The slanting light of the rising sun glinted across the face of the Sacrifice Rock. Although it looked as if its summit would afford the best possible view of the harbor and the waters beyond, the spectators shunned it and kept to the man-made battlements.
"Do you know, Davus," I said, "I have a sudden impulse to see the Sacrifice Rock."
"We can see it from here."
"Yes, we can. But I want to have a closer look."
Davus frowned. "Apollonides told us that the rock is off limits. It's sacred ground, forbidden, for as long as the scapegoat is still-" He realized what he had said and averted his eyes from Hieronymus.
I nodded. "And we have obediently kept our distance. Until now. On any other day, snooping around the wall and the Sacrifice Rock, we'd have instantly drawn attention to ourselves. We'd have been ordered to keep away, maybe even arrested. But today, with the authorities distracted and so many people out, perhaps we can take advantage of the crowd and its confusion." I put another stuffed date in my mouth and savored it. "Eat your fill, Davus. We may not be able to eat again for a while; it would hardly be seemly to carry food into a hungry crowd forced to do without."
Out in the streets, no one seemed to take any notice of me, but Davus attracted curious looks. Slaves had been confined to quarters and every able-bodied citizen had been summoned to the dockyards. Other than a handful of soldiers stationed here and there to keep order, there was not a young man to be seen among the women, children, and graybeards heading for the battlements. With his broad shoulders and tall frame, Davus stood out.
But no one prevented us from merging with the others who were filing into the nearest bastion tower to mount the stairwell that led up to the battlements. This was the tower into which the soldier in the light blue cape had vanished after the woman plunged from the precipice. These were the steps by which he had fled from his crime, if indeed there had been a crime for him to flee. We were retracing his route in reverse. Every step took us closer to the Sacrifice Rock.
Halfway up, I paused to catch my breath. Davus waited beside me while others passed by. "Any sign of those shadows that followed us yesterday?" I asked, peering down the hollow center of the stairwell.
"Not that I've seen," said Davus. "The two men I saw yesterday would stand out in this crowd almost as much as I do." We pressed on and soon emerged from the bastion onto the platform that ran along the battlements. To our right, toward the sea, the crowd was pressed thickly all along the outer wall, where people jostled one another to get the best view. I turned and looked in the opposite direction, toward the spine of hills and jumbled rooftops of the city. I searched for the scapegoat's house in vain until Davus pointed it out to me; then I clearly saw the green-clad figure of Hieronymus sitting on his rooftop terrace with tall trees on either side. If he saw us, he gave no sign. Beyond the skyline of the city, I could see the summit of the high hill upon which Trebonius had established his camp and from which the commander was no doubt at that very moment keeping watch on the city and the sea beyond.
Turning back toward the sea, I could see only glimpses of blue through the crowd. Davus, able to peer over the throng, told me he could see from the harbor mouth to the islands offshore and beyond. Away from the wall, the crowd was thin enough for us to thread our way toward the Sacrifice Rock, which loomed up as we approached. The weathered finger of limestone was white with patches of gray and streaks of black running down its smooth hollows and sinuous contours. It rose higher than the wall and extended farther outward, overhanging the sea far below like the jutting prow of a ship. As we approached the rock, the crowd grew thinner, and the section of the wall nearest the rock was completely empty. No doubt the Massilians hung back out of superstitious awe and respect for the rock's sanctity, but there was also a more practical reason; beyond a certain point, the jutting rock obscured the view of the islands outside the harbor and completely blocked the view of the harbor mouth.
Where the wall abutted the rock, the building stones had been expertly cut to fit without a gap, and the looming rock bulged out over the battlements, forming a sort of shallow cave. We had seen the man in the blue cape jump from the rock onto the wall. I found the approximate spot where he must have landed and looked up at the overhanging lip of rock. From rock to wall was a jump of at least ten feet, perhaps more. The man had stumbled when he landed, I recalled, and had limped as he tan toward the bastion tower, favoring his left leg.
It appeared, at first, that we had reached a dead end; short of scaling the overhang, there was no way to get onto the rock and over it and then to the next stretch of wall. But this was not
quite the case. At the left-hand corner where the wall abutted the rock on the city side, the overhang slanted sharply down and receded considerably. Shallow steps, some scarcely more than toeholds, had been crudely chiseled out of the stone. It would require a considerable step, angling out over a sheer drop, to reach the first toehold, and the ones that followed were erratically spaced and appeared to follow a circuitous path, having been cut more in accordance with the peculiar contours of the rock than to match the measure of a man's footsteps. To climb onto or off of the rock using these toeholds would require a considerable amount of agility and strength, not to mention nerve and patience, which was probably why the man in the blue cape had bypassed them to take the shortcut of simply jumping down onto the wall.
Davus looked at me and raised an eyebrow. "Shall I go first, father-in-law? I'll have an easier time stepping up to that first notch. Then I can reach back to give you a hand if you need help."
"If I need help? You're very tactful, Davus. Even at your age, I'd have hesitated to take that first step. Hurry, then, while no one's watching."
I glanced at the crowd over my shoulder, then watched with bated breath while Davus reached up to grasp the stone face with both hands, raised his left foot to gain the toehold, and swung his body up and briefly out over a corner of empty space between the rock and the wall. He paused, testing his balance and calculating his next move, then swung up and back, again over empty space, and raised his right foot to the next toehold. The maneuver brought his center of gravity squarely back over the rock, and I heard him release a sigh of relief an instant before I did.
"Now you," he said. He extended his hand. Had his arm been any shorter, I couldn't have reached it.
His grip was strong. With my other hand I clutched at the rock face and raised my left foot as high as I could. The toehold was just out of reach-until Davus gave me a steady pull and lifted me high enough for my toes to slip over the notch. I propelled myself upward and swung out over empty space, feeling suddenly queasy and out of control.
"Steady," Davus whispered. "Keep your eyes on the rock and don't look down. Do you see the next step?"
"Yes."
"It's not as far as it looks."
"Somehow, I don't find that particularly reassuring."
Davus's grip remained firm. I raised my right foot, searched clumsily for the toehold, then found it. I took another swing over empty space, and for a vertiginous instant I knew beyond any doubt that if Davus were not gripping my hand I would have lost my balance and fallen. I glanced down. It was a sheer drop for most of the way. Eventually a falling body would hit either the wall or the rock and then bounce back and forth between them. I shut my eyes and swallowed hard.
A moment later, I was securely on the Sacrifice Rock, my balance regained. Another easy step upward and I was on the overhanging lip of the rock, on a relatively level surface. Davus released my hand and proceeded on all fours ahead of me. I scrambled after him.
The view from the Sacrifice Rock was uninterrupted in all directions, but the summit was slightly depressed at the middle, like a furrowed tongue, so that if we crouched, we couldn't be seen by the spectators lining the battlements on either side. We remained visible to anyone who might be gazing out from one of the houses behind us. When I turned to have a look at the scapegoat's rooftop, I saw that Hieronymus had risen to hi
s feet and stood at the edge of his terrace, leaning forward with his hands on the balustrade, watching intently.
Peering over the farther edge of the rock, I looked down upon the section of wall that lay beyond. The crowd was even thicker along this stretch of the battlements; but as on the opposite side, even though here the rock presented no visual barrier, people
kept their distance from it. I looked for a way to get down to the wall, but if anything, this side offered even less access than the way we had come; there did not seem to be even crude toeholds for gaining access.
Staying low, I turned toward the sea and crept forward to have a look over the precipice. The rock formed a shelf extending well beyond the line of the wall and then abruptly ended. I lay flat on the rock and poked my head over the edge. Far below, I saw shallow, jagged rocks washed by churning waves that glinted blue-green and gold in the soft morning light.
Davus crept up alongside me and peered over the edge. "What do you think, Davus? Could anyone survive a drop like that?"
"Impossible! Of course, if it weren't for the rocks…"
I looked past him, toward the stretch of wall from which Meto had jumped. There the wall dropped sheer to the sea, with no rocks at the base. If it weren't for the rocks… what then? A man might strike the water and survive? There was no point in pursuing such thoughts, yet I found myself staring at the blue-green depths as if they held a secret that might be yielded up if only I stared long and hard enough.
Davus suddenly nudged me and pointed. "Father-in-law, look!" A Massilian galley appeared at the harbor mouth, rowing out toward the open sea. Its deck was crowded with archers and ballistic artillery. Another ship followed it, and another, all with oars flashing in the sunlight. From the top of each mast, a pale blue pennant snapped in the breeze.
As each ship came into view, cheers erupted from the spectators, beginning at the section of the wall nearest the harbor mouth and then spreading toward us, so that successive waves of cheering poured over us. Spectators waved blankets, twirled parasols, or produced bits of cloth and waved them in the air. From the decks of the outbound ships, the walls of Massilia must have presented a lively spectacle of color and motion.
"I thought the Massilian navy had been destroyed," said Davus.
"Not destroyed, only crippled. Rendered too weak to present a challenge to Caesar's ships lying offshore. No doubt the shipbuilders have been hard at work repairing the galleys that survived the battle and refitting old ships-look, there's a vessel hardly bigger than a fishing boat, but they've installed screens to protect the rowers and mounted a catapult on it."
More ships appeared, all flying pale blue pennants. The first to exit the harbor drew up its oars and set sail, swinging round to port to catch a rising wind that propelled it into the channel between the mainland and the islands offshore. The other ships followed the same course, steering adroitly along the coastline and disappearing from sight behind the low hills on the far side of the harbor.
"Where are they off to?" asked Davus.
"Hieronymus said the relief force is anchored a few miles up the coast, at a place called Taurois. The Massilian ships must mean to join them so that they can take on Caesar's fleet together."
"Speaking of which…" Davus pointed toward the islands offshore. Sailing out from the hidden harbor on the far side, a galley appeared, followed by others. Caesar's fleet was setting sail in pursuit of the Massilians. Why had they waited so long? According to Hieronymus, Pompey's messenger ship had arrived without alerting the blockade. It seemed that the sudden reappearance of a revamped Massilian navy had taken Caesar's fleet by surprise. Now they were scrambling to react.
The last of the Massilian ships cleared the harbor and headed up the coast before the first of Caesar's galleys managed to maneuver past the islands and set sail after them. It was obvious that the Massilian galleys were faster and more skillfully manned. "If it were nothing more than a race, the Massilians would win without a contest," Davus observed.
"They may have better ships and better sailors," I granted, "but what will happen when they turn about and fight?"
A third voice answered: "If only we Massilians had a Cassandra, like the Trojans, to answer such questions!"
Davus and I both gave a start and looked up. Looming over us, his hands on his hips, his face starkly lit by the morning sun, stood Hieronymus.
XV
"What are you doing here?" I asked.
Hieronymus smiled. "I should think I have more of a right to be here than you do, Gordianus."
"But how-?"
"The easy way, up the face of the rock starting at the ground, the same way the soldier and the woman climbed up. I saw you earlier, swinging onto the rock from the wall. You're both lucky you didn't fall and break your necks."
I heard little shouts of surprise and alarm and lifted my head just enough to look over the edges of the rock at the spectators on either side. "People have seen you, Hieronymus. I think they must recognize you by your green clothes. They're staring… pointing… whispering."
"So? Let them. They probably think I've come to throw myself off. They'd like that, I imagine; good luck for the fleet. But I've no intention of jumping. That would be premature. It's up to the priests of Artemis to choose the moment." He strode to the precipice and peered over. Davus and I stayed low but moved aside to make room. "It's been a long time since I was up here," he said. "It does give one a strange feeling."
A sudden, powerful gust of wind buffeted the rock. Hieronymus staggered. Davus and I both let out a gasp and reached to grip his ankles. He swayed but managed to brace himself. The flash of panic in his eyes was followed by a brittle laugh. "Our famous wind! It's starting early today. I wonder how it will affect the battle?"
"Hieronymus, sit down! It's not safe to stand."
"Yes, I think I will sit. But I won't lie flat, as you're doing. I've no reason to hide. Neither do you. You're with me now. You're with the scapegoat, and if the scapegoat chooses to sit cross-legged on his rock to watch the sea with his friends while we wait for news of the battle, who forbids it?"
"Unless my memory fails me, the First Timouchos forbids it, and quite explicitly."
"Apollonides!" Hieronymus snorted and waved his hand in the air, as if the dictates of the First Timouchos signified no more to him than the buzzing of a fly.
The scapegoat's presence on the rock continued to cause a commotion among the spectators along the battlements, but only for a short while. Eventually people grew tired of pointing and whispering. They knew that the Sacrifice Rock was sacred ground and they knew it was off-limits; but I suspect, like most people, they left the finer points of sacred law to the authorities in charge of such things. If the scapegoat himself should appear on the rock, for all they knew he was supposed to be there. They accepted his presence as part of the day's spectacle, as another of the rituals of battle-like the chanting that echoed from the temples-and they turned to watch the sea.
There was, however, nothing to watch. The last of the Massilian ships had vanished, sailing eastward up the coast. So had the last of the Roman fleet, sailing in pursuit. The battle, if there was to be one, would take place elsewhere, presumably off
Taurois, where the Pompeian relief fleet lay anchored. The spectators had nothing to look at but the empty sea, yet no one seemed inclined to abandon a hard-won spot along the wall. Sooner or later, a ship would appear. Would it be Massilian or Roman? The eyes of Massilia watched, dazzled by morning sunlight glinting off the waves, and waited.
From behind us, never ceasing, came the sound of chanting from the temples. It swelled or receded according to the whims of the wind that carried it to our ears. For long spells I took no notice and forgot about the chanting; then I would suddenly hear it again and realize it had never gone away. Chants to Artemis, chants to Ares, chants to a host of other gods competed for the ears of Olympus. Different chants echoed simultaneously through the city. Sometimes they clashed in dissonance. Sometimes, in
rare, evanescent moments, they combined in accidental harmonies of unearthly beauty.
Like everyone else on the wall, we fell to discussing what was happening and what might happen next.
"It's what Apollonides and the Timouchoi have been waiting for, praying for-the arrival of these ships from Pompey," said Hieronymus. "Unless the blockade can be broken, it's only a matter of time until the city falls. Even if Trebonius can't break through the walls, starvation will do his work for him. The famine has started. Do you know, there's even talk of cutting my rations. My rations, the scapegoat's portion! That shows you just how badly things are going." On the wall not far away a child was crying persistently, probably from hunger. Hieronymus sighed. "You saw the fleets sail out, Gordianus. How many Massilian galleys did you count?"
"Eighteen, plus a number of smaller craft."
"And Caesar's galleys, how many of those did you count?"
"Eighteen as well."
"And word has it that the fleet from Pompey numbers eighteen vessels as well. No doubt the priests will find some mystical significance in these multiples of eighteen! But what it means in practical terms is that the combined Massilian and Pompeian ships outnumber those of Caesar two to one. A clear advantage that any gambler would appreciate! Except, of course, that we've already seen what happens when Massilian galleys run up against those of Caesar, even when Caesar's ships were built in a rush and manned by infantry-disaster for Massilia! Granted, Pompey's reinforcements should provide at least an even match… but why did their commander anchor at Taurois? Why didn't he sail straight to Massilia if his intention is to break the blockade? There's something not quite right about this so-called 'relief force. Do you know what I think? I think they're headed for Spain to join with the Pompeian navy there, and this stop in the vicinity of Massilia is no more than a courtesy call, to sniff the wind and see which way it's blowing. Oh, they'll render assistance to Massilia-as long as it's not too much bother. But what sort of fight are they going to put up when they see the kind of warriors they're up against and their own blood begins to color the sea red? Say, what's this?" From his pouch he produced another stuffed date, peered at it distastefully, then flung it into the sea. I heard a little moan from Davus, followed by the sound of his stomach growling.
Last seen in Massilia rsr-8 Page 14
