The Venus Throw

Chapter Four

Best to begin at the beginning," sighed Dio, "insofar as that's possible with such a twisted tale. You know something of the story already — " "Refresh my memory," I said. "Very well. All my life, Alexandria has been in constant political upheaval. The members of the royal Ptolemy clan wage unending warfare against each other. For the people of Alexandria, this has meant bloody massacres and crushing taxes. Time and again the people have risen up to drive ruler after ruler out of the capital. One Ptolemy goes into exile, another takes his place-I won't recite the list. Whoever is winning occupies Alexandria, with its great granaries and royal treasury. Whoever is losing flees to Cyprus and plots his return. Fortunes reverse and the rulers change places, while the people endure. I forget which Ptolemy was on the throne when you were in Alexandria, Gordianus-"

"Alexander, I believe."

"Yes, that's right; a couple of years later he was chased out of the city by an angry mob and died in suspicious circumstances. Then Alexander's brother Soter took the throne. Eight years later Soter died, leaving no legitimate sons. That was twenty-four years ago."

Dio put his fingertips together. "The only legitimate male heir of Ptolemaic blood was Soter's nephew, named Alexander like his father. He happened to be residing here in Rome at the time of Soter's death, under the dictator Sulla's protection; this is where Rome first enters the story. Backed by Roman diplomacy-and by funds borrowed from Roman bankers-Alexander II returned to Egypt to claim the throne. To do so he had to marry his aunt, Soter's widow, because she refused to step down as queen. Marry her he did-and summarily murdered her. The queen had been well liked. Her death ignited the fury of the mob."

"The same mob which rioted over the death of a cat?" Trygonion sniffed. "I shudder to imagine what they did over the murder of a popular queen!

"You anticipate the story," said Dio, slipping into his lecturing voice. "Alexander II then announced a rise in taxes so that he could repay his Roman backers. That was the final spark. Nineteen days after he ascended the throne, the new king was dragged from the royal palace and murdered by the mob. They tore him limb from limb."

It was tales such as this which Romans like to cite to make themselves feel proud of the relative civility of our republic. As a young man I had admired the Alexandrians' passion for politics, though I could never accustom myself to their propensity for sudden, extreme violence. Alexandrian healers peddle a poultice with the Egyptian name "cure-for-a-human-bite-which-draws-blood," and most households keep a sup-ply on hand-a fact which says much about the Alexandrians.

"Now we come to the beginnings of the current crisis-the Egyptian situation, as you call it, Gordianus. After the brief and inglorious reign of their cousin Alexander II, two of Soter's bastards came forward to press their claim for the throne."

"Brave men!" quipped Trygonion.

"One bastard took Cyprus. The other took Egypt, and has since reigned for twenty years-proof that a man can keep himself on a throne without possessing a single kingly virtue. His full name in the Greek" — Dio took an orator's breath- "is Ptolemaios Theos Philopator Philadelphos Neos Dionysos."

"Ptolemy, God: Father-Lover, Brother-Lover, the New Dionysus," I translated.

Dio curled his lip. "In Alexandria, we simply call him Ptolemy Auletes-the Flute-Player."

"The Piper!" Trygonion laughed.

"Yes, King Ptolemy the Piper," said Dio grimly, "whose only known accomplishment is his skill on the flute, which he loves to play day and night, sober or drunk. He stages choruses in the royal palace and plays the accompaniment. He debuts his own compositions at diplomatic dinners. He organizes contests and pits his talent against common musicians. How did Egypt ever deserve such a ruler? He epitomizes and exaggerates all the baser qualities of his decrepit line-indolent, self-indulgent, luxury-loving, licentious, lazy… "

"He should have been a gallus rather than a king," laughed Trygonion.

Dio looked at him sidelong. "I am compelled to agree with you."

"I remember something Cicero said about him in a speech," I said. " 'Nearly everyone agrees that the man who occupies the throne of Egypt today neither by birth nor in spirit is like a king.' And there are those who say the Piper's reign is illegitimate and always has been, because of a will that was made by his unfortunate predecessor."

"Ah, yes, and there you put your finger upon the heart of the matter," said Dio. "Shortly after the death of Alexander II at the hands of the mob, from the very start of King Ptolemy's reign, a rumor began to circulate to the effect that Alexander II had left a will, bequeathing all of Egypt to the Senate and people of Rome."

Trygonion raised his eyebrows. "A splendid prize! The granaries! The treasure house! The crocodiles! But surely no one could believe such a tale. Such generosity is preposterous."

Dio sighed, exasperated. "You show your ignorance of both politics and history, gallus. Preposterous as such an idea may be, it is not without precedent. Attalus of Pergamum bequeathed his kingdom to Rome over seventy years ago; it became a province of the empire and to this day supplies the people of this city with subsidized grain. Forty years ago Apion left Cyrene to Rome; Apion was a Ptolemy and Cyrene was once a part of Egypt. And less than twenty years ago Bithynia was left to Rome by its last king."

"But why would any king do such a thing?" asked Trygonion.

"To save his country from the bloodshed of a disputed succession; to spite his presumptive heirs; to protect his people from being conquered by rival kingdoms even more oppressive than Rome; to bow to the tide of Roman expansion." Dio sighed. "In my lifetime, Rome has gained Pergamum, Cyrene and Bithynia by inheritance, and Pontus and Syria by conquest. Two years ago Rome seized Cyprus without a skirmish; King Ptolemy's brother committed suicide. Rome has overrun the East. Of all the kingdoms that grew out of the empire of Alexander the Great, only one remains: Egypt."

"And now the rumors are circulating again, about a will made by Alexander II bequeathing Egypt to Rome," I said. "King Ptolemy's sleep must be uneasy."

Trygonion nodded sagely. "I wouldn't care to be the slave who has to change his bed sheets."

"Vulgar, vulgar," Dio muttered through clenched teeth. "Rome now dominates the East. This is a fact which no one denies. But the people of Egypt demand a ruler who will resist that domination. Our land was ancient beyond imagining even before Alexander the Great came and founded Alexandria. The kingdom he established flourished with beauty and learning while Romulus and Remus were infants suckling the she-wolf. We have no need of Roman ways or Roman government. But instead of standing firm against Roman domination, King Ptolemy quivers with fright and offers whatever concessions are demanded of him. The people of Alexandria demand that he redeem Cyprus from Roman rule and restore it to the kingdom; instead he plays host to the Roman commissioner sent to plunder the island. To quiet talk about the alleged will, he gives a 'gift' of thirty-five million denarii to Caesar and Pompey, so that Caesar can bribe the Roman Senate and Pompey can pay off his own troops. The bill is passed along to the people of Egypt in the form of higher taxes. Our taxes go directly into the pockets of Roman senators and soldiers-we might as well be a Roman province! And what does King Ptolemy receive in return? A tentative acknowledgment by the Roman Senate of his legitimacy as king, and a plaque set up on the Capitoline Hill, inscribed to the honor of Ptolemaios Theos Philopator Philadelphos Neos Dionysos, 'Friend and Ally of the Roman People.' To be a friend and ally is all very well, but to pay for the privilege he bleeds his own people white with taxes. The people's anger finally drove Ptolemy to flee the city, fearing for his life. He fled all the way here to Rome, where Pompey put him up in a great rambling villa with a vast household of slaves to serve him."

"For thirty-five million denarii, he should expect such royal treatment!" said Trygonion.

Dio scowled. "He spends his time practicing his flute and drafting letters to the Senate begging them to restore him to his throne against the wishes of the Egyptian people. But it is too late for that. His daughter Berenice has already been named queen of Egypt."

"A woman?" said Trygonion, who seemed genuinely intrigued.

"It was not my choice," said Dio hastily. "Philosophers have influence in Alexandria, but so do astrologers. It was the star-gazers who insisted that the time is right for a woman of the Ptolemaic line to rule Egypt."

"It strikes me that you may be too hard on King Ptolemy, Teacher," I said cautiously. "All his life he's seen kingdom after kingdom swallowed up by Roman imperialism, sometimes by war, sometimes by statecraft. His position has always been precarious. He must know that he's kept his throne this long only because the Romans can't settle among them-selves who should reap the rewards when Egypt is taken over. I know something of these matters, Teacher. A man can't live in Rome and be entirely ignorant of what goes on in the Forum. During Ptolemy's reign there have been several attempts by the Senate to act on the alleged will of Alexander II and to stake a Roman claim on Egypt. Only the Senate's internal bickering and rivalries have prevented those attempts from being carried out. During Cicero's consulship, I remember, Caesar and Pompey tried to put themselves on a board of governors to oversee the takeover of Egypt; Cicero killed the legislation with one of his brilliant speeches by claiming, in so many words, that Caesar and Pompey would ultimately make themselves kings. Now Caesar and Pompey have taken to extorting money directly from King Ptolemy."

Agitated, Dio began to speak, but I held up my hand. "Hear me out, Teacher. If Ptolemy bends to Roman wishes so that he can stay in power, even if he pays for the privilege with silver to keep the Romans at bay, how can you fault him for that? So far, by one means or another, he's kept the Romans from moving into Alexandria and taking over the imperial palace. That indicates to me that King Ptolemy must possess more diplomatic expertise than you give him credit for."

"He bends too far for the Romans," said Dio sternly. "What does it matter whether they conquer us outright, if they can use King Ptolemy as their private tax collector to drain our lifeblood?"

"Perhaps; but I think I see a contradiction, Teacher. Why do you resist Roman rule if you despise your own rulers so very much?"

Dio sighed. "Because, ultimately, the Ptolemies rule over Egypt by the will of the people. When they rule badly, the people rise up and cast them out. When they rule tolerably, the people tolerate them. Such a system may lack the perfection of Plato's ideal republic, but it suits the people of Egypt and has done so for hundreds of years. On the other hand, if Egypt should become a Roman province under the sway of a Roman governor, its people will become mere vassals of Rome, and we shall have no say at all over our destiny. We shall be drafted to fight in wars that are not of our choosing. We shall be forced to abide by laws dictated to us by a Senate of wealthy Romans who live too far from Alexandria to hear the complaints of its people. We shall become just another outpost of Rome's empire, watching our wealth become Roman plunder. Our statues and carpets and paintings will decorate the houses of Rome's rich; our grain will fill the stomachs of the Roman mob, and you can be sure that any payment will be far less than fair. Egypt is a great and free nation; we will not become minions of Rome." Dio took a deep breath. A tear glinted in his eye, and the gravity of his expression was oddly heightened by the feminine cosmetics that colored his weathered, wrinkled face. The absurdity of his costume could not disguise the depth of his emotion.

"But this is all academic, if you'll pardon the pun," said Trygonion blandly but with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. "If the former king, Alexander II, really did leave a will bequeathing Egypt to Rome — "

Dio exploded. "No one in Egypt believes in the validity of the so-called will, because no one in Rome is able to produce it! The will of Alexander II is a fiction, a fraud, a pretext for the Roman Senate to go meddling in Egyptian affairs, a device to make whoever rules Egypt grovel at their feet. 'You may hold sway for the moment,' they say, 'but you cannot be legitimate without our approval, and you can never be anything but an impostor, for Egypt was left to us by our puppet Alexander II and we may choose to exercise our hegemony at any time.' They wave an imaginary scrap of parchment in the air and call it a will. King Ptolemy was a fool to play along with such a lie. 'Friend and Ally,' indeed! The plaque on the Capitoline should read, 'Piper and Puppet of the Roman People.' "

"But now you've replaced the puppet," I said.

"The Piper has been booed off the stage!" cried Trygonion.

Dio clenched his teeth. "The crisis which revolves around Egypt's "throne may be a matter of amusement to you, gallus, but to the people of Egypt I assure you it is not. Roman diplomats and merchants in Alexandria seldom go out of doors these days, for fear of being torn apart by the mob. Rabble-rousers make speeches against Roman greed, and even my fellow philosophers neglect their teaching to engage in heated debate about the Roman threat. That is why I came to Rome, heading a delegation of one hundred Alexandrians: to demand that the Roman Senate stop meddling in Egyptian affairs and to ask for their recognition of Queen Berenice."

"I see a contradiction, Teacher," I said quietly. "To request the Senate's approval of your new monarch implies, in itself, that the Senate has a right to meddle in your affairs."

Dio cleared his throat. "In philosophy we seek the ideal. In politics, as I have learned to my bitter enlightenment, we seek whatever accommodates. So it was that I came to Rome at the head of the delegation of one hundred. So many distinguished voices, we thought, simply could not be ignored, even by your lofty senators. And that is where this despicable farce turns to tragedy!"

He put his hands to his face and suddenly began to weep, so profusely that even Trygonion was stunned. Indeed, the little gallus seemed deeply moved by the old philosopher's tears, biting his lips in sympathy, pulling at his bleached hair and rubbing his hands together in agitation. I have heard that the galli, cut off from the circle of earthly passion, are given to sudden transports of extreme and inexplicable emotion.

It took Dio a moment to compose himself. The fact that a philosopher of his stature should have lost control and given vent to such an outburst, even briefly, testified to the depth of his despair.

"This is how it was: we landed down in Neapolis at the very end of the autumn sailing season. I had friends there, members of the Academy who offered us lodgings. That night, men armed with knives and clubs came crashing into the houses where we were staying. They up-turned furniture, set curtains afire, smashed priceless statues. We were roused from sleep, dazed, barely able to fend them off. Bones were broken and blood was spilled, but no one was killed, and the attackers escaped. The assault put such fear into some of our party that a few set sail for Alexandria the next day."

Dio stiffened his jaw. "The attacks were well organized and planned in advance. Do I have proof of King Ptolemy's complicity? No. But one need not see the sun to deduce its presence by the casting of a shadow. The midnight attacks in Neapolis were engineered by King Ptolemy, have no doubt. He knew that we were coming to dispute his right to the throne. His agents were ready for us.

"After that we moved on to safer quarters in Puteoli, to regroup and plan our strategy for approaching the Senate. We stayed closer together and guarded ourselves at night, but we made the error of thinking that we would be safe walking in the town forum in broad daylight. One afternoon a group of fifteen men, led by one of my Academic colleagues, Onclepion, went out to buy provisions for our journey up to Rome. Out of nowhere they were set upon by a group of small boys who began to pelt them with stones. The boys shouted curses. When passersby stopped to ask why, the boys told them that the Alexandrians had been defaming the honor of Pompey and his troops with vicious slanders. Some members of Onclepion's group, simply to protect themselves, began to shove at the boys and tried to drive them off by throwing stones in return. One of the boys suddenly screamed, clutched his head and collapsed in the dust-or feigned collapse, as I suspect, for I'm told that his body was not found afterward. The crowd that had gathered was sparked into a frenzy, and soon a mob of grown men and women had joined the boys to stone the Alexandrians, who found themselves surrounded on three sides and trapped against a wall. Have you ever witnessed a stoning, Gordianus?" Dio shuddered. Beside him, the little gallus shivered in empathy. "Thirteen of them were killed that day, stoned or trampled to death. Only Onclepion and his slave managed to escape. Onclepion boosted the slave onto the top of the wall, and the slave managed to pull his master after him. But Onclepion was blinded in one eye, and his slave lost several teeth.

"That was the outrage at Puteoli. More men deserted the delegation that night, until only sixty of the original one hundred remained. I thought it best to head immediately to Rome, before some further incident occurred. The trip was not easy. The oxen we hired to pull our wagons fell to their forelegs just outside Capua and died with blood-flecked bile pouring from their mouths-poisoned, I had no doubt, since they all died in the span of an hour. More of the delegation deserted.

"Halfway to Rome, we stopped to spend a night off the Appian Way at an estate owned by my acquaintance Palla. It was a rustic house in the woods which he kept for hunting boar, simple and without luxuries but with provisions for a great many visitors. Palla himself was absent, staying at one of his villas north of Rome, but his slaves had been told to expect us. To accommodate us all, they crowded our sleeping couches close together, blocking the hallways. That very nearly proved disastrous.

"It was a scream from Onclepion that woke me in the night. At first I thought he cried out in pain, because of his ruined eye. Then I smelled the smoke. It was only by the will of the gods that no one was burned alive that night, for the doors had all been blocked from the outside by handcarts, the type that slaves use for trundling bales of hay. The building quickly filled with smoke. We at last managed to break through one of the doors. The cart blocking it had been loaded with heavy stones! Somehow, we all escaped into the woods, where we stood and watched as the house was consumed by flames. I have never known such fear as I knew that night, for at any moment I looked for King Ptolemy's henchmen to descend on us from out of the woods, forcing us to choose between being hacked to death or fleeing back into the burning house. But the attack never came. Why should King Ptolemy mount a full assault, when a handful of agents can set a fire and possibly kill everyone at once? Especially if they have the help of someone inside."

"Then you think that Ptolemy had agents within the delegation?"

"From the beginning! Oh yes, I have no doubt of that, ashamed as I am to say it. How else could his men have known which houses to attack in Neapolis? Or known when Onclepion's party was setting out for the market in Puteoli, so as to set the little boys upon them? How else did someone poison the oxen's water trough that morning in Capua, without anyone taking notice? King Ptolemy has ruled Egypt these twenty years by bribery, treachery and terror. His agents know how to use the weak and silence the strong.

"On the morning after the destruction of Palla's house, beside a stream in the woods, and with Palla's slaves keeping watch for an attack I still dreaded might come, I called a meeting of the delegation. I expected some desertions, but I was shocked at how few decided to continue on to Rome. Only fifteen! Even Onclepion joined the ranks of those who made up their minds to turn back that morning. I told them that they would find themselves trapped for the winter in Puteoli or Neapolis, unable to find ships to carry them home, for the sailing season was over. But they would not be dissuaded. Once King Ptolemy saw that they had turned back from Rome, and no longer intended to address the Senate, he would stop his attacks against them-so they reasoned, and no argument from me could change their minds. Onclepion even engaged me in mock debate over the matter. I was appalled at the tawdry way he excused his own cowardice with sophistry. Even more appalling was the fact that after our debate was over, five of the men who had originally stood by me that morning claimed to have been won over by Onclepion's eloquence and joined the deserters!

"Only ten then remained of the one hundred who came from Alexandria to confront the Senate, armed with righteous indignation and the certain favor of the gods for a just cause. Attended only by our slaves we made our bedraggled way to Rome. There was no grand entrance for us! Instead we slunk through the gates like thieves, hoping to escape notice. We dispersed ourselves about the city, staying with friends and acquaintances; many turned us away, when they learned of the tribulations we had brought upon our hosts in Neapolis and Puteoli, and the destruction of Palla's property! Meanwhile, we petitioned the Senate for an audience-but the Senate answered us with silence."

He turned toward the brazier and stared into the flames. "What a winter! No winter in Alexandria was ever so cold. How do you Romans stand it? I cover myself with blankets at night and still I can't stop shivering. What misery! And the murders… "

He began to shake and couldn't seem to stop.

"Shall I call a slave to bring you a blanket?" I said.

"No, no, it's not the cold." He hugged himself, and at last managed to take a deep breath and stopped shaking. "During those terrible days in Neapolis and Puteoli and on the road, I kept one thought in my mind:

When we reach Rome,

I told myself,

when we reach Rome…

"But you see, there was a fallacy in my reasoning, for I never really finished that thought. When we reach Rome-then what? Did I tell myself, When we reach Rome, there shall be only ten of us left? Did I ever think that the Senate would snub us, and refuse even to hear me? Or that there would be still more treachery and betrayals, until I would lose my faith even in the men I most trusted when we left Alexandria? Or that we would be murdered one by one, until only a handful remained-by the very fact of their survival, traitors and tools of King Ptolemy? Do you understand what has happened to me, Gordianus?" He held out his hands in a gesture of supplication, and on his face I saw the full measure of his despair. "I left Alexandria full of worry but also full of hope. Now…"

"Murders, you said. Here in Rome?"

"Yes. At least three since we arrived. We all stayed in different houses, under the roofs of men I thought we could trust. I feared another full-scale attack, you see, until I realized that Rome is Rome, not Neapolis or Puteoli. Even King Ptolemy would never dare to stage a massive assault or manufacture a riot in the shadow of the Senate. The men who rule Rome tolerate such flagrant crimes at a distance, but not in their presence. No foreign king could be allowed to stir up the masses or set fires or practice open warfare in Rome itself."

"You're right. Senators reserve those privileges for themselves."

"So the king changed his tactics. Instead of trying to kill us all at once, he turned to assassinating us one by one."

"By what means?"

"Quietly. By poison. Suffocation. Stabbing." "With the complicity of their hosts?"

Dio paused. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. Slaves can sometimes be bribed or blackmailed. But masters can be bribed or blackmailed as well, especially when the pressure comes from the kind of men allied with King Ptolemy."

"Men such as Pompey?"

He nodded. "And I suspect there are respectable Romans-perhaps even senators-who are not above committing a murder or two to gain Pompey's favor or repay some debt they owe him."

"Be careful, Dio. So far you've accused your own king of being behind this slaughter. Now you're implicating a man who happens to be Rome's most beloved general and very possibly her future dictator."

"I tell you, these are the men behind the killings. King Ptolemy is not even in Rome any longer. He's retired to Ephesus for the winter, leaving everything in Pompey's hands. And why not? Pompey has as much to gain as Ptolemy if the king can keep his throne, so Pompey has continued the attacks against the delegation. Since we arrived in Rome, his agents have snuffed us out one by one."

I shook my head. "You admit that you have no proof of your alle-gations against King Ptolemy, Dio. Do you have proof of what you say against Pompey?"

He glared at me and was quiet for a long time. "A few nights ago, in the house of Lucius Lucceius, someone tried to poison me. Do you want proof of that? My slave died horribly, writhing and gasping on the floor, only moments after tasting a portion of soup that was served to me in my private room!"

"Yes, but-"

"And my host, Lucius Lucceius, despite his knowledge of philosophy, despite the disdain he espouses for King Ptolemy, is Pompey's friend."

"Do you know where the poison came from?"

"Earlier that day, a certain Publius Asicius paid a call on Lucceius. A handsome young man — I happened to see him as he was leaving the house, and I asked Lucceius his name. That night, my slave was poisoned. The next morning, after I fled from Lucceius's house, I made some inquiries about his visitor. They say this Publius Asicius is a young man of easy morals who indulges in poetry and wine and dabbles in politics with no fixed agenda, willing to do anything to curry the favor of anyone who can advance his career."

I sighed. "You have just described a whole generation of young Romans, Teacher. Many of them may be capable of murder, including, quite possibly, this Publius Asicius. But mere proximity to the scene of a crime is not-"

"Asicius is also said to be in debt to Pompey, for some very large loans which the general made to him."

"Still…"

"You see, you have no rejoinder for that, Gordianus. The chain goes back to Pompey and thence to King Ptolemy."

"Your host, Lucceius-did you confront him with your suspicions?"

"Even as my taster lay writhing on the floor! I insisted that Lucceius come and witness the atrocity himself. I demanded that he find out how the soup had been poisoned."

"What was his response?"

"He pretended to be appalled, of course. He said that he would interrogate each of his household slaves himself, and torture them if necessary. Perhaps he did, or perhaps not. I left the next morning, desperate to be away from the place. I told Lucceius that I would be staying at the house of Titus Coponius, but he has made no effort to contact me."

Trygonion, who had been silent for a while, cleared his throat. "Having escaped alive from the man's house, perhaps you would have been wiser not to tell Lucceius where you were headed next." The gallus made a wry face and seemed to be in a mood to cause trouble again, but what he said made sense.

"Am I then to behave like a fugitive or a criminal?" demanded Dio. "Skulking from shadow to shadow, hoping no one sees me, praying that the world will simply forget my existence? Already I put on this absurd disguise to go out during the day-is that not shame enough? I refuse to vanish altogether. To do so would give King Ptolemy unconditional victory. Don't you understand? I am all that remains of the delegation of one hundred who came to speak for the people of Alexandria and their new queen. If I allow fear to turn me invisible and mute, then I might as well never have come to Rome. I might as well be dead!"

With that, Dio gave another shudder and began to weep again. I watched him fight back the tears and struggle to compose himself. Over the last months he had endured much misery and seen unspeakable tragedy, and for all his travails he had nothing to show but bitterness and shame. I was awed by his perseverance.

"Teacher," I said, "what is it that you want from me? I can't force the Senate to hear your demands. I can't make Pompey waver in his support of King Ptolemy. I can't resurrect the dead, or redeem those who betrayed you."

I waited for Dio to answer, but he had not yet composed himself, so I went on. "Perhaps you wish for me to ferret out the truth, so that justice can be done. That's why men usually come to me. But you seem satisfied that you already know the truth. I'm not sure what good it will do you. That's the odd thing about truth, how much one craves it, yet how useless it often is. If you're thinking of bringing charges of murder against King Ptolemy, I'm not sure that a Roman court has jurisdiction over a friendly foreign monarch; I am sure that nothing could be done without the Senate, and we know that you can't rely on them. If you're thinking of bringing a charge against Pompey, then I would advise you to think again. Pompey has enemies, to be sure, but not one of them would be willing to attack him openly in a court of law, no matter how compelling the evidence. Pompey is much too strong."

I wrinkled my brow. "Perhaps it's this Publius Asicius against whom you want to bring charges, for attempting to poison you. If he did put Lucceius's slaves up to it, then you might have a case, provided that Lucceius is not the creature of Pompey that you suspect him to be, and is willing to let his slaves testify against Asicius. Such a trial might be useful. This Publius Asicius can't be too important if I've never heard of him, and that means he might be vulnerable. A trial against him could draw attention to your cause and elicit sympathy. Even so-"

"No, Gordianus," Dio said. "It's not a trial I seek. Do you think I expect justice from a Roman court? I come to you seeking merely to save my own life, so that I can continue with my mission."

I bit my lip. "Teacher, I can't offer you accommodations under my roof. I can't guarantee your safety, for one thing. While I place great trust in my household slaves, this house would hardly be secure against assassins as determined as your enemies appear to be. And then there's the danger to my own family. I have a wife, Teacher, and a young daughter-"

"No, Gordianus, I don't ask to spend a single night under the roof of your splendid house. What I need is your help in deciding whom I can trust and whom I cannot. They say you have ways of finding the truth. They say you have a sense for it, as other men have a sense of smell or taste. You say that truth is often useless, but it might save me now. Can I trust my new host, Titus Coponius? I met him in Alexandria. He is wealthy, educated, a student of philosophy-but can I entrust my life to him? Will he betray me? Is he another of Pompey's tools? You must know how to find out such things."

"Perhaps," I said cautiously, "but the task is more complicated than you may realize. If only you had come to me wanting to recover a stolen ring, or trying to find out whether a rich merchant did or did not murder his wife, or seeking to trace the origin of a threatening letter. Such mysteries are simple, and relatively safe. But to ask the kinds ofquestions you would have me ask, of those who would know the answers, would almost certainly attract the attention of powerful men… "

"You mean Pompey," said Dio.

"Yes, perhaps even Pompey himself." I nervously tapped at my chin. "I would hate for you to think me a coward, Teacher, afraid to move for fear of offending powerful men. In years gone by, I've dared to beard a few lions when the cause demanded it. Sulla the Dictator, for one, when I looked for the truth behind the murder of Sextus Roscius. Marcus Crassus, when he sought to slay a whole household of slaves. Even Cicero, when he grew reckless with power in the year of his consulship. Fortunately, so far, I've never crossed paths with Pompey. I don't wish to do so now. As a man grows older, and presumably wiser, he grows more cautious."

"You won't help me, then?" The despair in his voice made me feel a prickle of shame.

"Teacher, I can't. Even if I were eager to do so, it would still be impossible, at least for a while, because I'm about to go on a long trip. I leave at dawn. My wife has been busy all day packing my things… " I paused, surprised at how hollow my words sounded. What I said was true, and my trip had been planned for a long time. Why did I feel as if I were making excuses?

"Then you cannot help me," said Dio, staring at the floor.

"If the trip were less important," I began, and shrugged. "But it's to see my son Meto. He's been serving under Caesar in Gaul. I haven't seen him for months. Now he's at Caesar's winter quarters in Illyria, hardly close but considerably closer than Gaul, and he may be there for only a short while. I can't miss the chance to see him." "I see," said Dio.

"In other circumstances, I would recommend that you pay a call on my elder son, Eco. He's twice as clever as I ever was-but he's coming with me to visit Meto. We'll both be gone until at the least the end of the month, perhaps longer. The uncertainties of traveling in the winter, you understand… " Again, the words sounded hollow in my ears. I shifted uneasily in my chair, and the room suddenly seemed hot. "Of course, after the trip-that is, when I come back to Rome… "

Dio fixed me with a gaze that pulled at the hair on the back of my neck. I had seen such a glassy stare only in the eyes of dead men, and for a moment I was so unnerved that I couldn't speak. I cleared my throat. "When I come back to Rome, I'll be sure to send a messenger to you at the house of Titus Coponius-"

Dio lowered his eyes and sighed. "Come, gallus, it's time to go. We've wasted our time here."

"Hardly wasted, if that smell is what I think it is," said Trygonion cheerfully, as if oblivious to what had just passed between Dio and myself. A moment later a serving girl passed in the hallway carrying a tray of food, followed by two others who carried little folding tables.

We retired to the adjoining dining room, where we each reclined upon a couch. The folding tables were placed before us. Bethesda appeared, with Diana following after her, but they did not join us. The two of them made a point of carrying in the first course and serving it themselves, ladling the first portions of the lentils with sausage onto the plates of my guests, then onto mine, and then watching while we each took a bite. Under their scrutiny, the philosopher, the gallus and I nodded and made noises of approval. Satisfied, Bethesda and Diana retired, leaving the service to the slave girls.

Miserable and desperate as he might be, Dio was also a very hungry man. He swallowed great spoonfuls of food and called to the serving girl for more. Beside him Trygonion ate with even greater relish and an appalling lack of manners, using his thumb to push food onto his spoon and popping his fingers into his mouth. Barred from the ecstasies of sex, the galli are said to be notorious gluttons.