Steven Saylor - Last seen in Massilia

"Probably agents of the Timouchoi, keeping an eye on the scapegoat's Roman guests," I said. "If the authorities are having us watched, there's not much we can do about it. Do you recognize these two? Might you have seen them before, perhaps among Apollonides's soldiers?"

Davus shook his head. "They stay too far back for me to get a good look at their faces." He frowned. "What if they're not from the Timouchoi? What if someone else is having us followed?"

"That seems unlikely." Or did it? If I had learned anything since my arrival in Massilia, it was to expect the unexpected.

I glanced behind us, attempting to do so casually. "Which ones are they?"

Davus shook his head. "You can't see them now. They've stepped out of sight. But father-in-law… haven't we seen him before?"

I turned my head and followed Davus's gaze down a narrow side street, where a group of twenty or so women, all clutching empty baskets, had gathered before a closed storefront, whispering and wearing furtive expressions, drawn, it was painfully obvious, by some black marketeer's promise of contraband rations on offer in a certain place at a certain hour. What would the Timouchoi think of that?

"I see a lot of women, Davus, but no men."

"There, a little beyond the women, wearing a hood. It's the soothsayer we met outside Massilia!"

I drew a sharp breath. The figure could be seen only in glimpses, yet somehow, like Davus, I perceived it at once to be the soothsayer. But that was impossible; how could he have gotten inside the city walls? Our minds were playing tricks on us; the Catilinarians had mentioned a hooded visitor, and that had brought the soothsayer to the forefront of our thoughts. The figure was probably not a man at all, but simply another of the women standing a little beyond the crowd. And yet…

I stepped into the side street and walked toward the crowd of women. Davus followed. Did I only imagine that the hooded figure beyond the crowd gave a sudden start?

Davus gripped my arm. I tried to shake him off, but he tightened his grip. "Father-in-law, there they are again-the two who've been following us. Beyond the soothsayer, at the far end of the street. They must have circled around."

I saw the two men Davus was talking about. They were too distant for me to see their faces, dressed in plain brown chitons with nothing to set them apart. The hooded figure, turning his head, seemed to see them as well, and gave another start. I tried to move toward him, through the crowd of women. The look on my face must have alarmed them; I heard exclamations in Greek too fast for me to follow, and then they began to scatter like startled birds. They thought that Davus and I were agents of the Timouchoi come to break up their black market.

For a moment all was confusion, then the narrow little side street was suddenly empty. The women had vanished. So had the two men at the far end of the street. So had the hooded figure-if indeed he had ever been there.

I dreamed that night of Meto's toga day, when he turned sixteen and for the first time put on his manly toga for a promenade through the Forum in Rome. The night before he had panicked and been paralyzed with doubt; how could a boy born a slave ever truly become a Roman? But I had comforted him, and on the appointed morning my heart soared with pride to see him stride through the Forum, a citizen among citizens.

In my dream, all was exactly as it had been on that day, except that I never saw Meto's face; in a strange way I didn't see him at all, for where he should have been there was a kind of gap in my vision, a nothingness, an empty blur. Yet the dream-Forum through which our little retinue progressed was somehow even more vivid than life, super-real, teeming with color and noise. We passed by the great temples and across the public spaces. We mounted the long flight of steps that led to the summit of the Capitoline Hill, and on the way up, who should pass us coming down but a group of senators, including none other than Caesar. Ever the politician, always eager to ingratiate himself with potential supporters, Caesar congratulated Meto on his toga day, even though he scarcely looked at him. Was that the first time Meto and Caesar met face to face? It must have been. Who could have imagined then how closely their destinies would intertwine?

In my dream, Caesar was especially vivid. His face was almost a caricature of itself, the high cheekbones and lofty forehead slightly exaggerated, the bright eyes sparkling feverishly, the thin lips drawn into a characteristic smile, as if at some secret joke shared only by Caesar and the gods.

The senators moved on. Our retinue proceeded upward. Atop the Capitoline my old friend Rufus observed the auspices, searching the sky for birds in order to read the will of the gods. We waited a long time for any bird at all to appear. Finally a great winged shape darted like lightning across the sky and landed at our feet. The eagle stared at us and we stared back. I had never seen one so close. I could have reached out and touched it, had I dared. Suddenly, with a great beating of wings, it departed. What did it mean? The eagle was Jupiter's favorite, the most divine of birds. According to Rufus, to have seen one on Meto's toga day, especially so close, was the best of all possible omens. But even then I felt vaguely apprehensive; and later, when Meto first saw the eagle standard of Catilina, it had seemed to him a further sign of the gods' will, a marker for his destiny, and I think it must have been in that very instant that he truly became a man, which is to say that he moved irrevocably beyond my control and into dangers from which I could no longer protect him.

I was suddenly transported, as happens in dreams, to a place completely different. I was in the treasure chamber beneath the house of Gaius Verres, amid the clutter of shimmering coins and jewel-encrusted artifacts. It seemed to me that Meto was in the room as well, but invisible. The eagle standard loomed over us, uncannily lifelike-and then, suddenly, the eagle was alive! It let out a shriek and flapped its wings, trying to take flight in the confined space, thrashing madly, rending the air with its beak and its dagger-sharp talons. I covered my eyes. The dream became a nightmare of screams, blood, confusion.

And then I awoke.

Davus was gently shaking me. "Father-in-law, wake up! Something important is happening."

"What?" I shook my head, confused and uncertain where I was.

"A ship arrived during the night-"

"A ship?"

"It slipped past the Roman blockade. An advance messenger. Reinforcements are coming-ships full of soldiers-sent by Pompey!"

The nightmare clung to me like cobwebs. I sat up, reached blindly for the ewer beside the bed, and splashed water onto my face. The room was shadowy but not completely dark, illuminated by the faint glow that precedes the dawn. For a fleeting instant it seemed to me, beyond any doubt, that Meto was in the room. I looked about and, not seeing him, felt certain nonetheless that he must be there, present but somehow invisible. Davus saw me staring into space and wrinkled his brow. "Father-in-law, are you ill?"

I took a long time to answer. "No, Davus. Not ill. Just sick at heart…"

This seemed to reassure him. "Then you'd better get up. The whole town is awake, even though it's not yet daylight. People are out in the streets, on rooftops, hanging out windows, calling back and forth to each other. I can't follow the Greek, but Hieronymus says-"

"Hieronymus says, let their timbers rot and Poseidon take them!" Our host stood in the doorway, a dour look on his face. I cleared my throat. "Is it true, what Davus says? A ship arrived in the night?"

"A fast-sailing messenger ship. Apparently it slipped past the blockade and into the harbor without being seen by the Romans. Amazing how quickly the news spread across the city, like wildfire jumping from rooftop to rooftop."