"Yes? Go on."

" 'Some say in Caesar's bed, as well.' "

"What?"

"That's what it says, Papa. More or less; the original was a bit more uncouth. That part was in Greek, but I knew all the words."

"Outrageous!"

"Is it?"

"Meto loves Caesar, of course; you'd have to love a man to risk your life for him on any given day. Hero worship- it's a cult among military men. I've never understood it, myself. But that's not the same as…"

Diana shrugged. "Meto's never said anything explicit to me about himself and Caesar, but even so, just from the way he talks about their relationship, I've always assumed there must be…"

"Assumed what?"

"Papa, there's no need to raise your voice."

"Well! It appears you're not the only one who's been making wild assumptions. In a confidential report intended for Pompey's eyes, no less! Caesar's enemies have been spreading this kind of tale about him for thirty years, ever since he befriended King Nicomedes. You can still hear him called the Queen of Bithynia in the Forum. But how dare they draw Meto into their rumormongering? Don't roll your eyes, Diana! You seem to think I'm making something out of nothing."

"I think there's no need to shout, Papa."

"Yes. Well…"

She laid her hand on mine. "We're all worried about Meto, Papa. About his being so close to Caesar… and what's going to happen next. Only the gods know how it will all turn out."

I nodded. The room seemed suddenly very quiet. The sunlight from the garden was already softening; days are short in Januarius. My temples began to throb. We had been working for hours. The only break had been to stoke the fire in the brazier, to ward off the growing chill. The brazier had been burning since first light. The room was smoky.