We were greeted in the vestibule by Octavius's mother, Atia, dressed in a sumptuous stola made of richly woven cloth and wearing a great deal of jewelry. She must have been greeting visitors since daybreak, but her smile for Hirtius appeared completely genuine. She planted a kiss on his cheek.

"Greetings, stranger!" she said.

Hirtius laughed. "No stranger than that fellow who just left, I hope."

Atia narrowed her eyes. "Young Dolabella-such a charmer!"

Hirtius clucked his tongue. "Just be sure to keep him away from Octavia. Now that Dolabella is free of Cicero's daughter, no young lady will be safe. Or do you have your eye on the rogue yourself?"

Atia laughed. "You know my reputation as a chaste widow. All the dictator's women must be above suspicion-Caesar's niece as well as Caesar's wife."

Hirtius nodded. "Where is your uncle? I thought Caesar would be here by now."

"He's supposed to be. Too busy with some crisis or other, I'm sure. He'll eventually show up. He'd better! I certainly can't be the one who takes Gaius for a walk across the Forum in his new toga, and then up to the Capitoline to take the auspices. They're planning to perform the ritual in front of Uncle's new statue. We couldn't ask for finer weather. But who is this fellow?"

Hirtius introduced me. Atia's demeanor at once became more formal, softened by a smile that was obviously synthetic. Perhaps her uncle had taught her how to put on a politician's face when called upon to greet a horde of strangers.

We were shown to a small garden. A short young man in a toga stood inconspicuously amid the shrubbery. His face in repose displayed a thoughtful, almost somber expression. His forehead was quite broad but covered by a very thick head of fair hair. His eyebrows nearly met. His mouth was finely shaped but almost too small in proportion to his long nose. When he saw Hirtius, his lips curved into a smile, but his eyes remained distant. The result was an ironic expression that seemed precocious for his years.

The two greeted each other warmly, gripping elbows in a near embrace. Impulsively, it seemed, Hirtius leaned forward and kissed Octavius on the lips, then gave his cheek a playful pinch.

"My boy, my boy! Or should I say, my good man-look at you in that toga! How proud your uncle will be when he sees you."

"Do you think so? All I know is, this thing is hotter than I expected. I shall faint if I have to stand under the full sun when they take the auspices."

"Nonsense! You'll conduct yourself with perfect grace, as you always do." Hirtius grabbed Octavius by the scruff of the neck. The young man submitted to this familiarity with neither embarrassment nor apparent pleasure. He turned his curiously distant gaze to me.

"This is Gordianus," said Hirtius, "the father of Meto Gordianus, your uncle's amanuensis."

Octavius raised an eyebrow. "I see."

"You know my son?"

"Only by reputation."

What did Octavius mean by that? His detached manner hinted at thoughts unspoken and judgments made in silence. Or was I merely imagining this?

"Greetings on this special day, citizen," I said.

"Thank you, Gordianus."

"You two know someone in common," said Hirtius. "Or knew."

"Hieronymus of Massilia," I said quickly, wanting to see Octavius's reaction.

For a long moment, Octavius showed no expression at all. Then he lifted both eyebrows. "Ah, the Scapegoat. Excuse me, but so many names have passed through my head today, I drew a blank. How is Hieronymus?"

"You haven't heard?" said Hirtius. "The fellow was found stabbed to death. Somewhere on the Palatine, wasn't it, Gordianus?"

"Yes."

"Sad news," said Octavius. "Such a terrible crime, in the heart of the city. His killer?"

"Unknown," I said.

"An outrage. Has my uncle been told? He must do something about it."

"I still have hope that the killer, or killers, may be exposed," I said. Octavius nodded. His expression had never altered. "But, forgive me, citizen, for marring the day with such tidings. This is a joyous occasion."

"It is, indeed!" Atia came striding into the garden. "And joy must be shared. We have many more visitors waiting to pay their respects."

Hirtius put on a wounded face. "Have we outstayed our welcome already?"

"You? Never! But right now, you're welcome to go find my uncle and bring him here, if you want to be useful." Atia smiled and left the garden.

"Farewell, then." Hirtius gazed wistfully at Octavius and cocked his head. "My boy, my boy, how very fine you look in that toga!" He took a step toward Octavius, and for a moment I thought he might kiss him again. But Octavius stiffened slightly and drew back, and there was something awkward and perfunctory about their parting embrace.

We left the garden and returned to the vestibule, where the next visitors were already being greeted by Atia.

Hirtius's lictors were waiting for him on the doorstep. As we headed back toward the place where I had left Rupa, with the lictors clearing a path, a murmur ran through the crowd. Heads turned in a single direction. In a hush, the name "Caesar" passed from tongue to tongue, then was shouted aloud: "Caesar! Hail, Caesar!"

Octavius's granduncle had finally arrived. He was attended by a considerable retinue and surrounded by lictors, but he broke away from his party to walk, alone and unprotected, into the gathering before Atia's house.

Everyone of importance in Rome appeared to know that this was the toga day of Caesar's grandnephew and that Caesar himself, sooner or later, would be in attendance. If anyone desired to harm Caesar in a public place, here was the perfect opportunity. How many knives might be hidden in that crowd? It would take only one to kill a man. How quickly could a determined assassin strike, before anyone could stop him?

I stood on tiptoes to watch Caesar's slow progress through the gathering. Men pressed forward to touch him, utter words of greeting, and speak their names in hopes that he would remember them. Every time Caesar turned or nodded, I flinched. By my heartbeats, I counted the number of times he escaped a possible death.

He saw Hirtius and moved toward us.

"Aulus Hirtius! How is our boy holding up on his special day?"

"Splendidly, Caesar. He was born to wear a toga."

"Good, good. And can this be Gordianus beside you? Tell me, Finder, did you enjoy your seats at yesterday's triumph?"

"We were able to see everything, Dictator."

He nodded and pursed his lips. "Including that business with Arsinoe and her anonymous admirer?"

My mouth went dry. Rupa was standing only a few feet away. I did my best not to look in his direction. "That was quite unexpected," I said.

"Yes. After a lifetime in politics, a man thinks he knows the Roman people, yet they continue to be full of surprises. But let's hope there'll be no more surprises in the triumphs to come."

I nodded. "Will your nephew be taking part?"

Caesar brightened. "He will, indeed. Not in tomorrow's triumph but in the one after, the final triumph, over Africa. Gaius Octavius shall receive military honors and ride at the head of my troops, and after the procession, he shall join me when I dedicate the new temple; Venus is his ancestress as well as mine. It's my hope that the people of Rome will love him as dearly as I do, and as does Hirtius here."

"They will, Caesar," said Hirtius. "How could they not embrace him?"

"I look to you, Hirtius, to see that the boy is properly outfitted and knows how to conduct himself in the triumph. We don't want him to look like a raw recruit by the way he handles his weapon or leaves a piece of armor unbuckled."

"I have every confidence that the boy-the young man-will satisfy your expectations," said Hirtius.

Caesar nodded and pressed on. A few moments later, he disappeared into Atia's house unharmed. I felt relieved.