The cold gruel from the kitchen was actually rather soothing to swallow. I was famished, but Davus was careful to keep me from eating too much, too quickly.
Eventually I had the courage to ask him for the mirror.
I was not horribly disfigured after all. My eyebrows had been singed off, and the effect was not flattering, but there were no serious scars or burns on my face. I had inhaled more seawater and smoke and fiery vapors than was good for a man, I was covered with nicks, burns, blisters, and bruises (especially around my neck, where Pompey had choked me), and there was a nasty, pus-filled wound at my shin, inflicted by the spearpoint I scraped against when I leaped off Pompey's boat. I had been feverish and delirious when Davus found me, but once the fever broke I recuperated swiftly.
Some men in my position might have imagined that they had been saved by divine intervention, spared from oblivion for the sake of a special destiny. I saw myself instead as a minnow too small to be caught in Neptune's net, or a sodden twig thrown onto Hades's brazier that had sputtered but failed to catch fire.
I was anxious to get back to Rome. I was even more anxious to see Meto again. In Caesar's camp, it had been impossible to speak to him candidly. There was much I wanted to tell him and to ask him.
We eschewed Tiro's "shortcut" through the mountains and set out on the Appian Way, following in Caesar's wake. He traveled at a pace that seemed almost impossible, considering the size of his army. Press as I might, I soon realized that we couldn't possibly match his speed, much less catch up with him. I would have to wait until we reached Rome to see Meto again.
At every town along the Appian Way, arriving a few days after Caesar, we found the people in the taverns and markets and stables talking of nothing else. Wherever he appeared, Caesar had been greeted with thanksgiving. Local magistrates pledged loyalty to his cause. If there were those who would have preferred to see Pompey triumphant, they kept their mouths shut.
The weather was mild. At Beneventum my fever recurred and we lost a day of travel, but otherwise we made good time. We returned to Rome through the Capena Gate as the sun set on the Nones, the fifth day of Aprilis.
Diana wept at the sight of Davus. Bethesda wept at the sight of me. Mopsus and Androcles did not weep, but laughed with joy. Meto had been to see the family only once, the day after he arrived in Rome. He had told them that Davus was on his way, but that I had gone off to Dyrrhachium with Pompey. My homecoming was unexpected by all concerned, not least myself, and all the sweeter for that.
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.