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napkin and threw it on to the table, then stood and offered his hand to Terentia. She took it with a smile all the more striking because it was so rare. She was like some twiggy winter plant that had suddenly put forth a bloom, warmed by the sun of Cicero's success – so much so that she had actually set aside her lifelong parsimony and dressed herself in a manner befitting the wife of a consul and future governor of Macedonia. Her brand-new gown was sewn with pearls, and other newly purchased jewels glinted all about her: at her narrow throat and thin bosom, at her wrists and on her fingers, even woven into her short dark curls.
    The guests filed out, the women turning towards the tablinum, the men moving into the study. Cicero told me to close the door. Immediately the pleasure drained from his face.
    'What's all this about, brother?' asked Quintus, who was still holding his wine glass. 'You look as if you've eaten a bad oyster.'
    'I hate to spoil a pleasant evening, but a problem has arisen.' Grimly Cicero produced the writ that had been served on Rabirius, then described the afternoon's delegation from the senate and his subsequent visit to Caesar. 'Read out what the rascal said, Tiro,' he ordered.
    I did as he asked, and when I came to the final part – Caesar's offer of protection – all four exchanged glances.
    'Well,' said Atticus, 'if you turn your back on Catulus and his friends after all the promises you made to them before the election, you may have need of his protection. They'll never forgive you.'
    'Yet if I keep my word to them, and oppose the populists' bill, then Caesar will find Rabirius guilty, and I'll be obliged to defend him on the Field of Mars.'
    'And that you simply must not do,' said Quintus. 'Caesar's quite right. Defeat is certain. At all costs, leave his defence to Hortensius.'
    'But that's impossible! I can hardly stay neutral as the president of the senate while a senator is crucified. What kind of consul would that make me?'
    'A live one, rather than a dead one,' replied Quintus, 'because if you throw in your lot with the patricians, believe me, you'll be in real danger. Almost everyone will be against you. Even the senate won't be united – Hybrida will see to that. There are plenty on those benches just waiting for an opportunity to bring you down, Catilina first among them.'
    'I've an idea,' said young Rufus. 'Why don't we smuggle Rabirius out of the city and hide him in the country somewhere till this blows over?'
    'Could we?' Cicero pondered the suggestion, then shook his head. 'No. I admire your spirit, Rufus, but it wouldn't work. If we deny Caesar Rabirius, he's perfectly capable of trumping up a similar charge against Catulus or Isauricus – and can you imagine the consequences of
that
?'
    Servius meanwhile had picked up the writ and was studying it intently. His eyesight was weak and he had to hold thedocument so close to the candelabrum I feared it might catch fire. '
Perduellio
,' he muttered. 'That's a strange coincidence. I was planning to propose in the senate this very month that the statute of
perduellio
be repealed. I'd even looked up all the precedents. I have them laid out on my desk at home.'
    'Perhaps that's where Caesar got the idea,' said Quintus. 'Did you mention it to him?'
    Servius's face was still pressed to the writ. 'Of course not. I never speak to him. The fellow's an utter scoundrel.' He glanced up to discover Cicero staring at him. 'What is it?'
    'I think I know how Caesar might have heard of
perduellio
.'
    'How?'
    Cicero hesitated. 'Your wife was at Caesar's house when we arrived this afternoon.'
    'Don't be absurd. Why would Postumia visit Caesar? She barely knows him. She was with her sister all day.'
    'I saw her. So did Tiro.'
    'Well then, maybe you did, but I'm sure there's some innocent explanation.' Servius pretended to carry on reading. After a while he said, in a low and resentful voice, 'I was puzzled why you'd waited till after dinner to discuss