No reply from Meto came that day.
The next morning I went down to the Regia again. I found the same guard. I asked to see Meto.
"Not here." The man stared straight ahead with a stony countenance.
"Where is he?"
"Couldn't say."
"Did you give him my message yesterday?"
The guard hesitated. "Couldn't say."
"What do you mean, you couldn't-"
"I mean that I shouldn't be talking to you at all. I suggest you go home now."
I felt a cold weight on my chest. Something was wrong. "I want to find my son. If I have to, I'll stand in this line and wait my turn to see Caesar himself."
"I wouldn't suggest it. You won't get in to see him."
"Why not?"
The guard finally looked me in the eye. "Go home. Lock your door. Talk to no one. If the imperator wants to see you, he'll send for you soon enough. I hope for your sake he doesn't."
"What do you mean?" The guard refused to answer and stared stonily ahead. I lowered my voice. "Do you know my son?"
"I thought I did."
"What's become of him? Please tell me."
The guard worked his jaw back and forth. "Gone," he finally said.
"Gone? Where?"
He looked at me. His eyes were almost sympathetic. "Word is, he's run off to Massilia. To join up with Lucius Domitius. You didn't know?"
I lowered my eyes. My face flushed hotly.
"Meto, a traitor. Who'd have thought it?" The guard spoke without rancor. He felt sorry for me.
I did as the guard advised. I went home. I barred the door. I spoke to no one.
Was Meto's flight to Massilia the result of long deliberation, or was it the act of a desperate man, a would-be assassin who feared he might be discovered at any moment? If I had found Numerius's hiding place only moments earlier, while Meto was still with me, would he still have fled to Massilia?
I stirred the ashes in the brazier in my study, and wondered at the joke the gods had played on me.