Things could not have gone more to my liking. While I pretended to look the other way, Cytheris spotted the two of us and called out.

"Gordianus? Hello there! Can it truly be you? Back from the dead? But it must be, because that big blond demigod beside you can only be Cassandra's little brother. Rupa!"

She pushed aside the curtains and, not waiting for a slave to assist her, bounded from the litter. The flimsy gown she was wearing seemed more suitable for staying in than going out, and the hug she gave Rupa, pressing her small body full against him, caused him to blush to the roots of his golden hair. But when Cytheris threw back her head in a laugh of sheer delight, Rupa did likewise, though the sound that emerged from his throat was something between a bray and a bleat.

"But this is too delicious!" she said, turning her attention to me. "One heard that you were dead. Oh, dear, is it awful of me to say that aloud? I'm sure I must be flouting some superstitious rule of silence. But really, it's such a surprise. You were off in Alexandria, weren't you? Along with Rupa? But now you're back! What are you up to, here in the Carinae?"

"Well… we were just stopping here at the Temple of Tellus, so that Rupa could say a prayer for his sister." This was the truth, after all.

"Ah, yes, Cassandra…" Cytheris and Cassandra had been close in their younger days, when they were both street performers in Alexandria. "But you must come with me, both of you. You must tell me all about Alexandria. It's been ages since I was there, but some days I still wake up with the salty smell of the harbor in my nostrils. Come with me to the House of the Beaks, and we'll share some wine in the garden."

Are you watching, lemur of Hieronymus? I thought. Take notes! I had intended to make your death the reason for my visit, as the bearer of sad news, but this is much better. To all appearances, we have met by chance, and my visit to the house of Antony is Cytheris's idea, not my own. I shall mention your death only in passing…

Slaves scurried to assist Cytheris back into her litter, but she shooed them away and beckoned to Rupa. With a single sweep of his arms he lifted her up and deposited her among the cushions. While Cytheris rode, we walked beside her. The litter bearers restrained their pace, in deference to my slow, uphill progress.

Like many houses of the rich in Rome, Pompey's old residence presented an unostentatious face to the street. The portico was small and there was little in the way of ornament. But once we passed through the front doorway, I saw how the house had come by its name. The vestibule was enormous-one could have fitted a more humble house inside it-and the display of ramming beaks was dazzling. Some were very crudely fashioned, little more than man-sized lumps of bronze with a pointed end. But some were amazing works of art, fashioned to look like griffins with ferocious beaks or sea monsters with multiple horns. They were fearsome objects, intended to wreak havoc on other ships, but strikingly beautiful. I pondered for a moment the degree of artistry that is lavished on spears and swords and other weapons, to make pleasing to the eye a thing designed to cause death and destruction.

"Hideous, aren't they?" said Cytheris, noting my fascination. "Antony dotes on them like children. He has names for them all! You'd think he had captured them himself. He says that someday he may build a fleet of warships and use the best of these to ornament them."

"His own fleet of ships? Caesar might have something to say about that."

"Ah, yes… Caesar." She made a wry face.

As we walked through the house it appeared to me that the rooms had been depleted of some of their furniture and ornaments. There were niches without statues and walls where paintings had been removed. It had the half-vacant feeling of a house where someone is moving in or moving out.

Completely secluded from the street, the garden at the center of the house was unusually large and splendid, full of fragrant roses in bloom and pebble-strewn pathways decorated with fountains and statues. Set amid the little arbors of myrtle and cypress were many dining couches piled with plump cushions. Clearly, the occupants of the house spent a great deal of time in this space, which could accommodate many guests.

Cytheris led us to a secluded corner, collapsed on a couch with a sigh, and gestured for Rupa and me to do likewise. There was no need to call for wine. A slave bearing a tray with a pitcher and cups appeared before I had time to settle myself.

"So, Gordianus, tell me everything about your stay in Egypt. Are the Alexandrians as mad as ever? Do they still hate Romans? Did you meet Cleopatra?"

"Yes, yes, and yes."

"Really? I keep telling Antony he should invite her here, since she's in Rome for a visit, but he says it wouldn't do. He'd be embarrassed to present his concubine to a queen, I suppose, but Antony says it's because Caesar is still disputing his claim to this house."

"Yes, I was curious about that. I thought the House of the Beaks and all its contents were to be sold at a public auction, to benefit the Treasury."

Cytheris laughed. "Oh yes, there's going to be an auction-but don't bother to come, because Antony's already given the best things to our friends. Every time we throw a party, no one is allowed to leave without a piece of silver or a rare scroll or whatever else they're up for carrying. Antony tells me, 'I'd rather your actor friends end up with Pompey's spoils than some rich banker friend of Caesar's.' Have a look around, Gordianus, and see what you might like to take home with you. Rupa's big and strong. He could probably carry that statue of Cupid over there."

"You are joking?"

"Are you not a friend, Gordianus? You've met Antony, haven't you?"

"A few times, over the years."

"And doesn't he like you? Antony likes everyone. Well, everyone except Cicero. Antony says Caesar should have executed Cicero after Pharsalus, instead of pardoning him. 'Shows just how little my opinion counts with Caesar these days,' as poor Antony says. But you were going to tell me about Alexandria, Gordianus. If you're going to earn that Cupid, you'll have to cough up an amusing anecdote or two."

"I'm afraid my time in Egypt was not particularly amusing."

"But you must have had many adventures. You were there for months, and right in the middle of that nasty little war between Cleopatra and her brother, with Caesar showing up to play kingmaker. You must have had a brush or two with death-or perhaps a dalliance with one of the queen's handmaidens?" Cytheris raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I suppose I could tell you about the narrow escape we had from a rioting mob, when we had to find our way through a secret passage beneath of the tomb of Alexander the Great…"

Cytheris sat forward. "Yes! That's exactly the sort of tale I want to hear! Hilarion, bring more wine. We must keep Gordianus's throat well lubricated."

I regaled her with that story, and thought of a few more incidents in Alexandria that might amuse her, and then steered the conversation back to the subject of the house.

"How beautiful it is, here in your garden. And what a splendid house this is. No wonder Pompey loved it. But I still don't quite understand; does Antony own the house or not?"

The wine had relaxed her considerably. She spoke freely. "That depends on whom you ask. When Caesar saw that Antony was dragging his heels, they exchanged some harsh words. Caesar pressed the matter. 'Throw a final party there if you must, then auction the damned place and get out!' But Antony wouldn't budge. He was quite blunt. 'The way I see it,' he told Caesar, 'I deserve this house as much as anyone. I did my part to bring down Pompey, no less than you, and this is my reward!' The two of them have carried on a pissing match about it ever since. Officially, Caesar insists on an auction, but I think he may have finally given up, or maybe he's just too busy arranging his upcoming triumphs to keep pestering Antony. So Antony's plan now is to hold some semblance of an auction-toss out Pompey's moth-eaten togas and get rid of the dented silver-then declare that the auction is done and go on living here. I want to redecorate the whole place, anyway. Pompey's wife had dreadful taste in furniture."