At last Chrysogonus showed himself. As the retinue approached, one of the torchbearers on the portico dashed into the house. A moment later Chrysogonus, dressed all in yellow and gold, stepped out onto the portico. Somehow, in my various dealings, I had never seen him before, only heard of his reputation. He was indeed quite strikingly handsome, tall and strongly built, with golden hair, a broad jaw, and glittering blue eyes. In the wavering torchlight I read the shifting mask of his face: anxious and uncertain at first, like any host awaiting a tardy guest of honour, then suddenly harsh and intense, as if mustering his strength, and then suffused with a charm so abrupt and overpowering that it was difficult to imagine any other expression on his face. He made a slight motion with one hand. The musicians, whose playing had flagged, abruptly played louder and with more spirit.
The litter arrived and came to a halt. The Nubians lowered their burden. A man-at-arms cast back the yellow gauze that shielded the occupant of the box. Sulla arose, smiling, corpulent, his ruddy face shining in the torchlight. He wore an elaborate robe of Asiatic design, an affectation he had acquired during his campaigns against Mithridates; it was in shades of green embroidered with silver. His hair, once as fair as Chrysogonus's, was thick and faded, a pale yellow like millet porridge.
Chrysogonus stepped forwards to greet him, bowing slightly. They embraced. They spoke briefly, laughing and smiling. They put their arms around each other's shoulders and disappeared into the house.
The litter bearers were dismissed. The retinue, casually sorting themselves into ranks of importance, followed their master into the house. The musicians, still playing, followed them. The torchbearers followed last, leaving behind two of their number to flank the door and cast a diminished light of welcome for any late arrivals. From within came a muted sound of clapping and cheering. The soul of the party had arrived.
Two days before, Rufus had shown, me the exterior of Chrysogonus's mansion, pointing out each entrance and explaining as best he could remember the placement of the rooms within. On the northwardside, around the cornerfrom theportico and shielded by a stand of cypress trees from the grounds in the rear, there was a small wooden door recessed in the wall. It led, so Rufus thought, into a pantry adjoining the vast kitchens at the back of the house. We were to wait there until Rufus came, unless he managed on his own to find the slaves of Sextus Roscius, Felix and Chrestus, in which case he would send them to us. Darkness hid us from the street. The cypress trees concealed us from the litter bearers who idled in the open space between the house and the stables. The house itself had no windows at all on the northern side, only a deserted, unlit balcony on the upper storey.
I was afraid that Tiro would become agitated, unused as he was to sitting idle in the dark, but he seemed quite content to lean against the bole of a tree and stare into the night. He had said almost nothing to me since our tryst with Roscia. He was wounded more deeply than he showed. Occasionally he glanced at me and then quickly away, his dark eyes flashing.
It seemed that we waited a very long time. Music from within mingled with the sound of crickets, and at some point I heard voices declaiming, interrupted at regular intervals by bursts of laughter and applause. Finally the door flew open. I stiffened against the tree, ready to run, but it was only a slave girl lugging a pail of dirty water. She blindly flung it into the darkness, then spun around and slammed the door behind her. Tiro brushed his legs where the farthest-flung drops had spattered the hem of his tunic. I reached into my sleeve and felt the handle of my knife — the same knife the mute son of Polia had given me on the street of the House of Swans long ago, it seemed, and far away..
I was almost dozing when the door at last opened again. I clutched the knife and sat upright. The door creaked quietly on its hinges, swinging open with such conspicuous stealth that I knew it must be either Rufus or else assassins come to murder us.
'Gordianus?' A voice whispered.
'Step outside, Rufus. Close the door behind you.'
He closed it with the same exaggerated stealth and then stood blinking like a mole, unable yet to see in the darkness despite the bright moon.
'Have you found them yet?' I asked.
'They're in the house, yes. Or at least there are two slaves called Felix and Chrestus, both new to the household; so one of the serving girls tells me. But I've seen nothing of them. They don't serve guests. They have no contact with anyone outside the household. Chrysogonus uses them as personal drudges. The girl says they almost never leave the upper floors.'
'Perhaps she can take them a message.'
'I already asked. Useless, she says. Chrysogonus would be furious if they came down during the party. But she's willing to take you to them.'
"Where is this girl?'
'Waiting for me, in the pantry. She found an excuse to come and fetch something.'
'Or she might be running to Chrysogonus this very moment.' Rufus looked worriedly at the door, then shook his head. 'I don't think so.' 'Why not?'
'You know how it is. You can tell when a slave is willing to do some dirty business behind her master's back. I don't think she cares for Master Golden-Born very much. You know what they say, slaves hate working for a freedman — it's a former slave who makes the cruellest master.'
I looked at the door, thinking how easily death could lurk behind it. I took a deep breath, then decided to trust Rufus's judgment, 'Lead the way.'
He nodded and stealthily opened the door. The lintel was so low I had to stoop. Tiro followed behind me. There was no reason for him to come, and I had meant to leave him outside, but when I looked over my shoulder I saw a look of such determination on his face that I acquiesced. With a faint creaking he closed the door behind us.
The giri was young and pretty with long black hair and creamy skin that glowed like honey in the soft light from the lamp in her hand. Had she been a courtesan, her looks would have been unremarkable; for a mere serving girl, her beauty seemed absurdly extravagant. Chrysogonus was famous for surrounding himself with pretty decorations and toys.
'These are the men,' Rufus explained. 'Can you take them upstairs quietly, so no one will notice?'
The girl nodded and smiled, as if he were foolish even to ask. Then her lips parted, she made a tiny gasp and spun around. The door behind her had begun to open.
The room was low and narrow, lined with shelves and crammed with bottles, urns, bowls, and sacks. Garlics hung from the ceiling, and the musty odour of flour was heavy in the air. I backed into one comer as deeply as I could, pushing Tiro behind me. At the same instant Rufus slid one arm around the girl's waist and pulled her close, pressing his mouth over hers.
The door opened. Rufus kissed the girl a moment longer and then they drew apart.
The man in the doorway was tall and broad, so large he almost filled the frame. Lit from behind, his hair made a shimmering golden halo around his darkened face. He chuckled softly and stepped closer. The girl's lamp, quivering in her hand, lit his face from below. I saw the blue of his eyes and the dimple in his broad jaw, the high cheekbones and the smooth, serene brow. He was only paces away and could surely have seen me between the clay pots and urns had it not been for the darkness. I realized the girl was intentionally blocking the light with her body, blinding him with the lamp and casting us into deeper shadow.
'Rufus,' he said at last, ending with a lingering hiss, as if it were not a name but a sigh. He said it again, slurring it and placing a strange accent on the vowels. His voice was deep and resonant, playful, showy, as intimate as a touch. 'Sulla is asking for you. Sorex is about to dance. A meditation on the death of Dido — have you seen it? Sulla would hate for you to miss it.'