As is wont to happen in such circumstances, the air of crisis actually lent a comforting solidarity to the household. Bethesda, Menenia and Diana all worked together, seeing to the repair of the damaged furniture, making lists of the things that needed to be replaced, finding ways to keep the household fed when most of the markets were shut down and the rest were open for only a few unpredictable hours each day. The twins, Titus and Titania, sensing the gravity of the situation, were eager to help and behaved with a maturity beyond their seven years. I felt safer in the company of Davus and the other bodyguards, and it was good to have Eco beside me. But the ransacked house itself was a constant reminder of our vulnerability. Whenever I passed through the garden, I saw the Minerva lying broken on the ground. Whenever I passed through the foyer, I remembered Belbo as we had found him. I felt his absence acutely. Sometimes I called his name aloud before stopping myself He had been at my side every day for so long that I had come to take him for granted, like the air; and like the air, once he was gone I realized just how much I had needed him.

One interrex gave way to the next, and the next, and there were still no elections or even the prospect of elections. How could there be, in such a state of chaos? Day by day and hour by hour the sentiment seemed to be growing that Rome needed a dictator. Occasionally the name of Caesar was mentioned. More often, and more vehemently, it was Pompey who was invoked, as if the Great One's name were some magical incantation that could put all wrongs to right.

Each day I thought that I might hear from Cicero again, but there were no more summons from Tiro, no hushed meetings with Milo and Caelius. I almost wished that Cicero would call for me, so that I could get some idea of what he and his circle were up to in the midst of the disorder.

It was another who came calling for me instead.

It was a cold, bright Februarius morning. Eco had gone to check on affairs at his house, so I was alone in my study. Despite the chill, I had opened the shutters to let in some sunlight and fresh air. Perhaps the many fires all over the city had at last been quenched; I could smell only a faint tang of smoke. Davus came into my study to say that a litter accompanied by a train of slaves was camped outside my front door, and that one of the slaves had a message for me. litter?"

"Yes. Quite a grand vehicle. It has -"

"Red and white stripes," I said, with a stab of intuition.

"Why yes." He raised his eyebrows and I was reminded, with a pang of sadness, of Belbo. Young Davus looked nothing like him, being dark and considerably more handsome than Belbo had ever been, but he was of the same size and bovine demeanour. He wrinkled his brow. "It looks familiar."

"Could it be the same litter we saw arrive at the house of Clodius, on the night of his death?"

"I think it must be."

"I see. And there's a slave with a message, you say? Show him in."

The man was typical of Clodia's male servants, young and impeccably groomed with a striking profile and a muscular neck. I would have known who sent him even if Davus had not told me about the litter, for there was a hint of her perfume about his clothes. I had never forgotten that scent, with its blend of spikenard and costly crocus oil. He must have been a very favoured slave to smell so strongly of his mistress.

His status was confirmed by his haughty manner. He sniffed and peered about my study as if he were thinking of buying the house, not just delivering a message. "Well," I finally said, "what does Clodia want from me, young man?"

He gave me a dubious look as if to say, I can't imagine, then smiled. "She requests the pleasure of your company in her litter."

"In her litter? What, does she expect me to go traipsing through the streets in a litter, at a time like this, with all that's going on?"

"If it's your safety you're concerned about, don't worry. Where else could you possibly be safer?"

Certainly not here, he seemed to suggest, looking over my shoulder and through the open shutters at the broken Minerva in the garden. And he was probably right. It was the Clodians who were rioting; they all knew Clodia's litter; they would scarcely attack their idol's sister. Besides that, her retinue probably included some of the biggest and fiercest gladiators in the city. Indeed, where else could I possibly be safer than skimming across the Palatine in Clodia's litter-unless, of course, we ran into a gang of Milo's men out looking for trouble…

On the other hand, considering the circumstances – anarchy in the streets, rival gangs waging virtual civil war, a looming dictatorship, an uncertain future – it was probably not a good idea to consort with Clodia at the moment. Eco would surely have advised me against it, but Eco was not there, and I was tired of hiding in my house, playing passive spectator to a city spinning out of control. So long as Cicero had taken me into his confidence, however suspicious the circumstances, I had felt that I had access to special knowledge. The privilege of knowing more than other men reassured me; it gave me a sense of control and power, whether real or not. Now I felt cut ofЈ adrift, more anxious than if I were deliberately courting a danger that I at least comprehended. A meeting with Clodia promised a glimmer of privileged information. I couldn't resist.

' The chance to be close to Clodia again had nothing to do with it, Itold myself. The opportunity to recline next to her in her litter, cocooned in the aura of her perfume, close enough to feel the heat of her body…

"Davus, tell your mistress that I've been called away on a small errand. I don't expect to be away long, but if I am, I’ll send a messenger."

"You're going out, Master?"

"Yes."

"I should go with you."

"You'll hardly be needed," said Clodia's slave, giving Davus a disparaging look. I suppose Davus looked puny to him compared to Clodia's red-haired giants.

"I suspect the fellow's right, Davus. I'd rather "you stayed here to look after the house."

I followed the slave through the foyer and out of the house. Under the cold sun the red and white canopy of the litter was dazzling. The air was almost still with only a hint of a breeze, but the fabric was so delicate that the stripes wavered and brushed against one another like trembling serpents. The red-haired gladiators surrounding the litter drew themselves to attention. One of the bearers rushed to put down a block of wood before the entrance to the litter, to serve as a step. Before I could do it myself the curtains were parted from within. The slave girl who opened them moved aside and nodded towards the place where I was to sit, next to her mistress, but all I saw were Clodia's eyes. Her famous eyes: Catullus, in one of his love poems, had said they guttered like emeralds; Cicero, in die speech which had nearly destroyed her, had said that Clodia's eyes flashed like sparks from a whetted blade. Her eyes could seduce, or scandalize; her eyes could also weep. They glittered now with tears. I wondered if she had ever stopped crying since her brother died.

She turned her face away. In any other circumstances I might have thought the movement was calculated to show off the striking profile of her forehead and the line of her nose. Her lustrous dark hair hung down, unpinned for grieving. Her gown was black, as were the cushions around her. The corner seemed to swallow her up in darkness, except for her face and throat, which were a luminous, creamy white.

I slipped into the litter beside her. She reached for my hand, still averting her eyes. "Thank you for coming, Gordianus. I was afraid you might not."

"Why, for fear of the streets?"

"No, for fear of your Alexandrian wife." Her lips compressed into the barest smile.