The Venus Throw

Chapter Sixteen

Chrysis fretted all the way back to Clodia's house. She insisted that I come along to explain what had happened. I think she was afraid to break the bad news to her mistress alone. The litter bearers turned down the little cul-de-sac, with the bodyguards and Belbo following behind, and deposited us in front of the house. Belbo and I waited on the red and black tiled doorstep, looking up at the towering cypress trees on either side while Chrysis rapped on the door and then clutched my hand to draw me inside. Belbo followed.

"What do you mean, she's not here?" I heard her say to the slave who opened the door.

"She's gone off," said the old man. "I don't know where."

"For what? For how long?"

He shrugged. "Nobody tells me anything. But-" "Surely she didn't decide to go down to the Senian baths herself," mumbled Chrysis, nipping at a fingernail. "No, she would have seen me. Unless we passed each other on the way. Oh, Attis!" Chrysis made a little yelp of frustration. "Wait here," she called to me as she disappeared down a hallway. "Or in the garden," she added, waving vaguely toward the center of the house.

While Belbo stayed in the foyer, I walked through the atrium beyond, down a wide hallway, through a colonnaded archway and finally down a short flight of steps into the open air and sunlight. The garden was square, surrounded by a covered portico. There was a low platform at the opposite end, which appeared to be a stage, for behind it was a wall painted with a jumbled cityscape, like a theatrical backdrop. In front of the platform there was a small lawn with room for several rows of chairs. At each of the four corners of the garden were cypress trees taller than the roof. In the center of the garden was a small fountain with a statue of a naked Adonis. Bronze fish beneath his feet emptied water into the pool from their gaping mouths. I walked closer to have a look at the mosaics that lined the bottom. Beneath the splashing water the images of dolphins and octopi quivered against a shimmering field of blue.

The Adonis was captured in the act of kneeling-knees bent, upraised palms extended, his face turned upward with a radiant expression. It was obvious to whom he was showing obeisance, for on the stairway which I had just descended, atop a high pedestal looking out over the whole garden, was an enormous bronze statue of Venus, even more magnificent and more opulently detailed than the one which decorated Clodia's horti on the Tiber. The goddess was naked above the waist; the folds of cloth gathered about her hips seemed frozen in the act of fluttering to the ground. The curves of her body were sumptuous, and the painted bronze gave the illusion of pliant flesh, but the size of the statue was out of scale, disconcertingly large, more intimidating than beautiful. Her hands were captured in gestures of eloquent tenderness, more motherly than erotic, but this was at odds with her face, which was strangely impassive, severe in its beauty. Her unblinking lapis lazuli eyes stared down at me.

As I stood before the fountain, studying the Venus from Adonis's point of view, I began to notice the echoing sounds of chanting and music from somewhere nearby, rising and falling and obscured by the splashing of the fountain, but now growing abruptly louder and faster. I heard the piping of flutes, the rattling of tambourines and the jangling of bells, along with a strange ululation that was nothing like normal singing. I thought I heard words, but the splashing fountain kept me from making them out. The music grew louder, the tempo accelerated. I stared at the face of Venus. The longer I looked into her lapis lazuli eyes the more it seemed as if the statue might actually move or speak. She blinked-or I blinked-and I felt a sudden tremor of apprehension. I was not alone.

But it was not the goddess who had joined me. The voice behind me was decidedly masculine. "They're at it again!"

I turned around to see a man on the low stage, dressed in a toga. He had been naked the last time I saw him.

"Every year it's the same." Clodius shrugged and made a face. "If

I were Clodia, I'd complain, but I suppose my dear sister is too fascinated by the galli to want to stop their fun. And it is only once a year." "What's only once a year?"

"The Great Mother festival, of course. The Temple of Cybele is just over there," Clodius said, pointing behind him. "The House of the Galli is right beside it. For days before the festival they practice, practice, practice. It all sounds hopelessly wild and discordant to a Roman ear, doesn't it? And the singing-hardly better than screaming. But then, I'd scream too if they'd cut my balls off." He hopped off the stage onto the lawn and sauntered toward me. "You know, it's absurd, but I've forgotten your name."

"Gordianus."

"Oh yes. Clodia's new man, the one to get the goods on Marcus Caelius. Been busy?" "Busy enough."

"Clodia's not here at the moment. Some errand or other. The door slave should have told you. He's getting old."

"He did say something, actually. But Chrysis suggested I wait here."

"I see. Oh, that's right, today was to be the little drama down at the Senian baths. How did it go?"

"That's why I came. To tell Clodia."

He stared at me with green eyes uncannily like those of his sister. "And? What happened?" When I hesitated, he scowled, which made his face impossible to read. Was he feigning boyish petulance, or showing genuine anger? The scowl did nothing to spoil his good looks; it merely rearranged them. "Oh, I see," he said. "You're here to report to Clodia, not to me. She said you were the loyal type. Rare enough in Rome these days. But my sister and I have no secrets from each other. No secrets at all. And I should hope you have nothing to hide from me, Gordianus. I've certainly hidden nothing from you." He gave me a knowing look. When I said nothing, he laughed. "That's a joke. About what I was wearing the day we met." He shook his head. "She also said that you have no sense of humor."

"You seem to have discussed me at length."

"My sister likes to get my opinion of the men she's dealing with. She could use some advice! Clodia hasn't always exercised the best judgment, choosing whom to trust. As in the case of Marcus Caelius, which brings us back to the Senian baths. How did it go? Here, we'll sit on the bench in the shade, and if we're lucky Chrysis will come walking by and I'll send her for some wine."

As we sat I noticed that another man had stepped onto the stage, a giant whose face glinted like a broken shard of ebony in the sunlight. He leaned against the painted wall with his arms crossed, watching us from a distance. He was incredibly ugly, with a bullish neck and enormous arms. Beside him Belbo would have looked like a child. He curled his upper lip in a snarl that made my blood turn cold.

Clodius saw my reaction and glanced over his shoulder. "That's the Ethiop. Clodia gave him to me last year. Goes everywhere I go. Keeps an eye on me. The loyal type, like you. A couple of months ago, one of Milo's men came up to me in the Forum and waved a knife at me. He never saw the Ethiop coming-don't let his size fool you, he's fast as lightning. The Ethiop grabbed the fellow from behind and broke both of his arms, just like that." Clodius snapped his fingers twice. "No one's threatened me in the Forum ever since. But don't worry, he's completely harmless to my friends. Oh, that noise! If those galli aren't mad already, they'll surely drive each other crazy by nightfall. Can you imagine being in the same room with them? What sort of goddess would want to go into a temple with such a racket going on? Now, about the baths…"

I told Clodius about the farce I had witnessed. He listened in silence, making expressions of disgust and amusement. "So Licinius got clean away?" he finally said.

"Yes."

"And the pyxis with him?" "I'm afraid so."

He sneered. "I wish I'd been there. I'd have grabbed Licinius by the balls and squeezed until he croaked out everything he knew. Then I'd have stuffed the poison down his throat, pyxis and all. Hung the corpse up by the heels and dragged it into the trial that way-an exhibit for the prosecution! You want evidence, Cicero? Here's our evidence!"

Up on the stage, the Ethiop heard the anger in his master's voice and looked at me as if mulling over which arm to break. I shifted uneasily on the bench.

"I suppose your sister will be quite displeased."

Clodius's demeanor changed in the blink of an eye. He laughed. "Don't count on it. She adores a bit of drama, you know. Loves comedy even more. Well, just look at what she's done to this garden. Made it into her private theater so she can bring in mimes from Egypt to amuse her friends, and host recitals for whatever poet has caught her eye lately. No, once Clodia has thrown a priceless vase or two across the room and given a few slaves a good beating, I think she'll see the humor in it. Well, look who's here-and just when my throat was getting dry."

Chrysis appeared at the top of the steps, beneath the Venus. When she saw us she began to turn back, but Clodius clapped his hands and waved her over.

"Chrysis, darling, bring us some honeyed wine-I'm in the mood for something sweet. And perhaps some dates. And some of those little seed cakes that Clodia's cook always keeps in the kitchen. Will that suit you, Gordianus?"

I nodded.

"Will that be all?" said Chrysis, lowering her eyes. Clodius growled. "Don't tease me, little one."

"I don't intend to tease you," said Chrysis, keeping her head bowed.

"Harpy! Go on and fetch the wine, before I grab you and ravish you right here, in front of the guest. Or better yet, I'll put the Ethiop to the job and Gordianus and I will watch while the two of you make a baby up on the stage." Chrysis turned pale and quickly departed. "So young," Clodius murmured, gazing after her. "That auburn hair, that pale flesh. Delicious-I should like to pour honeyed wine all over her and lick it up. But Clodia forbids it. Won't let me touch the girl. I suppose she thinks it would spoil her. Or maybe Chrysis is in love with another of the slaves; Clodia is sentimental that way. Anyway, I keep my hands to myself. My sister and I always respect one another's property."

I noticed that the chanting of the galli had stopped for a moment. Suddenly it started up again with shrill piping and a clashing of cymbals. Clodius made a face. "Well, I suppose we can somehow work around the loss of the pyxis," he said, gazing abstractedly at the statue of Adonis. "This crazy attempt to poison Clodia is just further corroboration of the charge that Caelius tried to do the same to Dio at Lucceius's house. He used Clodia's money to buy the poison and bribe Lucceius's slaves, she came to suspect him, and now he's trying to stop her from telling what she knows by poisoning her. A reckless, desperate man-that's the picture we'll paint for the judges. Clodia says you've tracked down some slaves that Lucceius has hidden away in a mine somewhere."

"Perhaps."

"Didn't she give you some silver, in case you're able to find these slaves and buy them?"

"That was mentioned," I said uneasily. "It may not yield anything worthwhile."

"It had better. We need stronger evidence. It's our job, you see, Clodia's and mine, to get the goods on Caelius concerning the poison attempt on Dio. Others are concentrating on the crimes Caelius perpetrated against the Egyptians on their way up to Rome. Let's hope they've come up with something stronger. Witnesses! That's what we need. Credible witnesses-we could walk through the Forum right now and find ten men who'd swear to Caelius's guilt, but they'd be about as reputable as a drunken general; bad witnesses merely water down a good oration. The strongest thing in our favor is the thought that's on every, one's mind: if Marcus Caelius didn't murder Dio, who did?" "I've been pondering that myself."

"We don't want the judges to ponder too much. They might come up with someone else!" Clodius smirked.

"You don't believe Caelius is guilty?"

"Of course I do," he said sharply. "You really don't have a sense of humor, do you?"

"How is it that you're both involved in this affair, you and your sister?"

"We each have reasons to want to see Marcus Caelius get what he deserves. As do you." "I?"

"Caelius murdered your old teacher. Isn't that why you're here? Your reason is personal, like Clodia's. Mine is political. Each has his own incentive. What do the judges care?"

I nodded. "What I mean is, do you and your sister do everything together?" The double meaning struck me as soon as I spoke, which was too late to call back the words.

"I believe that our wine and seed cakes have arrived," said Clodius.

Chrysis descended the steps bearing a tray, followed by another slave who carried a folding table. While they set the food and drink before us, the chanting from the House of the Galli stopped for a moment, then resumed at a different pitch and tempo. The priests were singing a new song, if indeed the keening noises constituted a song.

Clodius sipped from his cup and looked thoughtful. "I never drink honeyed wine without thinking of the bad old days."

"The bad old days?" Clodia had used a similar phrase.

"After Papa died. The lean years. We were expecting him to come home from Macedonia with wagons full of gold, and instead he left us saddled with debts. Well, that sort of crisis can happen even in the best families. A good thing in the end: it sharpened our wits. You do what you must. You prove to yourself that you can get by on your own, and you're never afraid of the world again. It made us closer; we learned we could depend on each other. Clodia was the oldest, and the keenest. Like a mother to the rest of us."

"You already had a mother."

"Clodia was closer than a mother. At least to me she was." He gazed into his cup. "But I was talking about the honeyed wine. We were poor, you know, but the dinner parties never stopped. That was our investment in the future, those dinner parties. My sisters needed hus-bands. My older brothers needed to launch their careers. And so the dinner parties, every night. For the guests, honeyed wine. But not for us. Into our cups the slaves would secretly pour the cheapest wine. We drank it with a smile. The guests were fooled, and never knew that we couldn't afford honeyed wine for everyone. That was excellent training for a career in the Forum, learning to put on a pleasant face even when something disagreeable is going down your throat."

He put the cup to his lips and drank. I did the same. "The wine is excellent," I said. "But if your sister isn't here, there's really no reason for me to stay."

He shrugged. "She may come back at any moment."

"Where is she?"

"Probably gone to her horti, or off to visit someone. She took Metella with her."

"Her daughter?" It seemed hard to imagine Clodia as a mother, or to imagine what her daughter would be like.

"My dear niece. Willful, like her mother. But also beautiful, like her mother. And she adores her uncle."

"Like her mother does?"

He took a bit of seed cake. "Perhaps not quite that much. Dam-nation, they've started singing again!"

"I think I'm getting used to it," I said. "There's one phrase they keep repeating that's rather pretty. There, that's it." The music floated above our heads.

Clodius laughed and shook his head. "Watch out, or the next thing you know you'll have a strange urge to run off to Phrygia to have your balls lopped off." He poured himself another cup and insisted on pouring another for me.

The wine spread through me with a delicious warmth. "As long as I'm here, there is something I should ask you," I said. "Go on."

"A few days ago I was out after dark and noticed someone following me. I think I spotted the same man outside my house last night, and today he spoke to me at the baths. I'd decided he was one of Clodia's men, but then found I was mistaken. Would you know anything about it?"

"About a man following you? No."

"You seem to be rather protective of your sister. I thought per-haps-"

"That I'd have you followed, to investigate my sister's hireling? Don't be ridiculous. I offer Clodia advice when she asks for it, but she deals with whomever she chooses. I have no control over her associates, friends or lovers. What did this fellow look like?"

"Young — not quite thirty, I'd say. Medium height. Slender, dark. A scraggly beard, but he's just back from a trip; maybe he was at the baths to have it shaved. Good-looking, in a hungry sort of way. His eyes-there's something sad about them, almost tragic. But today at the baths he seemed anything but sad. Sharp-tongued."

Clodius looked at me curiously. "Did he tell you his name?"

"No, but I overheard someone call him-"

"Catullus," said Clodius.

"How did you know?"

"There's only one: Gaius Valerius Catullus. So he's back already?"

"His friend at the baths said something about him returning early from a government post out East."

"I knew he'd hate it. Catullus loves Rome too much. Those country boys always do, once they've gotten a taste of the big city."

"He wasn't born in Rome?"

"Hardly. From some backwater up north; Verona, I think. Clodia met him the year Quintus was governor of Cisalpine Gaul and they were stuck up there."

"Then there is a connection between Clodia and this man Catul-lus?"

"There used to be. That was finished before Catullus left Rome last spring. Finished on Clodia's side, anyway. You think he was following you?"

"Yes. Any idea why?"

Clodius shook his head. "He's a strange one. Hard to make out. No interest in politics; thinks he's a poet. Clodia thought so too; half of his poems were about her. Women love that sort of crap, especially from fools like Catullus. The sort who bleeds from love; a walking hemorrhage, and bitter about it too. I remember him reciting from this very stage one summer night, standing where the Ethiop is standing now, with the beautiful young poets and their starry-eyed admirers gathered around, crickets chirping, moon above. He'd lull them with words like honey, then stir the pot and show them the worms at the bottom. Self-righteous, foul-mouthed, long-suffering. He even made one about me."

"A poem?"

Clodius's jaw tightened. "Not much better than the doggerel Milo's gang comes up with, and considerably nastier. So he's back? Clodia will hear from him soon enough, I imagine. If you catch him following you again, my advice is to give him a good blow to the jaw. He's no fighter. His tongue is his weapon. Good for making insults and poems, and not for much else, according to my-according to those who have reason to know. Look, this little bit of food has only made me hungrier, and the sun's getting low. I'm not leaving until I see Clodia. Stay and have a proper dinner with me." I hesitated.

"I told you, she may show up at any moment. She'll want to know exactly what happened at the baths, from your lips. If I try to tell her, I'll either get angry and choke or else laugh in all the wrong places."

Slaves came to clear away the wine and cakes. I asked one of them to fetch Belbo from the foyer. He came lumbering down the steps, peering up at the monstrous statue of Venus with a proper expression of awe. Then he spotted the Ethiop across the way. The two of them flexed their shoulders, dilated their nostrils and exchanged suspicious glances.

"Yes, Master?"

"Take a message to Bethesda," I told him. "Tell her I'll be dining elsewhere tonight." "Here, Master?"

"Yes, here, at Clodia's house." I winced, realizing how it would sound to Bethesda. If she only knew that I was dining alone with another man to the sound of singing eunuchs, with a giant Ethiop playing chaperon!

"And then shall I come back, Master?"

Before I could answer, Clodius raised his hand. "No need, Gordianus. I'll see that you get home safely."

He gave me a cool look, challenging me to show distrust. I shrugged and nodded. "No need to come back afterward, Belbo," I said. "I'll find my way home."

Belbo cast a final suspicious glance at the Ethiop, then turned, craning his neck to take in the full, frightful splendor of the Venus as he walked up the steps.

Twilight fell. With a mad crescendo of tambourines and shrill piping, the chanting of the galli abruptly ceased. A serene silence followed.

"Well," said Clodius, "I suppose even eunuchs have to eat. It's a warm night. Now that the racket's over, shall we stay in the garden to eat?"

Couches were brought, along with lamps. The dinner was simple but exquisite. Clodia's pleasures apparently included those to be had from owning a fine cook. It was a meal to be eaten slowly and savored, accompanied by leisurely conversation.

"The galli!" said Clodius, sipping noisily at his fish soup. "What do you know about the cult of Cybele, Gordianus?"

"Not a lot. I sometimes see the galli in the streets on the days of the year when they're allowed to go begging in public. I've heard the invocations to Cybele at the Great Mother festival. And of course I've met your sister's friend Trygonion. But I've never heard anything like the music I heard here this afternoon."

"The cult has been in Rome a long time, yet most people don't know much about it. It's an interesting story, how Cybele first came to Rome."

The wine and food had put me at ease. I was almost able to forget the glowering presence of the Ethiop, who stood cross-armed on the stage and watched us eat. "Tell me."

"It happened back in the days when Hannibal was rampaging through Italy, and no one could drive him out. The College of Fifteen Priests consulted the Sibylline Books, and found an oracle: if an invader should take root in Italy, the only way to expel him would be to bring the Great Mother goddess to Rome from her shrine in Phrygia. At that time King Attalus ruled Phrygia, and happened to be our ally. Still, the goddess herself had to be consulted. When her Phrygian priests put the question to her, she shook the earth and told them, 'Let me go! Rome is a worthy place for any deity!' So King Attalus agreed to make a gift of the statue of Cybele, along with the great black rock which fell from the sky at the dawn of time and first inspired men to worship her."

"How do you know all this?" I said.

"Gordianus, you impious man. Don't you know that I'm a member of the College of Priests? I'm privileged to look at the Sibylline Books. I sit on the committee that regulates the galli and the worship of the Great Mother. Which is fitting, since there's a family connection going all the way back to Cybele's arrival in Rome."

"You mean the tale of Claudia Quinta," I said.

"You know the story?"

"Only vaguely, and never as told by one of the great woman's descendants."

Clodius smiled. "The ship bearing the sky-stone and the statue of Cybele arrived at the mouth of the Tiber and sailed inland to Rome, attended by great crowds along the riverbank. But when the ship pulled alongside the dock to unload its divine cargo, it sprang a leak and began to founder. The dignitaries on the dock were thrown into a panic. Just imagine: a group of politicians out for a day of impressing the masses suddenly find themselves in the midst of a catastrophic omen-the Mother Goddess sent to save Rome from Hannibal is about to sink into the Tiber! More honeyed wine?" "Not for me."

"A bit more, surely." He gestured to one of the slaves to fill my cup- "Anyway, it was my ancestress Claudia Quinta who saved the day. Only the purest virgins and most upstanding wives were allowed to wel-come the Great Mother to Rome, and there had apparently been some grumbling about letting Claudia Quinta take part in the ceremony. Some-thing about her loose morals and the bad company she kept-does this sound like someone we know? But that day she was vindicated. She stepped forward and seized the mooring rope, and miraculously the ship began to rise again. Thus Cybele showed her divine approval of Claudia Quinta. The pious say this proved her purity. Of course, when you actually picture the scene-a woman reaching out and grasping a slick rope, the big boat bobbing up like a swollen wineskin-well, Claudia Quinta must have had an amazingly skillful touch.

"The mud-spattered sky-stone and the statue were unloaded from the ship and cleaned up-the ritual bathing of the statue is still a part of the annual festival. The Temple of Cybele was built here on the Palatine and dedicated with great ceremony, with Claudia Quinta as the guest of honor. Just as the oracle had promised, Hannibal was driven from Italy. And today, generations later, we have to put up with the singing of the galli here in Clodia's garden!

"What must they have thought, our staid, dour ancestors, when they got their first look at the Phrygian priests who arrived with Cybele, with their outlandish costumes and jewelry, their long bleached hair and high, lisping voices? Or when they saw how the priests worshiped Cybele, with whirling dances and wild frenzies, and secret ceremonies in the middle of the night? Or when they learned that the consort of the Great Mother was a beautiful, castrated youth called Attis? Not the kind of consort to give a female much pleasure, I should think. Perhaps Cybele prefers a woman with a skilled hand, like Claudia Quinta. I prefer Venus myself. There's no ambiguity about what Venus wants from Adonis, is there?" He gazed up at the towering statue. "When they got a taste of what the Great Mother's cult was really like, our stern, stiff-jawed ancestors must have felt rather queasy.

"But then, Rome has a way of gobbling up anything that lands on her plate and shitting it out as something acceptably Roman-art, cus-toms, habits, even gods and goddesses. That is Rome's genius, to conquer the world and adapt it to her convenience. The cult of Cybele was simply cleaned up for popular consumption. The Great Mother festival is just like every other festival, with plays and chariot races and animal shows in the Circus Maximus. None of those inscrutable rites that Cybele's followers practice in the East-ecstatic riots by worshipers in the streets, all-night vigils of men and women together in the temple, the chosen faithful crawling through tunnels that drip blood. We Romans don't care much for that sort of thing, whatever the religious pretext. And no mention, ever, of Attis! We'd rather not think about the castrated lover. So the official celebration of Cybele became another chance for state priests and politicians to put on plays and circuses for the people. Of course, what the galli and their inner circle of worshipers do behind closed doors is another matter… Oh, I don't believe it!"

With a shiver of tambourines, the music had recommenced.

"They must have finished their dinner and now they're at it again," said Clodius glumly. "Do you suppose they eat like normal men?"

"Trygonion showed a hearty appetite the night he ate at my house."

"When was that?"

"When he came with Dio, asking for my help. The night of the murder."

"Ah, yes. When he talked the poor old man into playing dress-up with him. Clodia told me about it. Dio, going out in a stola-it's too painful for me to imagine. That's Trygonion, longing to be something he's not and pulling others into his fantasy world."

"The gallus seems to have a curious relationship with your sister."

Clodius smirked. "Another example of Clodia's questionable judgment. Like Catullus, like Marcus Caelius."

"You're not saying that she and Trygonion…?"

"Don't be stupid. But in some ways he's no different from the men who've come and gone in this house with their balls intact: they all let Clodia treat them like slaves-for a while, anyway. We haven't seen much of Trygonion lately. He's busy preparing for the festival with the other galli. That might be him we hear now, blowing on his flute." He frowned. "You don't suppose Clodia could be over at the House of Galli, concocting some sort of entertainment for her party?"

"Her party?"

"Clodia always throws a party on the eve of the Great Mother festival. It's the first social event of the spring. Three nights from now." "But that's the opening day of the trial."

"Purely by coincidence. One more reason to celebrate, if all goes well. This garden will be full of people, and up on the stage-well, every year Clodia has to outdo herself. Maybe this year Trygonion will play his instrument for us." He laughed crudely.

"I won't be able to come. I got myself elected aedile this year, so I'm in charge of overseeing the official events of the festival-too busy for pleasure. I'll probably have to miss the trial as well. Too bad. I should like to watch Caelius squirm. I love a good trial." His green eyes glittered. In the lamplight he looked uncannily like his sister. "I even enjoyed my own trial. You remember that, don't you, Gordianus?"

"I wasn't there," I said cautiously. "But I think that everyone re-members the Good Goddess affair."

He drank deeply of the honeyed wine. "From that ordeal I learned three things. First, never trust Cicero to back you up. Stab you in the back, more likely! Second, when bribing a jury, account for a comfortable margin of victory. You'll sleep better the night before. I did."

"And third?"

"Think twice before putting on women's clothing, for whatever reason. It did me no good at all."

"It did Dio no good either," I said.

Clodius made a dry little laugh. "Perhaps you have a sense of humor after all."

The older I get, the more easily I fall asleep without meaning to.

At the end of our meal Clodius got up, saying he had to relieve himself. I relaxed and closed my eyes, listening to the chanting of the galli. The pleasing phrase I had heard before recurred, and I followed it along until it seemed that I was floating on the strange music, rising above Clodia's garden, levitating face to face with the monstrous Venus, then flying even higher. Rome was a toy city beneath me, moonlit, her temples made of little blocks. The music rose and fell, and I was carried along like a bubble on a wave, like a feather in a mist, until someone whispered in my ear: "If Marcus Caelius didn't murder Dio, who did?"

I woke with a start. The voice had been so clear, so close, that I was puzzled to find myself alone. The lamps had died. The sky above was spangled with stars. The garden was dark and quiet, except for the soft splashing of the fountain. Someone had put a blanket over me.

The blanket smelled of Clodia's perfume.

Too much honeyed wine, I thought. Too much rich food. Yet I felt clear-headed and refreshed. How long had I slept?

I pushed away the blanket. The night was too warm for it. I stood, stretched my arms and looked around, still not quite certain I was alone. But there was no one in the garden, except for the suppliant Adonis and the towering Venus, huge and black in silhouette. Her eyes glittered dully in the starlight. Again I had the unnerving feeling that the statue was about to come to life. I shivered and was suddenly eager to leave the garden.

At the top of the steps 1 paused to quietly call out-"Clodius? Clodia? Chrysis?" — but no one answered. The house was absolutely still. I might have been in an empty temple, shut up for the night. I walked through the hallway and the atrium, into the foyer. Surely there would be a slave at the door, perhaps the same old man who had let us in that afternoon.

But the slave at the door was Barnabas, fast asleep. He sat on the floor, leaning against the wall, his head tilted back so that by the faint starlight which seeped in from the atrium I could see his face with its joined eyebrows. There was something gathered about him on the floor, a puzzling shape which I slowly realized was the body of Chrysis, asleep with her head nestled on his lap. In the utter stillness I could hear their quiet breathing.

Clodius had promised to see me safely home, which I took to mean an escort. It was only reasonable that I should wake Chrysis or Barnabas and tell them what I needed. But their repose was so perfect that I feared to move, not wanting to disturb them.

A hand touched my shoulder. I turned and stared into the darkness. The Ethiop was so dark that for a moment I couldn't see him at all.

"My master said I was to take care of you if you woke up," he said, with an accent I could barely understand.

"Clodius is still here?"

The giant nodded.

"And Clodia?"

"She came, while you slept."

"Perhaps I should see her before I leave."

"They've gone to bed."

"Are they asleep?"

"What difference does that make?" By the faint light, I couldn't tell whether the giant was grinning down at me or gritting his teeth. The garlic on his breath was overpowering. Gladiators and strong-armers eat it raw to give themselves strength.

He unbolted the door and swung it open, letting it bang against the sleeping figures on the floor with a smirk of disdain. Chrysis let out a sleepy whimper. Barnabas grunted. "Poor excuse for a door slave," the Ethiop sneered. "She's too soft on her slaves. Well, go on. I'll be right behind you."

"No," I said. "I'll go alone." The man made me uneasy.

The Ethiop crossed his arms and looked at me grimly. "The master gave me specific orders."

"I'll see myself home," I said. It was suddenly a battle of wills.

At last the Ethiop made a face of disgust and shrugged his brawny shoulders. "Suit yourself," he said and closed the door on me.

It was such a short way to my house, and the night was so silent and so deep, surely there was nothing to fear.