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opinion?”
    Bhiku laughed, a cackle that could have been threatening had it not been for the old man’s cheerful expression. He said, “People rarely ask me what I think. They want to know what I can do for them, only that. But what I think, Gaius Varus, is that I do not need to be threatened to carry out the duties I agreed to do in exchange for my keep.”
    He plucked the thin fabric away from his ribs and grinned like a frog. “Very modest keep,” he said wryly. “And as for Rupa…”
    His eyes followed the woman. She appeared to be examining an outcrop on the slope above the altar.
    â€œGovinda is a very great magician, beyond any question,” Bhiku said musingly. “But I would not care to guess how powerful Rupa is, or what her real purposes might be. I have heard it said that she is ancient. I am an old man, but it is said that she is older than I am by hundreds of years. To the eye she does not appear old.”
    â€œShe looks,” said Varus, “as though she were made of polished chert. Smooth and so hard that steel could strike sparks from her skin.”
    â€œYes,” said Bhiku. They were speaking with lowered voices, though there was no one near them, nor, in all likelihood, anyone who would have cared about what they were saying if they had been shouting. “It may be that her soul is that hard also.”
    Then, in a still softer voice, Bhiku said, “I think that Rupa may be searching for a word that will split this world the way a knife cuts a pat of butter … and that if Rupa should find that word, she will speak it.”
    The gardeners stepped away from the vine shoot. One spoke to the officials. The bearded man in blue made a peremptory gesture toward Bhiku, who bowed in obedience and started toward his fellows.
    He turned as he walked away and said over his shoulder, “It has been a pleasure to meet you, Gaius Varus. I hope that we may meet again.”

 
    CHAPTER II
    â€œPlease sit down, Master Corylus,” said Saxa, gesturing him to one of the two backless folding chairs in the office. The curving legs had been carved from burl elm and polished to bring out all the rich figuration. Saxa’s seat was ivory, the curule chair on which he sat in the Senate and at other public events.
    â€œThank you,” Corylus said quietly as he seated himself. Death masks of Saxa’s more illustrious ancestors formed a frieze around the top of the walls. In many cases the wax had blackened with age. Against one sidewall stood a cabinet with drawers in the lower portion; above were display shelves protected by a bronze grating.
    Bronze busts of Homer, Vergil, and Horace stood on top of the cabinet. Vergil’s head was wreathed in laurel. Today is Vergil’s birthday, Corylus realized.
    He had met a man—a sort of man—who might have been the living remains of Vergil, the greatest of poets and according to rumor the greatest of magicians as well. That incident seemed now to have been a dream, like so many other incidents of Corylus’ recent life. They had been real at the time, though, real enough to have meant his death and the death of the very world.…
    â€œI’m in a difficult position, Master Corylus,” Saxa said, clasping his hands in his lap and then changing the grip as he clasped them again. “I suppose you know that I have the honor to be the Republic’s Governor of Lusitania? Yes, of course you know that.”
    Corylus lifted his chin in silent acknowledgment. He had rarely spoken with Varus’ father. It had been a disconcerting experience every previous time, and the present occurrence was that and worse.
    On the one hand, Saxa was wealthy even by the standards of the Senate. He had the power of life and death by virtue of his position, and his enormous wealth could gain him almost anything available within the empire over which the Republic ruled.
    On the other hand, Saxa was a