Pompey gazed at the city below. 'Perhaps I could have used your help to get at the truth of the matter, Finder, but you weren't here.'
'Believe me, Great One, I would much rather have been here than where I was.'
'Yes, yes, I know that you faced great hardship. I don't dismiss your suffering. But I tell you, some days it isn't easy being Pompey the Great.'
I spent the next few days undisturbed. Eco and I passed the time by looking through every scroll arid scrap of parchment in our two houses, trying to find a match to the handwriting in the note to Bethesda. We were unsuccessful, but after a while, sorting through mementos and old correspondence became an end in itself, a nostalgic respite from the world. I needed this period of distraction. I was being reunited with my life. I had thought, falsely, that once I was back in Rome I could get on with my business without missing a step, but the experience in the pit had frightened and disturbed me more than I could acknowledge at the time. I found myself in a sort of twilight state, not yet ready to move on.
From Bethesda I could not have asked for more comfort and support. She never once said a word of blame for my having placed myself in such great danger. She never called me a vain, thoughtless fool, as I had called myself a thousand times while I was in the pit. She saw that I needed her complete attention and unconditional affection, and she gave it to me. I began to think that I had married a goddess.
Diana was more problematic. If she had been angry with me for putting her through so much worry, for making her feel abandoned and bereft, I might have understood, but her behaviour was more puzzling than that. She had always been inscrutable to me, even more so than her mother. Past experience had taught me, sometimes with a rude shock, that she was capable of thoughts and actions I could not possibly anticipate. So I tried not to worry overmuch about her seeming coolness, her brooding melancholy, her new habit of staring into the middle distance.
Davus was equally perplexing. I had thought that my whispered conversation with him in the garden had put everything right and that he would stop skulking about and avoiding my gaze. Instead, this guilty behaviour only became worse. What was wrong with him?
Just when I was beginning to feel fully settled again, and fully engaged in these family concerns, distraction arrived in the form of a red and white striped litter.
It was inevitable that Clodia would call on me sooner or later, just as a summons from Pompey had been inevitable. There was even a part of me that had been looking forward to her arrival with a certain impatience. When Davus showed in the same haughty slave who had summoned me to her litter before, I tried to suppress a smile. Eco was away that day tending to his own affairs; what choice did I have but to go by myself? As I was leaving through the foyer, I met Bethesda coming in from outside. She had surely seen the litter and knew where I was going. I held my breath, but she only smiled as we passed and said, 'Take care of yourself, husband.' Then she stopped, pulled my face to hers, and gave me a long, deep kiss. She laughed as she walked away. Pompey's politics, Bethesda's sense of humour, my seventeen-year-old daughter's moods: what else did I need to add to the list of things I would never, ever comprehend?
A moment later I was beside Clodia in her litter, moving through the streets of the Palatine. She took my hand and gave me a sidelong, soulful look. 'Gordianus, the rumours we've heard about you — so awful! Such an ordeal for your family! Tell me everything.'
I shook my head. 'No. I'm in much too good a mood to spoil it with unpleasant talk.'
'Is it so painful for you to remember?' She drew her eyebrows together. It had to be a trick of the soft, filtered light that there was not a wrinkle on her face. 'Gordianus, what are you grinning at?'
'The light inside this litter. The warmth of your body. That elusive, unforgettable scent of yours. Men live and die, nations rise and fall, but some things never change.'
'Gordianus…'
'What an extraordinary woman you are, Clodia. Shall I live and die and never make love to you?'
'Gordianus!' Did she actually blush? No, that was impossible; Clodia was beyond blushing. It had to be a trick of the light, like the perfection of her skin. 'Gordianus, I've come on behalf of Fulvia; you must know that.' She tried to make her voice businesslike, but she couldn't help smiling.
'Is that what you told my wife, when she looked into the litter to say hello to you?'
'Of course. Then we talked about the weather. Don't you love an early spring?'
'My wife is a goddess, you know. Any mortal woman would be insanely jealous of you.'
She tilted her head. 'I agree, she must be divine; any man married to a mere mortal would have succumbed to me long ago. But I thought perhaps you considered me a goddess.'
'Oh, no, Clodia. I most definitely consider you a woman. There is no question of that…'
We smiled at each other. Then our smiles wavered. A cloud obscured the sun, changing the light inside the litter. Neither of us looked away.
'Is something about to happen, Gordianus?' said Clodia. I hardly recognized her voice.
I took a deep breath and squeezed her hand. After a moment she pulled it away, able to read my touch. I shrugged. 'If something were to happen between us, Clodia, then everything would change. The play of light inside this litter, the warmth of your body, that elusive, unforgettable scent. They would never be the same again, and I want them never to change.'
She seemed to tremble, then laughed softly. 'Men!' she said, in a disparaging but not unfriendly way. For a moment I thought I had hurt her, and felt a strange thrill. Then I realized I was being absurd. A few moments alone with Clodia could bring out the peacock in any man.
'What did you discover, then, on the Appian Way?' Her voice was casual again. 'Anything new of importance?'
'I hardly know where to start. We're almost at Fulvia's house, aren't we? Why don't you come in with me, and listen along with Fulvia?'
The look on her face made, it clear that this was not possible. 'Perhaps afterwards, on the way home, you can give me a private report,' she said.
'Yes, if you wish.'
Her litter deposited me on the steps leading up to the entrance. A guard showed me inside. The lofty rooms were still unfinished and haphazardly furnished. Without its master and its architect, the house of Clodius was frozen in time.
The room where Fulvia and her mother awaited me was brighter and warmer than before, but Sempronia still kept a blanket over her lap and gave me an icy look. I sensed that there were others in the room, and felt a unexpected thrill of relief as Fulvia introduced them.
'Gordianus, I think you already know FeUcia, keeper of the shrine of the Good Goddess on the Appian Way, and her brother Felix, attendant to the altar of Jupiter in Bovillae.'
'You took my advice, then?' I said to Felicia.
'My brother and I discussed it for all of an hour, then gathered up what we needed and headed for Rome before dawn the next morning. We've hardly left this house since.' Felicia was as striking as ever. Even as a suppliant in another woman's home she carried herself with the same intriguing, infuriating nonchalance.
'I won't let them leave,' said Fulvia. 'They're too valuable as witnesses. And too vulnerable; Milo must have heard by now that there were witnesses to his crimes. Felix and Felicia are safe with me, and quite comfortable.'
'Quite, quite comfortable,' agreed Felix, whose face looked fuller than I remembered it.
'Witnesses?' I said. 'Is there to be a trial?'
'Oh, yes,' said Fulvia. 'There have been delays. Pompey had to reorganize the courts to his liking, and Milo has made a bigger spectacle of himself than he ever put on with his gladiators, stalling and blustering and using every kind of legal manoeuvre to wriggle his way out of the inevitable. But my nephew Appius is finally ready to bring the case. Once the charges are officially filed, it will be only a matter of days until we crush the bastard for good.'
Sempronia ground her teeth and spat on the floor.
'We heard of your misfortune,' said Fulvia.
'Please, as I just told your sister-in-law, I have no more stomach for talking about it.'
'Good,' said Fulvia bluntly. 'I'm sick of mulling over misfortunes myself. It's the future I want to think about
