Last Seen in Massilia

VIII

Davus reacted at once. He jumped up from his chair, pulled me to my feet, pushed me to the far side of the terrace, then took a stance before me. He had no weapon, so he raised his fists. Back in his slave days, he had been trained to be a bodyguard. His trainers had done a good job.

"Look behind you, father-in-law," he whispered. "Is there any way to jump from the roof?"

I looked over the short railing of the terrace. In the courtyard. below I saw more soldiers with drawn swords.

"Not an option," I said. I laid a hand on his shoulder. "Step back, Davus. And drop that boxer's stance. You'll only antagonize them. We're the intruders here. We must trust to their mercy.

I took a deep breath. Hieronymus had given me plenty to drink, but nothing to eat. I was light-headed.

The soldiers made no move to attack us. They fell into a line, swords drawn but lowered, and simply stared at us. Hieronymus flew into a frenzy.

"What are you doing here? This is the sacred residence of the scapegoat! You can't bring arms here. You can't enter at all without permission from the priests of Artemis!"

"How dare you invoke the goddess, you impious dog!" The booming voice came from the man who had evidently dispatched the soldiers up the stairs and who now followed behind them. His armor was magnificent, as bright as a newly minted coin. A pale blue cape trailed behind. The horsehair crest on the helmet carried under his arm was likewise died pale blue. The color matched his eyes. They seemed too small, as did his thin nose and narrow mouth, for such a broad forehead and an even broader jaw. His long, silver hair was swept back like a mane.

"Apollonides!" said Hieronymus, uttering the name like a curse. Through gritted teeth, to me, he added, "The First Timouchos." Another man followed Apollonides, wearing the armor of a Roman commander. A copper disk on his breastplate was embossed with a lion's head. I recognized him at once; but then, I knew he was in Massilia and was not surprised to see him. Would he recognize me? We had met only briefly, and months ago.

"By all the gods!" Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus put his hands on his hips and stared at me. "I don't believe it. Gordianus the Finder! And who is this big fellow?"

"My son-in-law, Davus."

Domitius nodded, pulling thoughtfully at the red beard across his chin. "When did I last see you? Don't tell me-at Cicero's house in Formiae. The month was Martius. You were on your way to Brundisium. I was on my way here. Ha! When the old men who hang about the market square told Apollonides that two Romans had dragged themselves out of the inner moat, he wanted to be sure they weren't a couple of my men gone astray before he cut off their heads. A good thing I came along to identify you! Who'd have thought…?"

His brow darkened. I could read the change as clearly as if he'd spoken his thoughts aloud. He had finally remembered not just my name and my association with Cicero; he now recalled that I was Meto's father. If Meto had come to Massilia, secretly loyal to Caesar but seeking a position with Caesar's enemies, it was to Domitius that he would have offered his services. Had they met? What had passed between them? What did Domitius know of Meto's whereabouts? Why was his expression suddenly so dark?

"Who is this fellow?" demanded Apollonides impatiently. Clearly, from the way they conversed, he and Domitius considered each other to be of equal rank-one, supreme commander of the Massilian forces; the other, commander of the Roman troops in Massilia loyal to Pompey and the Roman Senate.

"His name is Gordianus, called the Finder. A Roman citizen. We've met before, once, briefly." Domitius squinted and studied me as he might a map turned upside-down.

"Loyal to Caesar or to Pompey?" Apollonides looked at me more as if I were a strange animal; tame or feral?

"That's a very good question," said Domitius. "And how did he come to be in the city?"

"Another good question." Together they stared at me.

I crossed my hands before me and took a deep breath. "I hate to change the subject," I said slowly, "but we've just witnessed something very alarming. Over… there." I pointed toward the Sacrifice Rock.

"What are you talking about?" Apollonides glared at me. "Answer my question! How did you get into the city?"

"A woman and a man-a soldier, to judge by his clothing-just climbed that finger of rock. The three of us sat here and watched them. One of them went over the edge. The other ran off."

Now I had his attention. "What? Someone jumped from the Sacrifice Rock?"

"The woman."

"No one is allowed to climb the Sacrifice Rock. And suicide without approval is strictly forbidden in Massilia!" barked Apollonides.

"So is murder, I should think."

"What?"

"The man pushed her!" Davus explained.

I cleared my throat. "Actually, there's some disagreement about that."

Apollonides stared at us through narrowed eyes, then waved to one of the soldiers. "You there, take some men and go to the Sacrifice Rock. Don't set foot on it, but examine the area all around. Look for signs that anyone ventured onto the rock. Ask questions. Find out if anyone saw a man and a woman climbing it."

"The woman wore a dark cloak," I offered. "The man was in armor, without a helmet. He had a pale blue cape… rather like yours, Timouchos."

Apollonides was taken aback. "One of my officers? I don't believe it. You've fabricated the whole episode to avoid answering my questions!"

"No, Timouchos."

"First Timouchos!" he insisted. His red face contrasted strongly with his pale blue cape. I saw a frazzled man at the end of a trying day, without an atom of patience left.

"Of course, First Timouchos. You ask how we came to be here. The fact is, Trebonius's men dug a tunnel under the city walls. It was to come out near the main gate-"

"I knew it!" Apollonides pounded a fist into his open palm. "I told you, Domitius, the battering-ram assault this morning was only a diversion. Trebonius knows better than to think he can bring down the walls of Massilia with such a toy. While we were distracted, he meant to send a smaller force through a tunnel and take the main gate. Is that what you're saying, Finder?"

"Exactly, First Timouchos."

"The whirlpool that was seen, and the drop in the water level

in the inner moat-you said it must be due to a leak, a fault in our own earthworks, Domitius!"

Now Domitius's face flushed red, clashing with his copper-colored beard. "I'm not an engineer. I only suggested the idea off the top of my head."

"Instead, it was just as I thought-Trebonius has been planning all along to tunnel his way in. I knew it! That's why I dug that trench and pumped it full of water, to thwart just such an attempt. And it worked! Tell me I'm right, Finder." He beamed at me. Now I was his friend, the bearer of good news.

I swallowed a lump in my throat. "The tunnel was full of soldiers, waiting to emerge the moment the sappers broke through. We waited for hours. We could hear the boom of the battering-ram farther down the walls…" I lowered my eyes. "Suddenly, the tunnel was flooded. A rush of water came though, carrying everything before it."

"Perfect!" exclaimed Apollonides. "All those soldiers flushed through the tunnel like rats through a Roman sewer!" Domitius scowled at this, but said nothing. "But you, Finder-how did you survive?"

"My son-in-law pulled me into a cavity in the ceiling of the tunnel. We waited until the flooding settled, then swam out. As far as I know, we were the only survivors."

"I think the gods must like you, Finder." Apollonides looked sidelong at Hieronymus. "No wonder the wretched scapegoat scooped you up and fetched you home with him. He thinks you'll bring him good luck."

"You have no right to be here!" Hieronymus suddenly shrieked. "The scapegoat's house is sacred. Your presence here is sacrilege, Apollonides."

"Fool! You don't know what you're talking about. I have the right to enter any house that may be harboring enemies of Massilia." Apollonides returned his gaze to me. "Is that the case here, Finder? What were you doing in that tunnel with Trebonius's men, if not taking part in an armed invasion of the city?"

"First Timouchos, look at me. I'm an old man. I'm not a soldier! I'm not a partisan for either side, and neither is Davus. We've traveled overland from Rome. We spent one night in Trebonius's camp. I wanted to enter the city, and I saw a way to do it. Davus and I disguised ourselves and slipped into the ranks. Trebonius didn't know. He'd have been furious if he found out. My business here in Massilia is neither military nor political. It's personal."

"And what exactly is this `personal' business?"

"My son, Meto, was last seen in Massilia." I looked sidelong at Domitius, whose expression remained enigmatic. "I've come to look for him."

"A missing child?" The idea appeared to strike a sympathetic chord in Apollonides, who nodded slowly. "What do you think, Domitius? You know this fellow."

"Not that well." Domitius crossed his arms..

"Proconsul," I said, addressing Domitius with the formal title to which he aspired, knowing he fancied himself, and not Caesar, to be the Roman Senate's legally appointed governor of Gaul. "If Cicero were here, he'd vouch for me. You and I ate together at his table in Formiae; we both slept under his roof. Did you know that he once called me `the most honest man in Rome'?" The quotation was accurate. I saw no need to add that Cicero had not necessarily intended it as a compliment.

Domitius tilted his head back and breathed in sharply through his nostrils. "I'll take responsibility for these two, Apollonides."

"Are you sure?"

Domitius hesitated for a heartbeat. "Yes."

"Good. That's settled, then." Apollonides yawned, showing molars to rival those of a Nile river-horse. "By Hypnos, I'm tired. And hungry! Will this wretched day never end? I'd hoped for a moment's peace, but now I suppose I must go and check the condition of the inner moat to make sure it's still holding water."

He turned to leave. Some of his soldiers broke from their ranks to precede him down the stairs. At the second step he stopped and looked back. "Oh, Finder-if the story you tell is true, I suppose you had the last laugh on Trebonius today, infiltrating his ranks and getting through that tunnel alive. We had a good laugh at him, too. That battering-ram he sent against the city wall? We finally got the better of it. Some of my soldiers managed to lower a rope noose, capture the head of the ram, and haul it up. A good thing; all that booming was giving me a headache. You should have seen the reaction on that hillside where Trebonius and his engineers gather. They were furious! That battering-ram shall make a fine trophy. Perhaps, after we've broken the siege and sent Trebonius packing, I'll display it on a pedestal in the market square."

He turned and took a few more steps.

"First Timouchos!" I called. "The… incident… on the Sacrifice Rock. The soldier and the woman-"

"The murder!" insisted Davus.

"You heard me dispatch my men," snapped Apollonides, stopping again. "I shall look into the matter. It's no longer your concern."

"But I heard you order them not to set foot on the rock. If you won't even allow them to examine the place where-"

"No one may set foot on the Sacrifice Rock! That includes you, Finder." He gave me a penetrating look. "The priests of Artemis sanctified it during the same ritual that invested the scapegoat. From the time that a scapegoat is invested until the day he fulfills his destiny, the Sacrifice Rock is sacred ground, forbidden to all. The next person to set foot on it, and not until the priests of Artemis say so, will be your friend Hieronymus here. That will also be the last time he sets foot on it." He shot a sardonic glance at our host, then turned, quickly descended the steps, and disappeared, his soldiers following.

"Not a bad fellow, for a Greek," said Domitius under his breath.

"Where are your soldiers, Proconsul?" asked Hieronymus suspiciously.

"My bodyguards are outside the house," said Domitius. "Apollonides wouldn't let me bring them in. He's that pious, at least-no foreigners bearing arms in the scapegoat's house. Don't worry. They'll stay where they are until I tell them otherwise. By Hercules, I'm hungry! I don't suppose, to show a bit of hospitality…

Hieronymus stared back at him glumly for a long moment, then clapped his hands and instructed a slave to bring food. Hieronymus then withdrew, sulking, into the house.

"I'll eat far better here than I would at Apollonides's house," Domitius confided. "This fellow gets all the best cuts. There's a priest of Artemis who sees to it. The city's facing serious shortages, but you'd never know it from the way they stuff this goose."

Lamps were brought onto the terrace, then trays of food, along with little tripod tables. Seeing the feast made me dizzy from hunger. There were steaming slices of pork glazed with honey and aniseed, a pate of sweetbreads and soft cheese, a gingery fava bean puree, a barley soup flavored with dill and whole onions, and little must cakes speckled with raisins:

Domitius ate like a starving man, popping fingers into his mouth and sucking them clean. Davus, seeing such manners, made no pretense to refinement and did likewise. I was tormented by hunger but hardly able to eat, my stomach seized by sudden anxiety about Meto. What did Domitius know? I tried a few times to raise the subject, but Domitius refused to respond until he had eaten his fill. What was he playing at?

At last he sat back, took a long swallow of wine, and let out a burp. "The best meal I've had in months!" he declared. "Almost worth the trip to this godforsaken city, don't you think?"

"I came here-"

"Yes, I know. Not for the food! You came to look for your son."

"Do you know Meto?" I asked quietly.

"Oh, yes." Domitius stroked his red beard and was silent for a long time, content to observe my discomfort. Why did he look so smug? "Why have you come here looking for him, Gordianus?"

"I received a message in Rome, sent anonymously, claiming to come from Massilia." I touched the pouch that hung from my belt, felt the small wooden cylinder inside, and wondered if the parchment it contained had survived the flood. "The message said that Meto… was dead. That he'd died in Massilia."

"An anonymous message? Curious."

"Please, Proconsul. What do you know about my son?"

He sipped his wine. "Meto arrived here several days before Caesar's army did. He said he'd had enough of Caesar; said he wanted to join our side. I was skeptical, of course, but I took him in. I confined him to quarters and gave him light duties-nothing sensitive or secretive, mind you. I kept an eye on him. Then a ship from Pompey arrived, the very last ship in before Caesar launched his little navy to blockade the harbor. Pompey sent word on various subjects-his hairbreadth escape from Caesar at Brundisium, his position in Dyrrhachium, the morale of the senators in exile from Rome. And he specifically mentioned your son. Pompey said that `incontrovertible evidence'-his phrase-had come into his hands that Meto was indeed a traitor to Caesar and should be trusted.* That seemed to settle the matter; the last time I ignored Pompey's advice I had cause to regret it-though there was plenty of blame to go around." He referred to his humiliation by Caesar in Italy when Pompey had urged Domitius to withdraw before Caesar's advance and join forces, but Domitius had insisted instead on making a stand at Corfinium; Domitius had been captured, attempted suicide (and failed), then was pardoned by Caesar and released, whereupon he fled to Massilia with a ragtag band of gladiators and a fortune of six million sesterces.

"But despite Pompey's message," he went on, "I still had my

* See Rubicon (St. Martin's Press, 1999).

suspicions about your oh-so-clever son. Milo warned me. You must remember Titus Annius Milo, exiled a few years back for murdering Clodius on the Appian Way?"

"Of course. I investigated the matter for Pompey."

"So you did! I'd forgotten that. Did you somehow… offend… Milo?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"No? Well, for whatever reason, I'm afraid Milo wasn't fond of your son. Suspected him right off. `The boy's no good,' he told me. I might have paid Milo no mind-when was Milo ever known for sound judgment?-but he echoed my own instincts. I continued to watch your son very closely. Even so, I could never quite catch him at anything. Until…"

Domitius turned his head and gazed at the view, sipping his wine in silence for so long that he seemed to have forgotten his thought.

"Until what?" I finally said, trying to keep my voice steady. "Do you know-I think Milo himself should tell you. Yes, I believe that would be best. We'll go and see him right now. We can gloat about what a fine meal we've just had, while Milo dines on stale bread and the last of the fish-pickle sauce he brought from Rome."

When I first met him at Cicero's house months ago, I had decided that Domitius was a pompous, vain creature. Now I saw that he was also petty and spiteful. He seemed to relish my distress.

We bade the scapegoat farewell. Hieronymus invited Davus and I to return later to sleep under his roof that night. Even as I promised that we would, I wondered if I lied. Just because I had escaped death twice already that day, there was no reason to think it might not come for me yet.

Had death come already for Meto? Domitius had so far refused to tell me, but I kept thinking of his words: Milo wasn't fond of your son. Why he had spoken in the past tense?