'There!' cried a hushed voice behind me. It was Eco, who had spotted something with wings in the sky. I shook my head, drowsy from the heat and trying to remember where my thoughts had wandered. I blinked and stared at the dark spot that hovered above the city. Unfortunately, it flew about in a low spiral and then descended, never having entered the designated section of the sky. Not an omen, after all. Around me I heard a collective sigh of disappointment. Rufus stood near the precipice, his back to us, so that I could not see his face. But his shoulders remained erect, his chin upraised and confident. He had faith in his science, and patience with the gods.

I should not have eaten so much at Meto's party, I thought. Cicero was correct: a man should eat only the lightest of meals at midday. But then, Cicero had always had a complaining belly. I felt no discomfort, only a heavy fullness, and a great sleepiness from the heat and from the tiring ascent to the Arx. I could barely keep my eyes open…

The last time Rome had been plunged into civil war the result had been disastrous. Sulla had triumphed, and with him the most reactionary elements in the state. Laws giving power to the populace had been repealed. The constitution had been reformed to give the wealthy greater influence over popular elections and law courts, and within the upper classes Sulla had done his best to exterminate the opposition. A generation later the state was in greater chaos than ever. Many of Sulla's reforms had been repealed and populist forces were on the move again, but Sulla's legacy lived on in the deprivation of the children of his victims and in the wholesale failure of his agrarian policy — the veterans he had intended to become farmers had ruined their land and were now rallying in desperation behind Catilina. Discontent was everywhere, except among that tiny handful who always had and always would possess more wealth and power than they could ever hope to use in a lifetime. Their comfortable state had been given to them by the gods, they believed; perhaps Cicero had been given to them as well, a sweet voice that could sing the turbulent masses to sleep…

Worst of all had been the heads, I thought. The heads of Sulla's enemies, spitted on poles and lined up in the Forum for all to see. Bounty hunters cut off the heads and brought them to Sulla for a reward. For the bodies they had no use. What had become of all the bodies, the bodies without heads? Suddenly, as clearly as on the day Diana found it, I saw the body of Nemo beneath me on the straw, with the blood all clotted about the stump of his neck. The shock of it was so great that I gasped and my shoulders convulsed.

'Yes! At last' whispered Eco in my ear, his hand on the back of my neck. 'There, flying up swiftly from the river.'

I blinked, confused and dazed by the brightness. White stones blazed at my feet and the sun seemed to have filled up the sky. In the midst of so much light a tiny black form took shape, flying from left to right and growing larger until it resolved itself into a body with long, outstretched wings.

'A hawk,' whispered Eco.

'No,' said Mummius, 'an eagle!'

The bird circled once over the Field of Mars and then grew larger and larger as it approached. Its speed was stunning; no horse could have galloped so fast across the sky. A moment later it landed so close to Rufus that he could have bent down to touch it if he dared. We stood transfixed and silent. We stared at the eagle, and the eagle stared back. I had never seen one so close. Then, as suddenly as it had landed, it spread its giant wings and ascended over our heads, straight up into the sun.

I lowered my eyes, blinking and half-blind. Rufus turned towards us with a look of awe on his face. 'The omen,' I said. 'Was it good?'

'Good?' He frowned at me quizzically, then broke into a smile. 'It could not possibly have been better!'

Had the city not already been consumed with the immediate controversies swirling around Catilina and the elections, perhaps the prodigious omen that landed at Rufus's feet would have excited great comment. Had it occurred on a lazy summer day when nothing else of importance was happening in the Forum, the gossip would have spread through the squares and taverns — Jupiter's bird, an eagle, alighting at the Auguraculum for a boy's simple passage to manhood, and a boy who had once been a slave, at that! The superstitious would have found it either inspiring or fearsome, a sign of the gods' displeasure or their benediction. But in the general chaos of that day, the incident went unremarked except among those who were there.

On the path back down to the Forum, Marcus Mummius was greatly excited. 'An eagle, a military bird! It portends a great career in the army!' I noticed Meto smiling at such talk, and I wished that Mummius would be silent.

I turned to Rufus, who had changed from his augur's trabea back into his candidate's toga. 'Is that what it means, Rufus?'

'Not necessarily.' Meto overheard and his smile faded, for which I was glad. I wanted no thoughts of military glory going through his head. I had not rescued the boy from slavery to see him spill his blood for some ambitious general.

Rufus slowed his pace and let the others go ahead of us. He touched my arm to signal that I should stay back with him. His expression was uneasy. His initial ebullience at the eagle's landing had vanished, replaced by uncertainty. 'It's a powerful portent, Gordianus. Never has such a thing happened to me, and not to any other augur so far as I know.'

'But it's a good portent?' I said hopefully. 'You seemed to think so at the time it happened.'

'Yes, but what I felt was a kind of religious awe. That can blind a man, even an augur. All omens are awesome, because they come from the gods, but what they mean for mortal men does not always bring us happiness.'

'Rufus, what are you saying?'

'I almost wish the auspices had been less prodigious. A simple sighting of a vulture, a crow flying in an upward spiral—'

'But an eagle sent from Jupiter, surely that's good—'

'Such a powerful omen, appearing at such a modest occasion — it worries me. It seems out of place, out of balance. We live in a time when small men are drawn into great events — sometimes elevated to greatness themselves by those events, but more often crushed by them. Meto is so simple and good-natured, what can it mean that such a potent auspice should attend his coming of age? It worries me.'

'Oh, Rufus—' I almost forgot myself and would have scoffed in his face, but my respect for him was too great. Still, I felt myself in sympathy with disbelievers like Cicero, who in private shake their heads at the hand-wringing of the pious. Or was I only putting a good face on my own anxiety? 'Perhaps the omen was misdirected. Perhaps it has something to do with Catilina or Cicero. Perhaps it was meant tor the consuls and arrived an hour too late! The gods do make mistakes from time to time — all the poets say so.'

'You won't hear a priest or an augur say so,' said Rufus, unamused.

We proceeded down the path. The noise from the Forum rose to greet us. Ahead of us, Mummius had one arm around Meto's shoulders and was enthusiastically gesturing with the other. 'When Romans go into battle with flags waving, you'll always see an eagle atop the standards. Pompey wears a golden breastplate with an eagle embossed across the pectorals, its wings spread open — like a great bird come to snatch Mithridates' kingdom from him! Oh, and I remember, before the battle of the Colline Gate, back when I was a young lieutenant for Crassus and we fought for Sulla, the augurs saw three eagles circling over Rome.. Meto seemed completely captivated by such talk.

I was somewhat relieved, then, when we came to the foot of the Capitoline and Mummius took his leave of us, saying he wanted to catch the last of the debate in the Senate House. He did not tarry over farewells, but gave Meto and Eco each a crushing hug and departed at a quick marching pace, with Apollonius following him.