Diana sighed and snuggled against me. I congratulated myself on having successfully comforted her- prematurely, as it happened, for the next moment she trembled and burst into tears and pulled herself from my embrace.
"Diana, what now?"
"Oh, Papa, I can't stand to think of Davus like that, so far from home, so lonely for us! He must be utterly miserable, and there's nothing he can do about it. Papa, you must promise me that you'll get him back. You must do whatever it takes to bring him back to us!"
"But Diana-"
"You must find whoever killed Pompey's kinsman, and tell Pompey, and make him give back Davus!"
I shook my head. "You don't know what you're asking, daughter."
She gave me a puzzled, dissatisfied, desperate look. In her eyes I saw something I had never seen before. For the first time, it occurred to her that her beloved father, upon whom she had always relied as upon a rock, might simply be too old now, too far past his prime to keep his family safe. I wanted to assure her that nothing could be further from the truth, but my tongue was like lead in my mouth.
• • •
That particular day, the first day of Martius, seemed to be my day to deal with distraught young women.
Diana had hardly left my study when Mopsus ran in. In my irritable state of mind, it occurred to me that he and his brother never seemed to walk anywhere, indoors or out. They had only two states of being: at rest, or scampering like hounds.
"Master, there's a visitor for you."
"Does he have a name?"
"It's not a he. It's a she."
I leaned back. "Still, I imagine she has a name."
He frowned, and I saw that between the foyer and my study he had forgotten the visitor's name. Humans are like Aesop's animals, I thought; they never change their essential nature. Davus would always be a bodyguard. My son Meto would always be a scholar and a soldier. And Mopsus, raised in a stable to look after beasts, would never make a decent door slave.
"What sort of woman is she?" I asked. "High or low?"
He thought. "She has bodyguards. Otherwise, it's hard to tell, from how she's dressed. All in black."
Could it be Maecia, come to inquire after my progress, or lack of progress, into her son's murder? I didn't relish the idea of seeing her again… unless she had found in her house new evidence of Numerius's activities- perhaps even the documents which gave details of the plot on Caesar's life…
"Old or young?"
Mopsus thought. "Young. Maybe Diana's age."
Not Maecia, then, but dressed in black, nonetheless. I frowned. Numerius had not been married. Nor had there been a sister. But perhaps…
"Show her in," I said.
"And her bodyguards?"
"They must remain outside, of course."
Mopsus grinned. "There's three of them, but I bet even three couldn't get past Scarface!" Of late, Mopsus and his brother had grown rather fond of Cicatrix. Curiously, the ugly monster seemed to return the sentiment; I often heard the three of them laughing in the foyer or outside the front door, Cicatrix's harsh bark making odd counterpoint to the boys' giggles. I remained suspicious of the fellow and would gladly have been rid of him, but I was not as afraid of him as I had been at first. He did an excellent job of guarding the front door. His demeanor to Bethesda and Diana was sullen but not threatening. He clearly preferred guarding the Great One and considered service in the household of a nonentity such as myself to be beneath him, but the two of us had worked out a begrudging means of communicating. I gave curt orders. Cicatrix scowled and grunted, but did as he was told.
Mopsus ran from my study. I stepped into the garden, thinking it a more suitable place to greet a young woman. The weather was mild for the Kalends of Martius, with little wind and only a few high, fleecy bands of clouds streaking the cold blue sky.
A few moments later, the visitor entered. She wore not a married woman's stola but a maiden's long tunic, all in black and covered by a heavy cloak as black as her hair, which was done up with pins and combs atop her head in a fashion too mature for her face. Her perfume seemed too mature for her, as well; I caught a whiff of jasmine and spikenard. Mopsus had estimated her to be Diana's age. She looked younger to me, no more than seventeen or eighteen. Her hands and face were as white as a dove's breast.
She looked at me warily from beneath her dark brows. "Are you Gordianus?"
"I am. Who are you?"
"My name is Aemilia, the daughter of Titus Aemilius."
I looked expectantly at the door through which she had come. "Where is your chaperone?"
Aemilia looked uncomfortable and lowered her eyes. "I came alone."
"A girl of your age and station, walking about Rome without a companion?"
"I brought bodyguards."
"Even so… Does your father know you're out?"
"My father is away. With Pompey."
"Of course. Your mother?"
"We returned to Rome only a few days ago. We were at our villa on the coast, but Mother says it's probably safer here in Rome now. She's busy today visiting the shops and markets. I was supposed to go with her. I told her I felt unwell and needed to stay at home."
"But instead you came here."
"Yes."
"Are you unwell? You look pale."
She didn't answer, but looked nervously about the garden until her eyes fixed on the Minerva behind me. The sight of the goddess seemed to give her strength. It was Minerva's face she looked at while she spoke, not mine. She probably had little experience addressing a grown man directly.
"I just came from Maecia's house. She told me about you."
"What did Maecia say?"
"That you were looking into…" Her nerve seemed to falter. She lowered her eyes to the ground. "Is this where it happened?"
I took a deep breath. "If you mean the death of Numerius Pompeius, yes, it happened in this garden."
She shuddered and clutched the black cloak to her throat.
"Were you kin to him?" I said.
"No."
"Yet you're dressed in mourning."
She bit her lips, which looked blood red against her pale cheeks. "He was… he and I… we were to marry."
I shook my head. "I didn't know."
"No one did."
"I don't understand."
"No one knew. Pompey had plans for him to marry someone else. But I was the one he chose. Numerius chose me."
From the way she touched herself, one hand unconsciously coming to rest above her belly, I suddenly understood. "I see."
"Do you?" Her face registered a confusion of pride and alarm. "Maecia could tell, too. Is it that obvious?"
I shook my head. "It doesn't show yet, if that's what you mean."
"Not here." She looked down and touched her belly. "But it must show on my face. And why not? I should have been his widow. The baby should have been born with his name. But now…"
"Why did you come here, Aemilia? To see the place where he died?"
She grimaced. "No. I don't like to think about that."
"Then why are you here? What do you want from me?" Her eyes met mine for an instant, then she looked beyond me, to Minerva, as she struggled to put her thoughts into words. I raised my hand. "Never mind. I know already. You want from me what everyone else wants- Pompey, Maecia, even Diana…" I shook my head. "Why was I able to tell at once with you, and yet with my own daughter, I practically had to be struck by lightning before I saw the obvious? And people think Gordianus is so clever, able to see what others don't!"
Aemilia looked at me, mystified. I sighed. "How long have you known?"
"About the baby? I knew before Mother and I left Rome. I wasn't certain, but I knew. Since then, the moon waxed and waned, and waxes again, and now there's no doubt. I can feel it inside me! I know it's too early for that, but I swear I feel it sometimes."
"His child…" I said. Like Aemilia imagining she felt the new life inside her, I seemed to sense another, very different kind of presence in the garden. What stronger lure than his unborn child might serve to call back the lemur of a murdered man to the spot where he was killed? I turned about and gave a start, almost certain I saw a shadow move behind the statue of Minerva. It was only a trick of the light.