"Except for his dignity!" said Sempronia. "Ducking into a cabinet under a stairway in some rat-infested warehouse on the river – like a cowering slave fleeing from his master's whip in some second-rate comedy."

"That's enough, Mother." Fulvia turned her flinty gaze to Sempronia. The test of wills between the two of them was almost palpable, like the grating sound of steel against a whetting stone. Sempronia visibly relented, sinking back beneath her red blanket. Fulvia, protector of her dead husband's dignity, sat upright. What sort of man had Clodius been, to contend with the two of them on a daily basis, and with his sister thrown in for good measure? No wonder he had thought himself worthy to run the city, if he had learned to keep control of his own household.

"What was the nature of this quarrel between your husband and Antony?"

"I told you, I never really knew what started the incident." "But surely you have some idea."

Fulvia became distant again, gazing out of the window. Was this oscillation between harsh clarity and withdrawal calculated to keep me off balance, or was it simply her nature, or a kind of malady induced by the shock of her husband's murder? "You needn't be concerned with such specifics, Gordianus. All I want is to find out whether Marc Antony played any part whatsoever in what happened to Publius on the Appian Way."

"First, I think I would need to determine to my own satisfaction exactly what did happen on the Appian Way."

"Does that mean you'll accept the task?"

"No. I'll have to think about it first."

"When can you give me your answer?"

I rubbed my chin. "Tomorrow?"

Fulvia nodded.

"In the meantime," I said, "I want you to tell me exactly what happened that day, so far as you know. I want to know what Clodius was doing away from Rome, who might have known of his movements, who brought his body back to Rome, and how the skirmish began."

Fulvia drew a deep breath. "In the first place, this talk of an ambush is complete nonsense, unless it was Milo who ambushed Clodius. It was certainly Milo's men who began the fight, without any provocation whatsoever. My husband was completely blameless. And the atrocities Milo's men committed at our country villa afterwards, terrorizing the servants…"

An hour later our interview came to an end.

I still had not made up my mind about helping Fulvia, though a remuneration in silver had been mentioned that was sorely tempting, especially considering the damage that had been done to my house and the fact that I needed more bodyguards. It seemed that the more prosperous I grew, the more costly it became to live – literally, to stay alive. Simple necessity made Fulvia's offer attractive; it would also give me an excuse to go poking about into the incident that had set Rome aflame and ended in the death of a man very close to me. On the other hand, as always, there was the degree of danger to be considered. Bethesda would say I was mad. So would Eco, probably, before he insisted on sharing the danger with me.

My head was full of these thoughts as I rode home beside Clodia in her litter, but not so full that I failed to notice her perfume and the warmth of her leg where it pressed against mine.

"Did you accept my sister-in-law's commission?" she asked.

"Not yet."

We arrived at my house. As I moved to step out of the litter, Clodia gripped my arm. "If you do accept, Gordianus, I hope that you'll share with me whatever you may discover. It matters to me very much, to know all I can about my brother's death."

It was the sixth hour of the day and I was hungry for the midday meal. I headed towards the kitchen, but Davus approached me in the hall and told me that Eco was waiting for me. I gathered from the look on Davus's face that someone had severely scolded him for letting me go out without him.

I found Eco in my study, and also Bethesda. "Husband, where have you been?"

"Didn't Davus tell you? I was called away on business."

Bethesda's nostrils twitched. She cocked her head. Self-consciously I raised my sleeve to my nose and breathed a faint scent of spikenard and crocus oil.

"Clodia," declared Bethesda. "Oh, I knew already. Davus told me about seeing her litter."

"What did she want, Papa?" Eco looked almost as disapproving as Bethesda.

"Actually," I began, and then was interrupted by the reappearance of Davus at the door.

"Another visitor, Master." "Yes?"

"He says his name is Tiro " It was like the old Etruscan adage,

I thought. No rain for a month, and then a downpour. "He says that you're invited to come and share a midday meal with Marcus Tullius Cicero."

"And Eco is invited, too, of course," said Tiro, suddenly looking over Davus's shoulder. What had become of the retiring, perfectly behaved slave who would never have thought of taking the liberty of wandering unaccompanied through a citizen's house? Tiro had become a brash freedman, it seemed, and proof of the general consensus that manners in the Republic had all gone to Hades.

"I am hungry," Eco conceded, patting his belly.

"And I'm starving," I said.

Bethesda crossed her arms and said nothing. Imperious she might be, but she was not Sempronia or Fulvia, after all. Thank Jupiter for that.

Armed men stood guard at the door of Cicero's house and patrolled the roof. More men were stationed inside the foyer. I felt as if I were entering a general's camp.

The shutters had been closed in the dining room to keep out the cold. Pallid winter light seeped in from the garden, warmed by the glow of hanging lamps. Cicero was already settled on a dining couch with Marcus Caelius beside him. Tiro gestured for Eco and me to take places on the couch opposite, which was long enough for all three of us to share.

Caelius was looking smug about something, as usual, which irritated me, as usual. "Marcus Caelius, you've come up in the world since I last saw you."

He lazily raised an eyebrow.

"I mean, you appear to be a free citizen now. When our paths last crossed in the Forum – in that shed behind the temple -1 took you and Titus Annius Milo for runaway slaves."

Cicero and Tiro frowned. Eco glanced at me uncertainly. Caelius's face became a blank mask for a moment, then he burst out laughing. "Oh, Gordianus, I wish I'd thought of that one myself! 'Caelius has come up in the world.' " He wagged his finger. "If one of my rival tribunes uses it against me, I shall know you've taken to writing speeches for the enemy."

"Gordianus would never consider doing that, surely," said Cicero, fixing his eyes on me. "Shall we plunge straight into the meal? I can hear your stomachs growling from here. Only simple fare, I'm afraid. The cook tells me it's impossible to find provisions in the markets. But it's best for a man to keep his diet simple, anyway."

Cicero had suffered from chronic dyspepsia for as long as I had known him.

The food was superb, nonetheless. A fish soup with dumplings was followed by bits of roasted chicken wrapped in pickled grape leaves with an aromatic cumin sauce. Cicero had learned to appreciate the finer pleasures which befitted a man of his stature.

He ate cautiously, nonetheless, scrutinizing each spoonful and slice before putting it into his mouth, as if he could tell by looking which morsel might set off his indigestion. "Speaking of coming up'- or going down – in the world, Gordianus, it strikes me that accepting a ride in the litter of a certain lady these days would cause many people to think that the passenger had lowered himself considerably."

"How could that be? A litter goes to and fro, Cicero, not up and down."

Caelius laughed. "It all depends who's in the litter with her."

Cicero looked at Caelius shrewdly. "Not a prudent comment, my friend, considering your own history with the lady in question. Or the role you played in her -"