Felix and Livia exchanged glances. ‘It’s a long story,’ Felix said.
‘Of course it is,’ cried a voice happily. ‘And a thrilling one too, I’m sure. Caesar, I know these young people – and so do you!’
A slight man in a toga was pushing through the crowd of generals and senators.
Felix and Livia stared at him in amazement. ‘It’s Titus Magius!’ Livia said.
There by Caesar’s side stood the poet they had last seen exiled on an island. He was talking into Caesar’s ear and Caesar was looking at Felix and Livia doubtfully. ‘Are you sure it’s them?’ he asked.
The poet wore a broad smile. ‘I’m positive,’ he said. ‘Caesar,’ he announced, ‘this is Felix and Livia.’
‘What are you doing here?’ Felix asked the poet, bewildered. Then, in a whispered aside, ‘I thought Caesar had exiled you because of your poem.’
‘Ah, yes, but then I had one of the fishermen from my island sail to the mainland carrying a new poem I had written. There, it was delivered to a friend who saw that it was brought to Caesar. It was a tribute to his many triumphs.’ He put a hand to his heart, lifted his chin and proclaimed:
‘There was a great general called Caesar
Who won the battle of Alesia.
He won Africa, Pontus—
Even Egypt did want us.
(Cleopatra said our manners did please her.)’
When he was done, Caesar applauded, and the senators and generals quickly joined in. ‘A masterpiece!’ Caesar declared.
‘Bravo!’ the others muttered dutifully.
Titus bowed graciously. ‘Caesar sent a ship for me. And when I got back to Rome I started reading him the new epic I was working on – and he loves it!’
‘You’re writing again?’ said Felix. ‘That’s great.’
Titus moved to stand between Felix and Livia, flung his arms across their shoulders and said: ‘Here they are, sir – the boy and girl on whom my new epic is based.’
Caesar’s eyes lit up. ‘Excellent. It’s one of your best ever, Titus, old fellow. It’s a pity you weren’t able to finish it.’
‘Alas, I didn’t know how their story ended,’ the poet confessed.
Livia stepped forwards. ‘I can tell you how the epic ends.’
But she was pushed aside as slaves marched down the aisle bearing platters of food.
A familiar voice said, ‘Where’s my cake? Caesar promised me cake.’
It couldn’t be! Could it? Felix looked around. ‘Did I hear a chicken?’
‘Yes,’ said Caesar sourly. ‘That incompetent general down there was meant to bring me King Juba’s sceptre and he gave me a sacred chicken instead.’ He moved to the edge of the box and glared down at the general. ‘I haven’t had a moment’s peace since.’
Felix froze. He recalled the conversation he’d overheard that night from the deck of the Tarshish: the general saying, I don’t have any cake – just this grain, and the chicken replying, But I don’t want grain. I want cake.
The general had refused to board the ship in Massilia because the sacred chicken wouldn’t eat the grain – and then the Tarshish had sunk.
Livia tried again. ‘The general may have failed, Caesar, but—’
She was interrupted by a loud squawk.
‘Oh, for goodness sake,’ said Livia, looking down. ‘Not you again.’
She sounded disgruntled, but Felix was delighted. It was the sacred chicken – their sacred chicken – alive and well!
Chapter 20
‘It’s so good to see you!’ Felix exclaimed, dropping to his knees in front of the chicken.
The sacred chicken looked him up and down. ‘Do I know you?’
‘It’s me – Felix! We left the army camp in Belgica together. We stole a chariot. Were held up by bandits.’
The chicken shrugged. ‘If you say so.’ It peered over its shoulder. ‘Where’s my cake?’ it demanded.
‘When we last saw you, you were in Lutetia, with the sacred geese at the temple,’ Felix continued.
‘Oh, them,’ said the chicken. ‘I couldn’t stay there. Do you know what they ate? Mud cakes. Looking for worms. Worms!’ It twitched its beak in distaste. ‘And grass – ugh! No, I decided to carry on to Rome after all.’
‘How did you get here?’ Livia asked.
‘A general came to the temple to give thanks for Caesar’s favour, and I told him I was a sacred chicken and I needed to get to Rome. I might have mentioned that if he didn’t help me he’d be cursed. He wanted to go by sea, but I put a stop to that.’
So it really had been the chicken he’d heard refusing the grain in Massilia, Felix realised. And just as well it had, or General Cluvius may well have sunk with the Tarshish.
‘I was worried about you!’ he told the chicken. ‘I’m sorry we left you behind.’
The chicken was done talking with Felix. It walked up to Caesar and pecked him on the leg.
‘Ow!’ said Caesar, attempting to swat it away.
‘Where’s my cake?’ the chicken demanded.
‘You can’t just order me to give you cake.’ Caesar drew himself up to his full height and glared down his long nose at the chicken. ‘I am Julius Caesar.’
‘And I am a sacred chicken,’ the chicken reminded him in a lofty tone. ‘So if you want your future battles to go well …’
Caesar sagged. ‘Somebody get the chicken a piece of cake,’ he shouted crossly. Then, to himself, ‘I don’t know how much more of this I can take. General Cassius Cluvius deserves worse than being slaughtered by wild beasts for cursing me with this cursed chicken.’
‘It can be demanding,’ Felix sympathised. ‘I should know: I travelled with the sacred chicken from Belgica to Lutetia.’
Caesar gaped at him. ‘You mean this is your sacred chicken? The one from the epic?’
‘It’s not mine, exactly …’ Felix said.
Caesar put a hand on Felix’s shoulder. ‘Your obstacles were even greater than I had imagined.’
‘Well, I did kind of miss the chicken after we’d parted,’ Felix admitted. Then, acting on the suspicion he’d had earlier, he showed Caesar the ring that was still jammed on his thumb. ‘Luckily I had this to remember him by.’
Caesar grabbed his hand. ‘This ring. Where did you get this ring?’
‘In Belgica. It was burped up by the sacred chicken, who found it in the house of a prefect.’ He turned and pointed into the arena. ‘Prefect Flavius Dellius. This is the ring, isn’t it? Vercingetorix’s ring? With the chicken on it?’
Titus broke in to explain: ‘It’s not a chicken, Felix, it’s a rooster. It’s a pun, you see? The Latin gallus stands for Gaul, but it’s also the word for rooster.’
‘That’s my ring!’ said Caesar, sounding excited. He held out his hand. ‘Give—’
His words were drowned out by a squawk.
‘Would you stop interrupting me!’ he thundered at the sacred chicken.
The chicken sniffed. ‘Who’s ruffled your feathers?’
‘I’ve got a good mind to send you down to the arena. Speaking of which—’ he gestured to Felix and Livia ‘—it’s time you two were going. The crowd is getting restless. And the hippos must be hungry …’
‘Not to mention the ostriches,’ a senator piped up.
‘Go back?’ Felix protested. ‘To the arena?’ He was struggling to prise the ring from his thumb.
The poet looked regretful. ‘Really, Caesar, can’t you cancel this part of the program?’
‘Of course not. Rome’s citizens are expecting a good show, and I am but their humble servant.’ Caesar beckoned to the guards. ‘Take these two back to the arena,’ he ordered, pointing at Felix and Livia. ‘And then – release the beasts!’
Felix and Livia looked at each other in horror. They had come so close to being saved …
‘I don’t regret anything, Livia,’ Felix said, clasping her hand.
‘Me either,’ said Livia defiantly. ‘I found my brother and I mad
e a friend. The last three months have been scary and sad and stressful – and the best time of my life.’
‘I would have liked to hear the ending, though,’ Titus piped up.
‘What ending?’ said Caesar, as the guards closed in.
‘The ending of the epic,’ said Titus. ‘Really, it would be best if it were a happy one.’
‘Oh yes,’ Caesar agreed. ‘I like happy endings. Especially when I save the day. Or conquer something.’
‘I can tell you the ending,’ Livia declared. She stepped to the edge of the box and spoke in a voice loud enough to carry to the audience in the stadium. ‘Livia, daughter of an Iberian chieftain, and Felix, son of a brave Roman soldier, have undertaken a perilous journey to bring Caesar treasures that symbolise the great victories we are celebrating here today.’
The hubbub of the restless crowd faded as all eyes turned towards her.
‘When at last they arrived in Rome, the two young heroes presented to Caesar …’ She paused.
Everyone leaned forwards, even Caesar.
‘The ring of Vercingetorix! Caesar, this ring represents your conquest of Gaul.’
She pointed to Felix who, with a mighty wrench, pulled the ring from his thumb and handed it to the great general.
Livia raised her voice again: ‘And the two young heroes presented to Caesar … the sceptre of King Juba!’
She looked meaningfully from Felix to the baby. Felix reached for the sceptre, but the baby began to whimper. Rather than risk annoying Caesar with the baby’s cries, Felix held up the baby clutching the sceptre.
‘This sceptre represents your conquest of Africa,’ Livia intoned.
Felix hurriedly returned the baby to the lap of the senator, who accepted him with some reluctance.
Livia’s voice rang out a third time: ‘And the two young heroes presented to Caesar … the carpet of King Pharnaces II!’
It took all Felix’s strength to pick up the carpet, which was as heavy as if it were completely sodden. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered to it.
Staggering under the weight, he offered the carpet to Caesar, who gestured for him to drop it at his feet.
‘This carpet represents your conquest of Pontus,’ Livia told him loudly.
Then she reached into her satchel.
‘And finally, the two young heroes presented to Caesar … the coins of Cleopatra!’
Bowing her head, she offered Rome’s greatest general the wooden box containing the remaining coins from Alexandria. ‘Um, they’re almost all there,’ she murmured. Then, in her ringing voice: ‘Caesar, these coins represent your conquest of Egypt.’
Caesar opened the box and peered at the coins. ‘These are from Cleopatra? Really? Oh look, I’m on one side and she’s on the other. Isn’t she pretty?’ The great general sounded like a love-struck boy.
The arena was filled with cheers.
‘Great is Caesar!
‘Caesar victorious!
‘Hurrah for Rome!’
Livia held up her hand for silence. ‘In return, Caesar freed Felix and Livia. And he freed the son of the Iberian chieftain, Prefect Flavius Dellius and General Cassius Cluvius.’ She gestured to the prisoners in the arena. ‘That, Caesar, is how the epic ends.’
The cheering in the stadium continued, but those in the box had fallen quiet, all eyes on the great general.
Felix realised he was holding his breath.
Livia appeared calm, but behind her back her fists were clenching and unclenching.
Titus Magius cleared his throat. ‘That would be a wonderful ending indeed. I’d love to write it. And people through the ages will know of Caesar the magnanimous, Caesar the merciful.’
The silence stretched until Felix thought he might faint from the strain.
At last, Caesar nodded.
‘You speak very well for a slave girl,’ he remarked to Livia.
‘Rome may have made me a slave,’ she said with a proud tilt to her chin, ‘but I was born the daughter of an Iberian chieftain.’
Caesar stepped to the edge of the box and faced the crowd.
‘I, Caesar the magnanimous—’
Squawk!
‘Not now,’ Caesar snapped at the sacred chicken. ‘Can’t you see I’m addressing the people of Rome?’
The chicken sniffed. ‘So am I.’
Turning back to the crowd, Caesar tried again: ‘I, Caesar the merciful—’
Squawk!
Without looking down, Caesar aimed a kick at the chicken.
He pointed to the three prisoners in the arena. ‘Release them! And you, son of an annoying Iberian chieftain, are freed from bondage.’
He turned and gestured to Livia. ‘You, too, are freed.’ His eyes fell on Felix. ‘And you – what is your wish?’
‘M-me?’ Felix stammered. ‘Oh, nothing. I’m just happy to be home. Looking forward to my mother’s cooking …’
‘Does she have cake?’ the chicken demanded.
‘Well, she—’
‘That’s it,’ declared Caesar. He sounded happy now. Addressing the crowd once more he said, ‘To this young man I grant the gift of a sacred chicken of Rome.’ Scooping up the chicken, he thrust it at Felix. ‘There. It’s yours. And remind me to give you that dratted carpet before you leave. It’s almost as annoying as the bird.’
‘Er, thanks.’ Felix stood there, clutching the chicken, who was muttering to itself.
‘What am I, a parcel? Hand me here, hand me there. No, I am not a parcel. I am a sacred chicken.’
Titus appeared at Felix’s side, distracting him from the chicken’s complaints. ‘What are your plans now, Felix? Will you go back to the army?’
Felix shuddered. ‘Oh no. No way.’
‘Don’t tremble like that,’ said the chicken. ‘It makes me nauseous.’
The poet smiled. ‘Good, because I have a proposition for you. If it hadn’t been for you, I never would have thought to rhyme Caesar with Alesia. And your recount of your journey from Belgica to my island inspired me to write again. You have the heart of a poet and the soul of a storyteller. Come and work as my apprentice. I shall be your mentor.’
‘I – wow,’ said Felix. ‘I’d love to. Thank you.’
‘We can continue work on the epic of your journey.’ He looked at the sacred chicken in Felix’s arms. ‘You know, I still haven’t found a good rhyme for chicken …’
Felix thought for a moment. ‘Thicken? Sicken?’
Livia joined them. ‘Sicken sounds about right,’ she said, but there was no heat in her words. In fact, she was beaming. ‘Isn’t it wonderful how everything has worked out? I’m sorry you got lumped with the chicken, though.’
‘I’m not,’ said Felix. ‘Think about it, Livia – all this good fortune is thanks to the sacred chicken. The chicken gave me Vercingetorix’s ring, and it was with General Cluvius when he gave King Juba’s sceptre to the captain of the Tarshish. We were remembering the sacred chicken when I saw those thieves take Cleopatra’s coins in Alexandria. And I only stopped at the carpet shop in Tadmor and found the magic carpet because of the golden chicken on the sign. So, you see, we owe the sacred chicken everything.’ He gave the chicken a squeeze.
‘No hugging!’ The chicken struggled in Felix’s embrace.
‘You’re right,’ said Livia. ‘Here, let me give it a hug too.’
‘I said no hugging!’
Felix put the chicken down and it began to straighten its feathers indignantly.
Titus gazed at the chicken absently, whispering to himself. ‘Too much cake and its waist will thicken? No, not evocative enough.’
At the front of the box, Caesar was polishing the Gaulish chieftain’s ring against his toga, one foot on the rolled-up carpet, trying to take the sceptre from the child, while jingling the box of coins. He was clearly very pleased, but something about the scene troubled Felix. He tried to put it into words.
‘All these treasures we gave to Caesar don’t just symbolise the conquest of other countries
– it’s the conquest of other people. When I was in the army I used to dream of being part of a great victory. Now I’m glad I never was. Those battles are all about winning power and wealth, but what do you do with them once you’ve got them?’
‘I know what you mean,’ said Livia. ‘Power and wealth only matter if you’re going to do something good with them. People matter more. Freedom matters more.’ She smiled as she saw her brother enter the box. ‘We’re free! Maybe Marcus and I can even return to our parents’ homeland in Iberia.’ She frowned. ‘Wherever that is.’
‘Oh yes, that’s an excellent plan,’ said Titus, breaking off his muttering. ‘But first, why don’t you and your brother stay with me for a while? Felix and I can research your family history and find out more about your parents and how they came to be in Rome. Why, I’ll bet it’s an epic tale. And if you and your brother return to your homeland, it will have a happy ending!’
Felix agreed it was a good plan, though he didn’t feel quite so pleased about the thought of Livia leaving Rome.
Then Titus turned to him. ‘What do you think, Felix? Perhaps one day you might even travel to Iberia to write the epic of Livia and her brother.’
‘Oh yes!’ said Livia, clapping her hands.
‘Go to Iberia? But he’s only just arrived back in Rome!’ said a voice behind Felix.
He spun around. ‘Mum!’
‘I thought you were in Belgica with General Porcius,’ said his mother.
‘I’m finished with the army,’ Felix told her. ‘I’m going to be a poet.’
‘I hope the rations are better,’ said his mother. ‘Look at you! You’re all skin and bones. The army can’t have been feeding you very well. Now that you’re back in Rome I’m going to have to feed you up. I’ll start by baking a big cake. Lots of big cakes!’
‘Yes please,’ said Felix.
Squawk!
‘Ahem,’ said the chicken.
‘Oh, right,’ said Felix. ‘Er, Mum, is it okay if I bring this sacred chicken?’
For once, the sacred chicken appeared to be satisfied. ‘I like you!’ it said to Felix’s mother approvingly. ‘Let’s go home.’
The Chicken’s Curse
An epic poem by Titus Magius
The Chicken's Curse Page 15