but gripped Ione’s hand tighter and pulled her along. They had already visited the temples of Artemis and Asclepius that morning and now were circling the exhibition space in the temple of Zeus, where she and Agathon had first met. For five days now, since she had sent Agathon the letter, she had stolen every moment she could to slip away from the palace and visit all the temples where art works were displayed—not with her easel and paints; she didn’t even pretend to be studying the masterpieces—but only with the desperate hope of seeing him again.
She didn’t know what else to do. The fever in her blood gave her no rest.
And what would she say if she saw him? She couldn’t think that far ahead. Every day, in the privacy of her studio, she sketched his face over and over, trying to capture his glancing eye, the half-smile on his lips, every curl of his hair. And feeling the image dissolve as she tried to grasp it. And throwing her charcoal down in despair. Why hadn’t he answered her letter? Why was he so cruel? And surely Gaius guessed something. How could he not? But she was past caring about that.
She circled the gallery again, looking with unseeing eyes at the paintings and statues that had once given her such pleasure. Never taking one eye from the pillared entryway. The gallery wasn’t crowded; no more than a dozen or so visitors. The minutes crept by—half an hour, an hour.
“’Purnia, my feet hurt,” Ione complained. “There must be a better way than this to meet him. Where else does he like to go?”
“Yes, all right,” Calpurnia sighed. “You’re right. I’m not thinking. Let’s…”
And then there he was! Coming through the door, alone. He paused and looked around. Was he looking for her? Suddenly she couldn’t breathe. In the center of the gallery was a large statuary group, a copy of Laocoon and the sea serpent. She ran behind it, pulling Ione with her. Unseen, she watched him as he moved around the gallery.
She would talk to him. Now. She would step out from her hiding place. Walk toward him with an easy smile. And Aphrodite, whose little image she prayed to nightly, would put the right words in her mouth. She didn’t know what they would be, but the goddess wouldn’t fail, couldn’t fail her.
She swallowed. Drew a deep breath. Closed her eyes for a moment and sent up a prayer to the love goddess.
“Calpurnia! How nice to see you, dear.”
Faustilla, Nymphidius’ formidable wife, swooped down upon her, her voice like a trumpet, her red gash of a mouth stretched in a grimace of feigned delight. Behind her came Fannia, the meek, bird-like little wife of Caelianus.
“Well, of course, you are the artist, aren’t you?” Faustilla blared. “So of course you’d be here, wouldn’t you? We thought we’d just pop in for a look, didn’t we, Fannia?”
Fannia offered a hesitant smile.
“Well, I haven’t seen so many naked men”—Faustilla leered at the nude statuary—“since I was a girl and sneaked into the men’s baths. Speaking of baths, we’re on our way there now, it’s the ladies’ hour you know. Come with us. Haven’t you had enough of this musty old stuff?”
“I—I’m sorry, Faustilla,” Calpurnia stammered, “I really can’t—that is, I’m waiting for someone.”
“Nonsense. Waiting for whom—your lover?”
“What?”
“Great gods, look at your face! Can’t you take a joke? Well, we’re all so serious these days with what’s been going on.”
“Going on?”
“Some family of Greeklings got themselves murdered yesterday. Doesn’t the governor tell you anything? My husband doesn’t tell me anything either. All very hush hush. It’s enough to give one palpitations. I remember when emperor Claudius was murdered. I was just a child, of course—”
“Excuse me, Faustilla, please!”
He was gone! She looked around wildly. One moment he had been standing in front of the statue of a laughing satyr and now he was nowhere.
“I have to go!” She seized Ione’s hand and dragged her away.
Faustilla watched Calpurnia’s disappearing back and shook her bewigged head. “Fannia, something’s not right with that woman.”
Fannia nodded vigorously. “You’re right, of course, Faustilla. The way she and her maid carry on like a pair of conspirators. Spends more time with her than with any of us. T’isn’t proper.”
“Ione! That stuck up little bit of stuff. She needs a good whipping is what she needs. Teach her her place. Gaius Plinius ought to control his womenfolk better. I have a mind to say something to him.”
“But, of course,