Last Seen in Massilia Read Online Free PDF

The islands beyond the city, behind which Caesar’s ships lay moored, were lumpy gray silhouettes.
    Between the high place where I stood and the nearest stretch of wall lay a valley lost in shadows. Across the gulf of air, that stretch of wall seemed disconcertingly close; I could clearly see two Massilian sentries patrolling the battlements, torchlight causing their helmets to flicker. Behind them reared a dark hill, the crested head of my imagined sea monster.
    Somewhere in the darkness encircled by those moonlit walls my son had died, swallowed up in the belly of that recumbent behemoth. Or else he still lived, pursuing a fate as shadowy as the night.
    I heard footsteps and sensed a presence behind me. A sentry, I thought, come to send me back to my bed; but when I turned I saw that the man wore a sleeping tunic. He was quite short and had a neatly trimmed beard.
    He stepped up to a spot on the crest of the hill not far off, crossed his arms, and studied the view. “Can’t sleep either?” he remarked, not really looking at me.
    “No.”
    “Neither can I. Too excited about tomorrow.”
    “Tomorrow?”
    He turned his head, studied me for a moment, then frowned. “Do I know you?”
    “I’m a visitor from Rome. Arrived earlier tonight.”
    “Ah. I thought you were one of Trebonius’s officers. My mistake.”
    I studied him in return. I smiled. “But I know you .”
    “Do you?” He peered at me. “It’s the darkness. I can’t—”
    “We met at Brundisium a few months ago, in circumstances not dissimilar to this. Caesar was laying siege. Pompey was trapped in the city, desperate to sail away. Caesar was building extraordinary earthworks and breakwaters at the mouth of the harbor, trying to close it off and trap Pompey’s ships inside. You pointed out the structures and explained the strategy to me, Engineer Vitruvius.”
    He clicked his teeth, furrowed his brow, then opened his eyes wide. “Of course! You arrived with Marc Antony, just before all Hades broke loose.” He nodded. “Gordianus, isn’t it? Yes, I remember. And you’re—you’re that fellow Meto’s father.”
    “Yes.”
    There was a silence, uncomfortable on my part. Together we stared at the moonlit view.
    “What do you know about my son?” I finally asked.
    He shrugged. “Never had occasion to meet him. As an engineer, I’ve always dealt with others among Caesar’s officers. Know him by sight, of course. Seen him riding alongside the imperator, taking notes while Caesar dictates. That’s his function, I understand, assisting Caesar with letters and memoirs.”
    “What else do you know about Meto? There must be rumors.”
    He snorted. “I never listen to camp gossip. I’m an engineer and a builder. I believe in what I can see and measure. You can’t build bridges by hearsay.”
    I nodded thoughtfully.
    “Is he in camp, then—your son?” asked Vitruvius. “Come to visit him, have you, all the way from Rome? But then, you traveled all the way from Rome to Brundisium to see him there, didn’t you? The gods must have given you a harder backside for traveling than I’ve got!”
    I kept my face a blank. Vitruvius didn’t know, then. The tale of Meto’s betrayal was confined to those higher up or closer to Caesar’s immediate circle. I took a deep breath. “Trebonius tells me there’s no way into Massilia,” I said, casually dropping the siege commander’s name.
    The engineer raised an eyebrow. “It’s a well-fortified city. The walls extend all the way around, one continuous circuit along the land, along the sea, and also along the sandy beach that fronts the harbor. The walls are made of massive limestone blocks, strengthened at intervals by bastion towers. Extremely well constructed; the blocks appear to beperfectly fitted and stacked, without cement or metal clamps. The lower courses have slits for shooting arrows. The upper battlements have platforms for machine-bows and torsion artillery. This isn’t like laying