I also experienced a nagging uncertainty. The rumors recounted by Hieronymus were stuck in my head; they had shaped my ideas about Octavius before I had a chance to meet him. I had found Hirtius's casual but insistent habit of touching the young man, and Octavius's passive but unemotional reaction to being touched, not innocent and endearing but oddly disturbing. What was the exact relationship between Caesar and Octavius, and between Octavius and Hirtius?

Was I allowing gossip and innuendo to color my observations? To be seduced into error by way of preconception-this was a common, often dangerous mistake made by amateurs such as Hieronymus when they set about uncovering secrets.

I reminded myself that Octavius was only seventeen, a sheltered youth without a father and hardly any practical experience of the world. He must be acutely self-conscious about living in his granduncle's shadow, and was probably a bit intimidated by the huge public reaction to his birthday. What I took to be aloofness was more likely the closely guarded expression of a young man who did not yet know himself and was quite uncertain of his place in the world.

When I arrived home, Calpurnia's messenger was waiting for me.

Again, she asked whom I had interviewed and what I had discovered. Despite her deliberately cryptic choice of words, I could sense her increasing anxiety.

Again I sent a reply saying I had nothing significant to report.

I spent the rest of the day in a strange state of mind, hardly stirring from my garden. The day was brutally hot. I thought of young Octavius sweltering in his toga while augurs watched the flight of birds from atop the Capitoline, no doubt assuring Caesar that all the auspices were good. I drank only water, abstaining from wine, and took a number of brief naps. From time to time I reached for Hieronymus's reports, but his handwriting seemed more indecipherable than ever and his prose more pointlessly prolix. There was still a great deal of material I had not yet read or had only scanned in a haphazard fashion.

Finally, shadows began to lengthen, but the heat of the day gave no indication of relenting.

My daughter joined me in the garden.

"Are you all right, Papa?" said Diana.

I considered the question. "I'm not unwell."

"It's this heat! Davus and I were just down at the riverside market. The whole city is in a kind of daze."

"Good. I thought it was only me."

She frowned. "Your work isn't going well, is it?"

I shrugged. "Who can say? A sudden revelation could come to me at any moment. That's happened before. But right now, I have no idea who killed Hieronymus or why."

"It will come to you. You know it will. But something else is bothering you."

I nodded. "You can see inside my head; you inherited that ability from your mother."

"Perhaps. From the look on your face, I can see that you're troubled."

I shaded my brow and squinted at the sun. It seemed to have caught on the edge of the roofline; I could have sworn it was just sitting there, not moving. "When I accepted this mission from Calpurnia, I told her I was doing so for only one purpose: to see justice done for Hieronymus. But that's no longer true, if it ever was. Somehow, I've become caught up in her zeal to safeguard Caesar. Today, outside the house of Gaius Octavius, there was a large gathering. Caesar walked through the crowd alone, without any lictors, without even friends to protect him. I found myself very nearly in a panic when I thought of the danger he was facing. My breath shortened. My pulse began to race. I was relieved beyond words when he passed safely through the crowd and disappeared into the house."

"Was he any safer inside?" said Diana. "Weren't all those people going to follow him in, one or two at a time, to pay their respects to his kinsman? And might not this Gaius Octavius himself pose a threat to Caesar? You must have thought so, or you wouldn't have paid a call on him."

"You can see inside my head! I never discussed any of this with you."

She smiled. "I have my own ways of 'finding,' Papa. But the point is, neither you nor anyone else can protect Caesar all the time, especially if someone close to him is determined to harm him."

"True enough, Daughter. But you miss the point."

"Which is?"

"Why should I care whether Caesar lives or dies? I told Calpurnia I would study these documents and follow them wherever they led only so that I might discover who killed Hieronymus. Caesar means nothing to me."

"Not true. Caesar means something to all of us. For better or worse, he's brought an end to the civil war and all its suffering."

"Caesar himself inflicted a great deal of that suffering!"

"But now it's over, at least in Rome. People are beginning to live again-to hope, to plan, to think about the future. To think about life instead of death. No one wants a return to the bloodshed and sorrow of the last few years. If Caesar were to be murdered-especially before he names an heir-the killing would start all over again. You don't have to love Caesar to want him to keep breathing. You don't even have to like him. You can despise him-and still want him to stay alive, for the sake of peace, for the good of all of us."

"Has it come to that? Must a man submit to having a king, and want him to live forever, because the alternative is too awful to consider?"

Diana cocked her head. "It must be terrible to be a man and to have think about such things, even in this heat. For those of us who can't vote, or fight, or own property-or ever hope to do any of those manly things-it's all much simpler. How many more people have to die before the world can be at peace? If Caesar were to be killed, I don't know if any good would come of it, but I'm certain a great deal of evil would follow. That's what you dread, Papa. That's why you care about what happens to Caesar."

I looked up, and realized that the sun had slipped behind the roofline. Twilight would come after all, followed by night, and then another day.

I closed my eyes.

I must have slept, because I seemed to be in the Tullianum. The dank, cool darkness was almost pleasant compared to the brutal heat of the day. Amid the shadows, lemures were all around me-the lemures of Vercingetorix and Ganymedes and countless other Gauls and Egyptians, soon to be joined by more victims from Asia and Africa and unheard-of lands beyond. But the lemur of Hieronymus was not among them.

The next day, for the Asian Triumph, we arrived a bit late, and with our party incomplete. There was some minor crisis with little Beth, and after much discussion, Diana convinced her mother to come along while she stayed home. Our seats were waiting for us in the viewing stands. We missed the opening procession of senators and magistrates-small loss!-but managed to take our places just as the trumpets were sounding to mark the parade of trophies.

The rebellious King Pharnaces had overrun Cappadocia, Armenia, and Pontus. All these regions, which Caesar had subsequently reclaimed, were represented by precious objects donated by the grateful inhabitants. A golden crown and other treasures, with which Pharnaces had attempted to placate Caesar upon his arrival in Asia, were also displayed, along with a statue of the moon goddess Bellona, the principal deity of the Cappadocians, to whom Caesar had sacrificed before he began the campaign.

Among the captured weapons and machines of war, Pharnaces's own chariot was wheeled before us. It was an impressive vehicle. The carriage was heavily plated, and fearsome-looking blades projected from the wheels.

A placard displayed the flight of Pharnaces at the battle of Zela. The king was shown in his chariot, his crown tumbling from his head, his face a mask of panic. On one side of him loomed a stern-looking Caesar, his hands on hips. On the other side loomed Pharnaces's treacherous henchman Asander, the man who would murder him, flashing a wicked grin. The crowd bust into laughter at the sight of these exaggerated but cleverly rendered caricatures.