person in the street. All the houses along the way were shut up tight.
I had never been inside Cicero's newly rebuilt house. Some years before, when Clodius managed to get Cicero exiled from Rome, the Clodian mob had celebrated their triumph by burning down Cicero's house; I had watched the flames from my balcony. When the Senate recalled Cicero from exile sixteen months later, he set about rebuilding. Clodius dogged him at every step, blocking his progress with legal manoeuvres. The property had been confiscated by the state and consecrated for religious use, he claimed. Cicero countered that the confiscation was illegal and that his rights as a Roman citizen had been grossly violated. It had been one of their livelier, uglier exchanges.
Cicero had won the case. The house had been rebuilt. Well, I thought, as we stepped across the threshold, Clodius would never threaten this home again.
Tiro led me through the foyer to the atrium beyond. The room was chilly. High clouds had gathered, blocking the sun's warmth.
'Wait here a moment,' Tiro said, and exited to my left. After only a brief pause, I heard voices from the hallway to my right
The first voice was muffled and indistinct, but I recognized the second voice at once. It was Cicero. 'Well,' he was saying, 'what if we tell people that it was Clodius who staged the ambush, instead of the other way around?'
I also knew the third voice. It was Cicero's handsome, fiery protege, Marcus Caelius: 'Jupiter's balls! Who'd believe that, given the circumstances? Better to say, perhaps, that — '
The three men stepped into the atrium. Caelius saw me and fell silent.
At the same moment, Tiro returned from the opposite direction. He saw the situation and looked chagrined. Cicero gave him a brief, sharp look, rebuking him for leaving a visitor unattended. Had I heard something I was not intended to hear?
'Gordianus agreed to pay you a visit,' Tiro said quickly. 'I went to the study to announce him, but — '
'But I wasn't there,' said Cicero. His rich orator's tones filled the atrium. An unctuous smile lit up his fleshy face. 'I tend to think better on my feet. The more expansive the thoughts, the bigger the circuit — the study couldn't contain me! We've walked a mile since you left, Tiro, round and round the house. Well, Gordianus…' He stepped forwards. 'I'm honoured to welcome you to my home once again. You know Marcus Caelius, of course.'
I did indeed. Caelius crossed his arms and gave me a sardonic look. He was a creature of quicksilver, and always had been. He had begun as Cicero's pupil. Then he allied himself or appeared to do so, with Cicero's arch- enemy Catilina; that was how I first met him. Eventually he drifted into the camp of Clodius and into the arms — some said the clutches — of Clodia. His felling out with those two had landed him in dire straits, a trial for murder for which I helped gather evidence for the prosecution. He had been rescued by Cicero, who came to the defence of his errant pupil with a stirring oration. Now, to all appearances, Caelius was once again the faithful protege. He seemed to bear me no ill will for having helped the opposing side at his trial; his ambition was of the freewheeling sort that has little use for grudges. He was famous for his sharp tongue, but equally famous for his charm and extraordinary handsomeness. He was now serving a term as a tribune, which meant he was one of the few currently operating officers of the state.
'But I'm not sure that you've met my other friend,' said Cicero. He gestured to the third man, who hung back, peering at me distrustfully. The fellow was short and stocky, with the kind of muscular, barrel-shaped body that looks even stouter in a toga. His fingers were short and blunt, as was his nose. His face was round, with a small mouth and deepset eyes under shaggy eyebrows. The shadow of his beard was so heavy that it gave his jaw a dark, greasy look. No wonder he had been the natural enemy of the lithe, long-limbed, effortlessly elegant Clodius. Physically, two men could hardly have been more opposite.
Milo was back in town after all.
VI
'Of course I recognize Titus Annius Milo,' I said. 'But you're right, Cicero. We've never been introduced.'
'Well, then, it's about time. Milo, this is Gordianus, called the Finder, a man of great ingenuity. We became acquainted many years ago, when I took on my first murder case. You've read my defence of Sextus Roscius, of course; everyone has. But not many people know the part that Gordianus played. Thirty years ago!'
'Our paths have crossed from time to time since then,' I said dryly.
'And our relationship has always been…' The great orator searched for a word.
'Interesting?' I suggested.
'Exactly. Come, let's move to the study. It's chilly in the atrium.'
We retired to a small, well-heated room towards the back of the house. The walk down the hallway and through the central garden gave me a chance to peruse the surroundings. The furnishings, draperies, paintings and mosaics were all of the finest; I had seen nothing more impressive even in Clodius's house. The scale of Cicero's place was more modest, to be sure, but in some ways that made it more pleasing. Cicero had always had impeccable taste.
He had always had enough money to indulge his tastes, as well, but he now seemed to have prospered well beyond merely keeping up appearances. It takes real wealth to have a fountain decorated with gold-dusted mosaics, or to hang a painting signed by Iaia of Cyzicus on the study wall, or to display on a table to itself) covered by a thick piece of perfectly transparent glass (which must itself have
carried a handsome price), a scrap of an original scroll of a dialogue with corrections in Plato's own hand. Roman law forbids advocates from collecting fees for their services; every case is pro'bono. Yet successful advocates manage to become rich nonetheless. Instead of mere bags of silver they are rewarded with generous gifts of property or exclusive opportunities to invest. Cicero was one of the best advocates in Rome, and he had always known how to cultivate the Best People. His house was full of beautiful, rare, expensive things. I could only imagine the treasures that had been destroyed or looted when the Clodian mob burned his old house.
At Cicero's direction a slave pulled a circle of chairs closer to the flaming brazier. Before we had settled ourselves, another slave brought silver cups and a ewer of heated wine. Instead of hovering nearby, Tiro joined us. He was a citizen now, Cicero's confederate, not his slave. Still, I noticed he held a wax tablet and a stylus on his lap, for taking notes.
Cicero sipped daintily from his cup. Tiro did likewise. The wine was well watered; Cicero was not a man for strong indulgences. The same could hardly be said of Marcus Caelius, or at least of the Caelius I had known before Cicero reformed him. He saw me watching him and made a show of following his mentor's example, pursing his lips and barely touching them to the rim. The expression gave him such a simpering look that I decided he was deliberately mocking Cicero.
Milo made no pretence at delicacy. He drained his cup in a single swallow and held it out to the slave for more.
'Gordianus, was that surprise I read on your face when you recognized Milo?' Cicero cocked his head. 'You weren't expecting to find him here, were you?'
'Frankly, I thought he must be halfway to Massilia by now.'
'Ha! Turn tail and run like a rabbit? You truly don't know my friend Milo if you could think him such a coward.'
'I'm not sure it's a question of cowardice; more of expedience. Anyway, the rumour of his flight to Massilia is widespread.'
Milo scowled but said nothing.
'You see, I told you,' said Caelius, finally speaking. 'Gordianus and his son hear everything. Between them their four ears catch every whisper in Rome.'
Cicero nodded. 'Yes, go on, Gordianus. What else are people saying?'
'Some say Milo slipped back into the city last night and barricaded himself in his house, and that he was there when the mob came to burn it.'
'So they think he's not a coward, just a madman! No, Milo spent the night here, under my roof, safe and sound. What else do they say?'
