Perhaps, I thought grimly, the scapegoat's sacrifice had worked after all, even despite his apparent last-minute change of heart. Massilia had been spared.
As the cheering went on arid grew even louder, a slight commotion nearby indicated that a procession of some sort was making its way through the crowd, toward Caesar. I craned my neck in the direction of the movement and saw, bobbing above the crowd, a golden eagle with red pennants streaming behind. It was the eagle standard of Catilina.
Caesar saw the procession approaching and beckoned to the soldiers to make an opening. The standard entered the clearing, borne aloft, as I knew it would be, by Meto. My son was dressed now in his finest battle armor. He smiled broadly and gazed up at Caesar with unabashed adoration.
Caesar's face remained stern, but his eyes glittered as he looked upon the eagle standard. He glanced down only briefly to acknowledge Meto's worshipful gaze.
The others in the little procession did not enter the clearing but stood at its edge, outside the cordon of soldiers. Among them I saw Gaius Verres, who crossed his arms and tilted his head at a rakish angle, smiling smugly. Beside Verres I saw Publicius and Minucius and a great many other men in togas, whom I took to be their fellow Catilinarians in exile. At the sight of Caesar extending his hand to accept the eagle standard from Meto, they practically swooned. They threw their arms in the air, cried out, dropped to their knees, and wept with joy.
Wanting a better look at Meto, I had gradually drawn closer to the clearing until, like the Catilinarians, I stood just outside the cordon of soldiers. It was not Meto who noticed me-his gaze was for Caesar only-but the imperator himself. When Caesar at last took his eyes from the eagle to survey the cheering crowd, his gaze came to rest on me. We had met only a few times and always briefly, yet he recognized me at once. His lips curved almost into a smile. When he leaned over to hand his helmet to Meto, I saw him speak into Meto's ear.
Meto stepped back. Looking dazed, he peered in my direction. It took him a moment to find me. When he did, he stepped toward the cordon and told the soldiers to let me through. The soldiers looked to Caesar, who discreetly nodded.
I stepped reluctantly into the clearing. Before me, Caesar sat astride his white charger, holding aloft the eagle standard that had once belonged to Marius. What did this moment mean to him? Now Caesar was conqueror of Gaul and Spain; now he had transcended even his mentor, for Marius had never become dictator of Rome. Nearby, the acclamations of the Catilinarians had become even wilder and more ecstatic. Here at the very center of the uproar, the cheering of the crowd was thunderous.
A curious revelation had come to me when I decided to enter
Massilia by tunneclass="underline" with age I seemed to have grown not less impulsive, but more so, not more cautious, but less. Was it because, from accumulated experience, I no longer needed to tortuously think a thing through before I acted? Or had I simply lost all patience with slow reason and fearsome hesitation, and come full circle to act as a child acts-as gods act-from pure, spontaneous willfulness?
I had not planned beforehand to do what I did in that clearing. I had not even imagined such a moment.
Meto stepped toward me. He was holding Caesar's helmet with one hand. With the other he was stroking the red horsehair plume, as one might stroke a cat. He grinned, shook his head, and raised his eyebrows. "It's all a bit overwhelming, isn't it, Papa?"
I simply stared at him, resisting a sudden impulse to knock the helmet from his hand.
"Papa, when all this is over… when I finally come home-"
"Home, Meto? Where is that?" I found myself shouting, simply to be heard. My heart pounded in my chest.
He wrinkled his brow. "Your house in Rome, of course."
"No! My home is not your home, Meto. Not now. Not ever again."
He laughed nervously. "Papa, what in Hades are you-?"
" `When all this is over,' you say. And when will that be, Meto? Never! And why should you want it to be over? You thrive on it! Trickery, lying, betrayals-for you, they're not means to some glorious end. They're an end in themselves."
"Papa, I'm not sure-"
"First you became a soldier, and you thrived on it, killing Gauls for the glory of Caesar. Burning villages, enslaving children, leaving widows to starve-it always sickened me, though I never spoke against it. Now you've found a new calling, spying for Caesar, destroying others by deceit. It sickens me even more." I had raised my voice so much that even Caesar overheard. Atop his charger, he glanced down at the two of us with a puzzled frown. Meto's face was ashen.
"Papa, I don't understand."
"Nor do I. Is this how I raised you? Did I pass nothing of myself on to you?"
"But, Papa, I learned everything from you."
"No! What matters most to me? Uncovering the truth! I do it even when there's no point to it, even when it brings only pain. I do it because I must. But you, Meto? What does truth mean to you? You can't abide it, any more than I can abide deceit! We're complete opposites. No wonder you've found your place at the side of a man like Caesar."
Meto lowered his voice. "Papa, we'll talk about this later."
"There is no later! This is our last conversation, Meto."
"Papa, you're upset because I… I wasn't as forthcoming… as I might have been."
"Don't talk to me like a politician! You deceived me. First, you let me believe that you were part of a plot to kill Caesar-"
"That was regrettable, Papa, but I had no choice-"
"Then you flaunted your disguise as the soothsayer in my face! You let me think that you were dead!"
Meto trembled. "When this is over… when we're able to talk-"
"No! Never again!"
"But, Papa, I'm your son!"
"No, you are not." Speaking the words made me feel cold and hollow inside, but I couldn't stop them from spilling out. "From this moment, you are not my son, Meto. I disown you. Here, before your beloved imperator-excuse me, your dictator-I disown you. I renounce all concern for you. I take back from you my name. If you need a father, let Caesar adopt you!"
Meto looked as if he had been struck in the forehead with a mallet. If I had wished merely to stun him, I had succeeded. But the look on his face gave me no pleasure; I couldn't stand to look at him. Caesar, knowing that something was wrong, called to Meto to come to him, but Meto stood unmoving and unheeding.
The crowd continued to cheer. The cheering had taken on a life of its own; people cheered simply for the sake of cheering, as a means to let out all the pent-up emotions inside them. The sound they made was like a roaring waterfall that showed no signs of running dry.
I pushed my way past the soldiers and through the mass of jubilant Catilinarians. Verres threw back his head, laughing. Publicius and Minucius attempted to seize me and swing me about in a joyful dance, but I pulled free and plunged blindly into the crowd. Davus was nearby; I did not see him but sensed his presence, knew that he was staying close to me but keeping out of my way, wondering, no doubt, what in Hades had just happened. How often had I silently ridiculed Davus for his guilelessness and his simple nature? Yet at that moment, how much more like a son he felt to me than the man I was leaving behind!
XXVI
"Go ahead, say it. You think I made a terrible mistake, don't you?"
Davus frowned but said nothing. We stood side by side at the ship's rail, looking back at Massilia as it dwindled in the distance. Viewed from the sea, the narrow city within its high walls looked cramped and tiny.
Salt spray stung my nostrils. Gulls followed close behind us, flapping their wings and cawing shrilly. Sailors called back and forth as they lifted oars and hoisted sail. As we threaded a course between the rugged headlands and the islands offshore, Massilia disappeared from view.
The ship was one of the three that Domitius had held in reserve for his escape. Driven by the storm, Domitius himself-always the rabbit eluding the trap-had succeeded in slipping past the blockade, but his two companion ships had been turned back. Now they were Caesar's ships. This one Caesar was dispatching back to Rome, loaded with treasure and with lieutenants charged with making preparations for his triumphant return.