"For years we searched for it," said Publicius, pressing his colleague aside, clutching at me and pushing his face close to mine. "We hired agents, offered rewards, followed false leads-"

"Those who tried to dupe us and cheat us lived to regret it!" cried Minucius.

"But the eagle had vanished. We despaired-"

"Some of us lost hope-"

"We feared that our enemies had found it after all, and destroyed it." Publicius sucked in a breath and turned his head to gaze up at the silver eagle. "Yet all along, here it was! Here in Massilia, safe and sound in this vault! Hidden underground, in darkness, behind a bronze door. As if the eagle had known where to rendezvous with its next owner."

I looked up at the eagle, then past Publicius and Minucius to Verres, who pursed his lips but said nothing.

"Then Gaius Verres is now your leader?" I asked.

"Not at all!" said Publicius. "Verres is merely the keeper of the standard, holding it in trust for its next, true owner. What better place for it to reside, temporarily at least, than here, forgotten by the world at large and safe from its enemies?"

I nodded. "And who is this next, true owner?"

"But surely that's obvious! Caesar, of course. Caesar will complete what Marius and Catilina began. Caesar will abolish the Senate; he's already driven them into exile. Caesar will remake the Roman state-"

"Remake the world!" cried Minucius.

"That is his destiny. And he'll do it under this standard. When the walls of Massilia fall and the city opens her gates to Caesar, and the imperator himself strides in, resplendent in glory, the eagle shall be here, waiting for him. Do you think it was merely coincidence that Massilia was Caesar's first destination after taking Rome? Oh, no! Rumors had already reached him that the eagle standard of Marius was here in Massilia. He came here to find it. But the Timouchoi sided with Pompey and closed their gates to Caesar. The fools! To obtain what is rightfully his, Caesar was forced to lay siege. But a man like Caesar has recourse to more subtle tools than catapults and siege towers. He also sent your son here-Meto, who once fought beside Catilina-to confound Caesar's enemies and search for the missing eagle standard."

"And now you've come," whispered Minucius. "The father of Meto! You, too, fought beside the Deliverer. When Caesar returns to claim Massilia, you shall be here to witness the moment he takes possession of the eagle standard. Do you see how the gods bring all things to a head? The strands they weave out of our mortal lives are like a pattern visible only from the heavens; we here on earth can only guess at their designs." He shook his head and smiled, bemused by the wonder of it all.

The narrow vault suddenly seemed airless and cramped, and the treasures strewn about the room as tawdry as the masses of crowded statues in the rooms above our heads. The eagle standard itself, briefly invested with magic by the sheer enthusiasm of the acolytes, was merely another object after all, beautiful and precious but made by human hands for an all-too-human purpose, now reduced to one of a thousand items in the inventory of a shamelessly greedy miser.

I shook my head. "What does any of this matter to me? My son is dead."

Publicius and Minucius exchanged a significant glance. Publicius cleared his throat. "But you see, Gordianus, that's where you're wrong. Your son is not dead."

I looked at him dumbly. From the corner of my eye, a flicker of light created the illusion that the silver eagle stirred. "What did you say?"

"Meto is not dead. Oh, yes, everyone thinks he is; everyone but us. We alone know better. Because we've seen him."

"Seen him? Alive? Where? When?"

Minucius shrugged. "More than once, since he supposedly drowned. He appears when we least expect it. Part of his mission is to prepare the way for Caesar, and for that, of course, the silver eagle must be ready-"

"To Hades with the silver eagle!" I shouted. Davus gripped my arm to restrain me. "To Hades with Caesar, where he can join Catilina for all I care! Where is Meto? When can I see him?"

They recoiled as if struck, gazed up at the eagle, and then averted their eyes, as if ashamed to have brought a blasphemer into its presence. "You've suffered much, Gordianus," said Publicius through gritted teeth. "We acknowledge your sacrifice. Still, there can be no excuse for such impiety."

"Impiety? You bring me into this… into such a"-I could not think of a word to describe the house of Gaius Verres-"and you accuse me of impiety! I want to see my son. Where is he?"

"We don't know," said Minucius meekly. "He comes to us at the time and place of his own choosing. Just as Catilina does-"

"What?"

"Oh, yes, we see Catilina quite often here in the streets of Massilia." Minucius shook his head. "You say he's in Hades, but you're wrong. His lemur has never rested, never left the earth

since the battle of Pistoria. As he planned to come here in life, so his lemur journeyed here in death. He sometimes affects the guise of a soothsayer, hiding himself in a cloak and cowl so that no one can see his face or the scar of the wound that separated his head from his shoulders…"

I remembered the soothsayer who appeared out of nowhere at the temple of the xoanon Artemis and rode with us as far as the ruined forest outside Massilia, the one whom the Roman soldiers jokingly called Rabidus. The cowled figure had said to me: Nothing in this place is what it appears to be. Nothing! And later, to the soldiers: I know why the Roman has come here. He's come to look for his son. Tell the Roman to go home. He has no business here. There's nothing he can do to help his son…

The vault was suddenly as cold as a tomb. I shuddered and clenched my teeth to stop them from chattering.

"Meto comes to you, then-" There was a thickness in my throat that made it hard to speak. "Meto comes to you as a lemur. Like Catilina?"

Publicius shrugged. His voice was quiet now, no longer angry. "Who can say? What does it matter? Meto played his role in the story of the eagle standard, as did Catilina before him; as yet may you, Gordianus. Why else did the gods send you here to Massilia?"

"Why, indeed?" I muttered. I felt hollow, as I had felt in my lowest hours at the scapegoat's house, drained of anger, of hope, even of the disdain I felt for these simpering disciples and their strange cult. I looked past them to Verres, who gazed back at me with a sardonic expression, barely able to contain his amusement. I could not even muster the energy to feel disgust for him. I felt nothing.

"Take me away from here, Davus," I whispered. "I need air." We stepped out of the room, but Verres held the lamp, and without it the passage was pitch-black. I was reminded of the flooded tunnel and felt dizzy. We waited while Verres locked the bronze door, then pressed ourselves against the wall while he awkwardly squeezed ahead of us to lead the way out. The forced contact with his corpulent body repulsed me. The smell of his perfume, mixed with his sweat and the smoke from the lamp, was nauseating.

We ascended the stairs, emerged into the house, and proceeded to the garden, then to the foyer, without a word. At the door, the Catilinarians hesitated. If they had more to say, I was in no mood to hear it.

"You needn't escort me back to Hieronymus's house," I said. "Davus and I can find the way."

"Then we shall leave you now," said Minucius.

They each clasped one of my hands and looked into my eyes. "Have strength, Gordianus," said Publicius. "The moment of our deliverance is coming very soon. All questions will be answered." Then the two of them departed.

I swayed, feeling a bit dizzy. Davus held my arm.

Behind me, Verres laughed. "They're both completely mad, of course," he said. "And they're not the only two. There are quite a few of those fanatics here in Massilia, clinging to Catilina and his so-called dream. Can you believe it? Completely mad, every one of them."