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Marcia looked. ‘Optatus broke his arm,’ she said. ‘He fell from a tree. The surgeon set it, but it didn’t heal quite right.’

‘Amazing for Ursus to pay such attention to detail…’ said the Doctor; a hint. But he didn’t continue. Couldn’t let them know the truth.

He stood for a moment, silently gazing at the statue. Then he said abruptly, ‘Rose has disappeared. She’s in deadly danger. We might already be too late.’

Gracilis gasped, and Marcia looked as though she was about to faint clean away.

The Doctor carried on, ‘I think she’s on her way to Rome. Gracilis, can you help me get there?’

Gracilis nodded eagerly.

The Doctor turned to Marcia. ‘Vanessa is helping me to search. But I can’t wait any longer for her. When she gets back, will you send word by messenger to let me know what she’s discovered?’

Marcia also nodded.

‘Then there’s no time to lose,’ said the Doctor. ‘Let’s go.’

* * *

Not for the first time, the Doctor cursed the fact that the TARDIS was sitting somewhere in a Roman back street, well over a day’s journey away by donkey. Gracilis had insisted on coming with him, so the Doctor had had to wait impatiently while he bade farewell to his wife and collected provisions. Some people seemed totally unaware that the smallest second could mean the difference between life and death.

Gracilis still hoped to find a clue in Rome as to Optatus’s whereabouts. The Doctor didn’t tell him that the best clue was right there at his own villa. He did eventually say that he suspected Ursus was responsible for Rose’s plight. But more than that he did not reveal.

Every now and again the Doctor would jump out of the carriage to check for wheel marks, or to ask a plodding peasant a question, but none of the answers enlightened him. As darkness fell, they approached a way station, where the Doctor had no intention of spending the night.

Gracilis protested. He was as eager as the Doctor to reach Rome, but the donkeys had to rest.

‘Then I’ll carryon by foot,’ the Doctor declared. ‘But perhaps Ursus is resting here too,’ suggested Gracilis, stopping the Doctor in his tracks for a moment.

The Doctor resumed walking – but now his footsteps were bent towards the guesthouse. ‘All right. We’ll have it your way,’ he said.

They went inside, and the Doctor immediately cornered the proprietor and described Ursus to him. The man claimed not to have seen the sculptor, however many times the Doctor asked.

Gracilis called for wine, while the Doctor paced the room.

The Doctor suddenly had a thought. ‘You’re a way station. You must have donkeys here. Or, even better, horses,’ he said to the proprietor.

The man bowed obsequiously. ‘Indeed we do, sir.’

‘Then I’d like to hire your best horse, please, immediately.’

The man humbly begged the Doctor’s pardon, but feared that such a thing was not possible. ‘I’m afraid our beasts are not fresh and would not be fit to undertake a long journey.’

The Doctor scowled but, reining in his impatience, finally agreed to sit down and share a meal with Gracilis.

Just as they were finishing, there was a sound of hoof beats from outside and a few moments later the door was flung open. A haughty‐looking man in his forties entered, Roman nose stuck high in the air. He clicked his fingers and, as the proprietor hurried over, relieved a slave of the cup of wine that was heading towards Gracilis.

Gracilis began to bristle, his chest puffing out in indignation, but the Doctor raised a hand to stall his angry words.

‘Hello,’ he said cheerfully, jumping up and offering a hand to the newcomer, ‘you look a bit thirsty. Long journey?’

The man stared at the Doctor in disdain, taking in his plain tunic, distinctly un‐Roman sideburns and not‐at‐all‐subservient grin. He did not shake hands. ‘I am Lucius Aelius Rufus. I have travelled from Gaul on business for the emperor,’ he said impressively.

Gracilis jumped slightly. Clearly he’d heard of the man.

‘Gaul, eh?’ said the Doctor. ‘Ooh, rough place. Nice scenery, though.’

Rufus ignored him.