so much that even Caesar overheard. Atop his charger, he glanced down at the two of us with a puzzled frown. Meto's face was ashen.
'Papa, I don't understand.'
'Nor do I. Is this how I raised you? Did I pass nothing of myself on to you?'
'But, Papa, I learned everything from you.'
'No! What matters most to me? Uncovering the truth! I do it even when there's no point to it, even when it brings only pain. I do it because I must. But you, Meto? What does truth mean to you? You can't abide it, any more than I can abide deceit! We're complete opposites. No wonder you've found your place at the side of a man like Caesar.'
Meto lowered his voice. 'Papa, we'll talk about this later.'
'There is no later! This is our last conversation, Meto.'
'Papa, you're upset because I… I wasn't as forthcoming… as I might have been.'
'Don't talk to me like a politician! You deceived me. First, you let me believe that you were part of a plot to kill Caesar-'
'That was regrettable, Papa, but I had no choice-'
'Then you flaunted your disguise as the soothsayer in my face! You let me think that you were dead!'
Meto trembled. 'When this is over… when we're able to talk-'
'No! Never again!'
'But, Papa, I'm your son!'
'No, you are not.' Speaking the words made me feel cold and hollow inside, but I couldn't stop them from spilling out. 'From this moment, you are not my son, Meto. I disown you. Here, before your beloved imperator- excuse me, your dictator-I disown you. I renounce all concern for you. I take back from you my name. If you need a father, let Caesar adopt you!'
Meto looked as if he had been struck in the forehead with a mallet. If I had wished merely to stun him, I had succeeded. But the look on his face gave me no pleasure; I couldn't stand to look at him. Caesar, knowing that something was wrong, called to Meto to come to him, but Meto stood unmoving and unheeding.
The crowd continued to cheer. The cheering had taken on a life of its own; people cheered simply for the sake of cheering, as a means to let out all the pent-up emotions inside them. The sound they made was like a roaring waterfall that showed no signs of running dry.
I pushed my way past the soldiers and through the mass of jubilant Catilinarians. Verres threw back his head, laughing. Publicius and Minucius attempted to seize me and swing me about in a joyful dance, but I pulled free and plunged blindly into the crowd. Davus was nearby; I did not see him but sensed his presence, knew that he was staying close to me but keeping out of my way, wondering, no doubt, what in Hades had just happened. How often had I silently ridiculed Davus for his guilelessness and his simple nature? Yet at that moment, how much more like a son he felt to me than the man I was leaving behind!
XXVI
'Go ahead, say it. You think I made a terrible mistake, don't you?'
Davus frowned but said nothing. We stood side by side at the ship's rail, looking back at Massilia as it dwindled in the distance. Viewed from the sea, the narrow city within its high walls looked cramped and tiny.
Salt spray stung my nostrils. Gulls followed close behind us, flapping their wings and cawing shrilly. Sailors called back and forth as they lifted oars and hoisted sail. As we threaded a course between the rugged headlands and the islands offshore, Massilia disappeared from view.
The ship was one of the three that Domitius had held in reserve for his escape. Driven by the storm, Domitius himself-always the rabbit eluding the trap-had succeeded in slipping past the blockade, but his two companion ships had been turned back. Now they were Caesar's ships. This one Caesar was dispatching back to Rome, loaded with treasure and with lieutenants charged with making preparations for his triumphant return.
It was Trebonius who approached me and offered places for Davus and me on the first ship out. It seemed that Caesar's bountiful generosity extended even to me, despite my actions in the market square. Perhaps Caesar was fulfilling, a promise to Meto to see me safely home. More likely, he simply wanted to get me out of the way as quickly as possible, before my unwanted presence could dampen even further the morale of one of his most valued men.
I saw no reason not to accept. The sooner I could leave Massilia, the better, and I had no desire to retrace the long, landward route back to Rome, especially if it meant sharing the road with Caesar's legions.
What would become of the proud city now? One thing was certain: Massilia would never be independent again. What Rome takes, she keeps; freedom is a gift she never gives back. The Timouchoi would be reduced to a mere ceremonial body or disbanded altogether; all power now would come from Rome and Rome's dictator. I could easily imagine Zeno presiding over the city as Caesar's puppet, obediently taking orders from a Roman governor.
As for the Roman exiles in Massilia, Caesar, exercising a dictator's largesse, had pardoned them wholesale. Publicius and Minucius and their fellows would be going back to Rome. But Caesar had specified two notable exceptions. Despite his guardianship of the eagle standard, Verres would remain in exile. So would Milo.
I sighed, and hefted the heavy, bulging purse tied at my waist. If nothing else, I was leaving Massilia a richer man than I had arrived. Even as I was boarding the ship, Arausio had sought me out and had insisted on paying me generously for my efforts to discover the truth about his daughter. Rindel was safely back in her father's house. Apollonides had released her and her parents just as he had allowed Davus and me to go free. The final scene on the Sacrifice Rock had posed yet another puzzle: Did Apollonides intend to revenge himself on Rindel, and had he been prevented only because Hieronymus pulled him, unwilling, to his death? Or did Apollonides intentionally throw himself from the rock, and before his suicide, had he made up his mind to be merciful to Rindel? Having lost his own daughter, perhaps he had no desire to inflict the same grief on Arausio.
For the time being, Rindel was locked in her room, where she would remain, Arausio declared, no matter how much she wept and tore her hair, declaring her love for Zeno. 'What grief our children cause us!' he had muttered as he left me. I had not contradicted him.
Apollonides had lost his Cydimache. Arausio had lost his Rindel, and then, to his delight and consternation, had found her again. I had lost Meto, found him, and lost him again forever. I had acted rightly, I told myself. What I did, I had to do. Why, then, did I feel a nagging doubt? I professed to hate all deceit. Was I deceiving myself?
In our wake, the green waves churned and folded in on themselves. Somewhere in their depths was whatever remained of Cydimache and her unborn child, and Apollonides… and Hieronymus! He had been so dignified on the temple steps, so sure of himself, so fearless. What had gone wrong? There had been a struggle-but had Hieronymus struggled to save himself, or to take Apollonides with him? It seemed unfair that I should have resolved the circumstance of one death from the Sacrifice Rock, only to be leaving Massilia with the circumstance of two more deaths unresolved.
The voice, coming from behind me, raised hackles on the back of my neck: 'Did you enjoy the figs I left for you?'
Davus and I spun around together. For a moment I was speechless; no breath would come. 'Hieronymus!' I finally cried. Davus laughed, then gasped. 'But… we saw you-'
'You saw me go tumbling with Apollonides off the Sacrifice Rock?'
'Yes!' I cried. 'I saw you. So did Davus.'
Hieronymus raised an eyebrow. 'Never trust your eyes, Gordianus. That bit of confusion between Cydimache and Rindel should have taught you that.'
I reached out and gripped his arms to satisfy myself that he was real. 'But, Hieronymus, what happened? What did we see?'
'Everything went according to Apollonides's plan; overseeing the sacrifice was his last official act as First Timouchos. I was kept in the dark; I didn't know what Apollonides had in mind until I was actually atop the Sacrifice Rock. I expected to die. I was prepared to do so. But when I reached the summit, what should I see, lying in the hollow of the rock surrounded by priests, but another figure swathed in green from head to toe-my double!
