"Caesar doesn't believe in curses."

"Not even a curse spoken by a dying man with his final breath?"

Meto shook his head. "Curse or no curse, once a man's dead, there's nothing left to fear from him. What was it Pothinus himself said to the king, when he was justifying their plot to murder Pompey? 'Dead men don't bite.' "

I nodded, then stiffened and let out a gasp as I felt a thrill run through me-exactly such a thrill of intuition as I had felt that day when I gazed at Apollodorus's carved piece of driftwood bobbing on the waves. But now, instead of fleeing before I could grasp it, the insight erupted in my consciousness full-blown, inescapable, undeniable.

I turned and banged my fist on the locked door. "Jailer! Come at once!"

Meto rose from the cot. "Papa, you can't leave now. Surely we have more to say-"

"And say it we shall, Meto, at some later date, because this is not our final meeting. Jailer! Let me out! I must be allowed to see Caesar at once!" I found Caesar dressed not as consul, in his toga, but in the military garb of imperator, with his famous red cape billowing slightly in the sea breeze that swept through the high room from the terrace that faced the lighthouse. The room had the tense, hurried atmosphere of a commander's tent on a field of battle; thus I remembered encountering Caesar in his camp outside Brundisium just before he drove Pompey from Italy, surrounded by his coterie of young lieutenants all buzzing with questions and reports and running this way and that.

At the sight of me, Caesar held up his hand to silence the officer who happened to have caught his attention a moment before. "Excuse me, officers, but I require a moment alone with this citizen."

Every man in the room knew who I was-the father of the condemned Meto-and from some I received reproving stares, from others looks of sympathy. As a body they collected themselves, rolling up documents and maps, and withdrew to the antechamber. Even after the doors were shut, I could still hear the low roar of their urgent conversations.

I looked at Caesar. "Is there a crisis, Consul? Or should I say, Imperator?"

"A crisis of sorts. Achillas has moved certain of his forces forward and withdrawn others to various parts of the city, in apparent preparation for an attack on our position. It may be that news of Pothinus's death has reached him, and this is his reaction; or perhaps an attack was planned all along. At any rate, we must be prepared for the worst."

"Will Achillas attack without a direct order from King Ptolemy?"

"That remains to be seen. Even as you arrived, we were debating various ways to make the king's will known to Achillas without endangering either the king or our own messengers. Achillas murdered a pair of envoys I dispatched to him earlier. The man's no better than a brigand! He reminds me of the pirates who kidnapped me when I was young."

"And we all know what happened to them." The crucifixion of the pirates was a seminal chapter in the legend of Caesar's career.

"Achillas murdered Pompey with his own sword. I should like nothing better than to see him meet the same fate as his accomplice, the late Pothinus."

"Pompey was killed with the king's consent," I said, "if not at his instigation. Will the king be punished, as well?"

"Don't be absurd, Gordianus. Once certain baleful influences are removed, the king will truly be able to come into his own; I have no doubt that he and his sister will be among Rome's strongest allies." Even as he said this, I saw that some other, contrary thought was at work in his mind; but we had strayed from the purpose of my visit. Caesar abruptly became impatient with our conversation.

"You can see that I'm very busy, Gordianus; I've permitted you an audience only because of the urgency of your request, and because of your assurance that this meeting will bear fruit. I've sent for those you asked me to summon; they should be here at any moment. You say you know conclusively what occurred on Antirrhodus, and that Meto is completely innocent. You'd better be able to prove it."

"Those you summoned know the truth, in bits and pieces. If they'll only admit to what they know, then Caesar shall see the truth in full."

The officer who was manning the door hurried to Caesar's side and spoke in his ear.

"The first of those you asked me to summon is here," said Caesar, then to the officer, "Show him in."

A moment later the doors opened to admit a small, wiry fellow. His hair and his beard were not as neatly trimmed as when I had first seen him on Pompey's ship. Captivity-first as the king's prisoner, now as Caesar's-did not agree with Pompey's freedman Philip. He had become haggard and disheveled, and had a fretful look in his eye that made me worry that his mind might have become a bit unbalanced.

When he saw me, he frowned. The look in his eyes became even wilder.

"Do you remember me, Philip?" I said. "We gathered driftwood together to build a funeral pyre for your old master."

"Of course I remember you. I remember everything about that accursed day. If only I could forget!" He lowered his eyes. "I see you've fallen into Caesar's clutches, too."

I recalled that he had assumed I was one of Pompey's veterans, so grief-stricken at seeing the Great One struck down that I had leaped overboard and swum ashore, and for that reason he had trusted me. I saw no need to disabuse him of the notion.

"We are all in Caesar's hands now," I said, looking sidelong at Caesar. "Philip, I desperately need your assistance. As I helped you that day on the beach to give the Great One proper rites, will you now help me in return?"

"What do you need from me?"

I drew a deep breath. On the previous night I had felt certain of the scenario I put forth to Caesar to discount Meto's role in the poisoning, and I had been proven utterly, woefully wrong. What if I were mistaken again? Perhaps intuition and judgment alike had deserted me. I saw the apprehensive expression on Caesar's face, and knew that I suddenly looked as wild-eyed as Philip. I fought back the sudden fear and uncertainty that swept over me.

"Philip, you were there with the Great One at Pharsalus, were you not?"

"Yes." He looked shiftily at Caesar, and I could sense the hatred and revulsion he felt for the man who had destroyed his beloved master.

Caesar interrupted. "I've already questioned this man about everything to do with Pharsalus, and with Pompey's murder, and with all that occurred between."

"Yes, Caesar, but I think there may be a matter that escaped your questioning. What was it you said about your interrogation of Philip, the night we dined together? That he was forthcoming about some things, reticent about others. I think I know one of the things he was reluctant to talk about."

Caesar looked at me sharply, then at Philip. "Go on, Gordianus."

"Philip, when Pompey's forces were defeated at Pharsalus, it came as a great shock to him, did it not?"

"Yes."

"But not a complete surprise, I think. He knew that Caesar was a formidable foe; Caesar had already driven him from Italy and crushed Pompey's allies in Spain. Pompey must have had in his mind some idea that he might eventually face defeat. Yes?"

Philip looked at me warily, but finally nodded.

"At Pharsalus," I said, "the battle began early in the day, with Caesar's javelins attacking Pompey's front line. The struggle was bloody and close-fought, but as the day wore on and the sun reached its zenith, Pompey's men panicked and broke the line. Pompey's infantry were encircled. His cavalry gave way and fled. Caesar's cavalry hunted them down and slaughtered a great many, scattering the rest, while the main body of Caesar's infantry converged on Pompey's camp. The rumor goes that the Great One, confident of victory, had retired at midday to his pavilion to eat a meal-a very sumptuous meal, with silver plates and the very finest wine, worthy of a victory banquet. That was the scene Caesar encountered when he entered the camp and strode into Pompey's pavilion, only to find that the Great One had fled moments before. So goes the tale as I heard it in Rome.