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. “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
“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. “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
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