VITELLIUS BELCHED as he moved his hand over his massive belly. On the other couches his guests reclined, men and women alike, for the new Emperor disliked any formality that distracted from the food set before them. "Best thing I ever did," he said, wagging a finger at the disapproving patrician across the room from him. "If I hadn't disbanded the Praetorians, they would have had one of them into the palace and then one of their number would ascend to the purple." He motioned to one of the slaves to remove the whole pig that lay in the center of their couches. There were seven other U-shaped clusters of couches and diners around the enormous banquet room, each with a similar dish in the center.

The patrician Vitellius had addressed kept a noncommittal expression. "Your generals are wise men, Emperor. They are aware of...many things." He stopped as he licked honey from his fingers. "But the Praetorian Guard is part of Rome, and the people aren't used to any other. It won't make your establishment here any easier."

Now Vitellius was scowling. "Remigeus," he said to the patrician, "your sympathies are well-known in Rome. Nine members of your family have been part of the Praetorians. I will excuse your zeal on their behalf this time, but I refuse to continue to do it for your convenience." He motioned to the cupbearer nearest him. "Refill Remigeus' cup, Linus. Get his mind off this subject."

The Senator on the couch beside Remigeus took up the argument. "He's right, Emperor," he said with a knowing expression. "The people of Rome, they're used to certain things-"

This time Vitellius was not so indulgent. "Fabricus, I have done it. There is no more time for discussion." He beckoned to his two attendants who stood near his couch. "I've got to relieve myself so I'll have room for the next course. Peacocks' tongues, calves' brains and fish roe. It's a dish of my own. If any of you have suggestions as to how I could make it better...I'm not pleased with it yet." He lumbered to his feet and went off between his two attendants to the vomitorium.

Remigeus looked over at Fabricus. "He'll regret his action with the Praetorians. They won't forgive him."

"That's certain," Fabricus agreed. "Has there been any news from Egypt?"

"Talk to Justus. He's the one who seems to know everything." Remigeus stared ahead rather blankly at the table from which the pig had just been removed. "How many more courses tonight?"

"Four," Fabricus answered. "And a supper after the entertainment."

Fabricus sighed. "It's like the old days. Except that Vitellius likes wine better than iced water." At this oblique reference to Nero, he looked about furtively. "I don't know what will happen to us all if we keep living like this."

Remigeus laughed uneasily. "We've ridden out three Caesars this year; four if you count Piso. If there's one thing we do well as Senators, it's keep power. Emperors may come and go, but the Senate remains."

Behind him, one of the slaves leaned a little nearer.

"Loose talk," Fabricus admonished him, and was pleased to see that there were slaves coming with the next course. "Delicious," he called out with enthusiastic sycophancy.

Vitellius had required two feathers down his throat before he felt himself ready to return to the banquet room. His slaves had given him a wet towel to wipe his face and hands, and he had had to adjust his toga, which was hanging untidily about him. As he stepped into the hall, he was startled to see one of his guests there.

"Saint-Germain," he said to the foreigner. "How are you enjoying the meal?"

Saint-Germain nodded casually to the Emperor. "I was certain that you were aware that one of my idiosyncrasies is that I never eat in public. Among my kind, taking nourishment is considered to be too...intimate to be shared with a room full of people." He was very grand tonight, and quite aloof. He wore a long pleated gown of black silk with a deep, open neck. Against his chest lay a wide pectoral of silver, jet and polished rubies in the form of his signet, the eclipse disk with raised wings. Tonight he wore thick-soled sandals on his small feet instead of his usual Scythian boots.

This understated magnificence was lost on Vitellius. He gave Saint-Germain an annoyed smile. "Surely you can make an exception for the Emperor."

"Ah, but, Caesar, you are not my Emperor. I am not a citizen of Rome." He spoke with such deference that it was nearly impossible for Vitellius to take offense. "Your invitation, considering my status, was a great honor."

Vitellius was somewhat mollified. "It isn't the usual way, but with all the things you've been doing for me and..."-he paused awkwardly-"my predecessors, it seemed appropriate to have you here. And there is the matter of the fish roe," he added in a rush.

One of his slaves had gone to the banquet room and now returned with a cup of wine, which he handed to the Emperor.

"Good." Vitellius drank deeply, and his already high color flushed a little darker. "I don't know about this, Franciscus. I don't like this refusal to eat."

"My customs no doubt seem strange to you, but as a Roman, you should understand the honoring of tradition." Saint-Germain decided that he did not like this tall, lame man in the disarrayed toga who stood before him. "You, yourself, evoked old tradition tonight at this feast, did you not?"

The announced purpose of the evening was a tribute to Romulus and Remus, the legendary founders of Rome. "Well," Vitellius said slowly to keep from slurring his words, "it has been a neglected tradition among us, and I thought it would be beneficial to revive it. It's a mark of Romans that we honor our heritage."

Saint-Germain would have liked to challenge this unctuous declaration, and to tell Vitellius that it was the Emperor's main purpose to lend an air of permanency to his shaky rule, but he was experienced enough to hold back the question that rose to his lips, and contented himself with saying, "A fortuitous time to restore it. The people cheer you and the Senate calls you a statesman."

Visibly irritated, Vitellius drew himself up and fussed with his toga. At last he hit upon a way to give this polished foreigner back his own coin. "About that hydraulic organ you're working on. When do you think you'll be able to install it?"

With a bland smile Saint-Germain answered, "I should imagine it would be a month or two before I've finished the work, and once the instrument is in place, I will need a few days to adjust it." If he minded being suddenly relegated to the role of hired artisan, he gave no sign of it. "Do you want to inspect it?"

"There will be Games in twenty days. Can you have it ready by then?" He fixed his small, bright eyes on Saint-Germain and waited, feeling smug.

"It could be ready, of course," Saint-Germain answered without the least show of discomfort. "And if that is your wish, I will do all that I can to have it installed for those Games. However, it would mean that the instrument will not be completely tested and its tone and pitch might not be all that you desire. These organs are very delicate-as delicate as a lyre. It is through neglect and lack of adjustment that the old one has come to make a sound like"-he recalled Nero's description and took delight in using it now-"braying asses. Surely the new instrument should be an improvement on the old." His slight smile was polite and his tone at its most deferential, but Vitellius was not satisfied. Under that elegant manner lurked mockery.

"Are you saying that you won't install the organ for me?" he demanded angrily, his voice becoming very loud.

"No, Caesar," Saint-Germain responded with every show of respect. "I am only telling you that if you wish the instrument installed before it has been tested and adjusted, it might not be as successful as it would be with proper preparation. If you are willing to wait, the organ will be more pleasant to hear, and its sound will be truer. But I will carry out your orders, whatever they are."

Vitellius gnawed at his lower lip, measuring Saint-Germain's arguments. "Very well," he said curtly. "Do as you think best. But do not take too long." He turned between his slaves and stamped back toward the banqueting room.

Saint-Germain was about to follow the Emperor when an officer of the new Imperial Guard stepped up to him. Saint-Germain realized that he had been watched, that the soldier had been waiting for such an opportunity. "Yes, Guardsman?" he said, letting his hauteur mask his sudden apprehension.

The officer, a newly appointed tribune whose battle-scarred features were at odds with his fine silver lorica with its chased fittings, cleared his throat. "I am sorry to detain you, Franciscus. There are some questions, however, that you must answer."

"Indeed?" Saint-Germain felt all his senses sharpen. "Questions about what?" He did not give ground before the tribune; he stood very straight and directed his penetrating gaze at the soldier.

"I am acting on orders from my general. You must realize that with this new regime"-he put his hand to the hilt of his short sword, as if he expected to have to fight his way out of the hall-"there are certain matters that have come to our attention..."

"Certain matters?" Saint-Germain repeated lazily while his mind raced. What had happened? Had there been trouble with his slaves through that spy, Led Arashnur? Had he found some way to take Kosrozd? Had the accusations he had sent to Otho been found, after all? Had his importing rights been revoked, as they had been for so many other foreigners? Had someone broken into the private wing of Villa Ragoczy and found too much there? He caught his breath. Had Justus forced the truth from Olivia? Had she told him at last of their long, desperate, joyous affair? Was she safe?

The tribune hated dealing with the foreigner in this way. It should, he told himself sourly, be unnecessary to detain the man during a state banquet, on something of which he probably had no knowledge whatever. It was demeaning to be forced to speak this way, while the sounds of revelry echoed eerily through the lavish marble halls of the Golden House. He looked involuntarily at the empty pedestal where a bust of Nero had stood only a year before. Since then the busts of Galba and Otho had been there, and now it was once again empty, awaiting the new likeness of Vitellius.

"Well, tribune?" Saint-Germain prompted.

"The captain of one of your ships has been smuggling grain. He was apprehended at Ostia with a load of fifteen barrels that were not listed on the manifest and for which he had no authorization." The words came out in a rush, and ended abruptly. "If he had your permission to do this, you, as well as he, are in violation of Roman law."

Saint-Germain favored the tribune with a half-smile that disguised his worry. "And does he say that he had my permission?"

"He hasn't been questioned yet. For the moment he's being held by the garrison." He cleared his throat and made a small fatalistic gesture. "The man is a Greek, and a freedman. Official orders will be needed before we can question him."

That fool Kyrillos! Saint-Germain thought in sudden anger. To have taken the Persian's bribe! "How did you come to know of this? I have a number of ships, and it hasn't been usual for such a thorough inspection to be made. I would think you must have had some information that made the inspection very careful. The Gull of Byzantium has a cargo capacity of two hundred thirty barrels. To have found fifteen in so many..."

"There was a warning," the tribune admitted.

"Anonymous?" Saint-Germain asked, knowing the answer.

"Yes," the tribune admitted miserably.

"I see. Well, tribune, all my captains are authorized to purchase cargoes and sell them at a profit, but I would have to be more of a fool than I am to encourage any of the captains in my employ to break the law, particularly that law." He nodded brusquely to the tribune. "Tell me to whom I should speak. I want this matter settled as soon as possible."

The tribune's attitude changed, and instead of addressing the foreigner in the formal tones he had used at first, he adopted a more understanding attitude. "Well, on the sea, what's to be done? Captains have exceeded their authority before now, and this may be more of the same."

"Have any of the captains of my other craft broken this law?" Saint-Germain asked, fervently hoping that they had not. "I own thirty-eight ships of various sizes. If there is some conspiracy between the captains, tell me now so that I can see they are reprimanded."

"Thirty-eight ships?" the tribune echoed, surprised. "I did not know there were so many. Thirty-eight, you say?"

"Yes." He modified his approach a little. "What is your name, tribune? If there is to be an investigation, I would like to know with whom I'm dealing."

"I'm Caius Tuller. Until last month I was a centurion in the Eleventh Legion. When Vit...the Emperor founded his new guard, I was promoted."

"No doubt that was recognition long overdue," Saint-Germain said, knowing how every soldier felt about promotion. "Well, take me to your superior so that this unfortunate matter may be cleared up." He started down the hall ahead of the tribune Tuller.

"It might not be necessary to speak to Fabius tonight," Tuller said, as much to himself as to Saint-Germain. "We were not aware that you had so many ships and-"

"And you'd like to investigate before you talk to me, is that it?" Saint-Germain said quickly. "It would be wise. I would appreciate hearing anything you learn." He had already decided that he would have to dispatch one of his slaves to Ostia that night to make sure that Kyrillos left with the tide. No doubt his villa would be watched. It would have to be one of the bestiarii, then, for they often went to the seaport to bring new shipments of beasts back to his compound at Villa Ragoczy.

"We will inform you," the tribune agreed. He was in an awkward position now, not knowing what to do with the foreigner. If only he had been aware of the other ships. The Emperor was already angry at the amount of illegal wheat that was making its way to Rome, and now when he seemed to have found a safe and acceptable target for imperial wrath, this complication occurred.

"Do you wish to detain me?" Saint-Germain asked without hostility. Now that tribune Tuller was less certain of his success, it was an easy matter to be cooperative.

"No. No, not under the circumstances." He met Saint-Germain's unnerving eyes. "After our investigation, perhaps, but not now."

"I am at your disposal, of course," Saint-Germain assured the tribune. "You may tell your commander that for me. Or, if you like, I will tell him, since he is dining with the others."

This offer made Tuller grind his teeth. "No, that will not be necessary." He had never had a man volunteer to place himself under arrest before. "I'll speak with him tomorrow."

"Then may I return to the banquet room?" The silence hung between them for a moment, and Saint-Germain broke it. "Tribune Tuller, I realize that you have more tasks than you know how to discharge. If it is of any help, I will be willing to make available all the official shipping records of my captains for your examination. It might be easier for you to spot irregularities that way."

Caius Tuller was glad to have this face-saving offer made to him. "Yes, that would be most useful." He stood aside as a drunken Senator lurched down the hall toward the vomitorium. "Shall I send a messenger?"

"If you like," Saint-Germain responded. "Or I will have one of my slaves bring the records to the Golden House." He quickly saw that he had misjudged the tribune. "You may want to inspect my office. You are welcome to do so." He made himself smile. "You'll be fortunate, tribune. Almost no one has been into the private wing of my villa."

A loud shout went up from the banquet room and both Saint-Germain and Tuller turned. A loud babble of voices followed this.

"What now?" Saint-Germain asked aloud, not aware of how much contempt was in his voice.

The tribune looked unhappy. "It's the Emperor. He and his generals are going out in disguise."

Saint-Germain looked at Tuller. "Like Nero used to do?"

Tuller was embarrassed now. "Not just that. He goes to the lupanar, to sport with the whores, and he goes to the gladiators' taverns, to hear them talk of blood and fighting."

"With or without escort?"

His question was interrupted as Vitellius appeared in the hallway with the handsome Caecina beside him. Both men were quite drunk and the general had started to sing a bawdy song as he reeled along beside the Emperor.

"You!" Vitellius shouted as he saw Saint-Germain. "Still here! Come with us!"

Saint-Germain addressed the tribune who stood beside him, a miserable expression in his downcast eyes. "A fortunate night for you, Tuller, to be the companion of your Emperor."

"I think," Tuller said quietly, "that you were the one-"

"It would hardly be appropriate for the Emperor to be seen with a foreigner of my reputation," Saint-Germain protested.

Vitellius had come up to Saint-Germain and now he wagged a thick finger at him. "No, no. I'm going in disguise. You'll see. Caecina here, he's got it all worked out. Linen tunicae. Leather belts. No one will know us."

Saint-Germain doubted that, for though Vitellius had been in Rome for less than two months, his regular excursions to the lupanar were already legendary. "Great Caesar," he said in a controlled tone, "you may be able to disguise yourself, but I, sadly, am well-known to the gladiators and bestiarii. I would be deeply shocked if any should come to recognize you through me."

This argument got through the wine fumes that clouded the Emperor's mind. He reached for his companion and clapped an arm around Caecina's shoulder. "Maybe we better not take him," he said dubiously.

"Maybe we better not," Caecina agreed, interrupting his song.

"Take the tribune," Vitellius said with the sagacity of drunkenness. "Tuller's a good fellow. Let him take his pick of the whores. He'll pound 'em. It'll be good sport."

From the expression in Caius Tuller's eyes, the last thing he wanted to do was share this intoxicated adventure with the Emperor and his favorite general, though such an evening might mean recognition and promotion. He studied his large square hands. "I am not worthy-"

"Nonsense!" Vitellius draped his other arm over Tuller's shoulder and pulled both Caecina and the tribune closer. "If we leave now," he said in what was supposed to be a conspiratorial whisper, "then by the time dinner's over, we'll be out of range of this pile. We can be pronging whores and listening to the gladiators boast."

Caecina struck up his song again, laughing as it grew more outrageous.

Saint-Germain stepped back, away from the strange trio that moved off down the hall erratically. He watched until the three men had stumbled through the tall doors to the vestibule, then turned toward a side room that gave onto the extensive neglected gardens. He went quickly through the overgrown paths to the wall.

By the time the Emperor and his two companions had reached the lupanar, Saint-Germain was outside the city walls, walking swiftly toward Villa Ragoczy.

CONTENTS OF A NOTE SCRIBBLED ON A HANDKERCHIEF AND DROPPED BEFORE AUMTEHOUTEP FOR HIS MASTER.

Saint-Germain:

It hasn't been possible for me to avoid Justus' guards. I have longed to be with you, but I haven't dared to act. Now I must see you. I must speak with you. I must be with you again.

In six days Justus will leave for the imperial villa near Antium. He has set his slaves to guard me and spy on me, but there must be a way. You have told me that you will not desert me. Come to me while he is gone.

There are times I fear I will become distracted, like his first wife. She is still alive, you know, and kept in seclusion. All the slaves say that she is mad. Poor Corinna, if Justus used her as he has me. At least he can no longer touch her where she has gone. She has escaped him.

Saint-Germain, as you love me, help me.

Olivia