"Where are we going?"

"To Clodius's house." The smile grew rigid. "Or to Fulvia's house, I suppose I should say." "What for?"

"You must remember, when I invited you into the house on the night he died -I had a premonition that we might need you, sooner or later. I was right. It's Fulvia who needs you."

"Really? I seem to recall that your sister-in-law was less than pleased with my presence in the mourning room."

"Things change. Fulvia is a pragmatist. You happen to be the man that she needs right now."

"For what?"

"She'll explain that to you herself But this is what I ask from you: anything that you discover about my brother's death-tell me, please." She turned her eyes on me then, and squeezed my hand. "I know you believe in the truth, Gordianus. I know how much it matters to you. It matters to me, as well. If only I could know for certain how Clodius died, who killed him, and why, then perhaps I could finally stop weeping." She managed another faint smile and let go of my hand. "We've arrived."

"Already?" The ride had been so smooth that I had scarcely known we were moving at all.

"I'll wait here until you're ready to leave, and then take you home again."

The slave girl pulled back the curtains for me. The block of wood awaited my step. The great forecourt of Clodius's house was empty except for several men guarding the terraces and the gate. One.of Clodia's gladiators accompanied me up the steps. The massive doors opened inward as if a gust of divine wind preceded me.

A slave accompanied me through the halls and galleries and up a flight of stairs to a room I hadn't seen before. It was at a corner of the house, with open windows that commanded a view of Palatine rooftops and the great temples on the Capitoline Hill beyond. The walls were stained with a bright green wash and decorated with blue and white borders in a geometrical Greek design. It was a bright, cheerful room, airy and light.

I saw Sempronia first. She sat in a chair close by the windows, wrapped in a red blanket to ward off the chill. Her long grey hair was still worn down for mourning, but it was gathered by a pin at the nape of her neck and hung straight behind her, touching the floor. The look she gave me was almost as cold as the air from outside.

Fulvia stepped in front of the windows. The light streaming in was so bright that I saw her only as a tall, narrow silhouette. As she stepped closer the veil of shadow over her features slowly dissolved. She was as I remembered her, plainer than Clodia but striking in her own fashion, younger and with something very shrewd about her eyes. She sat in the chair beside her mother. As there were no other chairs in the room, I remained standing.

Fulvia looked at me appraisingly. "Clodia says you're clever. I suppose she ought to know."

I shrugged, not sure whether to respond to the compliment or the insinuation.

"I understand that you've paid some calls on Cicero recently." She fixed her eyes on me.

"Not in the last few days."

"But since my husband's murder."

"Yes, on a couple of occasions. How did you know?"

"Let's just say that I inherited my husband's eyes and ears."

And his calculated manner as well, I thought. She was all in black, to be sure, but I saw no other signs of mourning. Had her hysterical outburst before the crowd in the forecourt that night been purely for show, or was it a genuine release of the anguish that she otherwise held in check? She certainly seemed controlled at the moment. Clodia was more like the grieving widow, I thought, and Fulvia more like the impassive heir, wasting no tears as she took on her husband's mantle.

"You're trying to figure me out," she said. "Don't bother. And I won't try to figure you out. Your business with Cicero is your own affair. I won't ask you to do anything that compromises whatever relationship you have with him. Or with Milo, for that matter." I raised my hand to object, but she went on. "Everyone knows that Milo was responsible for my husband's death. That's not what I want you to find out for me."

"What, then?"

For the first time there was a glimmer of discomfort on her race -a slight wrinkling of the forehead, a trembling of the lips. "There's a certain man, a friend of my husband. An old friend of mine as well, actually. He's approached me, offering his services when the time comes to prosecute Milo. I could use his help, his… support. But…"

"Yes?"

"I'm not sure that I can trust him." "Can you tell me his name?"

"Marc Antony." She raised an eyebrow. "You know him?" "No."

"But the look on your face -"

"I know his name, yes. One of Caesar's men – oh yes, now I remember. Our paths crossed that very night. As I was leaving your house, he was on his way here. He happens to know one of my sons. We exchanged a few words."

"Only a few?"

"Let me think. He asked me if the rumour was true. About Publius Clodius. I told him it was."

Sempronia rustled her blanket. Would her daughter ever acquire such a hardened face?

"And how did Antony react?" said Fulvia.

"It was dark. I could hardly see his face. But his voice was rather wistful, as I recall. He said something like, 'Ah, it's all over, then. The end of Publius, for good or ill." Then he went on his way."

Fulvia gazed out the window at the distant Capitoline. It was Sempronia who answered. "He ended up here. But Fulvia was in no condition to see him, or anyone. Antony spent some time talking with the other men in the anteroom and then left. So we know that Antony was here in Rome that night."

"Yes," said Fulvia, keeping her eyes on something far away. "But where was he earlier that day?"

"Are you saying that you believe he had something to do with your husband's death?"

Fulvia didn't answer. Sempronia clutched at the red blanket. "The fellow tried to murder Clodius with his bare hands only a year ago!"

Fulvia returned from wherever her thoughts had taken her. "My mother exaggerates." "Do I?"

"What's this about?" I said.

"You never heard the story?" said Fulvia. "I should have thought it would have made the rounds, such a juicy bit of gossip. Perhaps for once the people concerned managed to keep their mouths shut. There was no cause for scandal, just a dispute between two old friends, nothing more."

"It would have been considerably more if Antony had succeeded!" said Sempronia.

"But he didn't," insisted Fulvia. "Perhaps you should explain," I said.

Fulvia nodded. "It happened out on the Field of Mars last year, on one of the election days that ended up being cancelled. All the candidates were present, haranguing their supporters. I'm told there was the usual milling about, some scuffling, men with moneybags offering last-minute bribes, a few minor skirmishes. You know what it's like. I mean, being a man, you must have been to elections and seen for yourself Perhaps you were there that day."

"No. Actually, the last time I voted in a consular election was ten years ago, when Catilina ran."

Sempronia was suddenly interested. "You voted for Catilina?"

"No. Actually, I voted for a fellow with no head called Nemo."

The two women regarded me curiously.

"It's a very long story. Never mind. No, I wasn't there on the day you're talking about. But I can picture the scene. What happened?"

"Antony and my husband had words," said Fulvia. "As I understand it, the exchange began in a friendly manner, but it didn't end that way. Publius was always a bit vague as to who said what to whom."

"But we know how it turned out," said Sempronia, with equal parts of disdain and amusement in her voice, "with Antony drawing his sword and chasing Publius from one end of the Field of Mars to the other."

"Where were your husband's bodyguards?" I asked.

"Those particular bodyguards?" said Fulvia. "I don't know where they were that day, but I know where they are now – off working in me mines." There was a glint in her eyes that made her look, for that instant, almost as hard as her mother. "Anyway, Publius got away unscathed."