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Trygonion?”
    The little gallus blinked and managed to nod.
    “And for you, too, Teacher—I insist! I won’t allow you to leave my house without taking some food to steady you.”
    Dio bowed his head, looking tired and perplexed, trembling with agitation and, no doubt, hunger. He muttered something to himself, then finally looked up at me and nodded. “Yes—an Alexandrian dish, you said?”
    “What could we offer our visitors? Bethesda, did you hear me?”
    She seemed to wake from a daydream, then cleared her throat. “I could make some Egyptian flatbread . . . and perhaps something with lentils and sausage . . .”
    “Oh yes, that would be very good,” said Dio, staring at her with an odd expression. Philosopher he might be, but hunger and homesickness can addle the mind of any man.
    Suddenly Diana appeared at Bethesda’s side. Dio looked more confused than ever as he gazed from mother to daughter. Their resemblance is striking.
    Bethesda departed as abruptly as she had appeared. Diana lingered for a moment and seemed to mimic her mother’s scowl. The longer I live with a woman the more mysterious the experience becomes, and now that there are two of them in the household, the mystery is doubled.
    Diana turned on her heel and followed her mother with the same quick, haughty stride. I looked at my guests. In comparison to comprehending a woman, I thought, comprehending another man—even a philosopher in a stola or a gallus who had given up his sex—was really not so difficult.
    The serving girl brought us wine and some crusts of breadto stave off our hunger until the meal was ready. A chili had crept in from the garden, so I called on Belbo to stoke the brazier while I closed the shutters. I glanced outside and saw that twilight had descended on the atrium, casting the face of Minerva into inscrutable shadow.
    With more wine in his stomach, as well as a bit of bread, Dio at last found the fortitude to recount the events which had reduced him to such a state of uncertainty and fear.
    *
Catilina’s Riddle
(St. Martin’s Press, 1993).

chapter
Four
    B est to begin at the beginning,” sighed Dio, “insofar as that’s possible with such a twisted tale. You know something of the story already—”
    “Refresh my memory,” I said.
    “Very well. All my life, Alexandria has been in constant political upheaval. The members of the royal Ptolemy clan wage unending warfare against each other. For the people of Alexandria, this has meant bloody massacres and crushing taxes. Time and again the people have risen up to drive ruler after ruler out of the capital. One Ptolemy goes into exile, another takes his place—I won’t recite the list. Whoever is winning occupies Alexandria, with its great granaries and royal treasury. Whoever is losing flees to Cyprus and plots his return. Fortunes reverse and the rulers change places, while the people endure: I forget which Ptolemy was on the throne when you were in Alexandria, Gordianus—”
    “Alexander, I believe.”
    “Yes, that’s right; a couple of years later he was chased out of the city by an angry mob and died in suspicious circumstances. Then Alexander’s brother Soter took the throne. Eight years later Soter died, leaving no legitimate sons. That was twenty-four years ago.”
    Dio put his fingertips together. “The only legitimate maleheir of Ptolemaic blood was Soter’s nephew, named Alexander like his father. He happened to be residing hem in Rome at the time of Soter’s death, under the dictator Sulla’s protection; this is where Rome first enters the story. Backed by Roman diplomacy—and by funds borrowed from Roman bankers—Alexander II returned to Egypt to claim the throne. To do so he had to marry his aunt, Soter’s widow, because she refused to step down as queen. Marry her he did—and summarily murdered her. The queen had been well liked. Her death ignited the fury of the mob.”
    “The same mob which rioted over the death of a cat?”