His face was young, but I saw the lines of age at the corners of his cat-green eyes; he was probably in his middle thirties, about the same age as Mummius. He clasped my hand, and I saw the flash of a patrician ring on his finger, but a gold ring was hardly necessary to show that he came from an old family. The Fabii are as old as the Cornelii or Aemilii, older than the Claudii. But even without the ring and without the name I would have known him for a patrician. Only a Roman noble of the most venerable ancestry can pull back his shoulders quite so stiffly and hold his chin so rigidly upright -even in a small, rocking boat – without looking either pompous or ridiculous.

'You're the one they call the Finder?' His voice was smooth and deep. As he spoke he arched one eyebrow, such a typical patrician gesture that I sometimes wonder if the old nobility have an extra muscle in their foreheads for just this purpose.

'Gordianus, from Rome,' I said.

'Good, good. Here, we'd better sit, unless you're an excellent swimmer.'

Tm hardly a swimmer at all,' I confessed. Faustus Fabius nodded. 'This is your assistant?' 'My son, Eco.'

'I see. It's good that you've arrived. Gelina will be relieved. For some reason she took it into her head that Mummius might be able to get back by late last night. We all told her that was impossible; even under the very best conditions the ship couldn't return before this afternoon. But she wouldn't listen. Before she went to bed she arranged to have messengers descend to the harbour, one every hour, to see if the ship had arrived. The household is in chaos, as you can imagine.'

He saw the blank look on my face. 'Ah, but Mummius has told you next to nothing, I suppose. Yes, those were his instructions. Never fear, all shall be made clear to you.' He turned his face to the breeze and took a deep breath, letting his unfashionably long hair flutter in the wind like a red mane.

I looked about the harbour.