Only a couple of guards in gilded armor decorated the royal pier. They shuffled down to where the boat pulled up and made indignant noises as I was paying my boatmen.

"I am Senator Decius Caecilius Metellus of the Roman embassy!" I shouted to them. "Lay hands on me at your mortal peril! I must see King Ptolemy at once!"

"We can't let you in and we can't leave our post, Senator," said one. "We'll have to pass word for the Captain of the Watch."

One of Achillas's men, no doubt. "Why?" I said, scanning the harbor like a slave in a comedy. "I see no enemy fleet rounding the Pharos. Let me by."

"Sorry, sir. It's our standing orders."

"You are behaving like fools," I insisted.

"Would you let Roman soldiers get away with neglect of duty, Senator?" said the younger of the two. He had a point.

"Can't leave your post, eh?" I said.

"Sorry, sir, no," said the elder.

"Then you can't chase me." I dashed between them and sprinted for the Palace. As they hollered for more guards behind me, I thought that I must take up this running business seriously. This was my third hard run of the day. My prolonged relaxation in Simeon's house had taken its toll, though. My legs had grown stiff and sore. My motions were wobbly, like one just ashore after a long, rough sea voyage.

I ran past the royal menagerie, where the lions and other predators set up a roaring and yowling. Anything running meant food to them. Slaves jumped from my path, alarmed at this wild-eyed apparition with his mysterious burden. Then I saw the stair leading to the throne room before me. Ptolemy would be somewhere near, and I vowed a goat to Bacchus if he would just be sober.

I charged up the stairs and came to a halt as the guards closed rank before me, their spears leveled, but with the inevitable look of uncertainty worn by soldiers everywhere when confronted by an unexpected situation.

"Senator Metellus of the Roman embassy demands audience with King Ptolemy!" I shouted. They muttered and shuffled; then someone came through the shadowed portico behind them. But it was not Ptolemy. It was Achillas.

"Seize that madman," he said coolly. "And bring him inside."

Ah, well. It had been worth a try. Luckily for me, even parade armor is heavy. I kept a few steps ahead of the clattering guardsmen all the way to the Roman embassy. If the servants and hangers-on had scattered before me on my way to the throne room, they were doubly swift to do so with all that pointed and sharp-edged steel bearing down upon me.

Then I was in sight of the Roman embassy. But it was not the placid scene I had grown used to. The steps were crowded with men dressed in togas and women in Roman dress and even children, the boys in purple-bordered togas. More to the point, in front of them stood a line of grim soldiers, their spears leveled outward. I was certain I was doomed until I recognized the shape of the big old-fashioned, oval Samnite shields. These were Roman soldiers, not legionaries but marines.

"Save me!" I shouted. "I am a Senator!" Their spear points wavered not a single inch.

"Arrest him!" yelled Creticus from the top of the steps. "Tie him up and bring him in here!" The line of soldiers parted just enough to let me through and then closed smoothly. Behind me, the royal guards came to a halt in a screech of hobnails on pavement. Hands grasped me and dragged me up the steps. I had just run from this very situation, only to have it inflicted upon me by my own countrymen. I was thrown to the steps at Creticus's feet, still hugging my scroll.

"Chain him up!" Creticus screamed. "Flog him! We may have to find a priest to purify the evil little monster!" He was quite beside himself.

"If you'll just get a grip on yourself:"

"Get a grip?" he shrieked, his face going scarlet. "Get a grip! Decius, have you any idea what you've done? Roman citizens have been attacked! Their houses have been destroyed, their property plundered! And why? Because you skulked away from the embassy, against my orders, and killed a cat! A cat!" I thought he was sure to have a seizure.

"I have saved Rome!" I insisted. "A big, wealthy part of the Empire, anyway."

"Enough of these vaporings! Bring the chains."

"Just a moment." Julia pushed her way past him, her face white and drawn. She knelt beside me and wiped my sweaty face with a corner of her scarf.

"Decius, did you really kill that cat?"

"Absolutely not!" I told her. "I love the sneaky little beasts. It was Ataxas. He killed it and blamed it on me. He started it all, and I have the evidence here to convict the lot of them."

She stood and faced Creticus. "Listen to what he has to say."

"Listen to him! That's what caused all this trouble! I listened to him! No more! I will have him tried for treason and flung from the Tarpeian Rock! I'll have his traitorous corpse dragged on a hook down the Tiber steps and thrown into the river!"

She didn't flinch. She stood with her face three inches from his, and her voice didn't waver in the least.

"Quintus Caecilius Metellus Creticus, if you do not hear him out, my uncle, the Consul-elect Caius Julius Caesar, will have some words for you when we return to Rome."

Creticus stood for about five minutes while his normal color returned. Then he snapped: "Bring him inside." We went into the atrium. "Make it fast and convincing."

"War," I gasped, at the end of my resources. Suddenly Hermes was at my elbow with a brimming cup, the blessed boy. I emptied it in one gulp. "War with Parthia. Revolt in Egypt. This is the stolen book."

"Book!" Creticus shouted. "You started a riot over a cat, now you want a war over a book?"

I'd had enough of this. I held one end of the scroll and tossed the bulk of it to the floor. It unrolled for the whole length of the atrium and continued into a hallway, displaying fine Greek writing, exquisite drawings, and spilling documents. I held out the cup and Hermes took it, returning in seconds with a refill. I went to the spilled documents and scooped them up, then handed them to Creticus.

"The secret treaty between Achillas and Phraates of Parthia, plotting to overthrow King Ptolemy and divide up Rome's Eastern possessions between them. Not just the final treaty, but the earlier drafts as well." While Creticus studied it, I glared at the other embassy officials who stood tensely by. "You weasels don't get out of paying me five hundred denarii that easily."

Creticus grew very, very white as he read. "Explain," he said at last. I gave it to them, quickly, from the murder of Iphicrates to my appearance at the bottom of the embassy steps.

By the end of it, somebody had shoved a chair beneath me and I was making quick work of my third cup.

"All right," Creticus said grimly. "I grant you a temporary reprieve. In your insane fashion, you may have done the state some service. Let's go outside."

There was now a great crowd of the Palace guard filling the courtyard, but we felt safe enough behind our line of Roman marines. I staggered out to stand wearily beside Creticus. Julia stood by me. I saw Fausta in the crowd of Romans, looking on happily, as if this spectacle were being staged just for her amusement. Achillas stood at the head of his soldiers. I expected him to bluster, but I had underestimated him. He was biding his time in silence, waiting to see which way he should jump.

"You think he'll storm the embassy, Decius?" Creticus said, maintaining that haughty demeanor for which Roman officials are famed all over the world.

"Wouldn't dare," I whispered, looking equally lofty. "It would precipitate war too soon. He needs that alliance with Parthia, and the treaty hasn't been delivered."

Then there was a disturbance at the rear of the crowd. It looked as if a ship were sailing toward the embassy.

"Here comes Ptolemy," Creticus said. "Let's hope he's sober."