One face was gone from the household, but missed by no one except perhaps Androcles and Mopsus. The bodyguard Cicatrix, posted by Pompey to watch my household, had been ordered by Meto to leave and never return. With his master across the sea and Caesar in charge of Rome, the slave had meekly obeyed, glad to keep his head. No one knew where he had gone.
Eco and his family came to the house that night. After a boisterous dinner, the two of us withdrew to my study and drank watered wine long into the night. I feared he would press me to explain how I had arranged for Davus's release and managed to escape from Pompey myself, but like the rest of the family he seemed to assume I had resorted to simple trickery. For the time being, I continued to keep secret the truth about Numerius's murder, and Meto's treachery.
Eco apprised me of the latest gossip from the Forum. News of Pompey's flight, followed almost at once by Caesar's arrival, had sent alternating tremors of dread and jubilation through the city. The Senate, or what remained of it, had been summoned by Caesar to meet on the Kalends of Aprilis. Exactly what Caesar had demanded and how the senators had responded was the subject of much speculation, but it was obvious that no senator with the stature or the will to stand up to Caesar remained in Rome.
There were persistent rumors that Caesar would appear in the Forum to speak to the citizenry, but so far that had not happened. It might be that he feared a hostile reception, even a riot. Rumblings of discontent had begun when Caesar broke into the sacred treasury in the Temple of Saturn, which was the people's security against foreign invasion. The huge stores of gold and silver ingots had been set aside for use only in case of barbarian invasion, and had remained intact for as long as anyone could remember. The fleeing consuls had debated whether to open it, and had decided to leave it untouched. Caesar had pilfered it like a common thief. His excuse: "The sacred treasury was originally established by our ancestors to be used in case of attack by the Gauls. Having personally eliminated any such threat by conquering Gaul, I now remove the gold." The tribune Metellus attempted to stop the illegal plunder. He barred the sealed doorway with his own body. Caesar told him, "If I must, Metellus, I shall have you killed. Believe me, to threaten such a thing pains me considerably more than would the actual doing of it." Metellus withdrew.
Caesar had stolen the sacred treasury. He had threatened the life of a tribune in the performance of his duties. For all his continuing rhetoric about negotiating with Pompey and restoring the constitution, the message was clear. Caesar was prepared to break any law that restrained him and to kill any man who opposed him.
What of Cicero? On his way to Rome, Caesar had visited him at Formiae. He asked Cicero to return to the city and attend the Senate. Cicero delicately refused, and made a point of going to his hometown of Arpinum instead, to celebrate his son's belated toga day. Caesar was tolerating Cicero's neutrality, for now. Would Pompey be as understanding if he came sweeping back through Italy with fire and sword? Poor Cicero, trapped like Aesop's rabbit between the lion and the fox.
"What of your brother Meto?" I asked. "I understand he paid the family a visit the day after Caesar arrived."
"And that's the only time any of us have seen him," said Eco. "Too busy to leave Caesar's side, I suppose. They'll be off again any day now, if rumors are true. Caesar is leaving Antony in military command of Italy and hurrying off to Spain, to fend with Pompey's legions there."
I shook my head. "I must see Meto before he leaves."
"Of course, Papa. Caesar and his staff are housed in the Regia, in the middle of the Forum. As Pontifex Maximus, that's his official residence. You and I will stroll down there tomorrow. I want to be there to see Meto's face- he'll be as surprised to see you as the rest of us were!"
"No. I want to see Meto alone, in a place where the two of us can speak privately." I pondered the problem, and had an idea. "I'll send him a message tonight. I'll ask him to meet me tomorrow."
"Certainly." Eco reached for a stylus and wax tablet. "Dictate and I'll write it for you."
"No, I'll write it myself."
Eco looked at me curiously, but handed me the stylus and tablet. I wrote:
To Gordianus Meto, from his father:
Beloved son,
I am back in Rome. I am well. No doubt you are curious about my peregrinations, as I am curious about yours. Meet me tomorrow at midday at the Salacious Tavern.
I closed the wooden cover of the tablet, tied the ribbon, and sealed the ribbon with wax. I handed it to Eco.
"Would you see that one of the slaves delivers it? I'm too exhausted to keep my eyes open for another minute."
"Of course, Papa." Eco looked at the sealed letter and frowned, but made no comment.
XXIV
In contrast to the brilliant sunshine outside, the gloom of the Salacious Tavern was nearly impenetrable. The unnatural darkness, lit here and there by the lurid glow of lamps, filled me with a vague unease that mounted quickly and explicably into a kind of panic. I almost fled back to the street, until I realized what I was reminded of: the cold, murky waters beneath the flaming flotsam at Brundisium. I took a deep breath, managed to return the smile of the fawning proprietor, and walked across the room, bumping my knees against hard wooden benches. The place was empty except for a few silent patrons who sat hunched over their cups, drinking alone.
I found my way to the bench built into the corner at the far side of the room. It was where I had sat when I last visited the tavern, to meet with Tiro. According to both the tavernkeeper and Tiro, it was also where Numerius Pompeius liked to sit when negotiating his shady transactions. "His corner, he called it," Tiro had told me.
Did the lemur of Numerius lurk in the shadows of the Salacious Tavern? On my last visit, I had felt a twinge of uneasiness at occupying the place where Numerius had sat and schemed. Now I felt nothing. I suddenly realized that I had not seen his face in my dreams, nor thought much about him at all since the night I confessed to Pompey and leaped from his ship, expecting to die. With the murder of Numerius, my pretensions to moral superiority had died. At Brundisium, my feelings of guilt had likewise died. I was not proud of the fact. Nor did I question it. I was stripped of both self-righteousness and self-recrimination. I was like a man without gods, no longer sure what I felt, or thought, or believed, or where I belonged in the scheme of things.
According to a public sundial not far from the tavern entrance, I had arrived a little early. With the punctuality born of his military training, Meto arrived exactly on time. His eyes were younger than mine and adapted more quickly. He peered into the darkness for only a brief moment before spotting me and crossing the room with a firm stride, not bumping into a single bench.
It was hard to read his face in the dimness, but there was something stiff and uneasy in his manner. Before either of us could speak, our host descended on us. I asked for two cups of his best. Meto protested that he never drank wine so early in the day. I called after the tavernkeeper to bring water as well.
Meto smiled. "This is becoming a habit, Papa- turning up where you're least expected. The last I heard-"
"I was sailing to Dyrrhachium with Pompey himself. Davus says you weren't entirely displeased at the news."
Meto grunted. "Hardly a fair trade if you ask me- you taking the place of Davus. I didn't quite understand the point. Pompey had a kinsman murdered, and forced you under protest to look for the killer, and Davus was taken as a sort of surety?" He shook his head. "Awfully petty behavior for the Great One. Truly, he's lost his wits."