We looked down again in silence. The slave had found the kid, which bleated and kicked at being dragged through the high grass. A kitchen girl brought a draught of water to the slaves at the goat pen, and their mallets fell silent. In the stillness I could hear Aratus shouting in a shrill voice at one of the slaves in the vineyard: 'Wrong, the whole row is wrong! Redo them, every one!' Then all was quiet again, except for the buzzing of bees in the woods behind us.

'Actually, Gordianus, I was hoping to find you here on the ridge today.'

‘Yes, Claudia?'

'As you know, election time is close at hand.'

'Don't remind me. After last summer's farce I never care to witness another such disgusting spectacle.'.

'Nevertheless, some of us have kept our civic spirit. Next month the election for the two consuls will be held in Rome. It's a tradition for our branch of the Claudii — the Etruscan country cousins, we call ourselves — to gather beforehand, decide which candidate to support, and choose a representative to send to Rome to vote. This year it falls my turn to play hostess to this little gathering. Never mind that my house is modest and I haven't the household slaves to properly provide for such a conclave; duty is duty. The garnering will be at the end of the month. It would help tremendously if I could borrow your cook and some of your kitchen slaves for the occasion. I'd need them for only a couple of days beforehand, to help prepare the feast, and then on the day of the gathering itself to help serve. Three days in all. Would it be too great an imposition, Gordianus?' 'Of course not.'

'I shall repay you somehow. You never know when you'll need to borrow an ox or some bundles of hay. It's the way that country neighbours should help each other, yes?'

‘Yes, indeed.'

'And I trust that you won't instruct your slaves to slip a bit of poison into the feast — that would be too drastic a solution to your troublesome neighbours, eh?'

It was a joke, of course, but in such bad taste that I winced instead of smiling. In Rome I had encountered more cases of poisoning than I cared to remember.

'Come, Gordianus, don't cringe! Seriously, I’ll take the opportunity to have a word with my relations about their uncivil treatment of you.'

'That would be appreciated.'

'Any advice on this year's slate of candidates? Your friend Cicero seems to be having quite a successful year as consul. We bear him no grudge, of course, even though he represented you in the case of Lucius's will You must be proud to have such a friend. As consul, he's turned out better than any of us expected — too bad he can't serve two years in a row. At least last year he kept that wild-eyed madman Catilina out of office. Now Catilina is running again this year, and appears unstoppable, or so says—'

'Please, Claudia — no politics!'

'But of course; you're sick of all that.'

'Quite. I may miss Rome, but I don't miss—'

At that moment I heard a high voice calling from the valley below. It was Diana, sent by her mother to fetch me for the midday meal I watched her step from the library doorway into the herb garden. Her long hair was uncommonly thick and black for a child, glinting almost blue in the sunlight. She was dressed in a bright yellow tunic with her arms and legs bare. Her skin was tanned to a dark bronze, the gift of her Egyptian mother. She ran through the gate and skipped quickly along the path, passed the goat pens and the vineyards and disappeared in the olive orchard at the foot of the hill. Through the foliage I glimpsed the yellow tunic approaching and heard her laughing: 'I see you, Papa! I see you, Papa!'

A moment later she was rushing into my arms, giggling and out of breath.

'Diana, do you remember our neighbour? This is Claudia.' 'Yes, I remember her. Do you live up here in the woods?' said Diana.

Claudia laughed. 'No, my dear, this is only where I come to visit your father from time to time. I live down in the valley on the other side of this ridge, on my own little farm. You must come and visit me some time.'

Diana looked at her gravely for a moment, then turned to me. 'Mama says you must come at once or she shall throw your food into the pen and let the goats eat it!'

Claudia and I both laughed and rose from the stumps. She said farewell and disappeared into the woods. Diana wrapped her little arms around my neck and I carried her down the hillside all the way to the house.

After the midday meal, the day grew even warmer. Everyone — animals, slaves, and children alike — found a shaded place and dozed in the heat. Everyone but me. I went to the library and took out some parchment and a stylus. I began to draw wheels with notches that fit into other wheels, trying to imagine the water mill that Lucius Claudius had planned to construct down on the stream.

All was peace and contentment, yet I was not bored at all. I had been mad, I decided, to tell Claudia that I missed the murderous intrigues of the city. Nothing and no one in this world, neither man nor god, could ever persuade me to return to such a life.

II

I was contemplating the problem of the water mill again ten days later when Aratus brought the cook and his two young assistants into my library. Congrio was a heavy man; what good cook is not? As Lucius Claudius had once remarked, a cook whose creations are not so tempting that he stuns himself with stolen delicacies is not a cook worm having. Congrio was not Lucius's best cook — that post had been reserved for Lucius's house on the Palatine Hill in Rome, where he entertained his friends. But Lucius had not been a man to stint himself of culinary pleasures no matter where he went, and his country cook was more than skilful enough to delight my palate.

In the heat of the morning Congrio was already sweating. His two assistants stood to each side and slightly behind him, respectful of his authority.

I dismissed Aratus and asked Congrio and his helpers to step closer. I explained my intention to lend them to Claudia for the next few days. Congrio knew Claudia, because she had dined with his late master from time to time. She had always been pleased with his work, he assured me, and he was certain he would please her again and give me cause to be proud of him.

'Good,' I said, thinking it might help to smooth matters with the Claudii to render them this favour. 'There is one other thing…'

'Yes, Master.'

‘You will do your best for the Claudii, of course; you will obey Claudia, and Claudia's own cook as well, since you will be serving in her house.'

'Of course, Master; I understand.' 'And also, Congrio…' 'Yes, Master?' He wrinkled his fleshy brow. 'You will say nothing to embarrass me while you are in Claudia's service.'

'Of course not, Master!' He seemed genuinely hurt.

'You will not exchange gossip with the other slaves, or trade opinions of your respective masters, or pass along what you may perceive to be my opinions.'

'Master, I fully understand the proper behaviour of a slave who has been lent to a friend of his master.'

'I'm sure you do. Only, while you keep your mouth closed, I want you to keep your ears open.'

'Master?' He inclined his head, seeking clarification.

'This applies more to your assistants than to you, since I assume you may not leave the kitchen at all, while they may assist in serving the Claudii at their meal. The family will mostly be discussing politics and the upcoming consular elections; about that I care nothing, and you may ignore whatever they say. But if you should happen to hear my name mentioned, or any other matter concerning this farm, prick up your ears. Indicate no interest, but note what is said and by whom. Do not discuss the details among yourselves, but remember them When you return, I will want to hear any such details, faithfully recounted. Do you understand, all of you?'