"Clodia… Clodia… Clodia…"

Her litter passed through the narrow gateway into the forecourt. Her gladiators could have cleared the way by force, but violence turned out to be unnecessary. At the sound of her name the mourners in the court drew back in a kind of awe. A pocket of emptiness formed before the litter and closed after it, so that it proceeded swiftly and without incident to the far side of the court and up the short flight of steps to the entrance. The tall bronze doors opened inward. The canopy was turned so that its occupants could not be seen as they alighted and entered the house. The doors shut behind them with a muffled clang.

The chanting died away. An uneasy hush descended on the crowd.

"Clodius, dead," said Eco quietly. "It hardly seems possible." "You haven't lived as long as I have," I said ruefully. "They all die, the great and the small, and most of them sooner than later." "Of course. I only mean -"

"I know what you mean. When some men. die, it's like- a grain of sand thrown into a river – there's not even a ripple. With others, it's like a great boulder. Waves splash onto the bank. And with a very few -"

"Like a meteor falling out of the sky," said Eco.

I took a deep breath. "Let's hope it won't be as awful as that." But something told me it would be.

We waited for a while, trapped by the inertia that falls upon a crowd when something momentous looms. From those around us we picked up numerous, conflicting rumours of what had happened There had been an incident on the Appian Way, just outside Rome-no, twelve miles away, at Bovillae – no, somewhere farther south. Clodius had been out riding alone – no, with a small bodyguard – no, in a litter with his wife and their usual retinue of slaves and attendants. There had been an ambush – no, a single assassin – no, a traitor among Clodius's own men…