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well, I've bested you and will toy with you no longer. "Cicero wishes that you should play host to a certain senator. He asks you to open your house to this senator whenever he wishes and provide a haven for him, a safe retreat from the city. You should understand the need for that."
    "Who is this senator? A friend of Cicero's, or someone to whom he owes a favor?"
    "Not exactly."
    "Then who?"
    "Catilina."
    "What!"
    "Lucius Sergius Catilina."
    "Cicero wishes me to provide a safe haven for his worst enemy?
    What sort of plot is this?"
    "The plot is Catilina's. The point is to stop it."
    I vigorously shook my head. "I want no part of this!"
    "Your honor, Gordianus—"
    Roman Blood (St. Martin's Press, 1991)
    - 24 -

    "To Hades with you!" I rose from my chair so abruptly that I knocked it to the floor. I stepped out the door and crossed the herb garden, waving the wasp out of my way, and strode through the gate without looking back. I turned toward the front of the house, then remembered that Caelius's bodyguards were loitering there. The sight of them would only make me more furious. I spun around and circled toward the rear of the house. An instant later I glimpsed a figure crouching beneath the library window. Aratus, I thought, spying on me again!
    I opened my mouth, but the curse died stillborn in my throat. The figure turned toward me—and it was Meto, not Aratus, who looked me square in the face. He put a finger to his lips and backed cautiously away from the window, then scurried to my side, looking not the least bit guilty for eavesdropping on his own father.
    - 25 -

    C H A P T E R T H R E E
    son should not spy on his father," I said, trying to be stern.
    "There are some Roman fathers who would beat their sons A for such a crime, or even have them strangled."
    Up on the ridge, Meto and I sat side by side on the stumps and looked down on the farm. In front of the house, Caelius's bodyguards sat beneath the shade of a yew tree.
    Caelius himself had stepped into the herb garden and was peering toward the stream with one hand shading his brow from the westering sun. He had no idea where I was.
    "I wasn't exactly spying," Meto said, chagrined.
    "No? Spying is the only word for it."
    "Well, I learned it from you. I suppose it's in the blood."
    This last was absurd, since Meto was the son of slaves and had not a drop of my blood in his veins, but I was touched by his fantasy. I couldn't resist reaching out to muss his hair, and none too gently. "I suppose you blame your willfulness on me, as well?"
    "I give you credit for all my outstanding qualities, Papa." He smiled crookedly. The clever, charming little boy I had adopted had grown into a handsome and soft-spoken youth. His face became pensive. "Papa, who is Catilina? And why do you bear such a grudge against Cicero? I thought he was your friend."
    I sighed. "These matters are very complex. Or not complex at all if a man does the sensible thing and turns his back on them for good."
    "But is that possible? Marcus Caelius says you owe a personal favor to Cicero."
    "True enough."
    "Without Cicero, we wouldn't have the farm."
    - 26 -

    "Might not have the farm," I corrected him—but the guilelessness in his soft brown eyes compelled me to acknowledge the truth. "Very well, without Cicero there would be no farm. Without him to represent me, the Claudii and their lawyers would have eaten me alive in court.
    I owe him a great favor, like it or not. But what use is this farm if I must pay for it by allowing men like Caelius to bring Rome to my very doorstep?"
    "Is Rome truly so awful? I like the farm, Papa, but sometimes I miss the city." His eyes lit up. "Do you know what I miss most? The festivals, when they have plays and chariot races! Especially the races."
    Of course you miss them, I thought. You're young, and youth craves distraction. I shook my head, feeling old and sour.
    "The festivals are only another form of corruption, Meto. Who pays for festivals? The various