Peering over the farther edge of the rock, I looked down upon the section of wall that lay beyond. The crowd was even thicker along this stretch of the battlements; but as on the opposite side, even though here the rock presented no visual barrier, people

kept their distance from it. I looked for a way to get down to the wall, but if anything, this side offered even less access than the way we had come; there did not seem to be even crude toeholds for gaining access.

Staying low, I turned toward the sea and crept forward to have a look over the precipice. The rock formed a shelf extending well beyond the line of the wall and then abruptly ended. I lay flat on the rock and poked my head over the edge. Far below, I saw shallow, jagged rocks washed by churning waves that glinted blue-green and gold in the soft morning light.

Davus crept up alongside me and peered over the edge. "What do you think, Davus? Could anyone survive a drop like that?"

"Impossible! Of course, if it weren't for the rocks…"

I looked past him, toward the stretch of wall from which Meto had jumped. There the wall dropped sheer to the sea, with no rocks at the base. If it weren't for the rocks… what then? A man might strike the water and survive? There was no point in pursuing such thoughts, yet I found myself staring at the blue-green depths as if they held a secret that might be yielded up if only I stared long and hard enough.

Davus suddenly nudged me and pointed. "Father-in-law, look!" A Massilian galley appeared at the harbor mouth, rowing out toward the open sea. Its deck was crowded with archers and ballistic artillery. Another ship followed it, and another, all with oars flashing in the sunlight. From the top of each mast, a pale blue pennant snapped in the breeze.

As each ship came into view, cheers erupted from the spectators, beginning at the section of the wall nearest the harbor mouth and then spreading toward us, so that successive waves of cheering poured over us. Spectators waved blankets, twirled parasols, or produced bits of cloth and waved them in the air. From the decks of the outbound ships, the walls of Massilia must have presented a lively spectacle of color and motion.

"I thought the Massilian navy had been destroyed," said Davus.

"Not destroyed, only crippled. Rendered too weak to present a challenge to Caesar's ships lying offshore. No doubt the shipbuilders have been hard at work repairing the galleys that survived the battle and refitting old ships-look, there's a vessel hardly bigger than a fishing boat, but they've installed screens to protect the rowers and mounted a catapult on it."

More ships appeared, all flying pale blue pennants. The first to exit the harbor drew up its oars and set sail, swinging round to port to catch a rising wind that propelled it into the channel between the mainland and the islands offshore. The other ships followed the same course, steering adroitly along the coastline and disappearing from sight behind the low hills on the far side of the harbor.

"Where are they off to?" asked Davus.

"Hieronymus said the relief force is anchored a few miles up the coast, at a place called Taurois. The Massilian ships must mean to join them so that they can take on Caesar's fleet together."

"Speaking of which…" Davus pointed toward the islands offshore. Sailing out from the hidden harbor on the far side, a galley appeared, followed by others. Caesar's fleet was setting sail in pursuit of the Massilians. Why had they waited so long? According to Hieronymus, Pompey's messenger ship had arrived without alerting the blockade. It seemed that the sudden reappearance of a revamped Massilian navy had taken Caesar's fleet by surprise. Now they were scrambling to react.

The last of the Massilian ships cleared the harbor and headed up the coast before the first of Caesar's galleys managed to maneuver past the islands and set sail after them. It was obvious that the Massilian galleys were faster and more skillfully manned. "If it were nothing more than a race, the Massilians would win without a contest," Davus observed.

"They may have better ships and better sailors," I granted, "but what will happen when they turn about and fight?"

A third voice answered: "If only we Massilians had a Cassandra, like the Trojans, to answer such questions!"

Davus and I both gave a start and looked up. Looming over us, his hands on his hips, his face starkly lit by the morning sun, stood Hieronymus.

XV

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

Hieronymus smiled. "I should think I have more of a right to be here than you do, Gordianus."

"But how-?"

"The easy way, up the face of the rock starting at the ground, the same way the soldier and the woman climbed up. I saw you earlier, swinging onto the rock from the wall. You're both lucky you didn't fall and break your necks."

I heard little shouts of surprise and alarm and lifted my head just enough to look over the edges of the rock at the spectators on either side. "People have seen you, Hieronymus. I think they must recognize you by your green clothes. They're staring… pointing… whispering."

"So? Let them. They probably think I've come to throw myself off. They'd like that, I imagine; good luck for the fleet. But I've no intention of jumping. That would be premature. It's up to the priests of Artemis to choose the moment." He strode to the precipice and peered over. Davus and I stayed low but moved aside to make room. "It's been a long time since I was up here," he said. "It does give one a strange feeling."

A sudden, powerful gust of wind buffeted the rock. Hieronymus staggered. Davus and I both let out a gasp and reached to grip his ankles. He swayed but managed to brace himself. The flash of panic in his eyes was followed by a brittle laugh. "Our famous wind! It's starting early today. I wonder how it will affect the battle?"

"Hieronymus, sit down! It's not safe to stand."

"Yes, I think I will sit. But I won't lie flat, as you're doing. I've no reason to hide. Neither do you. You're with me now. You're with the scapegoat, and if the scapegoat chooses to sit cross-legged on his rock to watch the sea with his friends while we wait for news of the battle, who forbids it?"

"Unless my memory fails me, the First Timouchos forbids it, and quite explicitly."

"Apollonides!" Hieronymus snorted and waved his hand in the air, as if the dictates of the First Timouchos signified no more to him than the buzzing of a fly.

The scapegoat's presence on the rock continued to cause a commotion among the spectators along the battlements, but only for a short while. Eventually people grew tired of pointing and whispering. They knew that the Sacrifice Rock was sacred ground and they knew it was off-limits; but I suspect, like most people, they left the finer points of sacred law to the authorities in charge of such things. If the scapegoat himself should appear on the rock, for all they knew he was supposed to be there. They accepted his presence as part of the day's spectacle, as another of the rituals of battle-like the chanting that echoed from the temples-and they turned to watch the sea.

There was, however, nothing to watch. The last of the Massilian ships had vanished, sailing eastward up the coast. So had the last of the Roman fleet, sailing in pursuit. The battle, if there was to be one, would take place elsewhere, presumably off

Taurois, where the Pompeian relief fleet lay anchored. The spectators had nothing to look at but the empty sea, yet no one seemed inclined to abandon a hard-won spot along the wall. Sooner or later, a ship would appear. Would it be Massilian or Roman? The eyes of Massilia watched, dazzled by morning sunlight glinting off the waves, and waited.

From behind us, never ceasing, came the sound of chanting from the temples. It swelled or receded according to the whims of the wind that carried it to our ears. For long spells I took no notice and forgot about the chanting; then I would suddenly hear it again and realize it had never gone away. Chants to Artemis, chants to Ares, chants to a host of other gods competed for the ears of Olympus. Different chants echoed simultaneously through the city. Sometimes they clashed in dissonance. Sometimes, in rare, evanescent moments, they combined in accidental harmonies of unearthly beauty.