" 'Cold-blooded'-that's exactly the word for a man like Zeno!"
I shook my head. "No, there's more to this marriage between Zeno and Cydimache than you credit. The way they touched-it reminded me of the way that you and Diana touch, not even realizing it. Yes, exactly the same."
Davus lowered his eyes. A frown pulled at his mouth. With his relentless good nature, it was sometimes easy for me to forget that Davus, too, was far from home, and homesick. He cleared his throat and asked, a little dully, "What was the third thing? You said you knew three things for certain now-that Zeno recognized the ring, that he truly cares for Cydimache… and what else?"
"That Zeno is no coward. The tale he told at dinner made my blood run cold. The things he saw today must have been terrifying, yet he kept his wits about him and brought his men safely home. And he didn't hesitate to stand up to his father-in-law. Zeno has nerve. He has courage. I have to ask myself: Is this the sort of fellow who would push a defenseless woman off a cliff?"
Davus crossed his arms, unimpressed. "He would if she was making trouble for him-the kind of trouble a mad, spurned woman might make for an ambitious climber."
"So you saw nothing good in Zeno? No good at all?"
"Not a thing."
"You seem very sure of yourself," I said quietly.
"Why not? I've met Zeno's type before. Haven't you?" Now it was Davus's turn to tick points off his fingers one by one. "Does he love Cydimache? It certainly profits him to put on a show of pretending to, so he does.
"Is he heroic? Well, if his ship goes down in battle, he'll drown like the rest, so why shouldn't he fight as bravely as the next man?
"Does he have nerve? Undoubtedly. You seem to admire him for talking back to Apollonides in public, but I hardly think you'd like it if I showed that little respect for you, father-in-law.
"Could such a fine fellow kill a woman he once loved, in cold blood? Zeno happens to be good-looking and he comes from a good family, so why shouldn't he be charming and likable? That makes it all the easier for him to get away with something truly outrageous, like pushing a troublesome old lover off a cliff."
Satisfied that he had made his points, Davus tilted back his head, squeezed his eyes shut, stretched his arms over his head, and opened his jaw in a great yawn.
It was time for sleep. I doused the light. The room was so dark that I saw the same blackness whether my eyes were open or shut.
Had I judged Zeno's character so wrongly? I felt weary and confused, like an old hound who can no longer trust his nose and who finds himself, at the end of a long day's wandering, lost in fields far from home.
When I opened my eyes the next morning, I couldn't tell if it was hunger that awakened me or the noise from my stomach, so loud was the growling it made. The windowless room was dim; the only light came from the open doorway and the shadowy hall beyond. Vaguely I heard distant voices, hurried footsteps, and indistinct clattering, the sounds of a great household stirring.
It occurred to me that my preoccupation with Zeno and the incident on the Sacrifice Rock was no more than a distraction, an indulgence to keep my mind off the trouble we were in. Massilia was on the verge of chaos, perhaps complete destruction. It was one thing to pass idle days in the comfort of the scapegoat's house, quite another to face the prospect of house arrest, or worse, in the hands of Apollonides. Rather than twisting my mind around the sins of the First Timouchos's son-in-law, I should probably have spent the previous night doing everything possible to ingratiate myself with Domitius, who might be induced, if I groveled enough, to offer his protection to Davus and me.
That idea was so repugnant that I found myself instead holding up the ring in the dim morning light and peering into the depths of the black skystone.
Davus stirred. His stomach growled even louder than mine, reminding me that our most immediate problem was finding food. It seemed hard to imagine that Apollonides, with all that was on his mind, had bothered to make any provision for feeding two Roman troublemakers who had become his unwanted and unwilling houseguests. We could, I thought, set out in search of the kitchens, though it seemed unlikely that the previous night's grim travesty of a banquet had yielded much in the way of leftovers.
Davus sat up, stretched, and yawned. He stared at the ring in my hand. He blinked. His eyes narrowed. His nose twitched. As he turned and looked toward the doorway, I too caught the unmistakable scent of bread.
The loaf appeared first. The hand that held the flat, round disk was concealed behind it, so that it seemed to levitate, moonlike, of its own accord. It was followed by an arm, and then the smiling face of Hieronymus peering around the corner. "Hungry?" he asked.
"Famished," I admitted. "I left Apollonides's banquet last night hungrier than when I arrived."
"Then his skills as a host exactly match his gifts as a military man and a leader of the people," remarked Hieronymus dryly. "I brought a bit to drink as well," he said, producing a bloated wineskin.
"May the gods bless you!" I said, not thinking.
"Actually, that's the one favor I'm not allowed. But of earthly blessings, my cornucopia is filled to overflowing. Last night, while you starved at Apollonides's banquet, I dined in seclusion on-would you believe it? — not one but two roasted quails, with a lovely olive and fish-pickle garnish. I'd have saved some for you, but sitting up on that rock all day and then promenading through the streets was hard work for a humble scapegoat such as I." I remembered the ordeal of yesterday's near-riot and wondered how he could make a joke of it. "And after the quail came the red mullets in almond sauce, the boiled eggs rolled in lemon zest and asafetida, followed by-well, suffice it to say that the priests of Artemis insisted I stuff myself. The worse the battle news, the more they give me to eat. I feel like a goose being fattened for a feast." He patted the round belly that protruded incongruously from his tall, lanky frame. "When I woke this morning, I was still too stuffed to eat another bite-so when they brought me this freshly baked flatbread, I thought of you."
I tore the soft loaf into semicircles and gave half to Davus. I forced myself to take small bites. Davus seemed to inhale his portion without even chewing.
"You're allowed to move freely about the house, then?" I asked.
"No one dares restrain me. The slaves scatter before me like autumn leaves before Boreas. Of course, I do my best to be unobtrusive. I've no intention of barging into meetings of the war council or pestering the starry-eyed newlyweds. Otherwise, when Caesar crashes through the city gates and Cydimache produces a squalling monster, Apollonides will blame both catastrophes on me."
"Will you be going back to your own house?"
There was a ripple in his glib composure, like a wind flaw on water. "I'm afraid not."
"A punishment for trespassing on the Sacrifice Rock?"
"Not exactly. Not a punishment. A repercussion, you might say."
"I don't understand."
"I convinced the priests I had every right to climb up on the rock yesterday; I told them I had heard a summons from Artemis to go and watch for the fleet. Well, they could hardly object to that, could they? I think I managed to talk them into forgiving your trespass as well, Gordianus. They might have briefly impressed the mob by making an example of you and Davus-burning you alive, say, or hanging you upside down and flaying you like venison-but I pointed out to them that in the long term, exacting gruesome punishments against our Roman guests might not be such a good idea, considering that it now appears almost inevitable that Massilia, if the city is allowed to continue to exist at all, shall have a Roman master. If not this year, then next; if not Caesar, then Pompey. Perhaps both shall rule Massilia, one after the other. I pointed out to the priests that you were friends of both men, and that friendship these days means more to a Roman than ties of blood."
"In other words, you saved our lives, Hieronymus."
"It seemed the least I could do. I'm supposed to be a savior, aren't I? My death, in some mystical fashion, supposedly will rescue Ma
ssilia from her enemies at the last possible moment. It looks increasingly unlikely that the priests of Artemis will be able to pull off that miracle; and even if they do, I won't be around to see the results! But one thing I can do is stand here in this hole of a room and watch my only two friends, alive and reasonably well, as they devour a flatbread for which I have no use-and that gives me a curious pleasure."
"No bread ever tasted better," I said quietly. Hieronymus merely shrugged.
"But you said that you won't be returning to your house. If you've placated the priests, why not?"
"Because it's no longer there."
I blinked. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that the scapegoat's house no longer exists. The mob burned it down."
"What!"
"It happened late last night. I suppose, buried down here, you didn't hear the horns blowing the fire alarm. I certainly heard them, up in my room. They woke me from a deep sleep. I was dreaming about my mother; a happy dream, oddly enough. Then the horns woke me. I left my bed and went to the balcony. I saw a red glow in the direction of my house. Apparently a mob gathered there after dark. They demanded that I be brought out and marched at once to the Sacrifice Rock. Apollonides had posted guards at the door, but only a few. They explained that I wasn't there, but the mob didn't believe them. The mob overwhelmed the guards and broke into the house. When they didn't find me, they ransacked the place and then set it afire." He shook his head. "Committing arson in a city under siege is not only a grievous crime, it's incredibly stupid. If the flames had spread out of control, can you imagine the result? People trapped inside the city walls, only a few ships left in the harbor to offer a means of escape, rioting, looting-a fate as terrible as anything Caesar may have in store for us!
"But the guards who had been overwhelmed summoned reinforcements and sounded the fire horns, and Apollonides's men were able to contain the flames. My house was gutted, but those around it were spared. As a result, I find myself homeless once again-what irony! — and the heads of the twenty or so looters whom Apollonides's men managed to capture are mounted on spikes amid the smoking embers. The headless bodies were dumped into the sea."
The last crust of bread turned to ashes in my mouth. "Hieronymus, this is terrible!"
"Yes. We shall no longer be able to sit on my lovely rooftop terrace, watching the clouds over the sea, drinking Falernian wine, and debating fallacies."
"No, I mean-"
"I know what you mean, Gordianus." He sighed. "Worst of all, I dare not leave this house, not even to step outside. If the mob should recognize my litter or my green robes-well, I've no intention of being thrown off the Sacrifice Rock." He drew back his shoulders. "When the time comes, I expect a full ceremony-incense, chanting, et cetera, as you Latin speakers say. And I shall not be thrown over; I shall jump of my own accord, like that poor girl we saw."
"She was pushed," said Davus, his voice barely audible. Hieronymus ignored him. "So here I am, trapped in the house of Apollonides, the one place in Massilia I least want to be, and the one place where Apollonides least wants me. I suppose the goddess thinks we deserve each other. Perhaps that dour virgin, Artemis, has a sense of humor after all."
He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame, examining our little cubicle with a sardonic expression. "I'm afraid yesterday's developments have landed you and Davus in considerably reduced circumstances. One lamp, two narrow beds, and a single chamber pot between you. There's not even a door or a curtain to give you privacy."
"It could be worse," I said. "There might be a door-with a lock on it. I'm not sure whether we're free to go or not."
"I suspect, considering the tide of events, that Apollonides has forgotten all about you. His plate is full, if you'll pardon a bad pun. You probably won't cross his mind until the next time you cross his path. These accommodations are Spartan, to say the least, but since you've nowhere better to go, I'd suggest you take advantage of his hospitality for as long as you can. Keep quiet when you're in this room. Find out where to empty that chamber pot. Ingratiate yourself with the household slaves-drop a few hints that you're a friend of Caesar's and therefore worth cultivating, though not such a good friend that you ought to be murdered in your sleep-and otherwise come and go as unobtrusively as you can."
I nodded. "The hardest thing will be finding enough to eat. I heard Milo complaining to Domitius last night about a new reduction in rations. Every portion in every household is to be cut back."
"Except for mine. Don't worry about food, Gordianus. As long as I'm about, I won't let you starve."
"Hieronymus, truly, I don't know how to-"
"Then don't, Gordianus. There's no need. And now I have to leave you. There's some tiresome ceremony or other that the priests of Artemis feel obliged to perform this morning here in the house of the First Timouchos; honoring those lost at sea yesterday, I suppose. For some reason I'm expected to make an appearance, looming in the background." He turned to go, then remembered something and reached into the small pouch he carried. "I almost forgot. Here, take these-two boiled hen's eggs, still in the shell. You can eat them for your lunch."
We had solved the problem of food, at least for the moment. But how were Davus and I to leave the house and get back in? Come and go unobtrusively, Hieronymus had advised-but how? We had entered Apollonides's compound the previous night through a heavily guarded gate. I could hardly expect to pass back and forth through a guarded gate without being vetted by the First Timouchos himself or at least showing some sort of documentation.
I took another bit of Hieronymus's advice and sought out the young slave who had escorted us to the banquet the previous night. The boy took it for granted that we were his master's guests and men of some importance, and that we were also, as was clear from my accent, from somewhere else and thus in need of simple guidance. When I asked him the easiest way to come and go, he didn't hesitate to show me the entrance the slaves used, which was a gate in a section of the wall at the back of the compound between the kitchens and the storehouses. This small gate was manned, not by an armed guard, but by an old slave who had had the job all his life. He was a garrulous, simple fellow, easy to talk to if not very easy to understand, on account of his toothlessness. When I asked him to repeat himself, I pretended it was due not to his mumbling but to my own poor Greek.
The guards at the front gate were something new, the old gatekeeper told me, called up in response to the chaos of the previous night. Ordinarily, the house of the First Timouchos required no more security than the house of any rich man, and probably less; what sneak-thief would dare to steal from the city's foremost citizen?
"Any other day this is the safest house in Massilia!" he insisted. "Still, we can't let in just anyone, can we? So when you come back, knock like this on the gate," he said, tapping his foot three times against the wood. "Or never mind that, just call out your name. I'll remember it-you've got a funny Roman name; never heard it before. Mind you be careful out in the streets. Things are getting strange out there. What kind of errand is so important you have to leave the safety of this house, anyway? Never mind, it's none of my business."
Davus stepped first through the open door into what appeared to be a narrow alley. Following him, I thought of something and turned back. "Gatekeeper," I said, "you must know the First Timouchos's son-in-law."
"Young Zeno? Of course. Uses this gate all the time. Always in a great rush, coming and going. Except when he's with his wife, of course. Then he slows his pace to match hers."
"He goes out with Cydimache?"
"Her physicians insist that she take long walks as often as she can. Zeno goes with her. It's a touching sight the way he hovers over her and dotes on her."
"I noticed last night that he was walking with a slight limp. Has he always been lame?"
"Oh, no. A fit young man. Very fit. Won races at the gymnasium when he was a boy."
"I see. Perhaps he was limping because of a wound he suffered in yesterday's battle."
"No, he's had that limp for a while. It's gotten much better."
"When was he injured?"
"Let me think. Ah, yes, it was the day Caesar's men tried to batter down the walls. A crazy day that was, with everybody running every which way. Zeno must have hurt himself running back and forth along the battlements."
"No doubt," I said. I stepped out to join Davus, who awaited me in the alley with a smug look on his face.
XIX
"The house of Arausio? You're close. Turn down this street to the left. After a while you'll come to a house with a blue door. Go down the little alley that runs alongside it, and when that comes to a dead end, you'll be in what they call the Street of the Seagulls, on account of the crazy old woman who used to put out fish for seagulls; some days, when I was a little girl, they were so thick in the street that you couldn't get past the nasty creatures. To your right, the street runs up a little hill. You'll find Arausio's house at the top. I always thought that house must have a wonderful view of the harbor…"
The speaker was a pale, thin, young woman, whose Greek was as heavily accented as mine, though with a Gaulish, not Latin, accent. Her fair hair was pulled back from her gaunt face, tightly bundled at the nape of her neck with a leather band, and hung in a tangle down her back, unwashed and badly in need of combing. She wore no jewelry, but bands of pale flesh around several fingers showed where she customarily wore rings. Had distress driven her to sell them, or did she fear to wear them in public? Her voice had a slightly hysterical edge. She seemed glad to have someone to talk to, even two strangers asking for directions. "Those seagulls! When I was a girl, I remember helping my mother carry food home from the market-in a basket just like the one I'm carrying today, perhaps the very same one; this basket is older than I am-and once we took that street, and it was a terrible mistake, because the gulls attacked us. Horrible creatures! They flew at me and knocked me down, stole what they wanted from my basket, and scattered the rest all over the street. Oh, my basket must have been filled with all sorts of food, olives and capers and flatbread, but of course it would have been the fish that attracted them…" I glanced at the straw basket she carried at her side. The handle was of leather, and the Gaulish design featured a spiral pattern around the rim. No seagulls would attack her today for what her basket contained. It was empty.
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