"Despite their differing philosophies?"

"Opposites attract. Look at you and me, Gordianus; could two Romans be more different? Yet this very day I've decided to make you heir to my Etruscan farm."

"Stop jesting, Lucius! Your farm would be useless to me-except, perhaps, for the fine wine that comes from your vineyards, an-other cup of which I would gladly accept right now." Lucius clapped his hands; a slave came at once and refilled my cup. "What about Cicero?"

He nodded. "Also named in the will, and generously provided for. And Jupiter knows he could use the money, what with bankrolling his campaign for the consulship this year! Really, it's a scandal how expensive it's become to run for office. Cicero's already been forced to borrow; he's in debt not just to Lucullus but to several other of his wealthy friends."

I nodded. "And the three As, Lucullus's little coterie of Greek companions?"

"All named in the will, in gratitude for their many years of loyalty and inspiration."

I thought for a moment. "Let me understand what you've just told me, Lucius: Lucullus only recently made a will, and everyone who supped with him yesterday-except me-stands to profit enormously from his demise?"

Lucius frowned. "Is Lucullus in danger? Has he been threatened? I thought he called you there to investigate one of his gardeners, that one-eyed slave who, Lucullus imagines, is actually the fugitive traitor Varius."

"Yes, that was his ostensible reason for consulting me. Lucullus is utterly convinced of the man's identity." "Is such a thing possible?"

"No. Motho can't be Varius. For one thing, his missing eye is on the wrong side!"

"You're sure of that?"

"I am. Only yesterday, Cicero reminded me that Sertorius had lost an eye on one side, his compatriot Varius an eye on the other; as Cicero put it, between them they possessed a full complement of eyes such as the rest of us take for granted. I know that Sertorius was missing his right eye-I once met the man myself-and so it follows that Varius was missing his left, as Lucullus himself asserts. Yet the gar-dener Motho is missing his right eye, and so cannot possibly be Varius. The most bizarre thing is that Lucullus knows this-yet remains convinced that Motho is Varius, nonetheless!"

"Do you think that Lucullus could be the victim of some elaborate hoax?"

"Toward what end?"

"Perhaps someone is deliberately trying to confuse him, make him doubt his sanity, drive him to suicide. It may sound farfetched, but have we not seen even subtler and more outrageous plots, Gordianus, especially when an estate as large as that of Lucullus is involved?"

I shook my head. "No, this delusion arose from Lucullus's own mind; no one suggested it to him."

"I suppose you looked into Motho's background?"

"Of course. Away from Lucullus and the other guests, I questioned the slave at length; if he's not a native Greek speaker for whom Latin is a second language, then he's a better actor than the celebrated Roscius! I also questioned Lucullus's agent, the man who purchased Motho in Athens for the express purpose of bringing him to Rome to tend to Lucullus's roses. Motho was born a slave and has been a slave all his life. He started as a field hand for some wealthy Athenian, but with aptitude and hard work he eventually became a highly skilled gardener. There's no reason to think he's anyone other than he appears to be. Poor fellow!"

"Why do you call him that?"

"Because, unless someone can convince him of his error, Lucullus almost certainly intends to proceed as if Motho is Varius. The wretched slave will be dressed up like a captured general, marched through the streets of Rome, jeered at and humiliated, mercilessly beaten by guards, and finally thrown to his death from the Tarpeian Rock."

"Surely not! Wasn't it the whole point of your visit, to verify the man's identity and put Lucullus's mind at rest?"

"Quite the opposite; Lucullus expects me to find proof that Motho is Varius, despite all evidence to the contrary. To Hades with logic or common sense; he wants me to validate what he already 'knows'-whether it's true or not!"

"Oh, dear. But if Lucullus tries to pass this gardener off as Varius, word will surely get out about the mistake that's been made, if not before the triumph, then afterwards. Lucullus will become a laughingstock-"

"And Motho will suffer a horrible death."

"The situation is mad!" exclaimed Lucius.

"And yet," I said, "Lucullus is hardly a madman. Madmen don't conquer half of Asia, and build the most impressive gardens in Rome, and oversee vast financial empires-do they? Madmen don't speak of saving cities for the greater good of posterity; they don't love philosophy and art and culture."

"It's all very strange. Unless…"

"What are you thinking, Lucius?"

He looked at me shrewdly. "Exactly what you're thinking, old friend. After all these years, can we not read one another's thoughts? Sometimes sane men become mad-because of some horrible event, or because the gods chose to make them so, or simply as a side effect…"

I nodded. "Yes, exactly what I was thinking: a side effect. As we have observed over the years, there are many poisons, given in doses that stop short of killing the victim outright, that can cause a derange-ment of the mind. If someone named in Lucullus's will has grown im-patient, and has been making an effort to hurry him along… "

"But all of Lucullus's food is tasted in advance; he himself told you of his need for caution in that regard."

"And yet," I said, "if a man-or woman-were clever enough, and determined enough, that person might find a way to administer a poison even to a man as cautious and well-guarded as Lucullus."

"Clever and determined-that would certainly describe any member of Lucullus's inner circle." Lucius gazed at me darkly, then grimaced and shook his head. "No, no, Gordianus, surely we're mistaken! These aren't cutthroats and vipers we're talking about. Men like Cicero and Cato do not resort to murder for personal advancement! Marcus most certainly loves his older brother; and so far as we know, Servilia loves her husband. As for the three A's, each one is a genius in his own right. It's absurd that we should sit here and ponder which of them might be a cold-blooded poisoner, especially when we can't even say how a poison might be administered to Lucullus."

His vehemence sobered me. "Perhaps you're right, Lucius. I don't wish to be reckless. Yet I can't stand by and see an innocent man subjected to such a horrible fate."

Lucius shrugged. "We don't know for a fact that Lucullus is actually in danger, do we?"

"I didn't mean Lucullus! I meant the slave, Motho."

"Ah!" he nodded dubiously. All in all, I loved Lucius Claudius dearly; but he was a creature of his patrician upbringing, trained from birth never to feel empathy for a slave, and he simply could not equate the fate of a man like Motho with that of a man like Lucullus. He looked at me shrewdly. "Perhaps there's a poison involved, but without anyone intending there to be."

"What do you mean?" I said.

"Well, I'm wondering-how much do we actually know about these so-called cherries? Are they truly safe to eat?" "Surely they must be."

"Must they? We both know of plants which can affect a man strangely. Some of them, when ingested, or burned and inhaled, can cause light-headedness, or flights of fancy, or even hallucinations. Did you not discover that for yourself once, Gordianus, when my friend Cornelia retained your services because she was haunted by lemures?"

Even after so many years, I shivered, remembering that episode. "But all of us ate the cherries, not just Lucullus. And while the fruit may be new to Rome, it's been known for generations in its native region. If eating cherries could cause hallucinations or delusions, I think Lucullus would know."