A Mist of Prophecies

XV

They met under a rose.

I looked from face to face, hardly believing what I saw: the two most dangerous men in Italy, their whereabouts and intentions the subject of every conversation, in a bare room in a shabby tenement in the heart of Rome. Bare, that is, except for the two chairs in which they had been sitting, a cupboard against one wall, and the room's single ornament, a pocket vase made of terracotta hung on the wall above their heads, and in that vase a single blood-red rose.

They were meeting sub rosa, invoking the ancient custom that all who meet under the rose are bound to silence. Following my gaze, Marcus Caelius glanced up at the rose.

"Milo's idea," he said. "He takes that sort of thing very seriously, you know-signs, portents, vows, omens. Thus, a rose to ensure discretion-as if either one of us could possibly benefit by betraying the other. Of course, it obliges you to keep silent as well, Gordianus. What's the matter? You look as if you'd seen Medusa. Come in! I'm afraid we have only the two chairs, so I suppose we should all remain standing."

I let the curtain fall behind me and stepped into the room, overwhelmed by the strangeness of the moment. What were they doing here in the Subura? More to the point, what were they doing in the room directly above Cassandra's, and on a day when Cassandra knew I would be coming?

They were dressed to suit the room and the neighborhood, in shabby tunics and worn shoes. Milo's hair was longer than I had ever seen it, pushed back from his face in a shaggy mane, and his beard was untrimmed. Caelius had a smudge of dirt on his cheek, like some common laborer. It was not the first time I had seen them in disguise. During one of the bloody riots following the murder of Clodius, Milo and Caelius had escaped together from an angry mob by taking off their togas and their citizenship rings and passing as slaves. On this occasion Caelius was wearing his ring, but Milo's finger was bare. He had been stripped of his citizenship and the right to wear a citizen's ring when he was exiled from Rome.

"Are these the disguises you use to go about Rome incognito?" I asked. "You pose as the poor master, Caelius? And you pose as his slave, Milo?"

Caelius smiled. "I told you he was clever, Milo. There's not much the Finder misses."

Milo grunted and peered at me with barely concealed hostility. He was no longer fat and dissipated, as when I had last seen him in Massilia, enduring his exile in a drunken stupor. The danger and difficulty of his escape and his return to Rome were written on his weathered features. His stocky wrestler's physique was back in fighting trim. There was a hard, desperate glint in his eyes.

"You said the Finder would be glad to see us, Caelius," said Milo. "He doesn't look glad to me. He looks rather distressed."

"Only because we've taken him by surprise," said Caelius. "But how else could we approach you, Gordianus? We could hardly have come calling at your house, could we? That would have put your dear family in danger. As it is, you've taken us a bit by surprise. We were thinking we would send someone down to fetch you in a bit, after your nap. But here you are of your own accord."

"I heard the two of you talking," I said. "I recognized Milo's voice."

"Ha! And he was the one telling me to keep quiet," said Caelius. "But that's our Milo. He's never known his own strength, whether cracking two heads together or shouting at me to keep my voice down."

I shook my head. "I don't understand. What are you doing here?"

Caelius raised an eyebrow. "Plotting a revolution, of course."

"No, I mean-here, in Rome. Everyone thinks you're long gone."

"So I was. So I shall be again. I come and go like a puff of smoke! But just now I happen to be back in Rome. Plotting a revolution is complicated business, Gordianus. Tedious, as well-and you know I've never liked hard work. You wouldn't believe the logistics it entails. I have to be everywhere at once, encouraging my partisans, whispering comfort in the ears of the doubtful, holding the hands of the fearful, pressing coins in the palms of the greedy. And not least, approaching old friends and acquaintances to ask for their support." He fixed me with a penetrating gaze.

"And you, Milo?" I said. "I can't believe you've dared to set foot in Rome. Caesar showed mercy when he let you keep your head and stay in Massilia. He'll never forgive this. Does your wife know you're here?"

"Leave Fausta out of this!" snapped Milo.

I shook my head. "You're both mad, meeting like this in the Subura. You're bound to be recognized or overheard. If Isauricus and Trebonius find you-"

"They won't," said Caelius. "They haven't so far. I come and go as I please in the city. I have many, many supporters, Gordianus. More than you realize, I imagine."

"Enough to stage a successful uprising, here and now?"

His smile wavered. "Not quite. The tender shoots still require cultivation. Milo and I have determined that our best course is to raise an armed force in the countryside in order to take the city by force."

"Raise an army? How? From where? Every available fighting man is already enlisted to serve either Caesar or Pompey."

"But not all those men are happy. There are soldiers garrisoned all over Italy who were forced into Caesar's service. They're bored and discontented and ripe for sedition. They're jealous of their comrades who crossed the water with Caesar and Antony, because those are the soldiers who'll share in the spoils of victory, not the ones left behind; all they get to do is bully a few cowering townspeople and plant babies in the local girls."

"But you'll promise them something better? An attack on Rome itself-complete with plunder for the victors? Will you let them sack the city, Caelius? Is this your revenge on Rome, Milo?"

Caelius shook his head. "There'll be plenty of plunder to reward the soldiers, but it won't be taken from ordinary citizens like you, Gordianus. It will come from the greedy landlords and moneylenders who've made themselves rich as Croesus in the last year. The wealth they've stolen and hoarded will be reclaimed and redistributed, beginning with the soldiers loyal to the revolution."

"Loyal to you, you mean."

Caelius shrugged. "Someone has to lead the fight."

"You're deluding yourself, Caelius. If you take Rome by force, you won't be able to control what happens next. You say you'll only plunder the landlords and moneylenders, but you can't guarantee that. Even Caesar's men have slipped out of his control from time to time over the years, looting and burning when he gave them express orders not to-and you're not Caesar, Caelius."

"Rome is sick, Gordianus. She requires a drastic cure."

"Even if it kills her?"

"Perhaps, to be reborn, Rome first must die. A better city will rise from the ashes, like the phoenix."

I shook my head. "This whole argument proceeds from a fallacy. You're presuming you can subvert enough of Caesar's garrisons to storm the city. I simply don't believe it. A few soldiers are that unhappy, perhaps-but the rest will remain loyal to Caesar. They'll band together and destroy you before you ever reach Rome."

"You underestimate the discontent throughout Italy, Gordianus. I've seen it. Antony did Caesar no favors when he crisscrossed Italy before leaving for Greece. He alienated one city after another with his arrogant blustering-traveling like an Eastern potentate with a retinue of sycophants, lounging in his gilded litter with that whore of his, Cytheris. The soldiers liked what they saw no better than the city fathers. To Caesar they might have remained loyal, but not if he intends to leave the likes of Antony in charge when he's absent."

Milo spoke up. "And we needn't rely just on the garrisons. There are plenty of other trained fighters to call on." Caelius raised his hand and gave him a withering look, but Milo blustered on. "I'm talking about the gladiator training camps down south! The biggest, strongest, most vicious slaves in all of Italy end up in those camps, and they're trained to kill without mercy. When it comes to killing, one gladiator is worth a century of common soldiers. The slaves in those camps are desperate-they're all headed for an early, painful death, and neither Pompey nor Caesar offers them any hope for the future. After we set them free, they'll be loyal to us alone!"

For years, Milo had been attended by his own private army of gladiators; he had left Rome with them, they had protected him in Massilia and had helped to defend the city against Caesar's siege, and now they had returned with Milo to Italy. He had grown so used to the company of his gladiators that he didn't realize how shocking it was to suggest that such men be recruited to overthrow the Senate and the magistrates of Rome. To be sure, Caesar himself had set the precedent of freeing gladiators whom he owned and turning them into soldiers, but he had been careful to disperse them among different legions and to use them outside Italy. But Milo was hinting at something very different-setting free whole bands of gladiators and letting them lay siege to Rome itself. Such men were the lowest of the low-desperate, mistreated slaves trained only to kill, lacking any soldierly discipline, without families or any vested interest in Rome's future or her institutions. If soldiers could not be trusted to refrain from looting and burning, what would happen if Rome were overrun with gladiators?

"Do you see yourself as a second Spartacus, Milo? Is that the legacy you intend to leave behind? Milo, who made his reputation as watchdog for the Best People, then ended by setting bloodthirsty slaves loose on Rome? The Fates have led you on a strange path, Milo."

"Milo speaks prematurely," said Caelius, wincing. "We'll use gladiators only as a last resort."

"A cure certain to kill the patient! Gladiators are trained to kill, not to take orders. You're playing Pandora if you set them loose."

Neither Caelius nor Milo answered. They stared at me for a long moment, then exchanged a glance-Milo looking vindicated, Caelius disappointed. I had reacted just as Milo expected, but Caelius had hoped for a different reaction.

"What do you want from me?" I asked.

Caelius sighed. "Merely for you to act in your own best interests, Gordianus. You've poisoned your relationship with Pompey. I don't know exactly what happened between you, but I do know he tried to strangle you with his bare hands when he was fleeing by ship from Brundisium. You barely escaped alive! What will you do if Pompey returns to Rome in triumph? And your relationship with Caesar seems hardly better. Your adopted son Meto is still close to Caesar-but you've disowned Meto and offended Caesar in the process. Where will you stand if Caesar wins and makes himself king of Rome? I was as loyal to Caesar as any man-I fled Rome with Curio to join him at the Rubicon; I fought beside him in Spain-and you see how he rewarded me, with crumbs! What reward can you expect from Caesar?

"But forget Pompey, forget Caesar and the darkness that will fall over this city if either of them triumphs. I should think, Gordianus, that my recent speeches in the Forum would have touched a nerve with you. I happen to know a bit about your finances. You're up to your ears in debt to that cannibal Volumnius. He never forgives a debt. He's insatiable! He shall suck the life from you as a man sucks marrow from a bone. Your family will be reduced to beggars, perhaps even slaves. Pompey will do nothing to stop him. Neither will Caesar; it's Caesar's fault that men like Volumnius are having their day, growing fat off of other men's misery. Only I can save you from Volumnius, Gordianus. Only I can promise you justice. Cast your lot with me. It's your only choice."

"Why me, Caelius? I have no power. I have no money. I have no family connections. Why do you care whether I join your cause or not?"

"Ah, but you have something far more important to us than any of those things, Gordianus." Caelius tapped his skull. "You're clever! You see the world as it is. You know the ways of men. Great men and small men, you've moved among them all. Most importantly, you care about truth, and you long for justice. 'The last honest man in Rome,' as Cicero once called you. You're exactly the sort of man who will matter after everything has been turned upside down. Your day shall finally come; there's no limit to the heights to which you might aspire. You need us, Gordianus. But we need you, as well."

He spoke so earnestly-looking me in the eye, pitching his voice just so-that I felt compelled to listen. I recognized an orator's trick he had learned from Cicero-first incite fear (of Pompey, of Caesar, of Volumnius), then promise hope (freedom from debt, justice for all, my own virtues finally recognized and rewarded). He stared at me, waiting for an answer.

I took a deep breath. "We can't possibly be safe, meeting like this. At any moment, Isauricus might send men to storm this building. The two of you wouldn't stand a chance."

Milo emitted a harsh, barking noise that passed for a laugh. "Ha! Do you suppose we haven't taken precautions? This building is thoroughly guarded. You didn't notice the armed men outside and on the rooftop? Good. That means they're doing their job and staying out of sight. But I need merely to snap my fingers and in the blink of an eye you'd be twitching on the floor with your throat cut." A gleam lit his eyes.

"What about the tenants? If I overheard you, then others-"

"A friend of Caelius's owns this building. He's gradually cleared out every tenant who can't be trusted and replaced them with die-hard partisans."

"Every occupant of the building is a partisan of Caelius's?" I thought of Cassandra, trying to imagine how she fit into their scheme.

"Including the occupant standing in front of me, I hope." Caelius smiled. "What do you say, Gordianus? Are you with us? The way is hard, but the rewards will be great beyond imagining."

"What do you want from me?"

"Nothing yet. But the time will come when I shall call on your craftiness, your cunning, your honesty and wisdom-and when I do, I want to be able to rely on your loyalty without question."

"You'd trust me to simply give you my word?"

"No." He went to the cupboard against the wall and returned with a piece of parchment. "I want you to sign this."

I held it at arm's length, for the letters were small, and read:

ON THIS DATE, ONE DAY BEFORE THE NONES OF SEXTILIS IN THE YEAR OF ROME DCCVI, I PLEDGE MY LIFE AND MY FORTUNE TO THE CAUSE OF MARCUS CAELIUS RUFUS AND TITUS ANNIUS MILO. I ACCEPT THEIR AUTHORITY AND I WILL OBEY THEIR ORDERS. I REJECT THE LEGITIMACY OF THE SENATE AND THE MAGISTRATES OF ROME ELECTED UNDER ORDERS OF GAIUS JULIUS CAESAR. LIKEWISE I REJECT THE LEGITIMACY OF THOSE SENATORS AND MAGISTRATES WHO FLED FROM ROME AND FIGHT UNDER THE BANNER OF GNAEUS POMPEY MAGNUS. ALL ARE IMPOSTORS WHO BY THEIR ACTIONS HAVE CEDED ANY CLAIM TO CONSTITUTE THE LEGITIMATE GOVERNMENT OF ROME. UNDER GUIDANCE OF MARCUS CAELIUS RUFUS AND TITUS ANNIUS MILO, THE ROMAN STATE SHALL BE RECONSTITUTED IN ACCORDANCE WITH THE WILL OF THE ROMAN PEOPLE. ONLY THE GOVERNMENT ESTABLISHED BY THEM, AND NO OTHER, SHALL HAVE LEGITIMACY TO CONDUCT THE AFFAIRS OF STATE. BY MY NAME BELOW, SIGNED BESIDE THOSE OF MARCUS CAELIUS RUFUS AND TITUS ANNIUS MILO, AND BY THE IMPRESSION OF THE DEVICE ON MY CITIZEN'S RING IN THE WAX SEAL ON THIS DOCUMENT, I FREELY PLEDGE MYSELF TO THIS CAUSE AND FORSAKE ALL OTHERS.

I looked up. "You must be joking. A contract to conspire against the state? I'm not Cicero, but even I know this isn't legally binding."

"Not under the present regime, perhaps," said Caelius.

"The only possible use for such an incriminating document is black mail," I said.

"You call it black mail. We call it insurance," said Milo dryly. "If you want to leave this room, you'll sign."

"And if I refuse?"

Caelius sighed. "I'd hoped you'd sign it readily, even eagerly. Pompey wants you dead. Caesar has corrupted your son. Volumnius will make a beggar of you. Why should you not sign?"

I stared at the parchment. Would they kill me if I refused to sign? Looking at Milo, who was glaring at me balefully, I had no doubt of it. To sign meant escaping with my life. But what would happen when Caelius and Milo were destroyed and Caesar or Pompey returned to Rome? My name on such a pledge could mean the destruction, not only of myself, but of everyone close to me. Of course, in the vagaries of war, the parchment might be destroyed or lost and never seen again. And-what if…?

For a brief moment I allowed myself to think the unthinkable. What if Caelius and Milo ultimately won? In such an unlikely circumstance, by signing such a pledge I might stand to achieve a status I had never dreamed possible. From standing always on the sidelines, watching the great game at a distance, the Gordiani might find themselves at the very center of a new republic. Senator Gordianus? If that meant nothing to me, then what about my family and their future? Why should Diana not be elevated by a stroke of fortune to the rank of a Fausta or a Clodia or a Fulvia? Why should Eco's children not have the opportunity to shape the world to their liking rather than submit to the schemes of others? How else are great fortunes and great families established except by a single act of wild daring, a mad gamble?

Caelius and Milo promised wholesale revolution. Revolution inspired men without hope to think the unthinkable.

But what would it matter that Volumnius were forced to forgive my debts, if all Rome, my house included, were burned down in a wholesale conflagration? What would it matter that the Senate was emptied and its seats promised to new men like myself, if rampaging gladiators were set loose to do what they wanted with our daughters? Caelius promised a world reborn in justice, but in the end he cared only about power. His alliance with Milo and his willingness to attack Rome with gladiators proved that.

I crumpled the parchment in my fist and threw it across the room.

"I told you!" snapped Milo. "I told you he'd never sign."

Caelius sighed. He clapped his hands. I heard a noise behind me and turned to see two burly men step through the doorway. They must have been waiting just outside the room. They had the look of hired assassins.

"A couple of my fellow future senators?" I said.

Caelius stepped to the cupboard. A few moments later he returned with a cup and held it out to me. "Take it," he said.

I looked in the cup. "Wine?"

"Cheap stuff. Sorry it's not a better vintage, but the likes of Volumnius have sucked up all the good stuff. Drink, Gordianus. Swallow every drop."

I stared in the cup. "Wine… and what else?"

"Drink it!" said Milo.

Behind me the two henchmen stepped so close I could hear them breathing, one in each ear. I heard the slither of daggers drawn from scabbards. "Do what he says," one of them whispered. "Drink!"

"Either that," said the other, "or else-" I felt the prick of a dagger against my ribs, then the prick of its twin from the other direction.

Why poison me? Because a man of my years found dead without a mark on him would raise no suspicions, prompt no questions. They could leave my body in the street, and anyone would think I had died of natural causes.

Or would they carry me down the stairs and leave me in Cassandra's bed? Did she play some role in their scheme-or was she, too, a victim? What if they killed her as well, and left our bodies to be discovered together with the poison beside us? I imagined my family's shame and consternation. The cup trembled in my hand.

"Cassandra-" I said.

"Shut up and drink!" yelled Caelius. In a flash, as if he'd dropped a mask, his face changed completely. One moment he was the charming, unflappable orator, and the next, a vicious, desperate fugitive easily capable of murder or of crimes much worse. I had been afraid of Milo; it was Caelius I should have feared more.

The daggers pressed harder against my flesh. Caelius and Milo stepped closer.

"You don't want to die by daggers," growled Milo. "Think of it! The metal slicing into your flesh, pulling out, cutting into you again. The blood spurting out of you. The cold seeping into your limbs. The long, agonizing wait to die. Drink, you fool!"

He gripped my wrist and forced me to raise the cup. Wine sloshed against my lips, but I kept my mouth shut.

"Never mind the daggers. Grab his arms!" shouted Milo, taking the cup from me. The men behind me twisted my arms behind my back. Caelius pinched my jaw and forced it open. Wine poured into my mouth and down my throat. The taste was bitter. I swallowed to keep from sucking it into my lungs.

"All of it!" whispered Milo. "Every drop!" I coughed and sputtered. Wine trickled over my chin and cheeks, but most of it went into my belly. He poured until the cup was empty.

Caelius and Milo stepped back. Their henchmen released me. I staggered forward, feeling dizzy. I dropped to my knees. Caelius and Milo spun above me, going in and out of focus each time I blinked. The room became dark, as if night fell.

Their voices echoed strangely and seemed to come from a great distance. "We should have put hemlock in the wine instead of that other stuff," said Milo. "We should lop his head off, here and now."

"No!" said Caelius. "I gave her my word. I promised, and you agreed-"

"A promise made to a witch!"

"Call her that if you want, since you're not worthy to utter her name! I gave her my word, and my word still means something, Milo. Does yours?"

"Don't bait me, Caelius."

"Then don't speak of killing him!"

"It was your crazy idea to try to win him over."

"For a moment, I thought I had. The fool! No matter. By the time he wakes…"

Caelius's voice faded away. The floor rushed up to my face. The room turned black.

As if in a dream, I saw Cassandra standing on a distant horizon. Her lips formed words I could not hear. She stretched out her arms, beckoning to me even as she receded farther and farther beyond my grasp, until she vanished altogether.

I opened my eyes.

My head pounded. My body was stiff. The least movement caused me to groan. My mouth had a strange, unpleasant taste. My bladder was uncomfortably full. My stomach growled.

I lay on the hard, bare floor. I stirred and managed to sit upright. Judging from the angle of the sunlight that entered the window, no time at all had passed since I fell to the floor. Indeed, the light seemed to indicate that time had regressed by an hour or two. I blinked in befuddlement.

One of the chairs had been pushed against the wall. The other lay on its side on the floor. The cupboard doors stood open. From where I sat, I could see that its shelves had been emptied.

I stared at the pocket vase on the wall. The rose drooped. Half its petals had fallen to the floor below.

I had been unconscious for almost twenty-four hours.

I managed to stand. For a moment I thought I was all right, then I felt light-headed. I staggered and clutched the cupboard to stay upright. Oily spots swam before my eyes. The dizziness slowly passed.

I turned toward the doorway and gave a start. I was not alone in the room.

A man was lying face down on the floor just inside the doorway, before the curtain that was closed for privacy. He was a large fellow, with massive limbs and a neck like a tree trunk. From the way he was lying, with his neck unnaturally bent, I was almost certain he was dead.

Even so, I approached him cautiously, taking unsteady steps. I reached down and lifted his head by a handful of hair. I heard a sickening crack. His neck was broken.

I looked at his face. He wasn't one of the men who had held me while Caelius and Milo forced the drugged wine down my throat.

Who was he? Who had killed him and left me alive?

I stepped over the body and pushed aside the curtain. The hallway was empty. I made my way to the head of the stairs and carefully descended, taking unsteady steps. I reached the bottom, negotiated the hallway, and came to the curtain that hung over Cassandra's doorway.

I whispered her name. My voice was hoarse and feeble. I spoke her name again, louder. There was no answer.

I pushed aside the curtain. The room was completely bare. Not even the pallet remained.

I stood for a long time, feeling nothing, waiting for my head to clear. Suddenly I was desperately thirsty. I moved to the doorway. As I was stepping through, my foot struck something concealed amid the folds of the curtain. I stopped to pick it up. It was Cassandra's leather biting stick.

Had she left in great haste? Or had someone else cleared out the room? Cassandra had so few possessions, it seemed hardly possible she could have forgotten such a personal object. If she had over looked it somehow, surely she would have missed it and come back for it.

Where was Cassandra?

I left the building and walked down the street, shielding my eyes against the sunshine. I felt that sense of unreality that comes from having slept a very long time and waking at an odd hour of the day. I walked down the Street of Copper Pots, wincing at the clanging of metal against metal. I found a public toilet and emptied my bladder. I found a public fountain and splashed my face, then drank until my thirst was quenched. I was famished, but that could wait.

I took the shortest route toward my house, cutting across the Forum. Amid the formal squares and ornate temples, my sense of unreality only deepened. I seemed to be walking in a dream.

"Gordianus!"

I turned around and confronted one-armed Canininus. The rest of the chin-waggers stood in a group nearby. One by one they looked up from some heated discussion to stare at me.

"So you are alive," said Canininus, "even if you look half-dead."

Mild-mannered Manlius stepped closer, followed by the others. "Gordianus! Your family is worried sick about you. Your son-in-law and that crazy Massilian have been scouring the city for you. They say you went off somewhere on your own yesterday and never showed up for dinner. They were here not an hour ago, along with those two little mischief makers, asking if anyone's seen you. Where have you been?"

Volcatius, the old Pompeian, flashed a lecherous grin. "I'll bet I can guess. You know the old Etruscan proverb: when a man's gone missing, it's because of a miss. Am I right, Gordianus? Was she worth the trouble you'll face when you get back home?" He tittered.

"Meanwhile, you've missed the best gossip in ages," said Canininus. "Milo and Caelius were both spotted right here in the city, together, only this morning."

"It's a fact!" said Manlius. "Someone saw them heading from the Subura toward the Capena Gate with an entourage of very rough-looking fellows-some of Milo's notorious gladiators, most likely. They were posing as master and slave-"

"Caelius playing the master, of course, since he's the one with the brains," said Canininus. "As soon as they were outside the gate, they mounted horses that were waiting for them and sped like lightning toward the south. What do you make of that?"

I shrugged. "Another wild rumor?" I managed to say. Despite the water I had drunk, my mouth was as dry as chalk.

"Never mind Caelius and Milo," said Volcatius. "Gordianus never answered my question. Who was she, Gordianus? Some cheap whore in the Subura? Or one of those great ladies you occasionally call upon in your line of work? She must have put you through quite a marathon if you're just now staggering home."

I pushed past him and hurried on. I tripped on an uneven paving stone and heard laughter behind me.

"She's crippled him!" cried Volcatius. "I want to meet this Amazon."

"You needn't be rude," Manlius called after me.

"Gordianus thinks he's too good for the likes of us," said Canininus. "He never comes around anymore. When we do see him, he goes stalking off in a huff like a…"

His voice receded behind me. I walked as fast as I could, heading for the steep pathway at the far side of the Forum that would take me home. Inside the folds of my tunic, I clutched Cassandra's biting stick.

"Where in Hades have you been?"

The tone-frantic, furious, and relieved all at once, implicitly warning me never to do such a thing again-reminded me of Bethesda. How many times over the years had I heard that precise tone when I returned home from some scrape I had gotten myself into? But it wasn't Bethesda who rushed up to me in the foyer, looking fit to be tied. It was Diana.

I told my daughter the truth-or part of it. That I had met unexpectedly (for me, if not for them) with Milo and Caelius in the Subura on the previous day, that they had put forward a proposition that I refused, that they had forced me to swallow a soporific of some sort, that I had only just awakened and had made my way straight home.

"What were you doing in the Subura in the first place?" asked Diana, frowning. "How is it that Milo and Caelius were able to find you? Did they have you followed, or did they just happen to come upon you? What sort of drug did they give you?" Diana had inherited my own inquisitive nature, but she had yet to master the rules of a successful interrogation. Ask too many questions at once and you invite the overwhelmed subject to shrug helplessly and give no answer. That was exactly what I did.

"Everyone in the household is out looking for you," she said. "Davus is down at the fish market. Hieronymus is at the Senian Baths. I sent Mopsus and Androcles over to Eco's house to find out if he'd turned up anything. We've all been mad with worry."

"What about your mother? This must have been especially hard on her."

Diana sighed. "I managed to keep it from her. She didn't come out of her room even once yesterday, so she didn't see the rest of us all flustered and in a panic when you didn't show up for dinner. But she did ask for you later, and I had to make up something on the spot-a lie about you spending the night away from the city because an old client needed to tap your memory about a trial from years ago. I don't think I could have fooled her if she wasn't so unwell. As it was, she just nodded and turned her face away and pulled the coverlet around her neck. How can she be cold when the weather's so hot? But at least she didn't realize you were missing, so she didn't have that worry to add to her illness."

"How is she today?"

"Better, I suppose, because she's determined to go out. A little while ago she sent for one of the slave girls to come help her dress. She says she wants to go to the market. She says she's thought of something that might make her better-radishes. She says she must have radishes."

A few moments later, Davus arrived home. He was so glad to see me, he let out a roar and lifted me high in the air, squeezing the breath out of me. Diana shushed him and told him to put me down at once because Bethesda was coming and mustn't see him making such a fuss. Davus obediently put me down, but couldn't stop grinning at me.

Bethesda stepped into the room. Dressed in a freshly laundered stola, with her hair combed and pinned, she looked slightly pale but better than I had seen her in quite some time. She gave Davus a sidelong look but said nothing and shook her head ruefully, no doubt wondering once again how her daughter had come to marry such a grinning simpleton.

"Radishes!" she announced. Her voice was hoarse, but surprisingly strong.

And so we made our way-slowly, to accommodate Bethesda-down to the market, in search of the latest commodity Bethesda imagined might provide a cure for her malaise.

We walked from vendor to vendor, searching in vain for a radish that would satisfy Bethesda's discriminating gaze. I suggested that Bethesda might look for carrots instead. She insisted that the soup she had in mind would allow no substitutions.

At last Bethesda cried, "Eureka!" Sure enough, she held in her hands a truly admirable bunch of radishes-firm and red, with crisp, green leaves and long, trailing roots.

The price the vendor named was exorbitant.

"Perhaps I could manage with just two radishes," said Bethesda. "Or perhaps only one. Yes, one would do, I'm sure. I imagine we can afford one, can't we, Husband?"

I looked into her brown eyes and felt a pang of guilt, thinking of Bethesda's suffering, thinking of Cassandra…

"I shall buy you more than one radish, Wife. I shall buy you the whole bunch of them. Davus, you're carrying the money bag. Hand it to Diana so that she can pay the man."

"Papa, are you sure?" said Diana. "It's so much."

"Of course I'm sure. Pay the scoundrel!"

The vendor was ecstatic. Bethesda, clutching the radishes to her breast, gave me a look to melt my heart. Then a shadow crossed her face, and I knew that she suddenly felt unwell. I touched her arm. "Shall we go home now, Wife?"

Just then, there was a commotion from another part of the market. A man yelled. A woman shrieked: "It's her! The madwoman!"

I turned about to see Cassandra staggering toward me. Her blue tunica was torn at the neck and pulled awry, her golden hair wild and unkempt. There was a crazed expression on her face, and in her eyes, a look of utter panic.

She ran to me, reaching forward, her gait uneven. "Gordianus, help me!" She fell into my arms and dropped to her knees, pulling me down with her.

"Cassandra!" I gasped. I lowered my voice to a whisper. "If this is some pretense-"

She clutched my arms and cried out. Her body convulsed.

Diana knelt beside me. "Papa, what's wrong with her?"

"I don't know."

"It's the god in her," said Bethesda. "The same god that compels her prophecies must be tearing her apart inside."

A crowd gathered. "Draw back, all of you!" I shouted. Cassandra clutched at me again, but her grip was weakening. Her eyelids flickered and drooped.

"Cassandra, what's wrong? What's happened?" I whispered.

"Poison," she said. "She's poisoned me!"

"Who? What did she give you?" Our faces were so close that I felt her shallow breath on my lips. Her eyes seemed huge, her blue irises eclipsed by the enormous blackness of her pupils.

"Something-in the drink…" Cassandra said.

A moment later, she was dead.