documents remained unread when I finally succumbed to a few hours of restless sleep.
Before breakfast, I stepped into the vestibule to view the body of Hieronymus. All had been properly done, according to Roman custom. Washed, perfumed, and dressed in a spotless tunic, surrounded by fragrant garlands, he lay upon a bier with his feet toward the door, his upper body slightly elevated so that any visitors could see him at once from the entrance, where a wreath of cypress had been hung on the door to signal the household's grief.
No doubt the Massilians had their own way of doing these things, but Hieronymus had rejected his native city, and it seemed to me that Roman rites would be proper.
I gazed for a long moment his face, which was peaceful in repose. In death, his features gave no indication of the tart words that could issue from that mouth of his, within which now lay the coin to pay his passage to the underworld.
'Puffed-up,' he had called me, and 'charlatan,' and, worst of all, 'windbag.' Indeed! Yet, gazing at him, I could feel no resentment. Tears welled in my eyes, and I turned away.
After a breakfast of farina prepared in the Egyptian manner, with bits of dates and a sprinkling of poppy seeds-since our return from the Nile, Bethesda had prepared nothing but Egyptian dishes, revisiting all the favorites of her childhood-I set out, with Rupa at my side. If I were to discover the reason for Hieronymus's murder, I had to begin somewhere. The house of Pompey, where Antony now resided, seemed as good a place as any.
The so-called Great One had owned several houses in Rome. I was most familiar with his magnificent villa with gardens on the Pincian Hill, outside the city walls. The house claimed by Antony was within the walls, in the very heart of the city. People called it the House of the Beaks, because the vestibule was decorated with metal ramming beaks from ships captured by Pompey during his illustrious campaign to rid the sea of piracy some twenty years ago. Only the choicest of these trophies were displayed; it was said that Pompey captured some 846 ships. The House of the Beaks was located in the Carinae district, on the southwestern slope of the Esquiline Hill above the valley of the Subura.
The most prominent monument on the slope of the Carinae was the Temple of Tellus, the earth goddess. We passed it on the way to Pompey's house, and Rupa indicated, by a nod and gesture, that he wished to step inside for a moment. I could guess his reason. Tellus is celebrated during sowing and harvest, for accepting seed and giving forth grain, but she is also worshipped for receiving the dead, for all things return eventually to the soil. Rupa still mourned his older sister, Cassandra, whose death had brought him into my family. No doubt he wished to put a coin in the temple coffers and say a prayer for the departed spirit of Cassandra.
I waited outside on the temple steps, remembering Cassandra in my own way.
Just as Rupa emerged, I saw a litter coming up the hill, heading in the direction of the House of the Beaks. Through a break in the yellow curtains, I caught a glimpse of the occupant. It was Cytheris, lounging on a pile of rust-colored cushions that complemented her auburn hair and exquisite complexion. Cytheris had known Cassandra, and Rupa, back in her days as a dancer in Alexandria. If I moved quickly, I might make it appear that we had run into her by chance. A meeting that seemed fortuitous rather than premeditated was often to be preferred in my work-as I had more than once told Hieronymus. Had he absorbed that lesson, or had he considered it hot air from a windbag?
I grabbed Rupa by the arm (insofar as my hand could lay claim to such a massive limb) and hurried down the steps to intercept the litter, which was making slow progress through the crowded street.
Things could not have gone more to my liking. While I pretended to look the other way, Cytheris spotted the two of us and called out.
'Gordianus? Hello there! Can it truly be you? Back from the dead? But it must be, because that big blond demigod beside you can only be Cassandra's little brother. Rupa!'
She pushed aside the curtains and, not waiting for a slave to assist her, bounded from the litter. The flimsy gown she was wearing seemed more suitable for staying in than going out, and the hug she gave Rupa, pressing her small body full against him, caused him to blush to the roots of his golden hair. But when Cytheris threw back her head in a laugh of sheer delight, Rupa did likewise, though the sound that emerged from his throat was something between a bray and a bleat.
'But this is too delicious!' she said, turning her attention to me. 'One heard that you were dead. Oh, dear, is it awful of me to say that aloud? I'm sure I must be flouting some superstitious rule of silence. But really, it's such a surprise. You were off in Alexandria, weren't you? Along with Rupa? But now you're back! What are you up to, here in the Carinae?'
'Well… we were just stopping here at the Temple of Tellus, so that Rupa could say a prayer for his sister.' This was the truth, after all.
'Ah, yes, Cassandra…' Cytheris and Cassandra had been close in their younger days, when they were both street performers in Alexandria. 'But you must come with me, both of you. You must tell me all about Alexandria. It's been ages since I was there, but some days I still wake up with the salty smell of the harbor in my nostrils. Come with me to the House of the Beaks, and we'll share some wine in the garden.'
Are you watching, lemur of Hieronymus? I thought. Take notes! I had intended to make your death the reason for my visit, as the bearer of sad news, but this is much better. To all appearances, we have met by chance, and my visit to the house of Antony is Cytheris's idea, not my own. I shall mention your death only in passing…
Slaves scurried to assist Cytheris back into her litter, but she shooed them away and beckoned to Rupa. With a single sweep of his arms he lifted her up and deposited her among the cushions. While Cytheris rode, we walked beside her. The litter bearers restrained their pace, in deference to my slow, uphill progress.
Like many houses of the rich in Rome, Pompey's old residence presented an unostentatious face to the street. The portico was small and there was little in the way of ornament. But once we passed through the front doorway, I saw how the house had come by its name. The vestibule was enormous-one could have fitted a more humble house inside it-and the display of ramming beaks was dazzling. Some were very crudely fashioned, little more than man-sized lumps of bronze with a pointed end. But some were amazing works of art, fashioned to look like griffins with ferocious beaks or sea monsters with multiple horns. They were fearsome objects, intended to wreak havoc on other ships, but strikingly beautiful. I pondered for a moment the degree of artistry that is lavished on spears and swords and other weapons, to make pleasing to the eye a thing designed to cause death and destruction.
'Hideous, aren't they?' said Cytheris, noting my fascination. 'Antony dotes on them like children. He has names for them all! You'd think he had captured them himself. He says that someday he may build a fleet of warships and use the best of these to ornament them.'
'His own fleet of ships? Caesar might have something to say about that.'
'Ah, yes… Caesar.' She made a wry face.
As we walked through the house it appeared to me that the rooms had been depleted of some of their furniture and ornaments. There were niches without statues and walls where paintings had been removed. It had the half-vacant feeling of a house where someone is moving in or moving out.
Completely secluded from the street, the garden at the center of the house was unusually large and splendid, full of fragrant roses in bloom and pebble-strewn pathways decorated with fountains and statues. Set amid the little arbors of myrtle and cypress were many dining couches piled with plump cushions. Clearly, the occupants of the house spent a great deal of time in this space, which could accommodate many guests.
Cytheris led us to a secluded corner, collapsed on a couch with a sigh, and gestured for Rupa and me to do likewise. There was no need to call for wine. A slave bearing a tray with a pitcher and cups appeared before I had time to settle myself.
'So, Gordianus, tell me everything about your stay in Egypt. Are the Alexandrians as mad as ever? Do they still hate Romans? Did you meet Cleopatra?'
'Yes, yes, and yes.'
'Really? I keep telling Antony he should invite her here, since she's in Rome for a visit, but he says it wouldn't do. He'd be embarrassed to present his concubine to a queen, I suppose, but Antony says it's because Caesar is still disputing his claim to this house.'
'Yes, I was curious about that. I thought the House of the Beaks and all its contents were to be sold at a public auction, to benefit the Treasury.'
Cytheris laughed. 'Oh yes, there's going to be an auction-but don't bother to come, because Antony's already given the best things to our friends. Every time we throw a party, no one is allowed to leave without a piece of
