She shivered and swayed as if she might feint. In her helplessness she allowed Tiro to embrace her shoulders gently. Her voice was distant and hollow, as if it came from the moon. 'He smiles because a part of him still believes they'll never kill him. He thinks he'll live forever, and if that's true then there's no way I can hope to stop him.'

I shook my head. 'You hate him so much you don't care whom your treachery hurts or how many innocent men you destroy. Twice now I might have been killed, because of you.'

She blanched, but only for an instant. 'No man who helps my father is innocent,' she said dully. Tiro's embrace began to loosen.

'And any man is worthy of your body if he can be of use to you?'

'Yes! Yes, and I have no shame for it! My father has every right to me, so the law says. I'm just a girl, I'm nothing, I'm the dirt beneath his fingernails, hardly better than a slave. What weapons do I have? What can. I use to protect Minora? Only my body. Only my wits. So I use them.'

'Even if your treachery means my death?'

'Yes! If that's the price — if others have to die.' She began to cry again, realizing what she had said. 'Though I never thought, I never knew. It's only him I hate.'

'And whom do you love, Roscia Majora?'

She struggled to quiet her weeping. 'Minora,' she whispered.

'And no one else?'

'No one.'

'What about the boy in Ameria, Lucius Megarus?' 'How do you know about him?'

'And Lucius's father, the good farmer Titus, your father's best friend in the world?'

'That's a lie,' she snapped. 'Nothing happened with him.'

'You mean you offered yourself, and he refused you.' I was almost as surprise as Tiro when her silence admitted the truth. He pulled away from her entirely. She seemed not to notice.

'Who else has known your favours, Roscia Majora? Other slaves in Caecilia's household, in return for spying on your father? The spy who meets you here, this creature of the enemy, what about him? What happens after you give him the information he wants?'

'Don't be stupid,' she said dully. She was no longer weeping now, but sullen.

I sighed. 'Tiro means nothing to you, does he?'

'Nothing,' she'said.

'He was only a tool that you used?'

She looked into my eyes. 'Yes,' she said. 'Nothing more than that. A slave. A foolish boy. A tool.' She began to look at him, then turned away.

'Please—' Tiro began.

'Yes,' I said. 'You can go now, Tiro. We'll both go. There's nothing more to say.'

He did not attempt to touch her again, nor did he look at her. We stepped between the tangled leaves until we emerged into the slanting rays of the afternoon sun. Tiro shook his head, kicking at the dirt. 'Gordianus, forgive me,' he began, but I cut him short.

'Not now, Tiro,' I said, as gently as I could. 'Our little tryst is not quite over. I suspect we are being watched even now — no, don't look over your shoulder; look straight ahead and notice nothing. Every afternoon, she said. She would not have seen the man before your visit; she will see him after. He's only waiting for us to leave. Follow me to that willow tree that stands at the corner of Caecilia's house. If we stand behind it, I think we shall be able to watch the approach to Roscia's hiding place unobserved.'

We did not have long to wait. Only moments later a man in a black tunic stole across the open street and disappeared into the green defile. I motioned for Tiro to follow. We hurried back and made our way into the greenery until I began to hear their voices. I motioned for Tiro to stop. I strained my ears but caught only a few words before I glimpsed Roscia in a break between the yew trees. As luck would have it she saw me as well. For an instant I thought she would be silent, but she was loyal to her father's enemies to the end.

'Go!' she shouted. 'Run! They've come back!'

There was a sound of crashing foliage as the man blundered towards us.

'No!' she screamed. 'Go the other way.' But the man was too panic-stricken to hear. He crashed headlong into my arms, butting his head against mine and knocking me to the ground. An instant later he was on his feet again, knocking Tiro aside. Tiro ran after him, but the pursuit was useless. I followed and met him in the open street, returning with a defeated look on his face and streaming sweat. He was holding his forearm, where a thorn on one of the rose bushes had scratched him.

'I tried, Gordianus, but I couldn't catch him.'

'Good; if you had you'd probably have got a knife in your ribs. It makes no difference. I got a close enough look at his face.'

'Yes?'

'A familiar face in the Subura, and in the Forum for that matter. A hireling of Gaius Erucius the prosecutor. I thought as much. Erucius stops at nothing to obtain his evidence.'

We made our way wearily down the slope of the Palatine, and though the way was downhill it nevertheless seemed long and hard. For interrogating the girl so harshly I felt a deep and bitter shame, but I had done it for Tiro's sake. He had loved her before; the revelation of her suffering made him love her even more — I had seen it blossom before my eyes. Such a hopeless passion could only bring him unending pain and regret. Only her own rejection could set him free, and so I had striven to stir up all her bitterness for him to see. But now I began to wonder if Roscia had conspired with me for Tiro's sake, for the final look she had given me before she spoke had told me she understood, and when she spoke of Tiro with such naked scorn it may have been the truth, or it may have been the last gift of tenderness she could give him.

24

We returned to the house on the Capitoline to find Rufus gone. Cicero was resting, but had left word that I should be shown to him at once. While Tiro quietly busied himself in the study, Old Tiro, the doorkeeper, led me deeper into the house, into a region I had not seen before.

Cicero's bedchamber was as austere as the one he had given me. The only concession to luxury was the small private garden which opened onto the room, in which a tiny fountain sparkled and wept, reflecting in gentle waves the pensive face of the Minerva which stood over it. Cicero's idea of rest was apparently to work lying down rather than standing up. I found him lying flat on his back, poring over a sheaf of parchment in his hands. More bits of parchment lay scattered about the floor.

I told him in cold, simple language the facts of Roscia's treachery — her father's abuse, her bitterness, Gaius Erucius's wiliness in turning the girl's desperation to his own advantage. The news seemed to have no effect on Cicero at all. He asked a few questions for clarification, nodded to show that he understood, then resumed reading with a curt wave of dismissal.

I stood over him, puzzled and uncertain, wondering if the revelation of Roscius's character could have no effect on him at all. 'It means nothing to you?' I finally said.

'What?' He wrinkled his brow in irritation, but did not look up.

'Parricide or not, what kind of man is this Sextus Roscius?' Cicero lowered the parchment to his chest and met my gaze for a long moment before he spoke. 'Gordianus, listen to me carefully. At this moment I have no interest in weighing the character of Sextus Roscius, or in assessing his moral peccadillos. The information you've brought me yields nothing that might be of help to me in my preparations; I have no use for it. I have no time for it — no time for anything that distracts from the simple, closed circle of logic I'm striving so earnestly to build in Sextus Roscius's defence. Your duty, Gordianus, is to help me build that edifice, not to go kicking at its foundation or pulling out bricks I've already mortared in place. Do you understand?'

He didn't bother to see whether I nodded or not. With a sigh and a wave he dismissed me and went back to studying his notes.