that settled in the pit at night, pressed down by the dank evening air. My head reeled from it.
Who eats garlic? Gladiators. They claim it gives them stamina. Lets them knock down an opponent with a single breath, runs the tired joke. I broke into a sweat, despite the chill. Perspiration poured off my forehead in such a torrent that I had to wipe it away with my sleeve, the filthy sleeve of a tunic worn for forty-odd days in a row. I could hear them breathing now, even above the sudden booming of my heart. Who, or what, was in the pit with us?
Surely no one could have entered through the grille above without waking us. The hatch was too small for a man to pass through; for that there was a trapdoor, which was locked with a heavy chain. The chain would have clanged and clattered. The hinge of the trapdoor (never used once since Eco and I passed through it) would have squealed and groaned. I suddenly had a horrible intuition of how the intruders had entered, and where they had come from…
Deep in the earth a flame leaped up, and a red glow illuminated the jagged fissure that had opened in the side of the pit. The earth itself had gaped up. The glow showed the two of them in silhouette — huge, hulking, monstrous, looming larger as they lumbered closer. They must have come straight from Hades.
Eco stirred and woke. 'Papa… what — ?'
I touched his lips for silence, but the two intruders had already seen us. I saw them clearly as well, for the fiery glow had seeped into every corner of the pit. It glinted off the blood-encrusted swords they carried. It lit up their hideous faces. What do men look like who have killed hundreds of men without regret, who take pleasure in cruelty, who feed from the savage pleasure of extinguishing the lives of others? Such men look like Eudamus and Birria, of course. The two of them stood over us, looking almost comic the way they leered and smirked and flared their nostrils. What a despicable fate, I thought, that these should be the last two faces I should ever see this side of Hades.
Or…
No, don't even think it! But why not? Hope until the last possible moment! Seize hope, wrap your arms tight around it, strangle it! The gods have been amused by your small life for fifty-odd years. Why should they give up on you now? Think: among your fellow mortals, who knows any more which ones are friends and which ones are foes? Maybe…just maybe… Eudamus and Birria are here not to slaughter you, but to save you, yes, to rescue you from this wretched place!
Gordianus! You have no weapons, but you still have your dignity. Stand up! Don't cower like a victim. Stiffen your spine. You are a Roman citizen. They are another man's slaves. Give them the barest nod of acknowledgment. Try not to look at their swords. Show no fear. Look them in the eye. Stare them down. Never mind that they tower over you, and the stench of garlic withers you like a leaf in autumn. Never mind that glint of metal you glimpse from the comer of your eye as they swing their swords aloft — don't flinch!
What is it like to be beheaded?
You shake like a leaf? You try to stop, and yet you shake and shake and shake until…
I opened my eyes to the soft light that passed for morning in the pit. Eco leaned over me, looking concerned, gently shaking me.
'Papa! Are you all right?'
'What?'
'First you seemed to be having a horrible nightmare. Then you seemed to relax. Then you let out such a horrible noise that I had to wake you.'
'A dream, just another bad dream…'
'The one about Eudamus and Birria?'
'Yes.' I tried to swallow. My mouth was as dry as parchment. 'Do we have any water left from yesterday?'
'A little. Here.' He dipped his cupped hand into the bucket and put it to my lips.
I sucked it up greedily. 'Sometimes I wish the dream would come true, for better or worse. If only someone would come, to put an end to this misery one way or another.'
'Hush, Papa. You'll feel better after you've got up and stretched a bit.'
So began, by Eco's calculation, our forty-second day of captivity, the fifth day of the month of Martius, nine days before the Ides, in the year without consuls.
'What do you think is happening in Rome right now, Papa?' said Eco, with a wistful note in his voice.
I cleared my throat. 'Who knows? We heard all sorts of wild rumours on Mount Alba, before we were captured. Some made more sense than others. I can't believe that Milo would kill himself, for instance. He's too stubborn. He may have caught himself in a trap that he can't get out oЈ like his namesake from Croton, but he'll see it through to the end, kicking and screaming. Of course, anything may have happened — by Hercules, forty-two days is an eternity!'
'Long enough for the Hebrew god to flood the whole world,' said Eco wryly.
'And long enough for the Roman state to be drowned in blood, I suppose. But if I had to place a wager, I'd bet on order rather than chaos, in the short run, anyway. We know that Pompey intended to get the Senate's authority to raise troops to quell the lawlessness in the city. I'd bet he got his way on that. Pompey at the head of an army is a pretty unstoppable force.'
Eco was sceptical. 'Good for conquering foreign troops in the field, maybe, but what about people throwing rocks in Roman alleys?'
'I can't see the Clodian rabble standing up to Pompey's troops.'
'Soldiers can't be everywhere at once. Litde riots and fires can pop up anywhere at any time.'
'Yes, there could still be disorder, even with Pompey's troops in charge, but only on a minor scale. The Forum will be safe.'
'Safe enough for elections?'
I shook my head. 'This business with Milo and Clodius will have to be dealt with first. Can you imagine, if they held the elections and Milo were to win? It's still possible, I suppose, but the inevitable result would be another round of riots, and that would mean open warfare with Pompey's troops in the streets — I can't see the Senate allowing that to happen.'
'Then who's running the state? Do you think they've appointed Pompey dictator?'
'Surely not, with Caesar up in Gaul at the head of his own army. Caesar might feel he had no choice but to march on Rome himself.' I quailed at the thought of Meto being swept into civil war.
'Surely not.'
'It sounds unthinkable, I know, but who would ever have imagined that the Senate House would be burned down in broad daylight?' I shook my head. We had already had this conversation a score of times. Sometimes Eco assumed the voice of reason, sometimes I was the insidious doubter. It was impossible not to speculate on what was happening in our absence, just as it was impossible to know.
After a long pause, Eco said quietly, 'That wasn't what I meant, you know.'
'What do you mean?'
'When I said, 'What do you think is happening in Rome, right now?' I didn't mean politics or elections or any of that. I meant — '
'I knew what you meant. I could tell from the tone of your voice.'
'Why did you change the subject, then? Don't you want to talk about it? About home…'
'Thinking about them makes me feel warm at first, comforted. But then something cold creeps in, and makes a knot in my gut, as cold and hard as ice.'
'I know, Papa. I'm frightened for them too.'
'We've been gone so very long now. They must think we're dead. Can you imagine Bethesda grieving? I can hardly bear it.'
'I know what you mean. I imagine Menenia weeping, and it tears my heart. Women grieving-remember Fulvia and Clodia, that night we saw Clodius's body? He was really quite an awful fellow, wasn't he, Papa?'
I shrugged. 'It all depends whom you ask. He was ruthless to his enemies, that's for sure. He caused more than his share of suffering in this world. But he also gave a great deal of hope and some real power to a great many people who had neither, not to mention the guarantee of enough bread in their bellies. To those people he's a hero.'
'But still a vain, power-mad, greedy man. You can see that just by looking at the houses he built.' 'I
