Have they got Diocles?" I saw Rubella's eyes sum up the situation with the crowd. Mutual suspicion between the two national groups was simmering dangerously. The tribune sniffed. Cotys, I'm arresting you for stealing Falco's sword. Let's have a discussion about the rest at my station house, Clear the way, people. Bring the barefoot wonder, Petro." There was a flurry of white. No, wait!" Once again, young Rhodope tried to intervene. She was still grasping the torch, its flames threatening to set fire to her flimsy dress. Helena and Albia rushed to dissuade her. It cannot be right. This is Cotys."
Noted," snapped Rubella. He needed to get out of there. Looking as calm as possible, he began walking his prisoner through the crowds. Some of his men tried to link arms and make a clear corridor.
No, no, Cotys was Theopompus" chief. Cotys," the girl wailed, would never have had Theopompus killed!" Rubella stopped. Cotys was still held in his brutal military grip. Whatever kind of centurion Rubella had been in the legions, it never entailed tucking up recruits in their campbeds with a gentle goodnight lullaby. Listen to that!" marvelled Rubella to Cotys, inches from the pirate's face. The little princess says you couldn't have done it because you were the dead man's chief. Sweet, isn't it?" Then he faced-about the prisoner and set off, pushing Cotys ahead of him, fast. Over one shoulder, the tribune shouted, Set her straight, Falco! Take her somewhere for a chat, look after her." He meant, get the girl away from the rest of the Illyrians urgently. My task was tricky. Men I remembered from the liburnian were now surrounding Rhodope with clear intent. Petronius, alert, passed his own prisoner to a pair of vigiles and moved towards us. Even women were pushing forward, glaring openly at Rhodope. Quick witted as ever, Helena and Albia tried to gather up the girl to rush her away. She was in peril, though completely unaware of it. The Illyrians knew she could give evidence on being taken for ransom, perhaps naming names. She could identify the snatch-squad who took Theopompus the night he was killed. Theopompus might have told her all sorts of secrets. Even the Cilicians were beginning to realise the danger. The Illyrians, now leaderless, milled about uselessly, but Cratidas and Lygon exchanged a glance and headed straight for Rhodope. With drawn swords, Petro and I were already stepping in.
Come, Helena!" Vigiles were at our sides, officially unarmed, yet suddenly equipped with staves and poles. We could have held up the Cilicians and the day could yet have been salvaged. But Rhodope, a bereaved teenager with huge emotions, had remembered that she was presiding over her lover's funeral. Breaking free from Helena and Albia, she burst through our safety cordon. She shifted Lygon from her path by swiping him full in the eyes with her flaming torch. She dodged around Cratidas on nimble feet. Groups of women fell back, screaming. Men pulled up, bemused.
I loved him!" shrieked Rhodope, as she scrambled to the pyre. She knocked over the portable altar. She cursed the sacrificing priest as he cried out at the ruined augury. She barged through the scattering acolytes and slipped past the musicians, [they had seen trouble at funerals many times and were nipping aside. The hired mourners were slowly circling around the pyre, which at last was burning up well, as they intoned and tore their hair. Rhodope pushed through them; she clearly intended to throw herself upon the burning bier. An alert young flautist grabbed her by the waist. As the distraught girl tried to immolate herself, he seized her like a rather ham-fisted god grappling a reluctant nymph just before she turned into a tree. Rhodope's torch and his flute tumbled to the ground. She flailed in his arms; the youth, who was fat and clearly good-natured, dug his heels in and stuck with the tackle. Her hands grabbed for the flowered borders of the pyre. The flute-player kept pulling her. Rhodope struggled forwards, desperately yanking at the expensive garlands. The lad hauled on her stalwartly, suddenly taking them both backwards at a run. Long snakes of plaited lilies and roses tore away from the bier and came with them. Then the bier tilted. Two legs on the pyre gave way; it upended. Garlands snapped. The bier fell back in place. But first it had catapulted Theopompus upright, where he stayed on his feet, stiffly at attention. His dead body was outlined in the prettiest licking flames. His head, with its elaborate long hairstyle, was encircled in an enormous green halo of fire.
People scattered in hysteria. Petronius and I were running forwards.
