'Let me guess,' I said. 'The calendar contains an error, and this fellow is one of Cleopatra's astronomers from Alexandria, advising you on the necessary correction.'
'And with plenty of time to spare!' said Arcesilaus sarcastically. 'The fellow never showed up yesterday. Only now am I being told that the extra day in Februarius during a leap year is added six days before the Kalends of Martius, not eight. Ridiculous! So now, after all my painstaking effort, this little presentation will look as slapdash as if I'd turned it out on the spur of the moment. Caesar isn't paying me enough to endure this torment!'
His voice rose to a yell. He began to quake, vibrating like a plucked string, and raised his fists in the air, the veins in his biceps bulging like the vein in his forehead. The Alexandrian started back in fear, but Arcesilaus's attention was wholly on the placard. He looked as if he intended to beat it with his fists, and it was easy to imagine the delicate thing being totally demolished in a matter of heartbeats.
He was restrained by a hand on one shoulder.
'Don't do it, artist!' said Calpurnia. 'Don't even think of it!' There was a shrill edge to her voice that made me shiver. Even the hot-blooded Arcesilaus was chilled by it. The vein pulsing across his forehead vanished, like a snake disappearing into the earth. Muttering, he turned back to the placard and resumed his work.
Before I could speak, Calpurnia gripped my arm and led me to a spot away from the others.
'My slave gave you the message?'
'Yes. Porsenna is dead?'
'Murdered! Stabbed, just like Hieronymus.'
'When and how?'
'My messenger found Porsenna's body in his house on the Aventine less than an hour ago. Porsenna was to join me before the end of the triumph, so that we could come to the temple together-'
'You planned to appear with Porsenna in public, where Caesar might see the two of you together? I thought it was your wish that Caesar should never know you were consulting a haruspex.'
'I don't care any longer what Caesar knows or doesn't know. The danger is too great-and this proves it! Yesterday, Porsenna was more certain than ever of the menace to Caesar. He told me that today would be the day of greatest danger, and the place of greatest danger would be here, at the dedication of the temple. And now, Porsenna is dead!'
'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
