"As you know, we'll all be staying at the inn we've purchased in the Aventinus district, west of the Baths of Decius and southwest of the Temples of Minerva and Luna. That's very close to the Circus Maximus, in the heart of the sacred district, so we're not far from it now. We'll go there first. It's vital that everyone know how to find it. If you get lost, find the Circus and you can find the inn again. The most important instruction I have for you is simple: Don't get separated from your guides! There are more than a million people living in Rome right now, not to mention the thousands more who've crowded in for the Games of the Magna Mater.

You don't know the language or the customs. If you lose your guide, you could find yourself in fatal trouble very fast. Our porters will carry your luggage, since neither free-born men nor free-born women carried their own parcels. You've already been warned not to venture out after dark. Rome is a deadly city by night.

Not even the ruling classes walk the streets after dark.

Now... are there any questions?"

"What do we do after you show us the hotel?" a man near the center of the group asked.

"You've already been assigned to your tour groups. Each group will follow an itinerary based on the selections you made at the time station. Today is the Sacrifice of Attis, with an historic first procession of the sacred pine, plus the regular annual celebrations and the dedications of new priests. Three days from now the Hilaria begins. The Ludi Megalenses games begin on April fourth and will continue through the tenth, with Circus games and races daily. Chariot races, horse races, and bestiaries are scheduled for the mornings, gladiatorial combats for the afternoons.

"As you know, when the Games open, it will be arena seating"-another ripple of laughter went through the crowd at the silly pun-"so we'll need to find seats quickly to be assured of places. Be ready to enter the Circus by sunrise. The gate back to the time terminal reopens shortly after midnight on the eleventh. You'll probably be exhausted-so don't arrive late!"

"What about the lottery?"

The speaker was another man, near the edge of the crowd.

"We've already drawn the winners of the Messalina lottery but we won't announce the results until tomorrow As you know, there will be only three winners and the liaisons have to be carefully arranged by our employee in the Imperial palace. With Claudius in town, these trysts have to be set up with care. The winners, as you know, are not guaranteed a night with the Empress Messalina has the right to refuse any lover she wants, but her tastes in men are generally broad enough we don't anticipate any problems. After all, she does sleep with Claudius."

A titter of laughter ran around the room. Malcolm didn't join in. Everyone had been shown photographs in advance to prevent the disaster of someone laughing at the disfigured emperor should they accidentally stumble across an Imperial procession. Margo, not knowing any better, laughed too, then turned a puzzled glance toward him.

"What's wrong, Malcolm?- she asked anxiously. "That was funny. Wasn't it?"

"No. It wasn't."

She studied his face for a moment. "Why not? You've seen him, haven't you?"

"Yes. That's precisely why I don't find it funny."

Margo's brows drew together, but she didn't respond flippantly. Good. She was learning. Up near the front of the room, the Time Tours guide said, "All right, everybody ready? Any last questions? Good. Let's have some fun!"

Malcolm said quietly, "When we get to the street, it's okay to stare at the buildings. You're dressed- like a provincial; it'll be expected."

Margo nodded eagerly. The shine had returned to her eyes.

The door to the street opened once more to a bedlam of noise. Margo craned her neck to see outside, but was too short to see over the people between them and the door. The line moved forward slowly. The tour was permitted to leave in small groups of no more than three or four plus porters and guides. It always took a while to assemble a group for departure or to disperse a newly arrived tour without raising suspicion about the number of people entering and leaving the wineshop.

"Defer to anyone wearing a toga," Malcolm went on as soon as the door closed and Margo's attention returned to him. "If you encounter a member of the Praetorian Guard, try to look like the humblest, least important worm on the streets. You don't want to catch a Guardsman's attention. If I tell you to do something, do it fast and ask why later."

"Okay. What's the Praetorian Guard look like?"

"Roman soldiers. If you see anyone dressed like the soldiers in Ben Hur, get out of the way."

"They look like soldiers? Helmets with plumes, metal breastplates, little skirts, all that?"

"They don't just look like soldiers, Margo, they are soldiers. Bloody arrogant ones, at that."

Margo smiled. "Your accent's slipping, Malcolm."

He rubbed the end of his nose. "Well, yes. But the Praetorian Guard is something you don't want to tangle with. A lot of them are Germans. There taller -a lot taller than Romans. Now, about another important matter, have you studied the money?"

Margo groaned. "A little. Mostly I was trying to cram Latin."

The line moved forward again in a blare of noise from the open door.

"You're dressed as a free man, so you'll be expected to know the use of Roman money. As your slave, all I can do is translate. The more you know about the local money, the less likely you'll be completely rooked. I can tell you fair value for items, but remember we're not here to shop. We're here to learn."

Margo nodded impatiently. They were almost to the door.

"One last thing. I'm dressed as your slave. You're dressed as my dominus-my master. That's for public appearances. Don't let the master-slave thing go to your head or I'll turn you over my knee the second we're in private."

Margo shot him a startled glance. "You wouldn't!"

Malcolm grinned "Oh, yes I would. I m the teacher the magister-and you're the pupil. Forget that and I'll remind you."

The door opened in front of them and Margo let out a tiny squeal of excitement. It was their turn to cross the threshold and enter the street. Then Margo got her first good look at genuine imperial Romans.

Her mouth dropped open. "They're ... they're so short!"

The look on her face was so priceless, Malcolm burst out laughing. Margo was a dainty little thing, but very few of the people on the street were even close to her height. Malcolm towered over everyone in sight. Even the wineshop counter and seats were designed for childsized bodies.

Margo gaped, staring from one Roman to the next. "They're tiny!"

"Among scholars," Malcolm told her with a chuckle, "speculation is rife that Julius Caesar's six-foot height had no little impact on his success as a politician. Everybody had to look up to him."

Margo grinned. "That's funny."

Malcolm laughed. "Yes. That is. Ready?"

"And then some! Show me!"

"Okay, hang a sharp right-left-right-left past the end of the Circus Maximus, then follow the Via Ostiensis until it breaks southwest toward the Porta Ostiensa: the Ostian Gate. We'll take side streets around the Aventine Hill to the inn."

Margo cast a worried glance at him. ."If I take the wrong turn?"

"I'll be right behind you. Just don't walk too fast. I am carrying all the luggage." That was one of the downsides to freelance guiding in Rome.

Margo set out without further delay. Malcolm hoisted the bundles to a more comfortable position on his back and followed. Crowds jostled him as he made his way down the stone sidewalk. He tried, with little success, to avoid being bumped off into the muck in the streets. When Margo reached the first corner, she paused.

"People are staring at me."