Cicero's house was only a short distance from my own, along the rim road of the Palatine Hill. Even on such a brief walk I would normally have taken Davus with me for protection, especially after dark. On this night, of all nights, I sorely missed him.
All around me I felt the uneasiness of the city, like a sleeper in the throes of a nightmare. The rustling of many footsteps rose up from the Forum in the valley below. Torches, like tiny fireflies at such a distance, darted to and fro across the open squares. What were so many people doing out after dark? They were lighting votives in the temples, I thought, praying for peace… making preparations for hasty departures… banging on their bankers' locked doors… buying up the last scraps of food and fuel in the market stalls. I rounded a corner, and the Capitoline Hill came into view. At its summit, great fires had been lit in the braziers before the Temple of Jupiter- watchfires to alert the people that an invading army was on the march.
Two guards were stationed outside Cicero's door. They appeared supremely unimpressed by the approach of a gray-haired visitor without even a bodyguard to accompany him.
My relations with Cicero were strained at best. I asked to see his private secretary, with whom I had always been on closer terms.
The younger of the guards scratched his head. "Tiro? Never heard of him. No, wait- isn't that the one who died while the Master was on his way home from Cilicia?"
The other guard, a fellow with a bristling beard, saw my alarm and laughed. "Pay no attention to this young idiot. He's been around only a few months, never even met Tiro, who isn't dead, just too sick to travel."
"I don't understand. Is Tiro here or isn't he?"
"He isn't."
"Where is he?"
The older guard looked thoughtful. "Now what is the name of that place? In Greece, close to the water…"
"What town in Greece isn't close to water?" I said.
"This one starts with a P…"
"Piraeus?"
"No…"
"Patrae?"
"That's it! I was with the Master during his stint as governor of Cilicia, you see, and so was Tiro, of course. Last summer, we all started back to Rome. Took a slow, easy route. Along about November, Tiro fell sick and had to stay behind with one of the Master's friends in Patrae. The Master pushed on, and we got back to Rome this month, just in time to celebrate his birthday."
"Cicero's birthday?"
"Three days before the Nones of Januarius. Fifty-seven- same age as Pompey, they say."
"What about Tiro?"
"He and the Master write each other back and forth, but it's always the same. Never seems to get much worse, but never gets much better, either. Still not well enough to travel."
"I see. I had no idea. This is bad news."
"For Tiro? I don't know about that. I figure he's in a good place about now. Lots of peace and quiet in Patrae, I should think. Nice place to convalesce. Wouldn't want to be in Rome these days if I didn't have two strong legs and felt up to running."
"I see your point."
"Was there somebody else in the household you wanted to see?"
"Want to see? No. Nonetheless, tell your master that Gordianus the Finder requests a visit."