“Save me!” I shouted. “I am a Senator!” Their spear points wavered not a single inch.
“Arrest him!” yelled Creticus from the top of the steps. “Tie him up and bring him in here!” The line of soldiers parted just enough to let me through and then closed smoothly. Behind me, the royal guards came to a halt in a screech of hobnails on pavement. Hands grasped me and dragged me up the steps. I had just run from this very situation, only to have it inflicted upon me by my own countrymen. I was thrown to the steps at Creticus’s feet, still hugging my scroll.
“Chain him up!” Creticus screamed. “Flog him! We may have to find a priest to purify the evil little monster!” He was quite beside himself.
“If you’ll just get a grip on yourself …”
“Get a grip?” he shrieked, his face going scarlet. “Get a grip! Decius, have you any idea what you’ve done? Roman citizens have been attacked! Their houses have been destroyed, their property plundered! And why? Because you skulked away from the embassy, against my orders, and killed a cat! A cat!” I thought he was sure to have a seizure.
“I have saved Rome!” I insisted. “A big, wealthy part of the Empire, anyway.”
“Enough of these vaporings! Bring the chains.”
“Just a moment.” Julia pushed her way past him, her face white and drawn. She knelt beside me and wiped my sweaty face with a corner of her scarf.
“Decius, did you really kill that cat?”
“Absolutely not!” I told her. “I love the sneaky little beasts. It was Ataxas. He killed it and blamed it on me. He started it all, and I have the evidence here to convict the lot of them.”
She stood and faced Creticus. “Listen to what he has to say.”
“Listen to him! That’s what caused all this trouble! I listened to him! No more! I will have him tried for treason and flung from the Tarpeian Rock! I’ll have his traitorous corpse dragged on a hook down the Tiber steps and thrown into the river!”
She didn’t flinch. She stood with her face three inches from his, and her voice didn’t waver in the least.
“Quintus Caecilius Metellus Creticus, if you do not hear him out, my uncle, the Consul-elect Caius Julius Caesar, will have some words for you when we return to Rome.”
Creticus stood for about five minutes while his normal color returned. Then he snapped: “Bring him inside.” We went into the atrium. “Make it fast and convincing.”
“War,” I gasped, at the end of my resources. Suddenly Hermes was at my elbow with a brimming cup, the blessed boy. I emptied it in one gulp. “War with Parthia. Revolt in Egypt. This is the stolen book.”
“Book!” Creticus shouted. “You started a riot over a cat, now you want a war over a book?”
I’d had enough of this. I held one end of the scroll and tossed the bulk of it to the floor. It unrolled for the whole length of the atrium and continued into a hallway, displaying fine Greek writing, exquisite drawings, and spilling documents. I held out the cup and Hermes took it, returning in seconds with a refill. I went to the spilled documents and scooped them up, then handed them to Creticus.
“The secret treaty between Achillas and Phraates of Parthia, plotting to overthrow King Ptolemy and divide up Rome’s Eastern possessions between them. Not just the final treaty, but the earlier drafts as well.” While Creticus studied it, I glared at the other embassy officials who stood tensely by. “You weasels don’t get out of paying me five hundred denarii that easily.”
Creticus grew very, very white as he read. “Explain,” he said at last. I gave it to them, quickly, from the murder of Iphicrates to my appearance at the bottom of the embassy steps.
By the end of it, somebody had shoved a chair beneath me and I was making quick work of my third cup.
“All right,” Creticus said grimly. “I grant you a temporary reprieve. In your insane fashion, you may have done the state some service. Let’s go outside.”
There was now a great crowd of the Palace guard filling the courtyard, but we felt safe enough behind our line of Roman marines. I staggered out to stand wearily beside Creticus. Julia stood by me. I saw Fausta in the crowd of Romans, looking on happily, as if this spectacle were being staged just for her amusement. Achillas stood at the head of his soldiers. I expected him to bluster, but I had underestimated him. He was biding his time in silence, waiting to see which way he should jump.
“You think he’ll storm the embassy, Decius?” Creticus said, maintaining that haughty demeanor for which Roman officials are famed all over the world.