For you must not think that that can happen which you often see represented upon the stage, that some god can float down from heaven and mingle in the gatherings of men, walk abroad upon the earth, and hold converse with humanity.

Without thinking, Demetrius had fallen into the local habit of reading aloud. And let's face it, Cicero is hard enough to take without trying to keep him to yourself. But he forgot he was doing it. Which is why the sudden, loud laugh behind him made him jump almost out of his chair. Speaking of deus ex machina, he thought, and laughed, too.

Radu flopped down into a companion chair, still laughing. 'Some god. . . can float down from heaven and. . . Good one. Who said that?'

'Cicero,' replied Demetrius primly. 'He was a wise man, most of the time, though he did get worked up. Listen. . . '

Reflect upon the nature of the sound which the Latins reported; recall, too, the portent which has not yet been officially notified, the awful earthquake, accompanied by many strange and fearful circumstances, which is reported to have occurred at about the same time at Potentia in Picenum; then surely you will dread this menace which we see looming upon us.

'When was this earthquake?'

'Oh, about a hundred years ago. Apparently, it did a lot of damage hereabouts. But that's not why he was going on about it. He was trying to say that the auspices were against changing the form of government.'

Demetrius read more Ciceronian prose, which is usually considered quite elegant. When Demetrius read it, it sounded a bit snarkier than the old Republican probably intended.

And indeed it is as a voice, nay, an eloquent appeal, of the immortal gods that this must be viewed, when the world with its seas and lands shudders with a weird motion, and by a sound beyond experience and beyond belief conveys to us tidings of the future. In such circumstances it is our duty to hold services of reparation and supplication, as we are bidden.

'Aha,' commented Radu. 'That's the way the wind bloweth. 'Thoughts and prayers' rather than action. And of course earthquakes are always somebody's fault.'

'He has a good comment on that,' said Demetrius.

But while prayers are the easy resource of those who generously point out to us the path of safety, it is for us to mitigate our own mutual animosities and discords.

'Good man,' said Radu. 'Whatever happened to him?'

Demetrius sighed. 'He ended badly. During all the infighting that followed the assassination of Julius Caesar, Cicero was put on the proscribed list. He tried to get away – people helped him, he was popular. But somebody betrayed him. The soldiers cut off his head and hands and nailed them to the Rostra.'

Radu stared. 'They did what? Nailed them to. . . wait, isn't a rostrum one of those rams on the front of their warships?'

Demetrius shrugged. 'It's a sort of combination war memorial and speaking platform. It was ironic that Cicero's head and hands ended up there, as he was the most effective public speaker of his day. Poor guy, he meant well, I think.'

'These people are as addicted to talking as they are to superstitions,' sighed Radu. 'No wonder gods don't float down from heaven and mingle in the gatherings of men, walk abroad upon the earth, and hold converse with humanity.'

The conversation completely broke down at this point: instead of periodic sentences, there were periodic outbursts of laughter. Every time one of them caught his breath, he'd look at the other and break down again. This went on for quite a while. Gheorghenis are prone to laughing fits – it's a known law of the universe responsible for occasional coronal mass ejections from a multitude of stars. They try to view the world soberly, but they can't: it's too weird.

Fortunately, a summer of solar flares was averted when their attention was caught by a loud crash from the direction of the kitchen, followed by a shriek, several wails, and assorted Greek curses.

Three cats ran through the room, tails high, faces bearing deceptively innocent expressions.

Demetrius looked at Radu. Radu looked back with an expression as innocent as the cats'.

'Don't look at me! I've been here the whole time.'

Cleo appeared in the archway. 'Estía mou! she wailed. 'The gatakia are the clumsiest in all of the Adriatic! At this rate, we shall soon have no dishes left!' She held out a broken piece of pottery in demonstration of the perfidy of clumsy cats in general.

Demetrius laughed – but this time, kept it under control. Steadfastly refusing to look in Radu's direction, he said, 'Cleo, be reasonable. It's only pottery.' He held up his hand to forestall her outraged protests. 'And do we not, oh best of all kitchen magicians, live in the terracotta capital of the Italian peninsula? Behold,' he waxed eloquent, perhaps inspired by the memory of Cicero. 'I have but to venture a few streets from here to inspect a veritable trove of fire-glazed delights. I shall purchase you some new crockery. Do you want red, green, or blue?'

Mollified by the flattery, Cleo opted for blue and gave them a verbal account of the pieces needed, which Radu duly wrote down on a tablet. She bustled off happily. As they left the villa, the two kinsmen could hear her chivvying Telly to 'get off his duff and clean up the potshards, surely he knew where to find the broom.'

'One shopping trip, coming up,' said Demetrius. 'At least it will keep us out of trouble.'

Like pretty much all Roman towns, Potentia was laid out in a rectangle. Roman engineers had straight-edges and were not afraid to use them. The town was not large – north to south was about 600 yards, east to west, about 400 yards. The town was protect by a city wall with three gates. The design might be unimaginative, but you couldn't beat it for location: warm sun, nice sea breezes, and a lovely little river nearby. Barring the occasional earthquake, there was nothing to complain about. Radu remarked that the place reminded him of Milton Keynes – only smaller, of course.

Demetrius, Radu, and Argyros (who had begged to come and offered to carry things) strolled up the cardo, past the (relatively unimpressive) temple of Jupiter, the curia, and on the other side, the open-air market.

Radu appreciated the clean streets and said so.

'There's a good sewer system,' said Demetrius. 'Part of why I picked it. They did a nice job of fixing up the place after the earthquake, even if that temple is a bit of an eyesore.'

'Don't say that, domine,' Argyros said in alarm. 'Somebody might decide to raise the taxes.' Demetrius and Radu laughed. They turned into their destination: the local basilica.

The combination administrative building and shopping centre was surprisingly light and airy, with lots of windows. It was noisy, though, full of shoppers and people headed upstairs on official business. Demetrius found a pottery shop – obviously a high-end place at such a fancy location. They entered.

'May I help you, gentlemen?' An unctuous proprietor materialised at Demetrius' elbow, delighted at the appearance of patrician customers. The pseudo-patrician's red-headed cousin grinned down at Argyros: he enjoyed watching humans in action.

They surveyed the goods: rows and rows of amphorae in stands (they won't sit up otherwise), stacks and stacks of bowls and plates, plaques, ornamental trays and tiles, and shelves of figurines, both votive and decorative.

'We need some dishware,' said Demetrius. 'Radu, have you got the list?' The tablet emerged from a toga pocket, and they began the comparison of dish patterns.

Meanwhile, Argyros sidled over to the shelves of figurines. Keeping his hands carefully behind his back, as he'd been taught when in shops so that nobody would think he was going to steal or break anything, the boy studied the figures with round eyes. Radu left him alone after first making sure that he was staying away from the back shelves – the ones with the more amusing tableaux of human couples doing the things they did in the Mediterranean, although usually when nobody was looking.

Since Argyros didn't seem to be interesting in furthering his sex education and wasn't about to get into trouble, Radu turned his attention back to dishware. After all, Demetrius needed his help: willow pattern hadn't been invented yet and he tended to be clueless. Soon he was urging his cousin to throw in a particularly nice tray with a pretty floral pattern so Cleo wouldn't be mad at the cats.

In the end they bought what Demetrius privately considered to be far too many dishes, bowls, cups and yes, that tray – so many that they could not possibly carry them all. The shopkeeper, thrilled at this enormous sale, agreed to deliver the goods to the villa. He even threw in a free oil lamp.

Demetrius studied the oil lamp. People were doing things on that oil lamp. Things he didn't want to see people doing anywhere, least of all on an oil lamp.

Radu noticed the complicated expression. He, too, studied the oil lamp and grinned.

'I'll keep that one in my bedroom, thank you.' He pocketed the lamp with a conspiratorial wink at the proprietor. Then he noticed Demetrius standing next to Argyros, who was regarding a figurine with an adoring expression. Demetrius picked up the figurine and studied it with somewhat less rapture.

Radu joined them. 'What in the world is that?'

Argyros spoke up. 'It's a secutor! This one's got a helmet like a fish.'

Radu looked at Demetrius, confused. 'It's a type of gladiator,' he explained. 'The kids have seen them in the amphitheatre.'

Argyros was eager to tell all about his favourite sport. 'The secutor fights the retiarius, the one with the net and trident. It's cool!'

Demetrius rolled his eyes. 'It mimics fishing.'

Radu laughed. 'But is it cool?'

'It's all fun and games until somebody loses a body part. I hate sports.' Nevertheless, Demetrius couldn't resist the pleading looks and added the 'action figure', as he called it, to the day's purchases. They headed home, with Demetrius carrying the tray for Cleo and Argyros clutching his gladiator. Radu slipped the oil lamp into his toga and promised on his honour not to show it around the kitchen.

On the way home, Radu sang, not too quietly, a song by Catullus which Demetrius hoped Argyros wouldn't pick up.

Vivamus, mea Lesbia. Atque amemus.
Rumoresque senum severoiorum omnes unius aestimemus assis. . .

Sounds a lot like Glykeria, he thought. O tempora, o mores. . . o, phooey, at least we have enough dishes for dinner.

DG

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