'According to Cato,' I began again, holding the scroll at arm's length and reading silently. 'Well, this is ridiculous! Cato clearly says that the haymaking should have been done by now, yet here it is, the Kalends of Junius, and we haven't even begun!'

'If I may interject, Master…' Aratus, standing at my elbow, cleared his throat He was a slave, not yet fifty, and had been foreman of the fcrm since long before my arrival the previous autumn.

'Yes?'

'Master, the blooms are not yet off the grass. It is not uncommon for the crop to be late. Why, last year it was just the same. We didn't harvest the hay until almost the end of Junius—'

'And I saw how much of it went bad in the barn! Bundles and bundles rotted away during the winter, so there was hardly enough left to feed the oxen during the ploughing this spring.'

'But that was because of the storm damage to the roof of the barn last winter, which let in the rain and so spoiled much of the hay. It had nothing to do with the late harvest last summer.' Aratus lowered his eyes and compressed his lips. His patience was near its end, if his subservience was not.

'Still, Cato is explicit: "Cut the grass crop when the time comes, and

take care that you are not too late in cutting it" Now, Marcus Porcius Cato may have been dead for almost a hundred years, but I don't suppose the ways of nature have changed in that tune.' I looked up at Aratus, who pursed his lips tightly.

'And another thing…' I shifted through the scroll, seeking the passage that had leaped out at me the night before. 'Ah, here: "The chickpea is poisonous to livestock and thus should be pulled up when found growing among the grain." And yet, only the other day, I saw one of the slaves take the burnt portions of chickpeas from the kitchen and mix them in among the oxen's feed.'