There was a long pause. I imagined I could see the backs of Rufus's ears turn red, but perhaps it was only the lamplight shining through.

'Of course, if you're busy, I'll tell Sulla that you've gone out for a walk.' Chrysogonus spoke slowly, like a man with no reason to hurry. He turned his attention to the girl. He ran his eyes over her body and reached for her. He touched her; where, I couldn't see. She stiffened and gasped and the lamp shook in her hand. Tiro gave a jerk behind me. I blindly laid my hand over his and squeezed it hard.

Chrysogonus took the lamp from the girl's hand and set it on a shelf. He loosened her gown where it was clasped at her throat and slid it over her shoulders. It fluttered down her body like doves descending until she stood naked. Chrysogonus stepped back, pursing his broad, fleshy lips and looking from Rufus to the girl with a heavy-lidded stare. He laughed softly. 'If you want her, young Messalla, of course you can have her. I deny my guests nothing. Whatever pleasure you can find in my house is yours without asking. But you needn't do it like a schoolboy, cowering here in the pantry. There are plenty of comfortable rooms upstairs. Have the girl take you there. Parade her through the house naked if you want — ride her like a pony! It won't be the first time.' He touched her again, his arm moving as if he were tracing a mark across her naked breasts. The girl gasped and quivered, but stood absolutely still.

He turned and seemed about to go, then turned back. 'But don't take too long. Sulla will forgive me if you miss the dance, but later on Metrobius will be introducing a new song by… ah, well, by some sycophant Or other — who can remember all their names? The poor fool's here tonight, trying to curry favour. I understand the song is a homage to the gods for sending a man to stop the civil strife: "Sulla, Rome's favourite, saviour of the Republic," I think it begins. I'm sure it goes on in the same nauseatingly pious vein — except… ' Chrysogonus smiled and laughed behind pursed lips, a low, gravelly laugh that he seemed to keep to himself, like a man rolling coins in his hand. 'Except that Metrobius tells me he's taken the liberty of adding a few ribald verses of his own; scandalous enough to get the young author's head chopped off Imagine the look on the silly poet's face when he hears his homage turned into insults right in front of Sulla, who of course will grasp the jest at once and play along, stamping his feet and pretending to be outraged — just the sort of joke Sulla adores. It will be the evening's high point, Rufus; for some of us, anyway. Sulla will be very disappointed if you're not there to share it.' He made an insinuating smile, stared at them for a long moment, then retreated and shut the door behind him.

No one moved. I watched the flickering caress of the lamplight as it Hcked in silhouette about the sleek flesh of the girl's thighs and hips. Finally she stooped and gathered up her gown. Tiro, wide-eyed and resolute, pushed his way from behind me and helped her cover herself. Rufus studiously looked elsewhere.

'Well,' I finally said, 'I believe the master of the house himself has given us permission to go snooping upstairs. Shall we?'

25

The door through which Chrysogonus had vanished led into a short hallway. A narrow passage on the left opened onto the noise of a busy kitchen. The curtain which draped the opening on the right still swayed from Chrysogonus's passing. The girl led us through neither passage but instead to a door, at the end of the hall, that opened onto a winding flight of stone steps.

'There's another staircase in the room where the master entertains,' she whispered, 'very showy, very fine marble, with a statue of Venus in the centre. But this is the stair the slaves use. If we pass anyone, just ignore them, even if they look at us oddly. Or better yet, give me a pinch hard enough to make me squeal and pretend you're all drunk. They'll think the worst for sure, and then they'll leave us alone.'

But we met no one on the stairs, and the upstairs hall was deserted. From somewhere below we could hear the muffled music of flutes and lyres, and an occasional burst of applause or laughter — presumably in appreciation of Sorex's dance — but the upper floor was dim and quiet. The hallway was quite broad and fabulously decorated, opening onto wide, high rooms even more sumptuously appointed. Every surface seemed to be carpeted, draped, inlaid, or painted. Everywhere the eye turned there was a riot of colours, textures, and shapes.

'Vulgar, isn't it?' said Rufus with a noble's disdain. Cicero would have agreed, but the furnishings were vulgar only for being so cramped and ostentatiously displayed. What impressed me most was the consistency of Chrysogonus's taste in acquiring only the

best and most expensive handicraft and artwork — embossed silver, vessels of Delian and Corinthian bronze, embroidered coverlets, plush carpets from the East, finely carved tables and chairs with inlays of shell and lapis, intricate mosaics of richly coloured tiles, superb marble statues and fabulous paintings. That all these creations had been looted from the proscribed there could be no doubt; otherwise it would have taken a lifetime to accumulate so many things of such high quality and disparate origin. Yet no one could say that Chrysogonus had looted blindly. Let others take the chaff; for himself he had chosen only the best, with the trained eye for quality developed by slaves of the rich who dream of someday being free and rich themselves. I was glad that Cicero was not with us; to see Sulla's former slave living in stolen luxury on such a grandiose scale might have agitated his delicate bowels beyond endurance.

The hallway narrowed. The rooms became less resplendent. The girl lifted a heavy hanging, allowing us to pass beneath; she dropped it, and all sound from downstairs vanished. The world changed as well, and we were abruptly back in a house of plain plastered walls and smoke-stained ceilings. These were the rooms of necessity — storage chambers, slave quarters, work rooms — yet even here the booty was piled high. Crates of bronze vessels were stacked in the corners, rolled carpets drooped like sleepy watchmen against the walls, chairs and tables were wrapped in heavy cloth and piled to the ceiling.

The girl stole through the maze, glanced furtively about her, then motioned for us to follow. She drew back a curtain.

'What are you doing up here?' asked a petulant voice. 'Isn't there a party on tonight?'

'Oh, leave her alone,' said another, speaking through a mouthful of food. 'Just because Aufilia brings me extra portions and turns her nose up at your ugly face. . but who's this?'

'No,' I said, 'don't get up. Stay where you are. Finish your meal.'

The two of them sat on the hard floor, eating cabbage and barley from cracked clay bowls by the light of a single lamp. The room was small and narrow with bare walls; the tiny flame carved their wrinkles into caverns and cast their stooped shadows all the way to the ceiling. I stayed in the doorway. Tiro moved in close behind me, peering over my shoulder. Rufus hung behind.

The lean, petulant one snorted and scowled at his food. 'For what you want, Aufilia, this room's too small. Can't you find an empty room elsewhere with a couch big enough for the three of you?'

'Felix!' the other hissed, prodding his companion with his pudgy elbow and gesturing with the other. Felix glanced up and blanched as he noticed the ring on my finger. He had thought the three of us were all slaves, looking for a place to have a party of our own.

'Forgive me, Citizen,' he whispered, bowing his head. They fell silent, waiting for me to speak. Before, they had been human beings, one of them lean and irritable, the other fat and good-natured, their faces alive in the warm glow as they fed themselves and parried with the girl. In an instant I saw them turn grey and distinguishable, wearing the identical blank face worn by every slave of every harsh master who ever breathed in Rome.