Oblivious to Idris’s yawns, winces and glances of reproach, Rufio was whistling cheerfully and tunelessly as he steered his companion past the scent of fresh bread wafting tantalisingly from the bakeries on the corner of the insula and out onto the Decumanus Superior. Idris was muttering something behind the freedman’s broad back that sounded like half-hearted Celtic cursing, and Rufio glanced at him with a good-natured grin.

Neither man was needlessly quarrelsome by nature. Their initial bristling reactions to each other yesterday evening had been quickly and entirely forgotten on both sides as soon as they realised they shared a common purpose in securing the safety of their mutual friends. Now he had let his protective guard drop, Rufio could freely acknowledge it wasn’t simply the Silure’s undeniably handsome face and body that interested both Sextus and Hylas so keenly. During the discussions over their friends’ predicaments Idris had revealed a sharp awareness and strong sense of loyalty – both qualities that Rufio appreciated in a man he anticipated could become a friend in his own right.

“This isn’t the way to Philandros’s house – where are we going?” Idris frowned slightly as Rufio took a sudden detour down a narrower side street. Then he noticed that several of the houses they were passing carried brazenly carved and painted emblems of a prodigiously-endowed Priapus over the doors, and he rolled his eyes in expressive incredulity. “Oh no Rufio, you can’t possibly have the energy this morning….!”

“Huh?” Rufio was baffled at first until he realised what had caught Idris’s eye, then he chuckled wryly and winked. “Ah – no, I haven’t the energy for that, I admit you and Sextus weren’t the only ones who didn’t waste much of the night in sleeping. I just thought we’d collect my own horse before fetching the others, and the public stabling happens to be at the end of this very educational insula. But,” he added slyly, as a whore old enough to be either of their mothers and wearing enough paint to sink the Imperial barge beckoned enticingly at them from a doorway, “If you see anything in passing that tempts you – ?”

He was still chuckling over Idris’s aghast expression when they finally arrived at Philandros’s house after collecting his big black gelding from the public stable. It was Archelaus who came to answer the brisk knocking at the gate, and the elderly steward didn’t look exactly delighted to recognize the two men standing there. He might have more or less forgiven the illiterate barbarian for almost destroying the triclinium, but he still hadn’t forgotten that Rufio had called him a ‘stiff-necked old goat‘ and threatened to turn him upside down and shake him the last time he’d had cause to call at Philandros’s house.

However, the old steward maintained his dignity and greeted them civilly. Rufio explained the purpose of their visit, then glanced at Idris and raised an eyebrow. Idris nodded firmly at him: now they were here, it would be rude to simply take the horses and leave if the master of the house were well enough to see them. Besides, Hylas would scold like a fishwife if they returned without news of Philandros's condition or having mentioned the kittens to him.

“Is Philandros well enough for visitors?” he asked Archelaus, “If so, perhaps you’d tell him we’ve stopped by.”

“I will find out if Master Philandros is awake,” the steward nodded then sniffed and gazed pointedly over Rufio’s shoulder. “That particular rosebush is one of the Master’s favourites. Maybe you could kindly dissuade your horse from eating it while you wait?”