On the way home, I bought the Egyptian basket ringed with hippopotami as a gift for Bethesda. I needed something to soften the news that I was leaving Rome. As it turned out, it was a wise choice for a gift, since a reed basket can be thrown across the room and not break.
Unlike her mother, Diana seemed to receive the news with enthusiasm. Anything that might result in the return of Davus was a welcome development. But that night, as I packed a saddlebag with things I would need for the journey, Diana came into the room. She spoke without looking at me.
"I think it's a brave thing you're doing, Papa, going off like this. The countryside must be terribly dangerous."
"No more so than the city these days, I imagine."
She watched me fold a tunic. I did such a poor job that she felt obliged to take it from me and fold it herself.
"Papa, I know that you're doing this for me. Even though… I mean to say, I know that you were never… pleased… by my marriage. Yet now you're willing to…" She fought back sudden tears. "And I worry that I may never see either of you again!"
The folded tunic came undone in her hands. I put my arm around her. She reached up to touch my fingers on her shoulder. "I don't know what's wrong with me, Papa. Every since Davus left…"
"Everyone's nerves are as frayed as a beggar's cloak, Diana. What do you want to bet that Cicero breaks out in tears twice a day?"
She smiled. "I doubt that Caesar does."
"Perhaps not. But Pompey may. There's a picture for you: Davus yawning outside the Great One's tent, and Pompey inside, crying like a baby and tearing his hair."
"Like a scene from Plautus."
"Exactly. Sometimes it helps to think of life as a comedy on a stage, the way the gods must see it."
"The gods can be cruel."
"As often as not."
We were silent for a while. I felt a great sense of peace, standing next to her with my arm around her.
"But Papa," she said quietly, "how will you manage to get Davus from Pompey? If you haven't discovered who killed Numerius, Pompey will never let him go."
"Don't worry. I have a plan."
"Do you? Tell me."
"No, Diana."
She shrugged my arm from her shoulder and stepped away. "Why not, Papa? You used to tell me everything."
"You don't need to know, Diana."
She pursed her lips. "Don't tell me your plan, then, Papa. Perhaps I don't believe you have one."
I took her hands and kissed her forehead. "Oh, I assure you, daughter, I do have a plan." And I did- although using it might mean that I would never come back from Brundisium alive.