'But he's going to do it, even so. That's what I've heard – and poor, pitiful Gelina shaking her head the whole time and wishing it wasn't so. She's always had a soft heart, just like Lucius had a soft head, and you see what's come of that! But not Marcus Crassus – hard head and an even harder heart. He allows not a single exception to Roman justice, and that's as it should be. You can't make exceptions in times like these.'

'No, you certainly can't. But a man would have to be as unflinching as Cato to put to death a cook who can create a dish as exquisite as this.' The man smacked his lips.

'Shhh! Don't speak the word.'

'What word?'

'Death. Can't you see the serving girl is just over there?' 'So?'

'It's bad luck to say the word out loud where a doomed slave can hear.'

They were quiet for a moment, then the woman spoke again. 'Draughty in here, isn't it?' 'Now, woman, don't start…'

'The food gets cold having to come so far from the kitchens.' 'I think you're eating fast enough that you needn't worry about that.'

'Well, even so, that self-satisfied Designator might have put us in one of the better rooms if you'd had the nerve to ask, as I told you to.'

'My dear, don't start on that again. The food's the same, I'm sure, and you can't complain about that.'

'The food, maybe, but you can't say the same for the company. You're twice as rich as anybody in this room! We really should have been put closer to Crassus, or at least in the middle room with Gelina.'

'There are only so many rooms and so many couches,' sighed the man. 'And there are more people here than I've seen at a funeral banquet in many a year. Still, you have a point about the people in this room. Not exactly the cream, are they? Look over there, at that philosopher fellow who lives here. Dionysius, I think he's called.'

'Yes, like half the Greek philosophers in Italy,' the woman grunted. 'This one's not particularly distinguished, from what I hear.'

'Strictly second-rate, they say. I can't imagine why Lucius kept him on; I suppose Gelina picked him out, and there's no accounting for her taste, except in the matter of cooks. With Lucius gone, he'll be hard-pressed to find a situation as comfortable as this one. Who needs a second-rate philosopher about the house, especially a Stoic, when there are so many good Epicureans to choose from, especially here on the Cup? A disagreeable fellow – and rather uncouth as well. Just look at him! Making faces and sticking out his tongue like that – really, you'd think he was only half-civilized!'

'Yes, I see what you mean. He's making quite a spectacle of himself, isn't he? More like a buffoon than a polymath.'

Dionysius hardly seemed the type to display bad table manners, even if he was piqued at his placement. I turned my head to have a look for myself. He did indeed appear to be making faces, wrinkling his nose and pushing his tongue in and out of his mouth.

'But he does look funny,' the woman admitted. 'Like one of those hideous masks in a comedy!' She started to laugh, and her husband joined her.

But Dionysius was not striving for comic effect. He clutched at his throat and pitched forward on his couch with a spastic jerk. He sucked in a wheezing breath and then, with his tongue half out of his mouth, tried to speak. The garbled words were barely audible from where I sat. 'My tongue,' he gasped, 'on fire!' And then: 'Air! Air!'

By now others had begun to notice him. The slaves stopped serving and the guests turned their heads to watch as Dionysius went into convulsions. He drew his arms stiffly to his chest, as if trying to control the spasms, and kept pushing out his tongue, as if he could not bear to have it in his mouth.

'Is he choking?' asked the woman.

'I don't think so,' said her husband, who then snorted in disapproval. 'Really, this is too much!' he protested, as Dionysius bent forward and began to vomit onto the little table set before his couch.

A number of guests sprang to their feet. The commotion spread gradually into the middle room, like a ripple passing through a pond. Gelina frowned anxiously and turned her head. A moment later the whispers spread to the far room, where Crassus, laughing at one of Orata's jokes, turned and peered quizzically through the doorways. I caught his eye and waved at him urgently. Gelina rose to her feet. She hurried towards me. Crassus followed with measured steps.

They both arrived in time to witness the philosopher disgorge another spume of greenish bile onto a tray of what had been calf s brains with apple sauce, while a semicircle of alarmed guests looked on. I pushed my way through the crowd. Just as I stepped next to Crassus, the guests wrinkled their noses in unison and stepped back a pace. The philosopher had soiled himself.

Crassus made a face at the smelL Gelina hovered at the philosopher's side, trying to help but afraid to touch him. Dionysius suddenly convulsed and catapulted forward from his couch, falling against the little table of delicacies. The crowd drew back to avoid the flying calf s brains and bile.

The cup that had held Dionysius's herbal concoction tumbled through the air and landed at my feet with a clang. I knelt, picked it up and peered inside. There was nothing to see but a few green drops; Dionysius had drained it dry.

Crassus clutched my arm with a bruising grip. 'What in Hades is happening?' he demanded, clenching his teeth.

'Murder, I think. Perhaps Zeno and Alexandros strike again?'

Crassus was not amused.

Part Four

Funeral Games

XX

'One disaster follows another!' Crassus stopped pacing long enough to stare at me with one eyebrow raised, as if holding me responsible for complicating his life. 'For once I think I shall actually be glad to get back to the relative calm and security of Rome. This place is accursed!'

'I agree, Marcus Crassus. But cursed by whom?' I glanced at the corpse of Dionysius, which lay sprawled on the library floor where Crassus had ordered his men to put it for want of a better place, simply to get it out of sight of the dinner guests. Eco stood peering down at the dead man's contorted face, apparently fascinated by the way that Dionysius's tongue refused to recede into his mouth.

Crassus pinched his nose and made a wave of dismissal. 'Take it away!' he shouted to one of his bodyguards.

'But where shall we put him, Marcus Crassus?'

'Anywhere! Find Mummius and ask him what to do – just get the body out of here! Now that I no longer have to listen to the fool, I certainly don't intend to put up with his stench.' He fixed his stare on me. 'Poison, Gordianus?'

'An obvious deduction, given the symptoms and circumstances.'

'Yet the rooms were full of other people eating. No one else was affected.'

'Because no one else drank from Dionysius's cup. He had a peculiar habit of drinking some herbal concoction before his midday meal and again with his dinner.'

Crassus blinked and shrugged. 'Yes, I remember hearing him extol the virtues of rue and silphium at other meals. Another of his irritating affectations.'

'And an ideal opportunity for anyone who might wish to poison him – a drink which he alone ingests, and always at a prescribed time and place. You must agree now, Marcus Crassus, that there is a murderer at large, here in this house. Quite likely it's the same person who murdered Lucius, since only last night Dionysius publicly pledged to expose that person. This could hardly have been the work of Alexandros or Zeno.'

'And why not? Zeno may be dead, but we still don't know where Alexandros is, or with whom he might be in contact. No doubt he has confederates in the household, among the kitchen slaves.'

'Yes, perhaps he does have friends in this house,' I said, but I was not thinking of slaves.