"Will you be going back to your own house?"

There was a ripple in his glib composure, like a wind flaw on water. "I'm afraid not."

"A punishment for trespassing on the Sacrifice Rock?"

"Not exactly. Not a punishment. A repercussion, you might say."

"I don't understand."

"I convinced the priests I had every right to climb up on the rock yesterday; I told them I had heard a summons from Artemis to go and watch for the fleet. Well, they could hardly object to that, could they? I think I managed to talk them into forgiving your trespass as well, Gordianus. They might have briefly impressed the mob by making an example of you and Davus-burning you alive, say, or hanging you upside down and flaying you like venison-but I pointed out to them that in the long term, exacting gruesome punishments against our Roman guests might not be such a good idea, considering that it now appears almost inevitable that Massilia, if the city is allowed to continue to exist at all, shall have a Roman master. If not this year, then next; if not Caesar, then Pompey. Perhaps both shall rule Massilia, one after the other. I pointed out to the priests that you were friends of both men, and that friendship these days means more to a Roman than ties of blood."

"In other words, you saved our lives, Hieronymus."

"It seemed the least I could do. I'm supposed to be a savior, aren't I? My death, in some mystical fashion, supposedly will rescue Massilia from her enemies at the last possible moment. It looks increasingly unlikely that the priests of Artemis will be able to pull off that miracle; and even if they do, I won't be around to see the results! But one thing I can do is stand here in this hole of a room and watch my only two friends, alive and reasonably well, as they devour a flatbread for which I have no use-and that gives me a curious pleasure."

"No bread ever tasted better," I said quietly. Hieronymus merely shrugged.

"But you said that you won't be returning to your house. If you've placated the priests, why not?"

"Because it's no longer there."

I blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that the scapegoat's house no longer exists. The mob burned it down."

"What!"

"It happened late last night. I suppose, buried down here, you didn't hear the horns blowing the fire alarm. I certainly heard them, up in my room. They woke me from a deep sleep. I was dreaming about my mother; a happy dream, oddly enough. Then the horns woke me. I left my bed and went to the balcony. I saw a red glow in the direction of my house. Apparently a mob gathered there after dark. They demanded that I be brought out and marched at once to the Sacrifice Rock. Apollonides had posted guards at the door, but only a few. They explained that I wasn't there, but the mob didn't believe them. The mob overwhelmed the guards and broke into the house. When they didn't find me, they ransacked the place and then set it afire." He shook his head. "Committing arson in a city under siege is not only a grievous crime, it's incredibly stupid. If the flames had spread out of control, can you imagine the result? People trapped inside the city walls, only a few ships left in the harbor to offer a means of escape, rioting, looting-a fate as terrible as anything Caesar may have in store for us!

"But the guards who had been overwhelmed summoned reinforcements and sounded the fire horns, and Apollonides's men were able to contain the flames. My house was gutted, but those around it were spared. As a result, I find myself homeless once again-what irony!-and the heads of the twenty or so looters whom Apollonides's men managed to capture are mounted on spikes amid the smoking embers. The headless bodies were dumped into the sea."

The last crust of bread turned to ashes in my mouth. "Hieronymus, this is terrible!"

"Yes. We shall no longer be able to sit on my lovely rooftop terrace, watching the clouds over the sea, drinking Falernian wine, and debating fallacies."

"No, I mean-"

"I know what you mean, Gordianus." He sighed. "Worst of all, I dare not leave this house, not even to step outside. If the mob should recognize my litter or my green robes-well, I've no intention of being thrown off the Sacrifice Rock." He drew back his shoulders. "When the time comes, I expect a full ceremony-incense, chanting, et cetera, as you Latin speakers say. And I shall not be thrown over; I shall jump of my own accord, like that poor girl we saw."

"She was pushed," said Davus, his voice barely audible. Hieronymus ignored him. "So here I am, trapped in the house of Apollonides, the one place in Massilia I least want to be, and the one place where Apollonides least wants me. I suppose the goddess thinks we deserve each other. Perhaps that dour virgin, Artemis, has a sense of humor after all."

He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame, examining our little cubicle with a sardonic expression. "I'm afraid yesterday's developments have landed you and Davus in considerably reduced circumstances. One lamp, two narrow beds, and a single chamber pot between you. There's not even a door or a curtain to give you privacy."

"It could be worse," I said. "There might be a door-with a lock on it. I'm not sure whether we're free to go or not."

"I suspect, considering the tide of events, that Apollonides has forgotten all about you. His plate is full, if you'll pardon a bad pun. You probably won't cross his mind until the next time you cross his path. These accommodations are Spartan, to say the least, but since you've nowhere better to go, I'd suggest you take advantage of his hospitality for as long as you can. Keep quiet when you're in this room. Find out where to empty that chamber pot. Ingratiate yourself with the household slaves-drop a few hints that you're a friend of Caesar's and therefore worth cultivating, though not such a good friend that you ought to be murdered in your sleep-and otherwise come and go as unobtrusively as you can."

I nodded. "The hardest thing will be finding enough to eat. I heard Milo complaining to Domitius last night about a new reduction in rations. Every portion in every household is to be cut back."

"Except for mine. Don't worry about food, Gordianus. As long as I'm about, I won't let you starve."

"Hieronymus, truly, I don't know how to-"

"Then don't, Gordianus. There's no need. And now I have to leave you. There's some tiresome ceremony or other that the priests of Artemis feel obliged to perform this morning here in the house of the First Timouchos; honoring those lost at sea yesterday, I suppose. For some reason I'm expected to make an appearance, looming in the background." He turned to go, then remembered something and reached into the small pouch he carried. "I almost forgot. Here, take these-two boiled hen's eggs, still in the shell. You can eat them for your lunch."

We had solved the problem of food, at least for the moment. But how were Davus and I to leave the house and get back in? Come and go unobtrusively, Hieronymus had advised-but how? We had entered Apollonides's compound the previous night through a heavily guarded gate. I could hardly expect to pass back and forth through a guarded gate without being vetted by the First Timouchos himself or at least showing some sort of documentation.

I took another bit of Hieronymus's advice and sought out the young slave who had escorted us to the banquet the previous night. The boy took it for granted that we were his master's guests and men of some importance, and that we were also, as was clear from my accent, from somewhere else and thus in need of simple guidance. When I asked him the easiest way to come and go, he didn't hesitate to show me the entrance the slaves used, which was a gate in a section of the wall at the back of the compound between the kitchens and the storehouses. This small gate was manned, not by an armed guard, but by an old slave who had had the job all his life. He was a garrulous, simple fellow, easy to talk to if not very easy to understand, on account of his toothlessness. When I asked him to repeat himself, I pretended it was due not to his mumbling but to my own poor Greek.