Grabbing his bridle, I pulled him close towhisper, "This is your new home. You'll never have to travelanywhere, or fight anyone again."
My answer was in the form of his velvetynose shoving into my chest as his huge nostrils dilated, and hislips grabbed my tunic and gave it a tug. I laughed at his usualresponse to our conversations, which I have always thought of ashis way to tell me that he heard and understood what I was saying.Then, Simeon led him away, and Diocles stood next to me, his wirybody quivering with anticipation.
"Well?" he repeated. "Are you ready to seeyour new home?"
"Absolutely," I told him, and together, sideby side, we entered the villa.
That, gentle reader, was almost two yearsago. Since that time, I have made some minor changes to what I nowconsider my home. My biggest alterations have been in the muralsthat decorate the walls, particularly those that are the firstthing I see when I awake in the morning. I am certainly no prude; Ienjoy sexual congress as much as any man, but I am of an age whereit no longer consumes my thoughts the way it did when I wasyounger. Consequently, waking up every morning and having the firstthing I see be acts that I am no longer that interested in,performed in positions that I am no longer limber enough to attain,meant that this was the first of what could be called a majorchange. The next alteration was having an actual fireplace builtinto what is my library, although often as not I end up sleeping inthere. This has become so common that Diocles had a cot placed inthe room. It is an oddity, this fireplace; because of the wealth ofthe owner, I have hypocaust heating, and I must say that it isquite a nice feeling to put my feet down on the floor in themorning and not having it be freezing cold. But the fireplace isnot really for heat. I simply realized one day that there wassomething missing as I would sit and read, which is my favoriteoccupation at this point, despite the growing troubles I haveholding the scroll so I can read it. So much of my life has beenlived next to a fire that it only seemed natural that it be addedin a place where I spend most of my time after the sun goes down.Very quickly, my identity became known, which has turned out to beequal parts blessing and curse. I cannot deny that it is nice tohave the perhaps two dozen men of the two Cohorts of the6th that I commanded for Caesar in Alexandria so longago coming to visit and pay their respects. What is not sopleasurable are the visits from members of the classes above mine;the richer plebeians and the lesser members of the few patricianfamilies who have, for one reason or another, found themselves inwhat they consider the hinterland of Gaul. These men do not come topay their respects; no, their purpose is much more irritating, andobvious, and that is to try and extract any nugget and kernel ofinformation regarding the political situation in Rome that, Isuppose, makes them feel as if they are still connected to what isultimately the lifeblood of our Republic, and that is politics.Since my arrival here, I have actually made friends with a numberof men of the merchant class, and I know they would be howling inprotest at my last utterance, insisting instead that the real ichorthat fuels the entity known around the world as Rome, is that ofcommerce, of trade and the profit that comes from it. I cannotdispute that there is some truth in this; however, I have notchanged my opinion that the pumping heart of our beloved Republic,even if it is one in name only now, is power. Power, wielded by aprecious few men, perched at the very top of the hierarchy of oursociety. To those merchant friends of mine, I would merely point tothose men who, under any other circumstance, would not have deignedto cast a glance in my direction. But since I represent what isultimately the muscle behind the power, as exercised by this very,very small group of men, suddenly my opinion matters, and my favoris curried, especially because I had attained the ultimate positionavailable to the lowly scum of Roman society like me.
While I am talking of matters of class, Iwill say that, good to his word, a month after I arrived inArelate, I was roused one evening by Diocles, who brought news of amessenger from, of all places, Rome.
"I think I know what he's here for," Dioclestold me, making no attempt to hide his excitement. "He's from Rome,and I got a glimpse of the seal on his scroll!"
"And?" I tried to ignore the sudden increasein the banging of my heart against my ribs.
"It's a sphinx," he replied, saying nothingmore.
Truthfully, he did not need to, and Ibrushed past him and hurried to the vestibule, where messengers aretraditionally made to wait, although this was my first.
"Yes?" I asked the man who, I must say,looked especially weary, as if he had ridden hard.
"Am I addressing former Camp Prefect TitusPullus?" he asked me, and even without his words, his tone told methat this was something that had been drilled into his head as faras the precise wording.
"Yes, you are," I replied, matching hisformality. "And you are?"
"Who I am isn't important, but I do bear animportant message." The man kept his eyes at a spot above my head,telling me that he was at the least attached to the army in someway, as he thrust his hand out.
In it was the scroll that Diocles haddescribed, and no matter how much I cursed at myself, I could notkeep the tremor from my hand. Fortunately, the messenger's eyeswere still above me, so he did not see. Taking it, I paused for amoment, reminded of the sudden appearance of the man sent
