'I'm glad you've come, Rufus. There are very few faces from the Forum that I miss seeing from day to day, and yours is one of them. I mean it,' I said, and I did, for Rufus had always been a young man of unusual integrity, soft-spoken but passionate in his beliefs and driven by an intensity that was not immediately apparent from his good-natured manner. His natural sense of justice and moral equanimity often seemed out of place among the self-serving oratory and ceaseless back-stabbing of the Forum. 'But what's this?' I said. 'You're wearing a candidate's toga.'

Rufus pretended to dust himself, for the natural woollen colour of his toga had been rubbed with chalk to make it a harsh white, as is the practice of men running for office. 'That's because I'm running for praetor this year.'

'Then I hope you win. Rome needs good men to run the city and give out justice.'

'We shall see. The voting will take place tomorrow, just after the balloting for the consular election. Normally the election for praetors and the election for consuls take place on different days, of course, but with the postponement of the consular election — well, it will be an insanely busy day. Caesar, too, is running for a praetorship, as is Cicero's brother, Quintus.'

'I suppose you're still allied with Cicero,' I said, then saw from his face that I was mistaken.

'Cicero…' Rufus shrugged. 'Well, you know the circus act he performed last summer in order to win the consulship. Blowing smoke from his mouth and jumping through hoops — though it came as no surprise to see him resorting to the most outlandish tricks to get himself elected. Over the years he's reversed his positions on virtually every issue, yet his rhetoric stays the same — as if rhetoric gave a man consistency, rather than principles. I find myself uncomfortable in his presence these days. I read the auspices on the day he took office — not officially, but for my own satisfaction — and they portended a year full of deceit and treachery, perhaps even disaster. Ah, Gordianus, I saw the look that just crossed your face: you have no faith in the auguries. Neither does Cicero, who thinks they're merely tools that men like himself can use to manipulate the masses. And manipulate he does, shamelessly. Hypocritically turning his back on the children of Sulla's victims who seek redress, railing against the Rullan land reform, the way he handled that riot over special seating for equestrians in the theatre, and now this postponement of the elections — you haven't been in the city long, have you?'

‘I arrived only last night.'

'Utter chaos. Voters arriving after hours or days of hard travelling only to find that the election day has been indefinitely postponed — imagine! Angry farmers from up in Etruria camping out on the Field of Mars, lighting camp fires that could burn down the city — and when the praetors ride out to warn them, the farmers pull out the rusty old swords they used to carry for Sulla! It's enough to make me want to drop out of the praetor's race. And all because of this preposterous notion of Cicero's that Catilina is set to slaughter half the Senate if he doesn't win the consulship. And now, as if to prove he has no sense of shame or decorum left at all, Cicero insists on going about the Forum wearing that absurd breastplate—' 'What's this?'

'Please, I can't even bear to think about it. You'll probably see for yourself down in the Forum. Oh, Cicero! These days, I'm aligned with Gaius Julius Caesar.' I nodded at the name of the young patrician who earlier in the year, against all expectations, had won the election to take the place of the deceased Pontifex Maximus, head of the state religion. In recent years Caesar had emerged as a standard-bearer for the party of discontent and reform. His lavish expenditures on public games and banquets had won the hearts of the masses (and driven him deeply into debt, it was rumoured, despite his family's great wealth). He was said to be witty, charming, devious, scornful of the Optimates, and possessed of that single-minded nature which in men of politics can lead to greatness, or disaster, or both. There were those who feared — or hoped — that Caesar would become another Catilina, if indeed Catilina's credibility and hopes for the consulship were about to reach their end.

'Cicero has disappointed us all,' sighed Rufus, 'whereas Caesar…' His brown eyes sparkled. He smiled — a bit coyly, I thought. 'The more I deal with Gaius Julius, the more impressed I become. As Pontifex Maximus, he has been an inspiration to me; he respects the religion of our ancestors in a way that a New Man like Cicero never could. His grasp of the world infinitely surpasses that of Cicero — in no small part because Caesar is not just an orator but a man of action who has known true battle and desperate danger — you must know that tale of his being kidnapped by pirates when he was young. He treated them with nothing but scorn, arranged for his own ransom, and later saw that they were all captured and crucified. Cicero would have merely bored them to death with his rhetoric. Caesar has taken up the cause of those who are still suffering from the dictatorship of Sulla, the children of those whom Sulla dispossessed and who now want to regain their birthrights. While Cicero, who always makes such a story of how he stood up to Sulla in the case of Sextus Roscius, won't lift a finger to help Sulla's victims — their claims are perfectly justified, he says, but this is not the proper time to disturb the government with their demands. It never is the proper time, of course! Not when the Optimates who control the state have their property and privileges nicely in place and want nothing to be disturbed. Cicero, who so bravely stood up against the dictator when he was young, does the bidding of the dictator's old friends without the least whimper of protest.

'And while Cicero pretends to be a man of vision, it's Caesar who sees the future. The empire must judiciously enfranchise those it conquers, not just exploit them. Stability may be built on blood and battle, but compassion must accompany victory. Caesar and I have pooled our resources to campaign for our praetorships together, but I feel rather presumptuous putting myself forward as if I were the equal of such a fine candidate. He's brilliant. There is no other word. When he speaks…' Rufus's voice trailed off, and he stared into the middle distance.

If Rufus is possessed of a fault, it is that he tends to fall blindly in love with those he respects and admires. So it had been with Cicero, but from the inflection Rufus now gave to the name he had once cherished, it was clear that love, respect, and admiration had all vanished together. Now he was clearly smitten with Caesar, and from what one heard about Caesar, beginning with his long-ago affair with the king of Bithynia, Rufus had a much better chance of finding reciprocation with the new object of his hero worship than he had from the old one — if indeed, to judge from the smitten look on his face, he had not found that reciprocation already.

'Ah, but you were remarking on my candidate's toga,' said Rufus. 'Actually, I was about to change out of it—'

'Please, you needn't stop campaigning just because you've entered our house,' I said, teasing him. 'I'd as soon ask a bird to take off its wings as request a politician to lay aside his candidacy.'

He looked at me blankly. 'But I shall have to put on my augur's robes before we commence the promenade, of course.'

'But then — do you mean to say that you'll be reading the auspices for Meto?'

'Of course. That's why I'm here, in my capacity as an augur. Not that I wouldn't have come simply as a friend. But didn't Eco tell you?' 'No. I thought he'd simply find a private augur, the type that handles marriage ceremonies. I had no idea — and for you to take time out from your campaign on the day before the election—'