"It was your messenger who found his body?"

"Yes."

"Call him over. Let me speak to him."

She summoned the slave.

"Your mistress sent you to the house of Porsenna on the Aventine. Had you been there before?"

"Yes," said the man, "many times." He had regained his breath, but his eyes had a haunted look. Clearly, he was recovering from a shock.

"Did Porsenna live alone?"

"Yes, except for a single slave."

"And what did you find when you went there today?"

"The door was unbarred. That was very strange. When I stepped inside, I found Porsenna's slave lying in the vestibule. His throat was cut. It took all my courage not to run!"

The messenger ventured a glance at his mistress, wanting her to take note of his bravery, but Calpurnia was not impressed. "Go on!" she snapped.

"I called for Porsenna, but there was no answer. I made my way to the garden. Porsenna was lying on his back, in a pool of blood. He had been stabbed through the heart."

"The heart?" I said. "Are you sure?"

"The wound was here." The slave pointed to his left breast.

"Was the blood wet or dry?"

He thought. "Mostly dry, but in places, still wet."

"Had there been a struggle?"

"I saw no signs of one."

I considered. "If the slave allowed the visitor into the vestibule, it may be that the killer was already known in the house. And Porsenna must not have feared the visitor, if he let the man join him in the garden, and then stood facing him, so that he could be stabbed in the chest."

"Conjecture!" said Calpurnia.

"Do you prefer conjuring tricks, like those Porsenna gave you? If his powers of prophecy were so great, how did he come to such an unexpected end?"

Calpurnia fell silent. Desperation mounted in her eyes. "Gordianus, what can we do?" she whispered.

"Surely Caesar has taken all precautions. I see lictors everywhere-"

"It's not enough! Porsenna told me yesterday: 'Shields cannot protect him. Blades cannot protect him. Amulets and talismans cannot protect him. No circle of men can stop the one who seeks to harm him. Only I can help you!' "

"Porsenna can't help you now. What do you think I can possibly do?"

She seized my arm and pulled me to a narrow opening in the tent. She peered out at the milling crowd with nervous, birdlike movements of her head. "Which of them is it? Which of them intends to kill Caesar, Gordianus?"

"I don't know."

"Go out among them. Listen to what they're saying. Look them in the eyes."

I shook my head. "Calpurnia, I've done my best. Not just for you but for Hieronymus. I wish-"

"They call you 'Finder,' don't they? Or they used to. Because you find the truth."

I sighed. "Sometimes."

"Others see but are blind, but when you see the truth, you know it! That's your gift. The truth is there to be found. The guilt is already written on someone's face. Go. Observe. Listen."

I took a deep breath. "I'll take a walk through the crowd," I said, partly because I was now desperate to escape Calpurnia but also because there was indeed a chance, however slight, that I might see or overhear something of significance.

"Go!" she said. "But return here before the ceremony begins. If something… goes amiss… I want you beside me."

I turned to leave. Calpurnia hurried across the tent to Uncle Gnaeus, who had just entered. He put his arms around her, and she hid her face against his shoulder. Uncle Gnaeus held her tightly and gave me a curt nod, as if to dismiss me and send me on my way.

XX

I left Rupa standing outside the entrance of the tent, telling him to await my return, then went to mingle among the dignitaries. Wearing my best toga, I did not feel entirely out of place among my betters.

The front row of benches had been reserved for the priests, camilli, and others taking part in the sacrifice and dedication ceremony, and for the dictator's immediate family. Most of these seats were empty, since their intended occupants were at present inside the tent, which made young Gaius Octavius and his family look all the more conspicuous. Dressed in spotless armor which had never seen the wear of a single battle, Octavius sat with his mother, Atia, on one side of him and his sister, Octavia, on the other. Aulus Hirtius stood over him, fussing with the straps of Octavius's breastplate; something about their adjustment was apparently not quite up to regulation. Octavius abruptly lost patience and waved Hirtius back. I almost laughed at the petulant look on his face, but when he glanced at me, there was nothing at all boyish in his malevolent gaze. I hurried on.

The foremost section of benches were reserved for the highest dignitaries, including senators. I noticed that Cicero had a choice spot on the aisle, with Brutus sitting next to him. Or perhaps the spot was not so choice after all, for beyond Brutus the entire row was filled with Gallic senators. The boisterous newcomers were talking loudly among themselves in a dialect that mixed their native tongue with Latin. It seemed to me that Cicero and Brutus were pointedly trying to ignore their new colleagues, even when the man next to Brutus repeatedly jostled him.

Cicero saw me and flashed a perfunctory smile, then trained his gaze on a figure behind me. I turned to see the playwright Laberius.

"Looking for a seat, Laberius?" said Cicero.

The playwright shrugged. "Not in this row, Senator. It will be something further back for the humble likes of me, I fear."

"Why, I should have been glad to have you join our ranks were we not already so pressed for room!" Cicero raised his voice and glared sidelong at the rowdy, oversized Gauls, none of whom took any notice of his sarcasm.

Laberius smiled. "I'm surprised that you of all people should be pressed for room, Senator. You're so good at straddling the aisle." Brutus barked out a laugh before covering his mouth. Cicero's face grew long. This was a barb aimed at his unseemly efforts to please both sides in the civil war.

Laberius looked pleased with himself, then caught sight of someone in the section reserved for the wealthy. "You must all excuse me while I go pay my respects to Publilius Syrus. Look at him over there, consorting with the millionaires! As if he plans to join their ranks quite soon. Do you suppose the dictator has already promised him the grand prize, before we've even performed the plays? Well, Pig's Paunch shouldn't count his million sesterces yet!"

Laberius stalked off.

I was about to say something to the two senators, then realized they were paying me no attention. "What in Hades are they babbling about?" muttered Brutus, speaking to Cicero and referring to the Gauls.

"Hard as it is to follow their uncouth dialect," said Cicero under his breath, "I think I actually heard one of them say something like, 'He spared the Egyptian princess, and he spared little King Juba-you'd think he might have spared Vercingetorix as well!' But I couldn't tell whether the man was joking or not." He groaned. "Hercules give me strength, the sooner this is over, the sooner I can return to the arms of my dear Publilia."

Having had enough of Cicero's oblivious self-concern, I moved on.

In a special section reserved for her retinue, I saw the queen of Egypt, resplendent in a multicolored robe and wearing a nemes headdress with a golden uraeus crown in the form of rearing cobra. For this occasion of state, she sat in a formal pose, holding the emblems of her royal status, the flail and the crook, crossed over her breasts. She was surrounded by many consorts. That the queen should be present, and in such an ostentatious fashion, was perhaps not surprising; Caesar was installing her statue in the temple, and it was scholars from the queen's library at Alexandria who had devised the new calendar, which was to be formally presented that day. With some surprise, I saw the boy Caesarion seated next to his mother, dressed like a Roman child in a simple white tunic with long sleeves. Caesar must have approved the child's appearance at the event. It seemed to me that the contest of wills between Caesar and the queen regarding the boy's status might yet go one way or the other.