!'

I saw Musa smile faintly. As usual he was sitting there saying nothing. It was the kind of irritating day when I could easily have lost my temper with him for this silence, so I covered by taking charge: 'Maybe we need to take stock.' If I thought this would perk up my companions, I was disappointed. They both remained listless and glum. Still, I pressed on: 'Looking for Sophrona may be pointless, I agree. I know the girl could be anywhere by now. We're not even certain she ever left Italy.' This was verging on too much pessimism. 'All we can do is to be as thorough as possible. Sometimes these jobs are impossible. Or you may run across a piece of luck and solve the case after all.'

Helena and Musa looked as impressed as a desert vulture who had flown down to an intriguing carcase only to find it was a piece of old tunic blowing against a broken amphora. I try to stay cheerful. However, I gave up on the girl musician. We had been looking for her for too long. She had ceased to seem real. Our interest in the creature had waned, along with any chances we had ever had of finding her out here.

Suddenly Helena rallied. 'So what about the murderer?'

Once again I tried to liven us up with a review of the facts. 'Well what do we know? He's a man, one who can whistle, who must be fairly strong, who wears a hat sometimes -'

'His nerve holds,' contributed Musa. 'He has been with us for weeks. He knows we are looking for him, yet he makes no mistake.'

'Yes, he's confident - although he does jump sometimes. He panicked and tried to put you out of action, Musa, then he soon silenced Ione.'

'He's ruthless,' said Helena. 'And also persuasive: he did make both Heliodorus and Ione agree to go somewhere alone with him. Ione even suspected he was a killer, though I presume that didn't apply in the playwright's case.'

'Let's think about Petra again,' I suggested. 'The chief players went there and came back without the playwright. What have we found out about them? Who hated Heliodorus enough to turn his walk into a swim?'

'Most of them.' Helena ticked them off on her fingers: 'Chremes and Phrygia, because he plagued them about their unhappy marriage and Phrygia's lost baby. Philocrates because they were unsuccessful rivals for Byrria. Byrria, too, because he tried to rape her. Davos partly because of his loyalty to Phrygia, but also because he thought the man was...' She hesitated.

'A s.h.i.t,' I supplied.

'Worse: a bad writer!' We all grinned briefly, then Helena carried on. 'Congrio loathed Heliodorus because he was bullied, but Congrio is let off because he can't whistle.'

'We'd better check that,' I said.

'I asked Chremes,' she whipped back crisply. 'As for the Twins, they have told us they disliked Heliodorus. But do they have a particular reason? A strong enough motive to kill him?'

I agreed: 'If there was one, we haven't unearthed it yet. They told me that Heliodorus couldn't succeed in doing them down on the stage. If he tried to write poor parts, they could improvise. Well, we know that's true.'

'So they were not in his power,' Helena mused. 'Yet they do say they despised him.'

'Right. And if we come forward in time, one at least -Tranio -has an unsatisfactory alibi for the night Ione died. Everyone else seems to be accounted for that night. Poor Congrio was running around Gerasa writing wrongly spelt playbills. Grumio was joking his heart out in the street. Chremes, Davos and Philocrates were all dining together - '

'Apart from when Philocrates says he left to bed his cheese-maker,' scowled Helena. She seemed to have developed an antipathy for her admirer.

I grinned. 'He showed me the cheese!'

Musa openly chortled too. 'I think the handsome one is too busy to find time for killing people.'

'Eating cheese!' I laughed abusively.

Helena stayed serious: 'He could have acquired the cheese at any time - '

'So long as the shop had a low counter!'

'Oh shut up, Marcus!'

'Right.' I pulled myself together. 'Everyone has an alibi except Tranio. Tranio ducks out by claiming he was with Afrania; I don't believe him though.'

'So we really suspect Tranio?' said Helena, pushing for a decision.

I still felt uneasy. 'There's a worrying lack of evidence. Musa, could could Tranio be your whistling man?' Tranio be your whistling man?'

'Oh yes.' He too was troubled though. 'But the night I was pushed off the embankment at Bostra - ' If I ever forgot that incident, Musa never did. He thought about it again now, cautious as ever. 'That night, I am sure Tranio was walking up ahead of me. Congrio, Grumio, Davos - they were all behind. It could have been any one of them, but not Tranio.'

'You're quite certain?'

'Oh yes.'

'When I asked you about it straight after the incident -'

'I have thought about it a lot more since. Tranio was in front.'

I considered this. 'Are we still sure what happened to you that night was deliberate? Nothing else has been done to you.'

'I stay near you - I have perfect protection!' He said it deadpan, though I was trying to decide if there was a trace of irony. 'I felt the hard push,' he reminded me. 'Whoever did that must have known we had collided. He made no call for help when I fell.'

Helena weighed in thoughtfully. 'Marcus, they all know that you are trying to find the killer. Perhaps he is being more careful. He has not attacked you.' Nor had he attacked Helena herself, which at one time had been my unspoken fear.

'I wish he'd try,' I murmured. 'Then I'd have the creep!'

In my head I carried on thinking. This had a bad taste. Either we had missed something crucial, or it would be difficult ever to expose this villain. The vital proof was eluding us. The more time pa.s.sed, the less chance we stood of solving the mystery.

'We have never seen anybody wearing the hat again,' Helena pointed out. She must have been dunking hard, like me.

'And he has stopped whistling,' Musa added.

He seemed to have stopped killing too. He must know I was utterly stumped. If he did nothing else he would be safe. I would have to make make him do something. him do something.

Refusing to give up, I nagged at the problem: 'We have a situation where all the suspects are ruled out on at least one of the attacks. That cannot be right. I still feel one person is responsible for everything, even what happened to Musa.'

'But there can be other possibilities?' asked Helena. 'An accomplice?'

'Oh yes. Perhaps a general conspiracy, with people providing false alibis. Heliodorus was universally loathed, after all. It is possible more than one of them was actively involved.'

'You don't believe that though?' Musa tackled me.

'No. A man was killed, for a reason we don't know, but we'll a.s.sume it made sense at the time. Then a possible witness was attacked, and another who intended to name him was strangled. This is a logical progression. To me, it fits one killer acting alone, and then reacting alone as he tries to escape discovery.'

'It's very confusing,' Helena complained.

'No, it's simple,' I corrected her, suddenly sure of myself. 'There is a lie somewhere. There must be. It cannot be obvious, or one of us would have spotted a discrepancy.'

'So what can we do?' Helena demanded. 'How can we find out?'

Musa shared her despondency. 'This man is too clever to change the lie just because we ask the same questions a second time.'

'We'll test everything,' I said. 'Make no a.s.sumptions, recheck every story, but asking somebody different whenever we can. We may jog a memory. We may drag more information to the surface just by putting pressure on. Then, if that fails, we'll have to force the issue.'

'How?'

'I'll think of something.'

As usual it had a futile ring, yet the others did not question my claim. Maybe I would think of a way to break this man. The more I remembered what he had done, the more I was determined to better him.

Chapter XLIII.

For Abila, Chremes came up with another new play, an unfunny farce about Hercules sent down to earth on a mission from the other G.o.ds. It was deep Greek myth rendered as cra.s.s Roman satire. Davos played Hercules. The actors all seemed to know the work and there was nothing required of me beforehand. At rehearsal, while Davos, in a ridiculous rolling baritone, sailed confidently through his stuff needing no direction from Chremes, I took the opportunity to ask the manager for a private word some time. He invited me to dinner that evening.

There was no performance; we were having to wait for the theatre behind a local group who had the run of the stage fora week doing something proclamatory with drumbeats and harps. I could hear the throb of their music as I walked through the camp to attend my tryst. By then I was starving. Chremes and Phrygia dined late. At my own bivouac Helena and Musa, who were not included in my invitation, had made a point of tucking into a lavish spread while I hung about waiting to go. Outside the tents I pa.s.sed on the way happy people who had already eaten were tipsily waving beakers or spitting olive stones after me.

It must have been perfectly obvious where and why I was going, for I had my napkin in one hand and the good guest's gift of an amphora under the other arm. I wore my best tunic (the one with least moth holes) and had combed the desert grit out of my hair. I felt strangely conspicuous as I ran the gauntlet of the rows of long black tents that we had pitched in nomad fashion at right angles to the track. I noticed that Byrria's tent lay in near-darkness. Both Twins were outside theirs, drinking with Plancina. No sign of Afrania tonight. As I pa.s.sed, I thought one of the clowns stood up and silently stared after me.

When I arrived at the manager's tent, my heart sank.

Chremes and Phrygia were deep in some unexplained wrangle and the dinner was not even ready yet. They were such an odd, ill-a.s.sorted couple. By firelight Phrygia's face appeared more gaunt and unhappy than ever as she swooped about like a very tall Fury who had some harsh torments lined up for sinners. As she made desultory motions towards eventually feeding me I tried to be affable, even though my reception was offhand. Slouching outside with a furious scowl, Chremes looked older too, his striking looks showing signs of early ruin, with deep hollows in his face and a wine gut flowing over his belt.

He and I opened my amphora furtively while Phrygia crashed platters inside the tent.

'So what's the mystery, young Marcus?'

'Nothing really. I just wanted to consult you again over this search for your murderer.'

'Might as well consult a camel-driver's. .h.i.tching post!' cried Phrygia from indoors."

'Consult away!' boomed the manager, as if he had not heard his jaded consort. Probably after twenty years of their angry marriage his ears were genuinely selective.

'Well, I've narrowed the field of suspects but I still need the vital fact that will pin this b.a.s.t.a.r.d down. When the tambourinist died I had hoped for extra clues, but Ione had so many menfriends that sorting them out is hopeless.'

Without appearing to watch him, I checked Chremes for a reaction. He seemed oblivious to my subtle suggestion that he might have been one of the girl's 'friends'. Phrygia knew better, and popped out of the tent again to supervise our conversation. She had transformed herself into a gracious hostess for the night with a few deft touches: a flowing scarf, probably silk, thrown over her shoulders dramatically; silver earrings the size of spoonbowls, daring swathes of facepaint. She had also switched on a more attentive manner as she produced our food with a lazy flourish.

Despite my fears, the meal was impressive: huge salvers of Eastern delicacies decorated with olives and dates; warmed bread; grains, pulses and spiced meats; small bowls of sharp pastes for dipping; plenty of salt and pickled fish from Lake Tiberias. Phrygia served with an offhand manner, as if she was surprised by her own success in concocting the feast. Both hosts implied that food was incidental to their lives, though I noticed that all they ate was of the best.

Their travelling dinnerset was one of bold ceramics, with heavy metal drinking cups and elegant bronze servingware. It was like dining with a family of sculptors, people who knew shape and quality; people who could afford style.

The domestic quarrel had gone into abeyance; probably not abandoned, but deferred.

'The girl knew what she was doing,' Phrygia commented on Ione, neither bitter nor condemning.

I disgreed. 'She can't have known she would be killed for it.' Minding my manners, for the mood seemed more formal than I was used to, I scooped up as many tastings as I could fit in my feeding bowl without looking greedy. 'She enjoyed life too much to give it up. But she didn't fight back. She wasn't expecting what happened at the pool.'

'She was a fool to go there!' Chremes exclaimed. 'I can't understand it. She thought the man she was meeting had killed Heliodorus, so why risk it?'

Phrygia tried to be helpful: 'She was just a girl. She thought no one who loathed him could have the same reason for loathing her. She didn't understand that a killer is illogical and unpredictable. Marcus - ' we were on first-name terms apparently ' - enjoy yourself. Have plenty.'

'So do you think', I asked, manipulating a honey dip on my flat bread, 'that she wanted to let him know she had identified him?'

'I'm sure she did,' Phrygia answered. I could tell she had been thinking this through for herself; perhaps she had wanted to feel certain her own husband could not be involved. 'She was attracted by the danger. But the little idiot had no real idea this man would see her as a threat. She was not the type to blackmail him, though he would probably suspect it. Knowing Ione, she thought it was a good giggle.'

'So the killer would have felt she was laughing at him. The worst thing she could have done,' I groaned. 'What about the playwright? Did she have no sense of regret that Heliodorus had been removed from society?'

'She didn't like him.'

'Why? I heard he once made a play for her?'

'He made a play for anything that moved,' said Chremes. According to what I had heard, this was rich coming from him. 'We were always having to rescue the girls from his clutches.'

'Oh? Was it you who rescued Byrria?'

'No. I would have said she could take care of herself.'

'Oh would you!' Phrygia exclaimed, with a scornful note. Chremes set his jaw.

'Did you know about Heliodorus trying to rape Byrria?' I asked Phrygia.

'I may have heard something.'

'There's no need to be secretive. She told me herself.' I noticed that Chremes was stuffing his bowl with seconds, so I leaned forward too and gathered up more.

'Well, if Byrria told you... I knew about it because she came to me in great distress afterwards, wanting to leave the company. I persuaded her to stay on. She's a good little actress. Why should she let a bully destroy a promising career?'

'Did you say anything to him?'

'Naturally!' muttered Chremes through another mouthful of bread. 'Trust Phrygia!'

Phrygia rounded on him. 'I knew you would never do it!' He looked shifty. I felt shifty myself, without any reason. 'He was impossible. He had to be dealt with. You should have kicked him out then and there.'

'So you warned him?' I prompted, licking sauce off my fingers.

'It was more of a threat than a warning!' I could believe that. Phrygia was some force. But in view of what Ribes had told me, I wondered if she really would have kicked out the playwright while she thought he might know something about her missing child. She seemed definite, however. 'I told him, one more wrong move and he could no longer rely on Chremes to be soft; he would march. He knew I meant it too.'

I glanced at Chremes. 'I was growing extremely dissatisfied with the man,' he declared, as if it was all his idea. I hid a smile as he made the best of a losing situation. 'I was certainly ready to take my wife's advice.'

'But when you reached Petra he was still with the company?'

'On probation!' said Chremes.

'On notice!' snapped Phrygia.

I decided I could risk a more delicate subject. 'Davos hinted you had good reason to take against him anyway, Phrygia?'

'Oh, Davos told you that story, did he?' Phrygia's tone was hard. I thought Chremes sat up fractionally. 'Good old Davos!' she raved.