"Are you saying that young Mamercus has run off to join Sertorius?"

"So it appears," said Lucius, shaking his head. He leaned over to sniff a rose. "This smells very sweet!"

"So young Mamercus rejected his grandfather's Sullan politics and remained loyal to his mother's side of the family?"

"So it appears. Gaius is quite distraught. The folly of youth! There's no future for anyone who sides with Sertorius."

"But what future would the young man have if he'd stayed here in Rome with his grandfather? You say that Gaius is bankrupt."

"It's a question of loyalty, Gordianus, and family dignity." Lucius spoke carefully. I could see he was doing his patrician best not to sound condescending.

I shrugged. "Perhaps the boy feels he's being loyal to his dead father, by joining the last resistance to Sulla's faction. But I take your point, Lucius; it's a family tragedy, of a sort all too common these days. But what can your cousin want of me?"

"I should think that was obvious. He wants someone to-ah, but here is Gaius himself…"

"Cousin Lucius! Embrace me!" A frail-looking old man in a senatorial toga stepped into the atrium with wide-open arms. "Let me feel another of my own flesh and blood pressed against me!"

The two men could hardly have been more different. Gaius was older, of course, but also tall and narrow, where Lucius was short and round. And where Lucius was florid and flushed, there was a grayness about the old senator, not only in his hair and wrinkled hands, but also in his expression and manner, a kind of drawn, sere austerity. Like his house, the man seemed to have been stripped bare of all vain adornments and winnowed to his essence.

After a moment, the two drew apart. "I knew you wouldn't disappoint me, Lucius. Is this the fellow?"

"Yes, this is Gordianus, called the Finder."

"Let us hope he lives up to his name." Gaius Claudius regarded me not with the patronizing gaze I was used to receiving from patricians, but steadily and deeply, as if to judge whether I should be a cause of hope to him or not. "He looks reliable enough," he finally pronounced. "Ah, but what judge of character am I, who let my only son marry into a Marian family, and then could not foresee my grandson's intentions to follow the same course to disaster?"

"Yes, I was just informing Gordianus of your situation," said Lucius.

"And is he willing?"

"Actually, we were just coming to that… "

There must indeed have been a last, thin veil of vanity over the old senator's demeanor, for now I saw it fall away. He looked at me imploringly. "The boy is all I have left! I must at least know for certain what's become of him, and why he's done this mad thing, and if he can't be persuaded to see reason! Will you do this for me, Gordianus?"

"Do what, Gaius Claudius?" I said, though I was beginning to see all too clearly.

"Find him! Go to Spain for me. Take my message. Bring him back to me!"

I cleared my throat. "Let me understand you, Gaius Claudius. You wish for me to venture into Sertorius's territory? You must realize that the whole of the Spanish peninsula is wracked with warfare. The danger-"

"You will demand a large fee, I suppose… " Gaius averted his eyes and wrung his hands.

"The fee is not an issue," said Lucius.

"I'm afraid that it most certainly is," I said, not following his mean-ing. Then I saw the look that passed between Lucius and his cousin, and understood. Gaius Claudius had no money; it was Lucius who would be paying my fee, and Lucius, as I well knew, could afford to be generous. The commission would be coming just as much from my dear friend as from his cousin, then. That made me feel all the more obliged to accept it.

Thus I came to find myself, some days later, on the eastern coast of Spain, near the village of Sucro, which is situated not far from the mouth of the river of the same name.

I was not alone. After a great deal of internal debate and hesitation, I had decided to bring Eco with me. On the one hand, I was likely to encounter danger, quite possibly a great deal of danger; who knows what may happen in a foreign land torn by warfare? On the other hand, a nimble, quick-witted fourteen-year-old boy who had survived the harsh streets of Rome from his earliest years (despite the handicap of his muteness) is not a bad companion to have around in unpredictable surroundings. And for his own benefit, I thought it a good thing that Eco should learn the lessons of travel while he was still young, especially since Lucius Claudius was paying the expenses.

First had come the sea voyage, on a trading ship out of Puteoli bound for Mauretania. For a reasonable sum, the captain agreed to put us ashore at New Carthage, in Spain. That had gone well enough. Pirates had pursued us only once, and our experienced cap-tain had managed to outrun them easily; and Eco had suffered from seasickness only for the first day or two. Once ashore, we sought for news of Sertorius's whereabouts, and made our way north until we caught up with him at Sucro, where we arrived only two days after a tremendous battle on the banks of the river.

According to the locals, Sertorius had suffered heavy casualties, perhaps as many as ten thousand men; but so had the opposing Roman general, the Sullan boy-wonder Pompey (not quite such a boy any longer at thirty), who had been wounded himself, though not gravely. The two sides appeared to be regrouping their forces, and a fresh rumor had it that Pompey's colleague Metellus was soon to arrive with reinforcements from the north. The townspeople of Sucro were bracing themselves for another great battle.

Getting into Sertorius's camp proved to be easier than I anticipated. The traditional rigid discipline of a Roman army camp was missing; perhaps, given Sertorius's mix of Spanish tribesmen and ragtag Romans, such discipline was impossible. In its place, there seemed to be a great sense of camaraderie, and of welcome to the local camp followers who came to offer food and wares (and, in not a few cases, themselves) for sale to the soldiers. The air of the camp was open and almost festive, despite the great slaughter of two days before. Morale, clearly, was very high.

I inquired after the whereabouts of Mamercus Claudius, using the description his grandfather had given me-a young patrician of nineteen, tall, slender, with a pleasant face and a shock of jet-black hair, a newcomer to the ranks. Among the grizzled Roman veterans and their Spanish allies, such a fellow was likely to stand out, I thought, and sure enough, it took only a little asking (and a pittance of bribes) before Eco and I were pointed to his tent.

The location surprised me, for it was very near the heart of the camp, and thus not far, I presumed, from Sertorius's own quarters. Despite his youth and inexperience, Mamercus Claudius was probably quite a catch for Sertorius, evidence to his fellow Romans that the renegade general could still attract a youth from one of Rome's best families, that his cause looked toward the future, not just the past.

This presumption turned out to be more astute than I realized. When I asked the centurion outside the tent to inform Mamercus that he had a visitor, I was told that Mamercus was elsewhere. When I asked where he might be, the centurion suggested that I try the commander's tent.

So Eco and I made our way to the tent of Quintus Sertorius himself, which was quite conspicuous, thanks to the phalanx of guards around it. There was also a great crowd of petitioners of the usual sort, lined up to seek audience-locals who hoped to sell provisions to the army, or had suffered property damage and wanted restitution, or had other pressing business with the commander and his staff.

Eco tapped the edge of one hand against the flattened palm of the other, to suggest that we had run into a solid wall: We shall never get inside that tent, he seemed to say.