Last Seen in Massilia (22 page)

In the small room where Zeno was being held, as in the room where Apollonides had interviewed me, a single window looked out on the distant silhouette of the city wall and the dying fires beyond. But this window, unlike the other, had bars across it. Apollonides had accounted for that when he chose this room for Zeno.

If, indeed, I possessed some unique skill at ferreting out the secrets of others, I had little need to call upon it with Zeno. Or perhaps it was as Apollonides suggested, and the baring of secrets was not so much a skill on my part as a compulsion placed upon others by the gods when I was present. However it was, Zeno was not reluctant to talk. It seemed to me that he desperately needed to talk.

“I should have had you killed, I suppose,” was the first thing he said, staring out the window.

I was not quite sure how to answer that.

“I knew that you had witnessed…what happened on the Sacrifice Rock—you and your son-in-law and the scapegoat. I overheard some of the soldiers talking about it, saying they’d been sent to question people in the vicinity of the rock, on account of what the scapegoat and his Roman guests had seen. Later that same night, I passed Apollonides in the front courtyard, and he mentioned it in passing, looked me straight in the eye and told me about some nonsense the scapegoat had reported about seeing an officer in a blue cape and a woman on the Sacrifice Rock. I thought my heart would leap from my mouth. But
he wasn’t testing me. He had no idea. He had too much on his mind. He never suspected.”

“I thought it was Rindel on the rock with you, because Arausio thought so. But it was Cydimache.”

“Yes.”

“The scapegoat thinks she jumped.”

“Does he?”

“Yes. My son-in-law holds a different opinion.”

For a long moment, Zeno made no reply. He stared out the window and was so still that he seemed hardly to breathe. “I should never have fallen in love with Rindel,” he finally said. “I never meant to. I desired her, of course, but that’s not the same thing. It was impossible not to desire her. Any man would. You saw her tonight.”

“Very briefly.”

“But well enough to see how beautiful she is.”

“Very beautiful.”

“Extraordinarily beautiful.”

“Yes,” I admitted.

“But Rindel is a Gaul, and her father is of no account.”

“According to Arausio, he’s wealthier than your own father.”

Zeno wrinkled his nose. “Arausio may have money, but he’ll never be a Timouchos. He’s not the right sort. If I had married Rindel, I’d never have been anything more than a rich Gaul’s son-in-law.”

“Would that have been so terrible?”

He snorted derisively. “You’re an outsider. You can’t understand.”

“I suppose not. But if you fell in love with Rindel despite yourself, I think I can understand that.”

“I had almost reconciled myself to…marrying her. Then I saw…another opportunity.”

“Cydimache?”

“The First Timouchos invited me to a dinner at this accursed house. It was a great honor; or so I thought, until my friends began to tease me. ‘You fool! Don’t you know he’s fishing for a son-in-law?’ they said. ‘You’re not the first prospective suitor he’s invited. All the rest—the monster gobbled up! Mind she doesn’t get her fangs and claws into
you! Or worse, drag you off to her bed!’ They all had a hearty laugh at my expense.

“I dreaded that dinner. Sure enough, my place was next to Cydimache. She wore her veils, of course. I was nervous, at first. Cydimache said little, but when she spoke, she was actually quite witty. After a while I thought: This isn’t so bad. I began to relax. I ate and drank. I looked about the garden. I saw the way they lived. I began to think: Why not?”

“You’re hardly the first young man to marry for position,” I said quietly.

“It’s not as if I despised Cydimache! I came to care for her…a great deal.”

“What about her ugliness? Her deformity?”

“We…dealt with that.” He smiled ruefully. “Do you know the image of
xoanon
Artemis? Every Massilian boy is taught to revere that image, strange as it is. I told Cydimache that she was my very own
xo-anon
Artemis. That pleased her immensely.”

“And what about Rindel?”

He sighed. “As soon as I was betrothed to Cydimache, I made a vow to myself that I would never see Rindel again. No good could come of trying to explain myself to her; better to make a clean break, let her think the worst and forget me. I would have kept that vow, but Rindel wouldn’t let me. As long as I stayed in Apollonides’s house, I was safe from her. But once the siege began, my duties took me all over the city. Rindel sought me out. She stalked me like a huntress.”

“Artemis with her bow,” I murmured.

“In chance moments, when I would find myself alone—there was Rindel, suddenly before me, whispering, beckoning, drawing me into some hidden corner, telling me that she couldn’t forget me, that she still wanted me even if I was another woman’s husband.”

I nodded. “Arausio said she would disappear from his house for long hours. He thought she was taking aimless walks, nursing a broken heart. He thought she was going mad.”

“She was hunting for me. And after a while…our meetings were no longer by chance. We found a place to meet—a lover’s nest. I had
forgotten…how beautiful she was. Like Artemis, you say? No, Aphrodite incarnate! Making love to her—how can I explain? How can I expect you even to begin to understand?”

I sighed. Like all young men, he imagined that ecstasy was his own invention.

“The last time we met…like that…was on the day the Romans brought up the battering-ram. With all the confusion in the city, I was late, but Rindel waited for me. It was like never before. The excitement on the battlements—the sense of dread hanging over us—the constant pounding of the battering-ram against the walls; I can’t explain. We seemed to make love that day with new bodies, new senses. She was unspeakably beautiful. I wanted to lie in her arms forever. And then…”

“Cydimache found you.”

“Yes. She suspected. She’d followed me. She found us.”

“And then?”

“Cydimache became hysterical. To see the two of them in the same room, side by side—Rindel naked and Cydimache in her veils, but knowing what lay beneath—it seemed hardly possible that two creatures so different could both be made of human flesh. I think Cydimache must have seen the look on my face. She let out a cry that turned my blood to ice. She ran from the room.”

“I thought she was lame.”

“I’d never imagined that she could move so fast! Especially considering…” He was about to say something, but caught himself. “I threw on my clothes and my armor—I could hardly be seen out in the streets without it—and I followed after her. I thought she would run here, to her father, but then I saw her far away, heading toward the sea. I ran. I caught up with her near the base of the Sacrifice Rock. You saw…what happened next.”

I nodded slowly. “It was as Hieronymus thought, then: Cydimache meant to throw herself off the rock, and you chased after her, to stop her.”

I waited for him to reply, but he only stared silently out the window. “And afterward,” I said, “Rindel took the place of Cydimache. A masquerade. Madness—”

“But it worked! In all the confusion of that day, it was a simple thing to sneak Rindel into this house. Once we were alone in Cydimache’s room, I dressed her in some of Cydimache’s clothes and veils. I showed her how to stoop, how to shamble. I told her to make her voice gruff and to speak as little as possible.”

“And Apollonides?”

“Ever since the siege began, he’d had no time for Cydimache. She had a husband, she was no longer his responsibility, and he had a war to fight. Last night’s dinner in the garden was the closest that Rindel had ever come to him. She kept quiet. She stayed close to me. Apollonides suspected nothing.”

“And what of Rindel’s parents?”

“Rindel wanted to send them a message, to let them know that she was alive and well, but I told her it was too dangerous.”

“So you let them think she was dead.” If only they had let Arausio know the truth, then he would never have come to me; and I would never have pursued the matter, never have heard of Rindel, never have confronted Zeno with the ring. Their own secrecy had finally been their undoing. “But you couldn’t possibly keep up such a pretense forever. You must have realized that.”

“In a city under siege, you learn to live from day to day. Even so, time was on our side. Once Caesar takes the city, everything will change. Who knows how things will fall out? One thing is certain: Apollonides will no longer be First Timouchos. He may even lose his head. Whatever happens, Massilia will never be independent again. This is the best we can hope for: that Caesar will disband the Timouchoi and put a Roman general in charge of the city. But he’ll need an insider who knows the city, someone loyal to him who can run the bureaucracy, quell sedition—”

“A Massilian lackey. And that would be you?” Just as he had married for position, so, too, was Zeno ready to call Caesar his master.

“Why not? I argued from the beginning that we should open our gates to Caesar, that we never should have resisted him.”

I nodded thoughtfully. “My son Meto—how and when did you come to know him?”

He smiled. “I met Meto when he first came to Massilia, just before the siege began. He was passing himself off as a defector from Caesar’s inner circle. Right away he must have realized that I was sympathetic to Caesar. I made no secret of it; I objected loudly when the Timouchoi voted to side with Pompey. I was rather scornful of Meto, as a matter of fact. I thought he must be even stupider than my father-in-law. Here was a young Roman who’d risen from nothing to become the companion of Caesar himself, and for some reason he’d thrown it all away and chosen to side with the likes of Milo and Domitius and Pompey. What a fool! The joke was on me, of course. Meto was spying for Caesar all along.”

“And he approached you, to turn you into a spy for Caesar as well?”

“Not then; not yet. I had no idea of what he was up to until Milo exposed him as a spy. Domitius’s men chased him over the wall into the sea, and supposedly he drowned. I thought no more about him. The siege went on. And then, the day after the battering-ram attack, the day after…Cydimache’s death…Meto reappeared in Massilia. Or I should say, Massilia saw the reappearance of the ragged soothsayer that had sometimes been Meto’s disguise. He sought me out and took a great risk in revealing himself to me. He wanted me to help him infiltrate this house. In return, he promised Caesar’s favor. I was already in terrible danger, with Cydimache dead and Rindel taking her place. Helping a Roman spy would put me in even greater danger, and yet it seemed as if the gods had sent Meto to me. In the long run, my only hope was to somehow gain Caesar’s favor, and here was the means to do that.

“Once I decided to trust Meto, I told him everything, even about Cydimache and how Rindel had taken her place. It was Meto’s master-stroke to sometimes masquerade as Cydimache himself. If Rindel could do it, so could he. The two of them took turns. As Cydimache, Meto could move freely about the house and could even come and go, as long as I escorted him. Your son is a natural actor, Gordianus. Far more convincing than Rindel; she always overdid Cydimache’s limp. But Meto was uncanny! And he made the most of the masquerade. If the daughter of the First Timouchos should choose to sit outside the
room where the war council met, no one dared to question her. Quite the opposite! Brave soldiers would scurry past her like mice past a cat. They wanted no contact with the veiled monster!”

I shook my head. “A mad risk!”

“But a brilliant one. I’ve never met a more daring man than your son, Gordianus, or a more fearless one.”

“He turned you into a spy, Zeno.”

“A spy, perhaps, but not a traitor. In the end, you’ll see that it was I who always had the best interests of Massilia at heart, not Apollonides.”

“You cast your lot with Caesar. Yet you sailed out to fight against Caesar’s fleet—”

“I had no choice. It was my duty to command that ship. I’m not a coward, and I’ve never betrayed my comrades! I fought as long and hard as any other Massilian that day.”

“Did you? Even knowing that if you never returned, your beloved Rindel would be left to fend for herself in Apollonides’s house?”

“Rindel wasn’t alone; Meto promised to look after her. Had I died that day, Meto would have returned Rindel secretly and safely to her father’s house, and Apollonides would never have known the part she played.”

“I see. And Meto would have been left to perform the role of your bereaved widow full time, conveniently struck mute with grief, no doubt. So much deceit!” I rubbed my eyes wearily. “Meto revealed himself to you, put his trust in you—yet he never showed himself to
me,
never gave me a sign that he was still alive. Outside Massilia, at the shrine of
xoanon
Artemis—it was Meto I met that day, wasn’t it, in his disguise as the soothsayer Rabidus? He deceived me.”

Zeno shrugged. “If Meto thought that revealing himself to you posed too great a risk, I think you should defer to his judgment. He’s kept himself alive this long, against enormous odds. He knows what he’s doing.”

“Does he?” I shook my head. I stirred and made ready to leave.

“Haven’t you forgotten something, Gordianus?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You never asked me what happened on the Sacrifice Rock.”

“I thought you answered that already. You chased Cydimache to the summit. I suppose she pulled off the ring—the skystone ring you gave her on your wedding day—and threw it down. A gesture of renunciation, before killing herself. Is that right?”

“Yes. Almost.”

“What do you mean?”

“She pulled off the ring. She threw it down. I should have remembered to pick it up later, but it all happened so quickly. Then she lurched toward the precipice.”

I frowned. “But there was a bit of a struggle, wasn’t there? We all saw that.”

“Yes. Her cloak and her veils were loose upon her; it was hard to get hold of her. Even so, I did my best to stop her. I managed to grab her—”