Already outmaneuvered, I soon found myself outnumbered. "Mother's right," said Diana. "Davus does his best to look after you, Papa…" She gave her husband a melting look and patted his hand. He stopped chewing for a moment and actually blushed. Then she turned her stern gaze back to me.-"But even Davus can't be responsible if you're going to start fainting and wandering off in a daze-"

"I didn't wander off! I was carried off by a pair of friendly strangers to a safe place."

"But, Papa, you might as easily have been carried off by strangers who weren't so friendly. Those two might have robbed and murdered you and thrown your body in the Tiber, and we'd never have known what became of you."

"Daughter, you tempt the Fates!" Bethesda tore off a bit of flat bread and threw it over her shoulder to distract any malicious (and presumably hungry) spirits who might be listening.

Hieronymus cleared his throat and came to my rescue by changing the subject. "I was quite shocked by that harangue from Marcus Caelius today. Not only what he said-that was radical enough-but how he said it, baiting Trebonius and the Senate in such an open fashion."

"Yes, now that Marc Antony's left Italy to join Caesar, Caelius has grown considerably bolder." I stole a glance at Bethesda, who seemed more interested in the flat bread in her hand. Politics bored her.

"He very nearly spoke ill of Caesar himself," said Hieronymus.

"He never spoke Caesar's name," I pointed out.

"To be sure," admitted Hieronymus, "but his insinuation was clear. Caesar was once the champion of the common people, but now he's their enemy. Once he stood against Pompey and the so-called Best People, but now he's shown himself to be just another politician in the service of the rich."

"Which means that the people need a new champion," I said.

"And Marcus Caelius is offering himself for that role."

I nodded. "For a newcomer to the city, Hieronymus, you're a shrewd judge of Roman politics."

"Politics here are different from politics in Massilia. All this rabble-rousing and rioting would never have been tolerated there. But politicians are the same everywhere. They have a nose for power. They can smell it the way a hungry man can smell bread. When they see an unclaimed loaf, they rush to seize it for their own. That's what Caelius is doing. He looks around and sees that a great many people are greatly unhappy, and he moves to make himself their champion."

"It's been done before," I pointed out, "by Catilina, by Clodius, by Caesar himself. But I don't see how Caelius can accomplish anything except to get himself killed-as Catilina and Clodius did. His problem is simple: he doesn't have an army."

"Perhaps he means to get himself one."

I had been about to take a sip of wine but stopped short. "What an idea, Hieronymus! A third army vying for control of the world?" I shook my head. "Ridiculous, of course. Caelius has a little military experience, but not nearly enough to challenge either Caesar or Pompey."

"Unless those two finish each other off," said Diana. "Who's to say that one or the other must return alive from Greece? Word could reach Rome tomorrow that Caesar and Pompey are both dead. Who would take control of Rome then?"

I put down my cup. "By Hercules! Sometimes, Daughter, you see what I can't see, even though it's right before me. You're right. A gambler like Caelius doesn't go through life thinking of all the ways he might fail. He narrows his thoughts until he can perceive the one path by which he might succeed, then bends all his will toward that path, heedless of the odds against him. If he loses, he loses everything. But if he wins…"

"He wins the world," said Hieronymus.

VIII

On the day after I called on Terentia and Fulvia, I rose early, taking care not to disturb Bethesda, ate a light break fast, then called Mopsus and Androcles to come and help me put on my best toga again. The wool was a bit dusty from my outing the previous day. After it was properly draped about me, I stood very still while Mopsus gave it a good brushing.

Androcles stood to one side. "You missed a spot," he said.

"I did not!" said Mopsus.

"Yes, you did. Right there, along the bottom."

"I don't see anything."

"That's because you're blind."

"I am not!"

"Did I say blind? I meant to say stupid."

I clapped my hands. "Boys, stop your squabbling! Mopsus, get back to work."

Mopsus began brushing again.

"You missed another spot," said Androcles.

"Are you deaf? The master told you to shut up. Didn't you hear him?"

"He said no such thing! He told you to get back to work."

I took the ivory brush from Mopsus and gave Androcles a sound smack on the head. He gave a cry and reached up to rub the spot. Mopsus clutched his sides and brayed like a donkey. I gave him a smack as well.

Satisfied that I was presentable, I told the boys to wake Davus if he was not yet up and to dress him. Meanwhile, I looked in on Bethesda. She was still sleeping, but fitfully, tossing and muttering as if in the grip of a fever. I felt her brow, but it was cool. Was she suffering physical discomfort, or simply in the throes of a nightmare? I decided not to wake her. Sleep was her only respite from the malady that had been plaguing her.

Davus was waiting for me in the garden, looking rather cramped in his toga. We left the house and set out on the rim road along the crest of the Palatine Hill.

It was a fine morning, already warm but not yet hot. Golden sunlight slanted through a towering yew tree near my house. Birds sang and flitted amid the branches. A little farther on, I paused to take in a view of the Forum below and the hills beyond. To the right I could see the shallow valley of the Subura, crowded with ugly tenements. More to the center and farther away, atop the Pincian Hill, I saw flashes of sunlight on the tile roof of Pompey's grand house, now deserted and awaiting its master's return. To the left, above the Capitoline Hill, a lone eagle was circling the Temple of Jupiter. Beyond the Capitoline I caught a glimpse of the Tiber, a gold ribbon lit by the sun, with wharves and markets along its banks. In a single, sweeping view I saw a microcosm of the whole world-palaces and slums, the dwellings of prostitutes and Vestal Virgins, temples where the gods were worshipped and markets where slaves were sold.

"What a remarkable city!" I said aloud. Davus responded with a nod. For good or ill, Rome was the center of the world. In spite of all the world's troubles and my own-my crushing debts, my rupture with Meto, Bethesda's mysterious ailment, the murder of Cassandra-such a view on such a morning could still inspire me with that curious sense of hope that young men feel when they rise and greet the world on a sunny summer morning and anything seems possible.

"Where are we going, Father-in-Law?"

"Today, Davus, I intend to pay a visit to Marc Antony's wife-and perhaps to his mistress, as well."

I had never met Antonia and knew her only by reputation. She was Antony's first cousin and his second wife; his first had been Fadia, the daughter of a wealthy freedman. That marriage-for love, people said-had scandalized Antony's family; even though Fadia brought him a handsome dowry, she had been his social inferior. But Fadia died young, and Antony's second marriage had done much to repair his reputation among the Roman aristocracy. Antonia was handsome, well-to-do, and Antony's exact social equal. But she also shared his weakness for adultery. While Antony had scandalized all Italy in the last year by traveling about with his mistress, the actress Cytheris, Antonia had been carrying on with Cicero's dissolute son-in-law Dolabella. According to the chin-waggers in the Forum, the only bond still holding Antony and Antonia together in marriage was their six-year-old daughter.