"What is it on the pedestal?" he whispered. "A man? Or-?" I shared his confusion. The amorphous form atop the pedestal could hardly be the upright figure of a god. It might have been a man squatting on all fours, watching us. It might have been a Gorgon. My imagination ran riot.

A burst of sound suddenly echoed through the temple-a sputtering, tittering, hissing noise.

The sound came from the doorway behind us. I turned about. Because of the light beyond, I saw only a silhouette. For a moment I imagined a two-headed monster with spiky limbs was barking at us through the open doorway. Then I realized that the barking was suppressed laughter, and the two heads belonged to two men-two soldiers to judge from their dully glinting helmets and mail shirts and the drawn swords in their fists. They were squeezed together into the breech, clutching each other and giggling.

Davus stepped before me, clutching his sword. I pulled him back.

One of soldiers spoke. "Pretty, isn't she-the thing on the pedestal?"

"Who-?" I began to say. "What-?"

"Listen to that, Marcus, the old one speaks Latin!" said the soldier. "You're not a Gaul then? Or some Massilian who's slipped the noose?"

I took a deep breath and drew myself up. "I'm a Roman citizen. My name is Gordianus."

The soldiers stopped their tittering and disengaged from one another. "And the big fellow-your slave?"

"Davus is my son-in-law. Who are you?"

One soldier put his shoulder to the door and pushed it open another foot. The screech from the hinges set my teeth on edge. His companion, who did all the talking, crossed his arms. "We're soldiers of Caesar. We ask the questions. Do you need to know more than that, citizen Gordianus?"

"That depends. Knowing your names might prove useful the next time I speak to Gaius Julius."

It was hard to see their faces, but from the ensuing silence I knew I had stumped them. Did I really know their imperator well enough to call him by his first name? I might be bluffing-or not. In a world turned upside-down by civil war, it was hard to know how to judge a stranger met in a strange place-and surely there were few places stranger than this.