In the darkness back of the conspirators' tent, another conference was taking place. Historians wouldn't credit it, but this one was actually more sinnifi–, er, significant than the one going on in the big tent.

'Χου! They're writing a what?'

'A sharply-worded letter. They must have suddenly been possessed by the Spirit of Parliaments Future.' This from Radu, sitting on the branch next to his uncle the owl.

From inside the tent came laughter. Also words like incompetens, ignobilis, and stultus. 'This is not going to be a very persuasive letter,' commented Demetrius from the foot of the tree. He wasn't in the mood for climbing trees. 'When Claudius rejects it – and he will, he has too much to lose – there's going to be war and chaos if we don't step in.'

'I'm afraid you may be right,' sighed Alex in Owl. 'I wouldn't sanction this, mind you, but you interfering nincompoops probably have us teetering on the brink of derailing human history, such as it is.'

'You don't know that,' argued Demetrius in Cat. 'This sort of thing might be exactly why we're here. Maybe – just maybe, mind you – we're supposed to be here?'

'Who knoweth whether thou art come to the kingdom for such a time as this?' murmured Radu. It came out as a loud purr.

'Yes,' echoed Demetrius, catching the reference.

From the tent came calls of 'bring us a pigeon!' Alex sighed again. 'I suppose you could be right. The usual channels aren't working, so we have to guess. And the humans are terrible at reading signs.' There were meows of agreement at this.

'All I know,' meowed Radu, 'is that if this army marches on Rome, bad things will happen to the fabric of spacetime.'

Right then, a guard came by. He looked at Demetrius. 'Nice kitty. Who are you talking to?'

He looked up. Into the tree. And gave a yell of distress. 'Help, help, gods help us all!'

With a hoot, Alex launched himself off the branch, which bobbed a bit. This, in turn, upset Radu's perch. The cat fell out of the tree, ungracefully, but being a cat twisted in mid-fall and landed on four paws. He hightailed it (literally) into the bushes.

Demetrius sat calmly on the ground and looked up at the guard. 'Νιαο?' he meowed innocently.

The guard forgot about the non-weirdly-behaving cat when he was summoned before his superiors, so Demetrius hid under a camp stool and listened to the discussion.

'Sir! I beg to report an owl, sir!'

'What sort of owl?'

'A BIG owl, sir! One of them noble ones.'

'And what was this noble owl doing that upset you so, soldier?'

Even without being able to see through the canvas of the stool, Demetrius could tell sarcasm when he heard it. All cats can.

'It – it wuz sitting next to a gurt big cat! And they wuz talkin'!'

'Oh, really? And what were they saying, this cat and this owl?'

He's got you now, thought Demetrius.

'The cat wuz sayin', if this army marches on Rome, bad things will happen!'

Demetrius jumped, and almost overturned the stool. Fortunately, all attention was on the guard – and on an angry Scribonianus.

'Bad things, eh? Such as what happens when you're found to be drunk on duty?'

'No, sir, I swear, haven't touched a drop since supper! Believe me, that's what I saw! And heard!' There was no denying the sense of injured innocence in that voice – all the more convincing as there was an undercurrent of fear in it. Bad things might happen in Rome, but worse things could happen right now to guards who displeased the Roman governor.

Scribonianus's voice was a sharp hiss. 'Listen to me, you! If you value your life, you will not spread that story around. Do you understand me, or do I have to repeat it in another language?'

'Er, no, sir. I understand completely. Absolutely, sir. No spreading stories about owls and pussycats. I promise, sir!'

'All right, dismissed!' The guard fled in relief. Scribonianus struck the table with his fist. 'I want to hear no more superstitious rubbish about talking cats and owls. One day for preparation. We march the next day at dawn.'

'But what about the letter?' someone wanted to know.

'If Claudius chooses to respond to the letter, he can do so with an army underway. After all, we'll have to go to Rome in any event. A show of force will not be amiss.' There were murmurs of the this-makes-sense variety which always irritated Demetrius, who slunk out of the tent before any outraged Roman officers could spy another cat.

With the mood they were in, he was afraid they'd try to invent a new way to skin him.

Back at Alex's villa, Demetrius reported what he'd overheard in the tent. All three Gheorghenis were shocked. Now in humanoid form, they sipped their wine in silence for a moment.

'How do you explain the soldier's reporting almost exactly what we said?' asked Alex.

Radu shrugged. 'Even a broken water clock lets out an occasional trickle?'

Demetrius thought. 'I'm suspecting that human superstition comes from more than fear and wishful thinking.'

Alex looked at him curiously. 'What do you mean?'

'I think there are vestiges of when they were connected to the biosystem. Before all that 'higher order thinking' got in the way. Sometimes, it causes them to listen. That fellow had some fight-or-flight going. Maybe he was listening, for a change.'

Radu shrugged. 'I don't see how that helps us.'

Demetrius leaned forward. 'Don't you, though? There are two legions camped out there.'

'Don't remind us,' said Alex. 'That's 20,000 armed thugs ready to commit mayhem.'

Demetrius shook his head. 'Or to listen to their fears. Unlike their officers, and the patricians concerned with careers, honour, reputation, and all that Roman hogwash, these soldiers just want to live. And right here, right now, the living is easy. Good food, pleasant climate, no fighting to do, lots of girls in the neighbourhood. All in all, they'd rather be here than in filthy Rome, street fighting.'

He took a breath and continued. 'They only survive by following the rules: orders from above, traditions, the Way Things Are Done. And Scribonianus is breaking rules.'

'How?' Radu wanted to know. 'I thought assassinations and coups were getting to be the norm these days.'

'Yes, but charging into the sacred city with an army – two, in fact – isn't. These generals are supposed to leave their troops outside Italy, for obvious reasons. The minute their ships land on the other side of the Adriatic, he's declared war.'

'What about the, thingy? The Rubicon? Alea iacta est, etcetera?' Radu wanted to know.

Demetrius shrugged. 'He didn't say that, but anerríphtho kýbos doesn't have the same ring to it. I think they annexed Cisalpine Gaul about a century ago. It doesn't matter: it's all Italy. And these soldiers know it. They don't really want to do this.'

Alex sipped wine thoughtfully. 'So what if we give them some really good reasons not to do it? Bigger ones than a conversation between an owl and a cat?'

They looked at each other and grinned.

'Does either of you know how to mix concrete?' asked Alex.

DG

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