'All of which, taken together, can mean only one thing: that he wishes to be an advocate and present legal cases before the Rostra. I would have assumed so at any rate, from the very feet that you came to ask for my services. Most of my clients — at least the respectable ones — are either politicians or lawyers or both.'

Tiro nodded. 'But you also knew that Cicero was young and just beginning in his career.'

'Yes. Well, if he were an established advocate, I would have heard of him already. How many cases has he presented?'

'Only one,' Tiro acknowledged, 'and nothing you would have heard about — a simple partnership case.'

'Which further confirms his youth and inexperience. As does the feet that he sent you at all. Would it be fair to say that you're Cicero's most trusted slave? His favourite servant?'

'His personal secretary. I've been with him all my life.'

'Carried his books to classes, drilled him in grammar, prepared his notes for his first case before the Rostra?'

'Exactly.'

'Then you are not the sort of slave that most advocates send when they wish to call upon Gordianus the Finder. Only a fledgling advocate, embarrassingly ignorant of common custom, would bother to send his right hand to my door. I'm flattered, even though I know the flattery is unintentional. To show my gratitude, I promise not to spread the word that Marcus Tullius Cicero made an ass of himself by sending his best slave to fetch that wretched Gordianus, explorer of dung heaps and infiltrator of hornet's nests. They'd get a bigger laugh out of that than they ever will out of Cicero's name.'

Tiro wrinkled his brow. The tip of my sandal caught on a willow root beside the stream. I stubbed my toe and stifled a curse.

‘You're right,' Tiro said quietly, sounding very earnest. 'He's quite young, just as I am. He doesn't yet know all these little tricks of the legal profession, the silly gestures and empty formalities. But he does know what he believes in, which is more than you can say for most advocates.'