Last seen in Massilia rsr-8

by Steven Saylor

  "Down this street to the left, did you say? Thank you." I gestured for Davus to move on. A glint of madness had entered the woman's eyes.

  "There, you see, Davus? I told you it would be a simple thing to find the house of Arausio. Just a matter of asking the locals."

  "Yes. You keep asking, and they keep sending us in circles."

  "It's these winding streets. Very confusing. Do you suppose that's the house with the blue door?"

  "That's not blue, it's green."

  "Do you think so?"

  "And I don't see an alley running alongside it."

  "No, neither do I…"

  Davus sucked in a sharp breath. He was justifiably exasperated, I thought, then I realized it was something more than that. "Maybe we should ask them for directions," he said.

  "Ask whom?"

  "Those two fellows following us."

  I resisted the urge to look behind. "The same two we saw the other day?"

  "I think so. I thought I got a glimpse of them not long after we left the First Timouchos's house. Now I've just seen them again. It can't be coincidence."

  "Unless two other lost strangers are wandering the streets of Massilia in circles, looking for the house of Arausio. But who could have sent them? Who wants us followed? Surely not Apollonides. We slept last night under his roof. If he wanted to confine us, he could have locked us in a room. The fact that we're out on the streets today must mean that he's forgotten us, cares nothing about us."

  "Unless he intentionally allowed us to leave his house and sent these men to see where we'd go," suggested Davus. "Why would he do that?"

  "Maybe he knows what we're up to."

  "But, Davus, even I'm not sure of that."

  "Of course you are. We saw Apollonides's son-in-law murder an innocent young woman, and you're trying to find the proof. Things are going quite badly enough for Apollonides these days without the scandal of a murder to taint his household."

  "You're assuming that Apollonides knows that Zeno killed Rindel-"

  "Perhaps he confronted Zeno. Perhaps Zeno confessed the crime to him!"

  "And you're assuming that Apollonides knows that I have some interest in the matter."

  "You witnessed it. You reported what you saw directly to Apollonides. And if he kept watch on the scapegoat's house, he knows that you had a visit from Arausio. Why else would Rindel's father have come there, except to ask about her murder."

  "If I grant that you're right on all counts, then why doesn't Apollonides simply lock me in a room? Or cut off my head and be done with me?"

  "Because he wants to sec where you go, whom you talk to.

  He wants to find out who else suspects the truth, so that he can deal with them as well." Davus tapped his head. "You know how such a man's mind works. Apollonides may be just a mullet compared to sharks like Pompey and Caesar, but he swims in the same sea. He's no less a politician than they are, and his mind works just like theirs. Always scheming, always putting out fires, trying to guess what happens next and who knows what, thinking up ways to turn it all to his advantage. It makes my head hurt, thinking about men like that."

  I frowned. "You're saying I'm a hound who imagines he's out foraging on his own, but all the time Apollonides has me on a long leash?"

  "Something like that." Davus wrinkled his brow. Too many metaphors had worn him out.

  "Tell me, Davus, do you see our two followers now?" He discreetly glanced over his shoulder. "No."

  "Good. Because this must be the house with the blue door, and that must be the alley that runs alongside it. If we disappear around the corner fast enough, we may give them the slip."

  The house of Arausio was exactly where the young woman had said it would be. We seemed to have eluded our two followers. Davus kept watch as I knocked on the door, but he saw no sign of them.

  Arausio himself answered the door. Meto had once told me that this, was the custom among some of the Gaulish tribes, something to do with ancient laws of hospitality, for the head of the household and not a slave to greet visitors. Arausio looked haggard and pale. It had been only two days since I had seen him in the scapegoat's house, yet even in that short space of time he seemed to have lost some vital spark. The ordeal of the siege and his own personal tragedy had worn him down.

  When he recognized me, his face momentarily lit up. "Gordianus! I wondered if you were still alive! They say there's nothing left of the scapegoat's house but ashes. I thought you might have…"

  "I'm perfectly well. Lucky to be alive, but alive nonetheless."

  "And you've come… with news? About Rindel?"

  "No news; not yet. Only questions."

  The light went out in his eyes. "Come inside, then."

  It was a well-ordered house, clean and neat, with a few costly ornaments to demonstrate its owner's success-a collection of silver bowls ostentatiously displayed in one corner, a few small pieces of Greek statuary placed on pedestals here and there. Arausio's taste was more refined than I would have expected.

  He led us to a room where a woman sat at a loom of some sort; the device was of a Gaulish design I had never seen before, as was the pattern of the garment she was weaving. I realized I knew very little of the Gauls and their ways. Meto had spent years among them, playing his part in Caesar's conquests, learning their various languages and their tribal customs, yet we had seldom talked about such matters. Why had I not been more curious, displayed more interest in his travels? He had always been in a rush, and so had I; there had never been time enough to really talk. Now there never would be.

  The woman seated at the loom stopped what she was doing and looked up at me. I drew in a sharp breath. She was beautiful, with piercing blue eyes, and wore her blond hair as Arausio had described Rindel's hair, braided like ropes of spun gold. Was it possible that the missing Rindel had returned? But no, Arausio had been anxious for news of her, and his mood, if his daughter had come back, would have been entirely different.

  The woman was not Rindel then, but Rindel's mother. From ' looking at Arausio's red cheeks and drooping mustache, I had formed no clear picture of the beautiful daughter who could have tempted a youth like Zeno; but if Rindel took after her mother-indeed, if she was half as beautiful-I could well imagine how Zeno might have fallen for her.

  "This is my wife," Arausio said. "Her name is Rindel, too; we named our daughter for her." He smiled wanly. "It leads to all sorts of confusion, especially as they look so much alike, and my wife looks half her age. Sometimes, when we're out among strangers, people mistake the two of them for sisters. They think I'm an old man showing off his two beautiful daughters-" His voice caught in his throat.

  The woman stood and acknowledged us with a slight nod. Her lips were tightly compressed and her jaw was clenched. Her eyes brimmed with sudden tears. "My husband says that you can help us."

  "Perhaps, if finding the truth is of help."

  "We want to know what's become of Rindel. We need to know."

  "I understand."

  "My husband says that you may have seen her… at the end."

  "We saw a woman on the Sacrifice Rock. Perhaps it was Rindel. When you last saw her, what was she wearing?"

  She nodded. "Arausio told me that you wanted to know this, so I've thought about it and looked through her clothes. I can't be sure, but I think she must have been wearing a simple yellow gown, not her best but fairly new."

  "And a cloak of some sort? With a hood?" She frowned. "I don't think so."

  "The woman we saw wore such a cloak. It was dark, possibly green-"

  "More blue than green," said Davus, interrupting.

  The woman nodded. "Rindel owns such a cloak; I'd call the color a gray-green, myself. But I'm almost certain-wait here." She left the room for a moment, then returned, bearing a cloak over her arms. "Here it is. I found it among her clothes. She couldn't have been wearing it, then, not if you saw her…" She lowered her eyes, then raised them. "If the woman you saw was wearing such a cloak, perhaps it
wasn't Rindel you saw after all!"

  Arausio took her hand and squeezed it, but when she tried to look into his eyes he pulled at his mustache and turned his face away. "Wife, you mustn't raise your hopes. We both know what happened to Rindel. There's no use-"

  "Perhaps this will be more conclusive." I held up the ring with the skystone.

  The two of them gazed at it curiously but made no comment. "Did this belong to your daughter?"

  "I never gave her such a ring," said Arausio.

  "Not all rings given to a beautiful young woman are gifts from her father."

  He frowned at the insinuation. "I never saw her wear it."

  "Neither did I." His wife shook her head. She seemed fascinated by the stone, unable to take her eyes off it. "Why do you show it to us? Where does it come from?"

  "It was found yesterday on the summit of the Sacrifice Rock." Arausio's face went blank for an instant, then became twisted with rage. "He gave it to her! The filthy swine! He thought he could placate her-flatter her, buy her silence-with a ring! She must have thrown it at his feet in disgust. And that's when he-"

  His wife put a fist to her lips and sobbed. Arausio put his arms around her and shuddered, his features torn between fury and grief.

  I was in no hurry to return to Apollonides's house. We walked aimlessly about the city. Davus saw no sign of our followers. "What do you think, Davus? If it wasn't Rindel we saw on the Sacrifice Rock, then perhaps it wasn't Zeno, either."

  "Oh, no, it was Zeno we saw. And Rindel, too."

  "What about the cloak she was wearing?"

  He shrugged. "Maybe Rindel owned more than one such cloak, and her mother is confused. Or perhaps Rindel took her mother's cloak, and her mother simply hasn't noticed yet. It's a tiny detail."

  "And the ring? Is it as Arausio said-Zeno tried to give her the ring as some sort of consolation, and when she refused it, he decided to put an end to her?"

  "Not necessarily." Davus frowned. "I think Zeno must have given her the ring a long time ago, when they first became lovers."

  "But her parents never saw it."

  "She kept it a secret from them. That's what the ring was, a lovers' secret, shared just between her and Zeno."

  "I see. And that's why she made a show of taking it off on the Sacrifice Rock-to spurn him in return?"

  "Unless…" Davus furrowed his brow. "This is what I really think happened. It was Zeno who pulled the ring off her finger, against her will. I think that's why he was chasing her in the first place, to take back the ring."

  "Why would he do that?"

  "Who knows how the mind of such a fellow works? If the ring stood for a promise he'd made to Rindel before he spurned her, then as long as she possessed it, it was a reminder of his own lies and betrayal. Perhaps Rindel threatened to confront Cydimache with it, to flaunt the fact that Zeno really loved her, not his deformed wife."

  "So taking the ring from her not only retrieved the tangible evidence of his pledge, it marked a break with the past." Davus nodded. "Once he'd done that, he found the nerve to push her off the rock and never look back."

  I shook my head. "The man you're describing is a complete monster, Davus."

  "Yes, he is."

  We rounded a corner. I was so lost in thought that I didn't realize where we were, even when the smell of charred wood was suddenly strong in my nostrils. That smell was mixed with the less pleasant odor of ashes doused with seawater, and another smell, which only gradually I recognized as blood; not fresh blood, but blood spilled hours ago. Suddenly, we stood before the ruins of the scapegoat's house.

  The site was littered with broken, charred beams, cracked roofing tiles, pools of black water, and heaps of smoldering ashes. Usually, in the ruins of a great house, one sees remnants of furnishings and decorations-metal lamp stands and marble statues will survive a fire-but in these ruins there were no such artifacts to be seen; before it went up in flames, the scapegoat's house had been picked clean by looters. Instead, poking up from the general debris were remnants of some of the looters themselves. Scattered amid the ruins were poles driven into the mud, and mounted on the sharpened, bloodstained poles were severed heads. I heard Davus murmur quietly and saw that he was moving his lips, counting.

  "Eighteen," he whispered. There were as many woman as men among them; some looked hardly older than children.

  The looters must have been beheaded on the spot, for at our feet were great pools of blood. Where it lay thin on the paving stones, the blood had dried to purple, almost black. Where it lay thickest, it appeared still moist and dark red. Elsewhere it had mingled with pools of sooty water, staining them deep crimson. Eighteen bodies contain a veritable lake of blood.

  I turned my face away. I was ready to return to the house of Apollonides.

  Suddenly, there was a sound like a thundercrack, followed by a loud rumbling noise. The earth shook. People in the street stopped in their tracks and fell silent.

  The noise was not thunder; the sky above was blue and cloudless.

  "Earthquake?" whispered Davus.

  I shook my head. I turned to look in the direction of the city's main gate and pointed to a great white plume that rose into the air, billowing and growing higher as we watched.

  "Smoke? From a fire?" said Davus.

  "Not smoke. Dust. A great cloud of dust. From the rubble."

  "Rubble? What's happened?"

  "Let's go and see," I said; but with a thrill of intuition that made my heart pound in my chest, I knew exactly what had occurred.

  XX

  "Apollonides thought he was being so clever to dig that inner moat and fill it with water. He anticipated that Trebonius would attempt to tunnel beneath the section of wall nearest the city gate, and the moat was his solution. It worked, as you and I know all too well. When the sappers broke through, the tunnel was flooded and the men sent to take the gate were horribly drowned."

  Davus and I had found a spot a little away from the crowd of spectators who thronged the main market square of Massilia. We were only a few steps from the very spot where we had pulled ourselves out of the water, where I had been abused by the old man Calamitos, and where Hieronymus had come to our rescue. That all seemed very long ago.

  The day had begun to wane. The sun was lowering in the cloudless sky, casting long shadows.

  Some of the spectators wailed and tore their hair. Some hung their heads and wept. Some stood in stony silence. Some simply stared at this latest, most terrible catastrophe to overtake their city, their eyes wide and their jaws open in disbelief.

  A cordon of soldiers kept the crowd away from the frantically working engineers. A path was kept clear for the troops of archers and the teams of laborers who kept arriving from all parts of the city. By the hundreds they converged at this spot. The laborers were dispatched to take orders from the engineers. The archers were sent to the nearest bastion towers, where they scurried up the stairwells to take up posts at the already crowded battlements.

  Nothing remained of the moat but a great morass of mud and muck, in which the engineers and their workers stamped about, shouting orders and forming lines to pass broken timbers and bits of rubble toward the gaping breach in the wall.

  The breach was narrowest at the top, widest at the bottom. Where the battlement platform had fallen in, a man with long legs might, with luck, be able to jump across. Immediately below that point, the breach widened dramatically and continued to widen until it reached the base of the wall. The pile of debris formed by the collapsing blocks of limestone was considerable, but much too small to contain all the stones that had fallen.

  One did not have to be Vitruvius to see what had happened. Over time, the flooded tunnel beneath the wall had created a sinkhole. In a single moment, the sinkhole had given way and had swallowed up the foundation, causing a considerable section of the wall above to collapse. The gaping sinkhole had swallowed much of the resulting debris, so that only a pile of rubble, hardly taller than a man, remained to be seen.


  A breach-any breach, no matter how small-in the walls of a city under siege is a disaster. Once a breach is made, it can always be widened. When it becomes wide enough, it can no longer be defended. If the besieger's forces are numerous enough-and those of Trebonius seemed to me more than sufficient-a besieged city with a breached wall must ultimately capitulate.

  The great irony was that this breach had not been caused by the besiegers. Trebonius had dug the tunnel, to be sure, but the tunnel itself was much too small to undermine the wall; nor was that its purpose. It was Apollonides who had caused the wall to collapse by flooding the tunnel beneath the foundation. Even so, if after the flooding he had drained the moat and filled the mouth of the tunnel with debris, the sinkhole might have been prevented. But Apollonides had left the moat in place, and in fact had refilled it day by day as the water level continually dropped. He and his engineers had created the sinkhole themselves, and the collapsed foundation was the result.

  Apollonides's response was to fill in as much of the breach as he could, as quickly as possible. While the engineers and their workers gathered the scattered debris, archers on the wall stood ready to protect them should Trebonius mount an assault. So far, no assault had materialized, possibly because Apollonides had flown a white flag from the battlements above the breach, a signal that he was willing to parley.

  Davus tugged at my elbow and pointed. Two figures had emerged from the mass of soldiers gathered around the breach and were walking toward us. It was the First Timouchos himself with his son-in-law following behind. Both were in full battle armor. Both were covered with mud from the waist down, and from the waist up with white, chalky dust. Apollonides apparently wished to view the breach from a greater distance and walked all the way to the cordon of soldiers, only a few feet away from us, before he stopped and turned back to have a look. Zeno followed after him, badgering him.