"If there ever were some documents regarding a plot to kill Caesar, they aren't here," said Tiro, sticking out his tongue to blow a bit of down from his upper lip.
"Nor were they hidden at Numerius's house. His mother told me she made a thorough search for just such material and found nothing."
"Yet Numerius told me he was 'sitting on something enormous'- something so dangerous it could get him killed."
"Which it did," I said, lowering my eyes.
Tiro walked about the room, stirring up eddies of swan's down. "So I'm no closer to finding what I was looking for, and you're no closer to discovering who murdered Numerius and getting your son-in-law back from Pompey. Listen, Gordianus- I'm leaving Rome tomorrow. Come with me."
I cocked an eyebrow.
"Why not?" he said. "I'm sick of traveling alone."
"Surely you'll take a bodyguard for the road."
"Yes, one of those idiots at Cicero's house."
"The older one's brighter," I said. "Not quite as stupid, anyway."
"Fortex, you mean?"
"If that's his name."
"Fortex won't make much of a traveling companion. I could have better conversations with my horse. You're good company, Gordianus."
"You want me to go with you simply to keep you amused, Tiro? Someone has to look after my family."
"You've got that cyclops from Pompey at your front door, haven't you? And your son Eco can look in from time to time."
"Perhaps. Still, what reason have I to leave Rome?"
Tiro looked at me gravely. "You want to get your son-in-law back, don't you? There's not much time left for that, Gordianus. Pompey's withdrawn to Brundisium, with his back to the sea. Caesar is pursuing him. It can only be a matter of days now. If you have any intention of bringing Davus back to Rome…"
"I see your point. What about you, Tiro? Why are you leaving Rome?"
"I received a message from Cicero today. He wants me to stop at his villa in Formiae on my way and carry some letters to Pompey-"
"Formiae? Cicero is still down the coast?"
"Yes."
"But Pompey ordered all loyalist senators to rendezvous at Brundisium."
"Yes. Well…" Tiro's expression became guarded.
"Don't tell me Cicero is still vacillating! Is he waiting for the war to be over before he takes sides?"
"It's not like that, Gordianus; not as bad as you make it sound. Cicero sees himself as- how to put it?- uniquely positioned to play a special role. What other man of his eminence can still communicate with both sides?"
"Cicero is still in contact with Caesar?"
"Cicero and Caesar never stopped corresponding. Pompey knows that. Cicero hasn't misled him. Now that the crisis is entering a new stage, Cicero may be in a position to act as go-between, as peacemaker. In order to do that, he must maintain a delicate balance-"
"Nonsense! Cicero simply hasn't the nerve to throw his lot with Pompey. He detests Caesar, but he fears that Caesar may win, so he secretly cozies up to both sides. He's the worst sort of coward."
Tiro grimaced. "Who's being the stodgy moralist now, Gordianus? We all find ourselves in a situation not of our choosing. Every man has to steer his own course. It'll be a lucky man who comes out of this alive without a bit of tarnish on his conscience."
I had no answer for that.
He took a deep breath. "Well then, Gordianus, will you come with me to Brundisium or not?"
• • •
On the way home, I bought the Egyptian basket ringed with hippopotami as a gift for Bethesda. I needed something to soften the news that I was leaving Rome. As it turned out, it was a wise choice for a gift, since a reed basket can be thrown across the room and not break.
Unlike her mother, Diana seemed to receive the news with enthusiasm. Anything that might result in the return of Davus was a welcome development. But that night, as I packed a saddlebag with things I would need for the journey, Diana came into the room. She spoke without looking at me.
"I think it's a brave thing you're doing, Papa, going off like this. The countryside must be terribly dangerous."
"No more so than the city these days, I imagine."
She watched me fold a tunic. I did such a poor job that she felt obliged to take it from me and fold it herself.
"Papa, I know that you're doing this for me. Even though… I mean to say, I know that you were never… pleased… by my marriage. Yet now you're willing to…" She fought back sudden tears. "And I worry that I may never see either of you again!"
The folded tunic came undone in her hands. I put my arm around her. She reached up to touch my fingers on her shoulder. "I don't know what's wrong with me, Papa. Every since Davus left…"
"Everyone's nerves are as frayed as a beggar's cloak, Diana. What do you want to bet that Cicero breaks out in tears twice a day?"
She smiled. "I doubt that Caesar does."
"Perhaps not. But Pompey may. There's a picture for you: Davus yawning outside the Great One's tent, and Pompey inside, crying like a baby and tearing his hair."
"Like a scene from Plautus."
"Exactly. Sometimes it helps to think of life as a comedy on a stage, the way the gods must see it."
"The gods can be cruel."
"As often as not."
We were silent for a while. I felt a great sense of peace, standing next to her with my arm around her.
"But Papa," she said quietly, "how will you manage to get Davus from Pompey? If you haven't discovered who killed Numerius, Pompey will never let him go."
"Don't worry. I have a plan."
"Do you? Tell me."
"No, Diana."
She shrugged my arm from her shoulder and stepped away. "Why not, Papa? You used to tell me everything."
"You don't need to know, Diana."
She pursed her lips. "Don't tell me your plan, then, Papa. Perhaps I don't believe you have one."
I took her hands and kissed her forehead. "Oh, I assure you, daughter, I do have a plan." And I did- although using it might mean that I would never come back from Brundisium alive.
PART TWO
XII
Horses were hard to come by. The best had been taken by those who fled the city in the first wave of panic or requisitioned by Pompey's forces. Tiro promised to meet me outside the Capena Gate before dawn the next day with fresh mounts, but what could possibly be left in the stables? I had visions of myself atop a swaybacked nag with knobby joints and a hide worn to leather, but I underestimated Tiro's resourcefulness. I found him waiting for me with Fortex, the bodyguard, both of them mounted. A third horse stood idly by, munching at the grass between two moss-covered funeral shrines alongside the road. All three beasts were as sleek and fit as any rider could wish.
We set out at once. The sun was no more than an intimation of fiery gold not yet cresting the low hills to the east. Patches of darkness lingered like vestiges of Night's trailing shroud. In such uncertain light, there was something eerie about that stretch of road, flanked on either side by so many tombs of the dead.
The Appian Way itself is as smooth as a tabletop, with polygonal paving stones fitted so tightly that not a grain of sand could be passed between them. There is something reassuring about the solid immutability of a Roman road. Meto once told me of venturing on a reconnaissance mission into the wild woods of Gaul. Alien gods seemed to peer from gnarled roots. Lemures flitted among shadows. Unseen creatures scurried amid moldering leaves. Then, in a place where he never expected it, Meto came upon a road built at Caesar's instigation, a gleaming ribbon of stone cutting through the heart of the forest, letting in fresh air and sunlight.
The Appian Way is surrounded not by wilderness but by tombs for miles along either side. Some monuments are large and elaborate, like miniature temples. Others are no more than a simple marker, an upright stone pole with a bit of engraving. Some fresh-scrubbed and beautifully tended, surrounded by flowers and shrubbery. Others have fallen into disrepair, with columns knocked askew and cracked foundations choked by weeds.