Now I had found him again, lying lifeless on a bier in the house of Caesar's wife-who was telling me that Hieronymus had been her spy. The notion was absurd!

Or was it?

In a flash I saw how such a thing must have happened. Having resided with me, observing how I made a living and hearing my stories of past investigations, how like Hieronymus to conclude that any fool could do the same. What skills were required, except perseverance and cheek? What resources were needed, beyond a circle of knowledgeable informants, many of whom Hieronymus had already met through me? He knew I had dealt with Calpurnia shortly before my departure and that I had come away from those dealings with a great deal of money. After I left for Egypt, he must have approached her and offered his services.

"But why did you hire him?" I asked. "What sort of information could Hieronymus possibly have obtained for you? He was an outsider, a foreigner. He spoke with a Greek accent. He could never pass as a citizen."

"He had no need to be anything other than himself," said Calpurnia. "His notoriety opened doors."

"Notoriety? The man shunned society."

"Perhaps, but society did not shun him. Everyone in Rome had heard of the Scapegoat. And as Hieronymus quickly discovered, once he began making the rounds, there was hardly a household in Rome that wouldn't admit him if he paid a call. He was a curiosity, don't you see? Exotic, mysterious-the famous Scapegoat of Massilia, the sacrificial victim who was never sacrificed. In times such as these, a man who can cheat death is a man people want to meet. The superstitious hoped that some of his good fortune might rub off. The curious merely wanted to take a good look at him. And once he was admitted to a household, Hieronymus could be quite charming-"

"Charming? He had a tongue like a viper!"

"Amusing, then. Never at a loss for an epigram. Very erudite."

This was true. As a child, before his father fell into ruin, Hieronymus had received an excellent education from his tutors. He could recite long passages from the Iliad and knew the Greek tragedies by heart. When he chose to show off his learning, it was usually to comic effect-an ironic rejoinder, a whimsical metaphor, an absurdly high-flown bit of poetry that deflated the self-importance of his listener.