"Comeuppance!" said Caelius, almost choking on a bite of chicken to get the word out ahead of Cicero. I gathered it was a sort of game between them, punning at the expense of their enemies, particularly the Clodii.

"I assume you're referring to a visitor I had earner today," I said.

"The lady who swept you away," said Caelius.

"How is it that you know who my visitors are, Cicero? I'd hate to think that my house is being watched."

Cicero put down his spoon. "Now really, Gordianus! We live on the same street. I have slaves and visitors coming and going all day. They all know the lady's litter. Everyone does. She could hardly park the thing in front of your house without people noticing." He picked up the spoon again and toyed with it. "But the curious thing is that you should have gone off with her. I don't know where – you see, I don't have anyone watching you, or else they'd have followed."

"But you'd like to know?"

"Only if you care to tell me."

"As a matter of fact, it wasn't the lady in question who – well, she does have a name, doesn't she, so why not use it? Yes, I left in Clodia's litter, but it wasn't Clodia who wanted me."

"Pity," said Caelius.

"Is it? I wouldn't know." The edge in my voice surprised me.

"Clodia was only acting as go-between. She took me to her sister-in-law's house, if you must know."

"I see." Cicero didn't seemed surprised. Had he sent a spy to follow the litter after all? "Would it betray a confidence to tell us what Fulvia wanted with you?"

"She wanted my help in a certain personal matter. Nothing unusual."

"Oh, I seriously doubt that."

"Really? I suppose you think she wanted my help in something to do with her husband's death. But we all know the story behind that already, don't we? Milo himself laid out the facts at Caelius's condo for all Rome to hear. Clodius staged a vicious ambush, the dde turned against him, one of Milo's slaves put an end to him. Ask Caelius. He was there. He heard the story just as Eco and I did, though Milo was cut off before he could quite finish." Caelius returned my glance, unblinking and unamused. "No, Fulvia hardly said a word about Milo, if that's what you're thinking. Nor did she have much to say about Milo's friend, Marc Antony."

Cicero looked genuinely nonplused. "Antony? Milo's friend? I doubt that the two of them even know each other."

I looked at Caelius, who seemed as lost as Cicero – no telltale smirk, no twitch of secret amusement.

"Then I must be mistaken. Perhaps I mixed up the names. That happens more and more as I get older. You're only a little younger than I am, Cicero. Don't you find it's a problem, keeping names straight? A man learns so many of them over a long lifetime. Where do all the names go? It's like words on a tablet, you can only fit in so many, and then you have to write smaller and smaller until the letters become illegible and the scribbles all run together. Some people have a gift for names, I suppose, or even a slave especially trained for the task."

Cicero nodded. "Tiro has always had a knack for keeping names straight. He's saved me from making many a gaffe – all those small-town voters from the hinterland who take offence if you can't remember their family tree all the way back to King Numa!" It was a politician's joke. We all laughed, but Caelius practically brayed.

"But this business about Marc Antony…" said Cicero.

I shrugged. "As I said, he was hardly mentioned at all. You say he's not a friend of Milo. Is he friend of yours, then, Cicero?"

He looked at me thoughtfully. "We're not enemies, if that's what you mean."

It was my turn to look puzzled.

"There's no ill will between Marc Antony and myself" he said, "at least not on my part."

"Come, Cicero," said Caelius, rolling his eyes. "It's obvious that Gordianus is looking for information about Antony. Why, I can't imagine. But there's no reason to be coy. Gordianus is your guest, sharing your food. I suggest we tell him whatever he wants to know. And then, perhaps at another time, he'll return the favour and tell us something he knows."

Cicero looked dubious for a moment, then opened his hands in a gesture of acquiescence. "What do you already know about Marc Antony?"

"Almost nothing. I know that he's one of Caesar's lieutenants, and I understand he's back from Gaul to run for office."

"A quaestorship," said Caelius, "and likely to win a spot, if and when there's a vote."

"His politics?"

"He's allied with Caesar, of course," said Cicero. "Other than that, his only programme so far as I can discern is self-advancement."

"He's an original then, unique among Roman politicians," I said. Neither Cicero nor Caelius responded to this joke. Tiro predictably frowned, taking offence on behalf of his former master. Eco kept a straight face but shook his head almost imperceptibly, wondering at his father's impertinence.

"I understand he's very popular with his troops," I said. "So my son Meto tells me."

"And why not? Antony has the common touch." Cicero's tone was not complimentary. "He's of noble birth, but they say he drinks and carouses with the lowest soldiers from the barracks. He's always been like that. He used to hang out with his mother's household slaves and freedmen when he was growing up. Always the little boy who liked to get dirty. Always attracted to loud, vulgar pleasures. Well, he got a bad start."

"Tell me."

"One would have to go back to his grandfather, at least…" Of course, I thought; the career of any Roman of high birth could never be described beginning merely with his own birth. "The old fellow was quite a power back when I was growing up – one of my tutors in rhetoric, as a matter of fact, and one of the best. Magnificent speeches! Words that rumbled like thunder! But he would never publish them; he said that only a fool would do that, because it just gave your enemies a way to point out your inconsistencies." Cicero, who had made a career of publishing and disseminating his speeches, laughed ruefully.

Caelius smiled. "Wasn't there some scandal involving Antony's grandfather and a Vestal Virgin?"

"Caelius, must you always have a scandal?"

"Yes! And if there's not one, I'll invent it!"

"Well, you happen to be right. There was a trial for despoiling a Vestal somewhere in the distant past, but he was acquitted of that and went on to a truly distinguished career. Ended up serving as consul, then censor, and was finally elected to the college of augurs for life. But his rise really began with his military service. He was one of the first to mount a campaign against the pirates in Cilicia. Did so well, he was awarded a triumphal procession in Rome. The Senate allowed him to decorate the Rostra with the beaks of the ships he had captured, and even voted to erect a statue of him."

"A statue?" said Eco. "I don't recall ever seeing it."

"That's because it was pulled down shortly after he was executed during the civil war. I remember seeing his head on a spike in the Forum; it gave me nightmares for months afterwards. Quite a shock, seeing an old tutor in that condition. Even the canniest politician was liable to make a fatal misstep back in those days."

"Rather like these days," murmured Caelius.

Eco, I noticed, put down a piece of chicken he had been about to eat.

"Anyway," Cicero continued, "Antony's grandfather had an extraordinary career, even if it did end so ingloriously. Antony never knew him, of course; the old man was killed a few years before Antony was born.

"Now Antony's father was another matter altogether. Good-looking, well liked, generous to his friends, but a terrible bungler. Like his father before him, he was sent to quell the pirates. Raised a massive war chest, gathered a formidable navy, then squandered it all in losing skirmishes from Spain to Crete. When he negotiated a humiliating peace with the pirates, that was the last straw. The Senate rejected the treaty in outrage. Antony's father died in Crete, some say of shame. Antony was only about-what, Caelius? Eleven or twelve years old?"