Eventually I heard the sound of a bar being thrown back on the other side of the door, and then it slowly opened, creaking slightly on its hinges. An athletic-looking slave ushered us inside, then quickly closed the door and let the heavy wooden beam fall back into place, barring it securely.

I had been in this foyer before, in the hours and days that followed the murder of Clodius. It appeared that Curio, in becoming the new master of the house, had made no changes. The floors and walls were of highly polished marble. Red draperies shot with gold threads framed the passageway that led to the atrium, where the ceiling, supported on soaring black marble columns, rose to the height of three stories. In the center of the atrium, a shallow pool was decorated with shimmering mosaic tiles of blue-black and silver, picturing the night sky and the constellations. The actual sky, visible through an opening far above, was just beginning to deepen to the rich blue of twilight.

I turned to the slave who had admitted us. "Tell your mistress that Gordianus-"

"The mistress knows who you are and why you've come," he said, with a sardonic smile. "Follow me."

He led us through halls and galleries decorated with wall paintings and statues. Slaves moved quietly about, lighting braziers and lamps set in sconces on the walls. I was fairly certain that I had traversed the same passageways before, but the house was so sprawling that I couldn't be sure. Eventually we mounted a flight of steps and were shown into a room with large windows, their shutters thrown open to admit the last of the day's light. The walls were stained green and decorated with blue-and-white borders in a geometrical Greek design. Through the windows I saw the golden light of the lowering sun glinting across Palatine rooftops and lending a warm glow to the west-facing temples atop the distant Capitoline Hill. The reflected glow flooded the room, giving it a cozy feeling despite its lofty ceiling and spectacular view.

Fulvia and her mother, Sempronia, sat before one of the long windows, dressed in stolas of darkest blue. A tiny child-Curio's son-was attempting to walk-on a blanket at the women's feet. Fulvia's other children, her son and daughter by Clodius, were not in the room.

"Your visitors, mistress," said the slave.

"Thank you, Thraso. You may go." As Fulvia turned her gaze to me, she lifted a stylus from the wax tablet upon which she had been writing and laid the stylus and tablet aside. There was a popular catchphrase regarding Fulvia and her ambition: "She was not born to spin." Indeed, it was hard to imagine walking into her presence and finding her in the midst of some common female occupation. Instead, like a man of affairs with numerous ideas and projects to keep track of, she kept a wax tablet and stylus about her.

Her mother, Sempronia, despite her hard features, seemed the more maternal of the two. She ignored Davus and me while she clucked and cooed and reached out to the little boy on the blanket, encouraging him to rise to his feet and attempt another faltering step.

"Thank you for seeing me, Fulvia. But I'm curious-how did you know it was me, when I never announced myself?"

She glanced at her son, who managed to stand upright for a moment before tumbling forward onto his hands and knees, then she turned her gaze back to me. "There's a hidden peephole at one end of the porch. Thraso took a good look at you, then ran to give me your description. It could only have been you, Gordianus. 'Nose like a boxer's; a full head of iron gray hair shot with silver, but eyes that sparkle like those of a man half his age; a beard trimmed by a wife to suit herself.' "

"Actually, my daughter, Diana, trims my beard these days. But I feared you might have forgotten me, Fulvia."

"I never forget a man who might be useful to me." She turned her gaze to Davus. "But I don't think I've met this other fellow. 'Shoulders like a Titan's," said Thraso, "but a face like Narcissus.' "

"This is Davus, my son-in-law. Thraso also told me that you know why I've come. Surprising, since I'm not sure of that myself."

She smiled. "Aren't you? I saw you at the funeral; you must have seen me. I've been half-expecting you to call on me. This is about Cassandra, I presume?"

Sempronia abruptly clapped her hands. A slave girl came running. Sempronia planted a kiss on her grandchild's forehead, then told the girl to take him from the room. As he was carried out, the boy began to cry. His wails echoed and receded down the hallway. Sempronia bit her forefinger and fidgeted, but Fulvia showed no reaction.

"I hope you didn't send the boy away on my account," I said.

"Of course not," said Sempronia, finally looking at me and raising an eyebrow at the notion that I could consider myself important enough to merit any action regarding her grandson. Since I had last seen her, one of her eyes had become cloudy white; if anything, it seemed to fix on me more penetratingly than the other. Under her gaze, I quailed a bit. Strange, that a woman who could be so tender to a child could be so intimidating to a grown man. "If we're going to talk about the witch, it isn't fitting for a man-child to be present," she said.

"Is that what Cassandra was? A witch?"

"Of course," said Sempronia. "Did you think she was a mere mortal woman?"

"She was most certainly… mortal," I said quietly.

"She was murdered, wasn't she?" said Fulvia. With both of them now looking at me, I realized that the daughter's gaze was no less piercing than her mother's, yet somehow it gave me no displeasure to be looked at so openly by Fulvia. Sempronia's gaze was caustic; it stripped a man naked. Fulvia's gaze seemed cleansing, as if its purpose was to strip away whatever veils of confusion or misunderstanding might intervene between us. Her eyes were intelligent, lively, inviting. No wonder she had secured two of Rome's best and brightest, if unluckiest, to become her husbands.

"Why do you think Cassandra was murdered?" I asked.

"Because I know the curious circumstances of her death. How she died suddenly… in the marketplace… in your arms. Was it poison, Gordianus? They say she was wracked with convulsions."

"They?"

"My eyes and ears."

"Your spies?"

Fulvia shrugged. "There's very little that happens in Rome that doesn't reach me."

"What else do you know about her murder?"

"If you're asking me who might have done such a thing or how or why, I can't tell you. I don't know. But a woman like Cassandra might have been dangerous to any number of people. She couldn't just see the future, you know; she had visions of faraway events."

"Could she see the future?"

"She was a witch," said Sempronia, interrupting. Her tone implied that I had already received my answer and should pay closer attention.

"A witch, you say? Did she cast spells, place curses, heal the sick?"

"She did none of those things in this household," said Sempronia, "but who can say what powers she possessed? She most certainly was able to see beyond the present moment and the four walls surrounding her."

"How do you know that?"

Sempronia opened her mouth to answer, but Fulvia raised a hand to silence her. "Let me tell him, Mother."

Sempronia huffed. "Why should we tell this fellow anything?"

"Have you forgotten, Mother? When Clodius was murdered, Gordianus was among the first to come to this house to pay his respects. He cared enough to seek out the truth."

"But he's an old lackey of Cicero's!" Sempronia spat the name.

Fulvia's eyes narrowed. She and Cicero were old and very bitter enemies. "It's true that you made your reputation working for Cicero, isn't it, Gordianus?"

"I wouldn't say that. I would say, rather, that Cicero made his reputation while I was working for him. I was never his lackey. Over the course of many years, we've had our ups and downs. Of late, I've lost touch with him completely. I haven't heard from him in months."