"Yes, doesn't it?"

"What do you mean."

"Words can carry more than one meaning."

I frowned and scrutinized the text under the flickering light. "Are you saying that the letter is in some sort of code?" It was Tiro, during Cicero's consulship, who had invented and introduced the use of an abbreviated writing system for recording debates in the Senate. But this was not Tironian shorthand; nor was it ciphered.

Tiro smiled. "We all know what the word 'blue' means, for instance. But if I say to you ahead of time, 'Use blue to mean a legion and red to mean a cohort,' and later you write to me about a blue scarf, then only the two us know what you truly mean."

"I see. And if Cicero quotes a line from Euripides…"

"It might mean something very different than if he had cited Ennius. The actual content of the quotation is irrelevant. If he mentions sea travel, it might mean that Pompey has a head cold. 'Snug houses' might refer to a particular senator who bears watching. Even the mention of elephants might have a secret meaning."

I shook my head. "You and Cicero make quite a team. What need for swords, when you have words for weapons?"

"We've been together a long time, Gordianus. I helped Cicero write every speech he's ever given. I've transcribed his treatises, edited all his commentaries. I often know what he'll say next even before he knows. It wasn't hard for the two of us to concoct an invisible language to use between ourselves. Everyone can see the words. No one but us can see the meaning."

I gazed into the dim corners of the room. "I wonder if Meto and Caesar were ever that close?"

He seemed not to notice the rueful tone in my voice. He tapped his forehead. "Perhaps. Great men like Cicero- even Caesar, I suppose- need more than one head to store their intellects."

"Freedom hasn't changed you, Tiro. You still underestimate yourself and overestimate your former master."

"We shall see."

As he refolded the letter and slipped it back into his pouch, I had a sudden realization. "It was Cicero, wasn't it?"

"What do you mean, Gordianus?"

"It was Cicero who wrote that confidential report for Pompey, about me and my family."

Tiro hesitated. "What report?"

"You know what I'm talking about."

"Do I?"

"Tiro, you can hide behind words, but you can't hide behind your face, not with me. You do know what I'm talking about."

"Perhaps."

"It all makes sense. If Pompey wanted an intelligence report on various men in Rome, and needed it on short notice, and from someone he trusts- who better than Cicero, who's been seeing phantoms under beds ever since he sniffed out the so-called conspiracy of Catilina. Cicero's probably kept a dossier on me for years! That remark about my lack of 'Roman values,' the dig at me about adopting slaves out of habit- oh, yes, that's Cicero, looking down his nose at me, as usual. And who better to help Cicero transcribe his confidential report into ciphered code than you, Tiro- his trusted secretary, the inventor of shorthand, the other half of his brain? You were in town that day, weren't you- the day Numerius died? I caught a glimpse of you in the street, after I left Cicero's house. Was that Numerius's last errand for the Great One, to pick up Cicero's secret loyalty report?"

Tiro looked at me shrewdly. "If there ever was such a report… the copy Cicero gave Numerius went missing. Pompey was never able to find it, even though he turned Numerius's clothing inside out and tore open the stitches. He assumed that whoever murdered Numerius must have absconded with it. How did you come to know about it, Gordianus?"

"I read it. The part about myself, anyway. I found it on Numerius's body, inside a hidden compartment in the heel of his shoe."

"His shoe!" Tiro laughed. "That's something new. But what did you do with the report? Do you still have it?"

"I burned it."

"But you said you read only the part about yourself. You burned it without having read it all? The cipher wasn't that complicated."

"Pompey arrived at the house unexpectedly. I had no time to replace it in Numerius's shoe. If Pompey found it in my study…"

"I see. Well, there's a riddle solved. Cicero and I have been wondering where that report ended up."

"When you write to him about this meeting- as I presume you will- I suppose you'll have to mention the 'rosy-colored dawn,' or whatever passed between the two of you for 'secret report went up in flames.' "

"That would be a particular quotation from Sophocles, actually. Do you think Numerius was murdered because someone knew he was carrying Cicero's 'loyalty list,' as you call it?"

I hesitated. "There may have been other reasons that someone wanted him dead."

"Such as?"

"His mother seems to think he had a secret livelihood. Working as a paid spy, perhaps."

Tiro frowned. "For someone other than Pompey?"

"Yes. She's ashamed of the possibility, but she told me her suspicions nonetheless. The poor woman is desperate to know the truth about her son's death."

Tiro nodded. "I met Maecia once. An extraordinary woman. Did she hire you to look into Numerius's murder?"

"No, Pompey did. Or rather, the Great One ordered me to investigate."

"Ordered you? He's not our dictator, yet."

"Nonetheless, he was very persuasive. He forced my son-in-law into his service, against Davus's will but following the letter of the law. Pompey was explicit: he won't return Davus to us unless and until I'm able to name his kinsman's killer. My daughter is distraught. Davus could end up in Greece, or Spain, or even Egypt. And if Pompey loses patience with me…" I shook my head. "Generals assign dangerous duties to men they don't like. Davus is at his mercy."

Tiro looked pensively into his wine cup, which was made of cheap yellow earthenware. He ran his finger over the chipped rim. "You've been very candid with me, Gordianus."

"And you've been candid with me, Tiro."

"The two of us have never been enemies."

"We never shall be, I hope."

"I'm going to tell you a secret, Gordianus. Something I probably shouldn't." He lowered his voice. I had to strain my ears to hear him above the bursts of laughter and the clatter of thrown dice. "Only a few days before his death, I met with Numerius Pompeius. We had messages to exchange, between Pompey and Cicero. We met here in the Salacious Tavern- in this very corner, as a matter of fact. His corner, he called it. I got the impression he transacted quite a bit of business from the very spot where you're sitting."

I shivered at the thought of the dead man's lemur sitting beside me. "What sort of business?"

Tiro hesitated. "So far as I know, Numerius was loyal to Pompey. I never had reason to believe otherwise. But the last time I met with him, he claimed to know some interesting things. Dangerous things."

"Go on, Tiro. You have my attention."

"Numerius drank more than he should have. That loosened his tongue. And he was very excited."

"About what?"

"About some documents he'd acquired. 'I'm sitting on something enormous,' he told me, smiling like a fox. 'Something so big it could get me killed if you breathe a word of this to anyone.' "

"What was it, Tiro?"

"Something to do with a plot to kill Caesar."

I managed a grim laugh. "Concocted by Pompey?"

"No! A conspiracy inside Caesar's own camp, involving men close to him. How Numerius could know of such a plot, and what sort of documents he had obtained, I don't know. But that's what he told me."

"When was this assassination supposed to take place?"

"It was supposed to have happened when Caesar crossed the Rubicon, the moment he invaded the motherland and showed his true intentions. For some reason it didn't come off. But this was the thing: Numerius seemed to think it still had a chance of happening."