They arrived by wagon on the day before Diana's birthday, with Belbo and five other slaves in attendance. The slaves, I noticed, were among the strongest in Eco's household and were all armed with long daggers tucked into their tunics. I made some joke about his going out with a bodyguard to rival Cicero's, but Eco did not laugh. 'Later,' he said enigmatically, as if to acknowledge that he owed me an explanation when I had only been jesting. - Bethesda took great pains to make Menenia feel at home, returning the courtesy that her daughter-in-law had shown her in the city; the warmth between them seemed quite genuine. Meto and Diana were delighted to have their older brother on the farm, if only for a brief visit. While all the others were engaged in one another's company, I took the chance to slip away. I found Belbo with the other slaves from Rome relaxing in a patch of shade beside the stable and taking turns in a round of trigon. They stood in a triangle, batting the leather ball back and forth. Belbo, famous for strength rather than agility, was soon out of the game. I called to him to join me. He followed as I strolled around the corner and out of hearing of the others.

'My son surrounds himself with a considerable bodyguard to protect two people with nothing valuable on their persons, on such a short journey and on such a well-travelled road.'

Belbo grinned and shook his head. 'The old Master misses nothing, as always.'

' "As always" — Belbo, I wish I were half as observant and canny as I once was, or thought I was. Why so many daggers?' 'Times in the city are tense.'

'That's awfully vague. What has my son got himself into?' 'Shouldn't that be for him to tell you?'

'If you were new in the household, I'd excuse you from talking to your old master about your new master behind his back, but you know me too well to hide anything from me, Belbo. Is Eco up to something dangerous?'

'Master, you know the life. You remember the danger from day to day.'

I stared at him steadily, unimpressed with his evasions. He was as strong as an ox and as loyal as a hound, but he was as bad at keeping secrets as he was at playing trigon. I watched his face blush red to the roots of his straw-coloured hair.

'It's me new work he's doing,' he confessed.

'For whom?'

'For the young man who was at Meto's party — you saw him, you talked to him. He came back several days later to hire the young Master..The man with the fashionable beard and hair.'

'Does that young man have a name?' I asked, knowing it already.

'Marcus Caelius,' said Belbo.

'Numa's balls, I knew it! They've cast their web over Eco as well.'

Once his meagre resistance had been breached, Belbo seemed eager to speak. 'It's something to do with a conspiracy — a plot to murder Cicero and bring down the government. The young Master's been going to meetings at night in secret I don't hear a lot; I stay outside with the other slaves and bodyguards. But there are big people at these meetings, I can tell you that — senators, equestrians, patricians, people I've seen in the Forum for years. Marcus Caelius is often there as well.'

While he spoke, I shook my head and clenched my teeth. Eco should have known better, I told myself than to let himself be drawn into the affairs of Marcus Caelius and his master, whether that master was Cicero or Catilina. To investigate the circumstances of a simple murder or ferret out the truth in a property dispute was one thing; to put on a blindfold and be pushed back and forth in the devious plot and counterplot between Cicero and Catilina was quite another. It was more than the unacceptable degree of clanger and uncertainty; I had taught Eco to be a Finder, not a spy. To my mind, there is honour in uncovering the truth and laying it out for all to see in the sunlight, but none at all in covering it from view and whispering in the dark.

It occurred to me that Eco might have been allowed no choice in the matter. The idea of a headless body appearing at the house in Rome caused me to clutch at Belbo's tunic. 'Has he been threatened? Intimidated? Have they dared to make him fear for Menenia, or for us, here on the farm?'

Belbo was taken aback at my vehemence. 'I think not, Master,' he said meekly. 'Marcus Caelius came to the house not long after you left Rome. It all seemed cordial enough — the young Master is like you were; he doesn't like to take work from people he doesn't trust, not if he can help it. He seemed quite willing to do what Caelius wanted. If there were threats or the like, I never knew of it'

To hear such a placating tone of voice from such a giant suddenly struck me as absurd; almost as absurd as the sight of my fist, clutching the neck of his tunic and looking like a child's hand against the massive width of his neck. I released him and stepped back.

'See that the others keep their knives about them, even while they're playing trigon,' I said. 'And have someone keep an eye on the road that leads from the Cassian Way. If Eco believes he needs a bodyguard, I trust his judgment. But he should know, and so should you, that he's no safer here than in the city.'

I took a long walk around the farm to gather my thoughts. When I returned to the house, I found the family gathered in the atrium to escape the heat of the afternoon. Bethesda and Menenia reclined on couches facing each other; Diana sat cross-legged on the floor between them, playing with a doll; Meto and Eco sat side by side on a bench beside the pool. Between them was the little board game that Cicero had once given me and that I had passed on to Meto, called Elephants and Archers. They had evidently finished their game, for the bronze pieces had all been pushed to one side of the checkered wooden board. As I approached, I overheard Meto say something about Hannibal

'What are you two discussing?' I asked, as blandly as I could.

'Hannibal's invasion of Italy,' said Meto.

'With elephants,' added Eco.

'Actually, the elephants never reached Italy,' explained Meto, turning back to Eco. He seemed quite pleased for a chance to play the pedagogue with his older brother. "They died in the snow, crossing the Alps. So did Hannibal's men, by the tens of thousands. Don't you remember, years ago, when I first came to Rome, one of the magistrates put on a spectacle in the Circus Maximus — Hannibal crossing the Alps. They piled up mounds of dirt to make little mountains and ravines. For snow they used thousands of bits of white cloth, and slaves were hidden in little nooks with great fans to make them bluster and swirl. But the elephants were real. They didn't actually kill them; somehow the beasts had been trained to lie on their sides and play dead.' His smile faded. 'One of the slaves playing a Carthaginian soldier was trapped beneath an elephant and horribly crushed. It was awful, the red blood against the white snow — don't you remember, Eco?'

'Yes, of course.'

'Do you remember, Papa?'

'Vaguely.'

'Anyway, Eco, the point, as Marcus Mummius says, is that victory in battle hinges not only on superior numbers, bravery, and tactics, but on the elements as well — rain, snow, a muddy field, an unexpected sandstorm. "Elephants and elements both matter," he says, and "Men make war, but gods make weather." You should talk to Mummius about it sometime. He knows everything there is to know about great generals and famous battles.'

I shook my head. 'How did you ever end up talking about Hannibal? Oh, I see — Elephants and Archers.'

'Actually, Papa,' said Eco, 'Meto is very keen on military history.'

'Is he? Well, if you can leave the battle behind for just a moment, Eco, I'd like to ask your opinion of the water mill.'

Eco shrugged and stood. Meto began to stand, but I waved him back. 'Stay here. Visit with Menenia; try to keep your sister out of trouble. Surely you've seen enough of me mill by now.' Meto started to speak but bit his tongue and lowered his eyes. He sat down on the bench again and began to fiddle with the little bronze warriors.