"Perhaps the queen was the intended victim."

"Perhaps. But how and when was the wine poisoned, and by whom? We know where the poison came from-and that fact casts a ray of suspicion upon you, Gordianus."

"Consul, I didn't even know the vial was missing-"

"So you've already explained. But the possibility remains that you were in collusion with your son-that you provided him with the poison, knowing how he intended to use it. Did you conspire against me?"

I shook my head. "No, Consul."

"Meto claims to know nothing. The queen advises me to torture him. She doesn't understand how strong willed he is. I myself trained Meto to endure interrogation. But if I thought that torture would loosen his tongue-"

"No, Consul! Not that."

"The truth must be discovered."

"Perhaps… perhaps I can do so, Consul. If you'll allow me-"

"Why? Meto means nothing to you. In Massilia, you disowned him. I witnessed that moment with my own eyes and ears."

"Consul, please! Let me help my son."

Caesar gazed at me for a long moment. A shadow seemed to dim the light in his eyes, as if some powerful, dark emotion gripped him, but his face remained devoid of expression. At last he spoke. "Over the years, your son has demonstrated great loyalty to me. I've rewarded his devotion with a degree of trust I've given to very few men. And yet, when that slave girl died today, a part of me was not surprised. The worm of deceit starts small, but grows. I think back, and I perceive that a rift has been growing between myself and Meto for quite some time. The signs have been subtle. He never defies me outright, but on his face I've glimpsed a sour, fleeting look; in his voice I've heard a faint note of discord. If Meto has betrayed me, he shall be punished accordingly."

I bit my lip. "Caesar has a reputation for clemency."

"Yes, Gordianus, I've shown great clemency to those who've fought against me. Even that rat Domitius Ahenobarbus I forgave, only to see him take up arms against me at Massilia and again at Pharsalus. But for a traitor who resorts to lies and poison, there can be no pardon. I tell you this outright, Gordianus, so that if you harbor any notion of pleading for your son's life, you can spare yourself the indignity. Don't bother to rip your tunic and weep, like one of Cicero's guilty clients playing for sympathy in the courts. If Meto did this thing, my judgment will be harsh and irreversible. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Consul. But what if I can prove to you that he's innocent?" Again the shadow dimmed his eyes. "If Meto is innocent, then someone else is guilty."

"So I would assume, Consul."

"In which case, the truth is likely to pose a problem."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"The poisoner must have come from one of three camps-my own, or that of the queen, or that of the king. Whatever the truth, the revelation is likely to cause yet more… complications. Which is why you will report anything you discover directly to me, and to me alone. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Consul."

Caesar strode across the room, stooped, and picked up the alabaster vial. He held it to the light. "What an irony, if the poison intended for Pompey's widow had taken the life of Pompey's rival! Do you think our poisoner has a sense of humor, Gordianus?"

"I shall take that possibility into account, Consul."

I had to stoop to enter through the low doorway. The jailer, one of Caesar's men, shut the door behind me. Meto, sitting on a low cot, sprang to his feet.

He was being held in a small room underground. The walls were dank, and the only light came from a tiny, grated window high above our heads, from which I heard faint, echoing sounds of the harbor-bells, gulls, men calling out, the low murmur of the water.

"Papa! What are you doing here? Caesar can't think that you had anything to do with-"

"I'm not here as a prisoner, Meto. Caesar agreed to let me visit you."

"You looked in your trunk?"

"Yes. The vial wasn't there. I don't know when it was taken. Caesar has it now. He wants to know how it came to be on your person."

"But I never possessed it! The only time I ever saw it was that day in your room, when I told you to get rid of it."

"If only I had!"

Meto shook his head. "This is madness. Why is Caesar holding me here? He can't possibly believe I tried to poison him."

I remembered the darkness in Caesar's eyes. "I'm afraid he does believe it, though it causes him great pain. But if we can prove otherwise-"

Meto was staring at the dank stone wall, not listening. "How the gods must despise me! First, you disowned me, Papa. I thought that nothing could be worse than that. But now Caesar turns against me. All that I've loved and trusted and given my life for has abandoned me. Why did I ever allow myself to expect anything more? I began this life as an orphan and a slave. I shall leave this world in an even lowlier state, branded as a traitor and a criminal, without a father, without a friend, without a name."

"No, Meto! Whatever else may happen, you're still my son."

He looked at me with tears in his eyes. "In Massilia-"

"I repent of the error I made in Massilia! You're my son, Meto. I'm your father. Forgive me."

"Papa!"

I embraced my son. For the first time since Massilia, a place in my heart that had grown numb and cold quickened and sprang to life. I felt an almost palpable relief, as if a jagged stone that had been lodged in my breast was now removed. I had learned to ignore the pain in order to bear it, but now that it was relieved, I realized the grinding, wearing burden of the suffering I had inflicted on myself. I embraced the warm solidity of Meto's body and rejoiced that he was still in the world, alive and whole. But for how much longer? In Egypt, I had lost Bethesda, only to find Meto again; had I now reclaimed Meto only to face losing him forever?

He stepped back. We both took deep breaths and for a moment lowered our eyes, made shy by the emotion of the moment. I cleared my throat.

"I can't stay long. We need to talk, and quickly. And remember, say nothing that can't be safely overheard. These walls appear to be solid stone, but there may be someone watching and listening even now."

"There's nothing I can't say aloud, Papa. I have nothing to hide."

"Even so…" I thought of the sentiments he had expressed to me in my room the day he saw the alabaster vial, his doubts about Caesar and the suffering that followed in Caesar's wake; if another of Caesar's men had overheard that conversation, might Meto's words have been construed as sedition? Now that he stood accused of outright treason, anything he said against Caesar would be scrutinized in the worst possible light, so I dared not question him further in such a vein.

For the first time I allowed myself to consider the possibility that Meto might actually be guilty of making an attempt on Caesar's life. It made no sense, unless his resentment against Caesar went far deeper than anything he had expressed to me. But might it be that the poison had been intended for Cleopatra, so as to remove her influence upon Caesar, and that the attempt had somehow gone terribly wrong? I gazed at Meto's face, trying to read the truth in his eyes. Was my son a poisoner, and a bungler as well? In the corner of my heart that had once renounced him, a seed of doubt was stirring.

"Apollodorus found the vial on your person, Meto. How could such a thing have happened?"

"I have no idea, Papa."

"It will take a better answer than that to satisfy Caesar."

"Caesar should be satisfied that I speak the truth! After all we've been through together, it's absurd that he shouldn't trust me."

"Perhaps. But think, Meto. Did Apollodorus simply hold up the vial and claim he'd found it on you? Or was it actually on your person?"