' "Catilina's men?" I asked him. Living on the highway as I do, I keep up with what's happening in Rome, so I know the problems that the consul's been having with that scoundrel.

' "We shall see," said the praetor. "The proof of that maybe here." And he held up some documents, all of them tightly rolled and sealed with wax. "Letters from the traitors to their fellow conspirators; we'll leave them for the consul to open," he said. "But there's the worst evidence against them — the Gauls who were travelling with them" He pointed towards a group of barbarians in leather breeches who were still sitting on their horses.

' "Enemies?" I said, not understanding why they hadn't been dragged from their horses and bound as well.

' "No," said the praetor, "loyal friends, as it turns out Those men are official envoys of a tribe called the Allobroges, who live in the province of Gallia Narbonensis, beyond the Alps, under Roman rule. The traitors tried to bring them into their plot. They wanted the Allobroges to make war up in Gaul, to de up the troops there while the traitors carried out their revolt in Rome. Imagine, turning to foreigners to make war against fellow Romans! Can you think of anything more despicable?" I told him I could not. "These conspirators are men without honour or loyalty," he said. "You'd think the mere fact of being Roman would've stopped them from even contemplating such foul crimes, but men like these have no respect for either their country or the gods. Fortunately, the Allobroges betrayed the plot to their Roman patron, who in turn revealed it to Cicero, whose eyes and ears are everywhere. The traitors, still thinking the Allobroges were on their side, dispatched their messages with the barbarians to carry word to Catilina and on up to Gaul. But this is as far as they got. We'll be taking them back to Rome now. The Senate and the people can decide what to do with these scum." '

The man paused, both for breath and for dramatic effect. He had delivered his long monologue with considerable skill, no doubt having honed it with each successive repetition. 'Well, I haven't slept at all since I was roused from my bed last night, as you can imagine. Too scared at first, then too excited after it was all over. Then dawn came, and all the neighbours wanted to know what the noise was about in the middle of the night — they thought they were hearing bandits or runaway gladiators and closed their shutters tight. So I found myself standing here telling the tale, and every traveller on the road wants to hear it.' He suddenly stretched his jaws in a great yawn and wiped the sleepiness from his eyes. 'Ah, well, it's not every day that such mighty events take place right under a man's nose. Like the praetor said, I've done my part to save the Republic!'

Just then, a clump of horse dung came sailing through the air and struck the side of the man's head. He gave a yelp and clutched his ear in confusion.

'Jupiter turn you into a toad!' shouted a shrill voice, which I recognized as that of the pro-Catilinarian farmer. It was he who had thrown the dung; his target had been the wealthy merchant, who was more adept at ducking than I would have thought.

'How dare you?' shouted the merchant

'Keep your filthy slaves away from me!' screamed the farmer, who was suddenly surrounded.

I saw the glint of steel in the crowd and clutched at Meto's arm, but he was already ahead of me. We mounted our horses while the driver set the wagon in motion. Midway across the bridge — in the very place where the praetor Lucius Flaccus had intercepted the plotters and their unfaithful Gallic allies — I looked back. The incident had erupted into a small riot. Missiles of dung were thick in the air, as was the roar of vile curses. The angry farmer came staggering out of the crowd, supported by a few allies. He clutched his head with both hands. Trickles of blood streamed down his forearms. The proud witness Gaius, meanwhile, had made a strategic retreat to his house by the river, where he stood watching from the doorway, yawning with his eyes open wide.

Rome, I thought, is like Bethesda. Just as I have learned to sense my wife's moods by the most subtle signs — the angle at which she holds her head, the disarrangement of a comb and brush on her table, the way she takes a breath — so I have learned to gauge the mood of the city by small manifestations. Forewarned by the news at the Milvian Bridge, my eyes were keen for signals. Shopkeepers were shooing customers from their counters and closing their doors early. Taverns were filled to overflowing. I saw few women about. Gangs of boys ran through the streets, while men stood on corners in small crowds and debated. Among those who went about their business on horseback or on foot, there appeared to be a strong general drift towards the Forum; some proceeded to the centre swiftly and surely, while others seemed drawn inward in a spiral approach, like bits of straw circling an eddy. So strong was this impression that as we made our way up the Subura Way to Eco's house, I felt as if we were swimmers working against a slow but steady current.

Menenia greeted us. As Diana ran to leap into her arms, I asked for Eco, and received the answer I expected. 'He went to the Forum, only a little while ago,' she said. "They say Cicero will be addressing the people this afternoon. We didn't know how soon to expect you, but Eco said that if you came in time you should go down to the Forum and try to find him.'

'I think not—' I began to say, imagining the scene, but Meto interrupted.

'Shall we take the horses or walk, Papa?' he said, looking at me eagerly. 'I'm for walking, myself My backside aches from all that riding! Besides, it's always so hard to find a place to leave the horses, and it's not that far.. ' We decided to walk.

The sensation of being caught in a current grew stronger and stronger as we neared the Forum. Just as a stream grows swifter as it narrows, so the traffic of bodies hastened and grew more congested. By the time we came to the Forum itself, the crowd was quite thick. Rumours swirled all around us like darting fish, and from passing tongues I heard the same words over and over: 'Traitors… Allobroges… Cicero… Catilina…"

It would be impossible to find Eco in such a press of bodies, I thought, but in the next instant Meto waved and called out his name. An arm rose above the crowd nearby, and beneath it I saw Eco's surprised and anxious face.

'Meto! Papa! I didn't know if you'd get here so early. Did you go to the house first? Hurry, I think he's already begun.' Indeed, far ahead of us I heard echoes of a distinctly familiar voice.

We headed towards the open space in front of the Temple of Concord. Behind the temple the cliff of the Arx rose steeply. To our right stood the Senate House and the Rostra, from which Cicero had many years ago made his speech in defence of Sextus Roscius. To the left was the foot of the path ascending to the summit of the Capitoline Hill and the Arx. It was to the Temple of Concord that the prisoners had been taken after their arrest at the Milvian Bridge, and it was here that the Senate had been hastily convened to discuss the matter. Now Cicero had emerged from within and was addressing the crowd from the top of the steps leading into the temple. Beside him, conspicuous for its gleaming newness and the splendour of its workmanship, was a massive bronze statue of Jupiter. The Father of the Gods sat upon his throne, magnificently muscled and heavily bearded, a bundle of thunderbolts grasped in one hand, a sphere cradled in the other, with rays of lightning emanating from his brow. Beside him, Cicero looked quite small and mortal, but his voice was as thunderous as ever.

'Romans! To be rescued from danger, to be snapped from the jaws of certain doom, to be lifted up from a sea of destruction — is there any experience more joyful, more exhilarating? You have been rescued, Romans! Your city has been rescued! Rejoice! Praise the gods!