'We're home!' Radu threw open the gate to the peristylium, somewhat grandly. 'Did anybody miss us?'

Crickets.

Not a soul was in the peristylium. Or the house itself – not even in the kitchen, where no fire was burning. That was a good sign that nobody was about.

'What gives? Where is everybody?' This to Demetrius, who met him in the kitchen after instructing the carters as to the disposition of the many gifts and souvenirs they'd brought back from their somewhat fictionalised travels. Demetrius looked puzzled.

They ventured into the back garden, where they discovered Fortunatus the wicker-maker feeding the chickens. Fortunatus brightened when he saw them.

'Welcome home, sirs! I'm sorry there was no one here to greet you. They've all gone to Ancona until tomorrow. I promised to water the garden and feed the chucks.' He set down the watering can in order to fish in his pockets. 'Here, sir: Ermione has written a note.'

'Oh, good,' said Radu. 'She has the best handwriting.' He took the note and read aloud:

Cari Domini:

I'm writing this just in case you come back and find us gone. Uncle Cleopas and the band have what he calls a 'gig' at the festival in Ancona tonight. They also took some small items of furniture and wickerwork to sell at the market there. Mama and Aunt Cleo thought we'd better go along with them and help with the commerce, and keep them from drinking up all the profits.

We'll be staying with Aunt Cleo's friend Dorcas in the Street of the Dancing Fish if you need us. Otherwise we shall be back tomorrow afternoon.

I have been studying hard, I promise: I am looking forward to more lessons, now that you have saved the Empire.

Respectfully,

Ermione

Demetrius suppressed a chuckle. 'Now that we've saved the Empire? Now, how did that rumour get started?'

Fortunatus cleared his throat. 'Er, the gentleman who lives next door has been very complimentary. He got nice letters about you. Also, he got nice letters from the emperor, and he says you are to thank for that. He, er, wasn't specific, but he has been here several times to see if you were back yet, and to check that everyone here was all right. He's been very kind.'

Somewhat embarrassed by such a long speech, Fortunatus turned to pick up the bag of feed for the chickens. Recognising a meal when they saw it, the chickens crowded around him, clucking and pecking hopefully at his feet.

'Wait!' Radu intercepted the bag. 'Let me strew the chicken feed. I want to ask the chickens if the omens are good for Cleopas's 'gig' tonight.' He began casting the chicken feed in an arc around him, muttering something to himself.

Demetrius and Fortunatus exchanged quizzical looks.

'Er, I'm not sure if that works, Domine. Are these hens related to the sacred chickens?'

'All chickens are sacred,' replied Radu solemnly. 'They all have the gift of prophecy. They just don't usually bother. Here, chick, chick, chick. Give me a good omen for the sake of the children!'

The chickens were hungry. The corn was good quality. They pecked away happily. Radu beamed.

'You see? The omens are good.'

'Since when are you a devoté of the auspices?' Demetrius wanted to know. He was no haruspex himself. He sat down on a bench and plucked some early grapes from a nearby vine, tasting them appreciatively.

'You have to admit they are eerily accurate, those sacred chickens,' mused Radu. 'Do you remember the time Gaius Hostilius Mancinus wanted to consult them about fighting the Numantians?'

'I do,' Fortunatus offered. 'We learned about it in school.'

'Weren't the auspices favourable?' Demetrius asked, intrigued in spite of himself. He ate a few more grapes, spitting the seeds into his hand.

Fortunatus laughed. 'Nobody could tell. The chickens ran off and went to roost somewhere in the woods. Nobody could find them. Mancinus was forced to accept the Numantians' treaty terms. When he got back to Rome, the Senate was furious. They repudiated the treaty and offered to send them Mancinus instead.'

'Stark naked, as I recall,' added Radu.

'But the Numantians didn't want him. I can't remember what happened to him.' Fortunatus sat on the edge of the well, drawing up water to fill the chickens' trough. 'And then there was the time during the First Punic War when Publius Claudius Pulcher became angry at the chickens and threw them into sea.'

'What happened?' Demetrius was becoming a fan of chicken auspices.

'They drowned, of course,' Radu replied solemnly. Demetrius threw a grape seed at him.

Fortunatus was more helpful. 'The Roman fleet was nearly annihilated in the battle. Pulcher was exiled for impiety and died a short time later.' This information was rewarded with ripe grapes.

Demetrius mused. 'I think I remember that, when Rome fought the Samnites, somebody misinformed the commander about the behaviour of the sacred chickens, who weren't eating.'

Fortunatus nodded to himself as he poured water into the trough. 'When the commander found out, he put the offender in the front rank, where he was struck dead by the first arrow. This impiety atoned for, Rome went on to win the battle. The gods were appeased.' Some chickens came for the water; others crowded Radu, demanding more food, while one lone chicken pecked at Demetrius's sandaled foot, mistaking his toenails for grains of corn.

'A fellow I know named Dionysius commented that "the gods had less to do with the death of this poor guard of chickens than Papirius did,' and that 'the general wanted to shoot a subject in order to reassure the soldiers, whom the false omen could have shaken." Of course, he's dreadfully impious.' Demetrius winked at Radu.

Radu laughed. 'Atheists have no sense of humour. Not even the ones in Lutetia of the Parisii. And that goes for Dionysius Diodorius.'

Demetrius laughed, too. 'Bene erit. But Fortunate, I have a question for you: don't the Roman temple customs bother you, being a Jew?'

Fortunatus shook his head. 'Everybody has his own customs regarding everyday things like auspices and honouring the local spirits. I reckon Rome's are as good as Jerusalem's. And I live here, in Potentia, as I once lived in Rome. So if they say chickens tell the future, I'm not going to argue. I'm just going to be polite to the chickens.'

Radu clapped him on the back. 'Well said, that.' He heard a squawk from behind a bush. He reached over and extracted a newly-laid egg. 'And I will collect these with gratitude.' They proceeded to go on an egg hunt, all three of them, laughing.

Sometime around midnight, Demetrius woke up. There were at least three cats in bed with him – he was too groggy to count and he didn't care, as long as one of them wasn't Radu, who was prone to playing practical jokes – but that wasn't what woke him. He'd heard an unfamiliar noise.

He listened. There were footsteps in the hallway. And voices. Strange voices.

'Shh! Be quiet, Quiete.'

'Sorry, Celerite. Where do you think they keep the silver?'

Showing celerity of his own, Demetrius shoved a pillow into his mouth to keep from laughing aloud. Then he heard a whisper in his ear.

It was Radu, who had crept into the room in human form. 'We have company. I think they're burglars.'

'Yes,' Demetrius whispered back. 'Their names are Quietus and Celeritus.'

'Don't tell me. Quietus is the noisy one and Celeritus is the one who's stumbling over the furniture?'

From the dining room came a light crash, followed by cursing.

'Nothing wrong with their vocabularies, anyway,' said Demetrius, a bit louder since the burglars had obviously moved away from the bedrooms. He hadn't wanted to alert them in case they were the violent kind – some thieves would kill the inhabitants if they were interrupted while plundering a house. Demetrius wasn't worried about their trying, but didn't want to do them a serious injury. He and Radu had a quick confab about strategies.

'Stay here, kitties,' he said softly. The reply was soft purring: none of the cats were the least bit bothered by the burglars. Demetrius resolved to get a dog when all this was over. A nice big one. Argyros and Chryssa could train it.

Meanwhile, in the dining room, the burglars had discovered the silver: a rather nice collection, in fact, of trays and platters and serving dishes and cups, as well as spoons and forks. There was even a set of utensils in a wooden case that puzzled the burglars.

'Look at this, Celerite. What do you reckon this is?' He held up the object in the moonlight from the window.

'Looks kinda like a fork to me.'

'Yeah. But it's got a bowl to it, like a spoon, too. What would you call something like that? A. . . forcleari?'

Celeritus studied it. 'Yeah, maybe. What I call it is good silver. Toss the box in the sack and let's see what else we can find. And don't drop anything!'

Quietus peered into a chest. 'I can't see what's in here.'

'Open the curtains a bit. Let more light in.'

Quietus reached for the curtain. The curtain reached for him. It gave a prolonged hiss.

Quietus jumped back, about three feet. 'It-it-it's a snake!'

Celeritus snapped back, 'Well, don't disturb it! It's night, they're usually sleeping. Come away from the curtain and see if you can find any candlesticks.'

'Do you want to light one so we can see if there are any more snakes?'

'No, you fool! I want to take the candlesticks to Marius the Fence. So hurry up!'

Celeritus reached into the chest. He withdrew his hand quickly.

Wrapped around his arm was another snake. A big snake. With a hood. Even in the dim light, the petrified burglar could see the glint of its scales. This was an exotic snake. It was a big, exotic snake. It clearly meant business.

Celeritus stood frozen to the spot, unwilling to make a sudden move, lest the snake strike. The cobra, for its part, fixed the human with a steady glare. Its forked tongue moved in and out of its mouth. Celeritus could have sworn the serpent was enjoying itself.

'Psst! Quiete! Come over here. Slowly. Don't make any sudden moves. Just. . . sidle over this way, and get ready to do what I tell you, when I tell you.'

'Er, okay, Celerite, I'm sidling.'

Very cautious movement. Quietus sidled the best he could in the direction indicated.

'Good. Now get ready. When I shake this thing off my arm, you drop the lid on this chest as fast as you can. Right?'

'Er, right.'

'I'll count to three. Unus, duo. . . TRES!' With a force born of desperation, he flung the snake into the chest. Quietus, with a focus his partner would scarcely have credited, slammed the lid down.

Both stood there for a moment, breathing a sigh of relief.

Only to stand transfixed with horror as another snake slithered onto the chest.

This snake was easily twice as big as the snake in the chest.

It was enormous.

It was the biggest snake they had ever seen in their lives. It reared up. It hissed threateningly. It made lunging motions in their direction.

The burglars didn't pause to grab their loot. They didn't stop to think. They just ran, stumbling over one another and their own feet, cursing, scrambling up again, clattering their way through the peristylium and back over the wall, the way they'd come. They didn't stop running until they reached the beach.

Their exit was so noisy that had there been anyone in the house not already awake, they would be by now. Except for the cats, who knew to ignore all human activity not connected with food. The kitties merely went about their business, napping, performing self-cleaning operations, deciding to chase mice or each other, or climbing the roof to look for night birds.

Radu opened the chest. 'You can come out now.'

'Thanks,' said Demetrius, emerging. 'I guess we'd better tidy up before Cleo comes home and sees this.'

'Oh, and where did you get the sporks?' he asked Radu as they sorted out the contents of the 'loot'.

'Marcellus the silversmith thought it was a cool idea, once I'd explained it. I told him they were called sfurci'

'Sounds better than forcleari, anyway,' Demetrius decided. A cat lounged by. 'We really need to get a dog.'

Radu chuckled. 'Or some really big snakes.'

Their laughter almost woke up the neighbourhood. Good thing old Pertinax was a sound sleeper.

DG

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