'I'm sure you do. Only, while you keep your mouth closed, I want you to keep your ears open.'

'Master?' He inclined his head, seeking clarification.

'This applies more to your assistants than to you, since I assume you may not leave the kitchen at all, while they may assist in serving the Claudii at their meal. The family will mostly be discussing politics and the upcoming consular elections; about that I care nothing, and you may ignore whatever they say. But if you should happen to hear my name mentioned, or any other matter concerning this farm, prick up your ears. Indicate no interest, but note what is said and by whom. Do not discuss the details among yourselves, but remember them When you return, I will want to hear any such details, faithfully recounted. Do you understand, all of you?'

Congrio drew back with a sudden look of self-importance and nodded gravely. His assistants, watching him for their lead, did likewise. What makes a slave feel more warmly wicked than to be commissioned as a spy?

'Good. About the instructions I have just given, you will say nothing, not even to the other slaves. Not even to Aratus,' I added. They nodded again.

After I sent them on their way, I stepped to the window and leaned out, breathing in the warm fragrance of mowed grass. The bloom was finally off the grass, and the slaves had begun to make hay. I also noted the figure of Aratus walking quickly alongside the house, his back turned to me, as if he had been standing by the window and listening to everything I said.

It was two days later, in the afternoon, when the stranger arrived. I had taken a stroll to the stream and had settled on a grassy slope, my back against the trunk of a spreading oak, a wax tablet on my knees and a stylus in my hand hi my imagination a mill began to take shape on the bank of the stream I tried to draw what I saw in my mind, but my ringers were clumsy. I smoothed the wax with the edge of my hand and started again.