The Triumph Of Caesar rsr-12

by Steven Saylor

  I stepped from harsh sunlight into the diffused, warm glow of the tent. I smelled incense and flowers. As my eyes adjusted, the first thing I saw was the ox intended for sacrifice. It was a magnificent white beast, its horns garlanded with flowers and laurel leaves. It was circled by the young camilli holding shallow libation bowls to receive the spilled blood and the severed organs that would be offered to the goddess. Some of the boys and girls were washing the flanks of the ox with woolen cloths that had been dipped in warm, jasmine-scented water, while others were daubing the animal's hooves with cinnabar to stain them red. The ox stood quite still, its heavy-lidded eyes gazing straight ahead, seeming to bask in their attentions.

  As my eyes continued to adjust, I saw others in the tent. Most were priests and lictors, but there were a few senators and other men in togas as well. Arcesilaus was also there, wearing a tunic covered with dust and spotted with paint. The large placard displaying the new calendar had been placed on a stand where it could be worked on, and he appeared to be making last-minute alterations with a set of paints, while another man-not a Roman, to judge by his Egyptian jewelry and pleated linen gown-looked on.

  The artist glanced over his shoulder, saw me, and scowled. "You!" he said.

  His perfunctory salutation canceled any need for pleasantries.

  "Let me guess," I said. "The calendar contains an error, and this fellow is one of Cleopatra's astronomers from Alexandria, advising you on the necessary correction."

  "And with plenty of time to spare!" said Arcesilaus sarcastically. "The fellow never showed up yesterday. Only now am I being told that the extra day in Februarius during a leap year is added six days before the Kalends of Martius, not eight. Ridiculous! So now, after all my painstaking effort, this little presentation will look as slapdash as if I'd turned it out on the spur of the moment. Caesar isn't paying me enough to endure this torment!"

  His voice rose to a yell. He began to quake, vibrating like a plucked string, and raised his fists in the air, the veins in his biceps bulging like the vein in his forehead. The Alexandrian started back in fear, but Arcesilaus's attention was wholly on the placard. He looked as if he intended to beat it with his fists, and it was easy to imagine the delicate thing being totally demolished in a matter of heartbeats.

  He was restrained by a hand on one shoulder.

  "Don't do it, artist!" said Calpurnia. "Don't even think of it!" There was a shrill edge to her voice that made me shiver. Even the hot-blooded Arcesilaus was chilled by it. The vein pulsing across his forehead vanished, like a snake disappearing into the earth. Muttering, he turned back to the placard and resumed his work.

  Before I could speak, Calpurnia gripped my arm and led me to a spot away from the others.

  "My slave gave you the message?"

  "Yes. Porsenna is dead?"

  "Murdered! Stabbed, just like Hieronymus."

  "When and how?"

  "My messenger found Porsenna's body in his house on the Aventine less than an hour ago. Porsenna was to join me before the end of the triumph, so that we could come to the temple together-"

  "You planned to appear with Porsenna in public, where Caesar might see the two of you together? I thought it was your wish that Caesar should never know you were consulting a haruspex."

  "I don't care any longer what Caesar knows or doesn't know. The danger is too great-and this proves it! Yesterday, Porsenna was more certain than ever of the menace to Caesar. He told me that today would be the day of greatest danger, and the place of greatest danger would be here, at the dedication of the temple. And now, Porsenna is dead!"

  "It was your messenger who found his body?"

  "Yes."

  "Call him over. Let me speak to him."

  She summoned the slave.

  "Your mistress sent you to the house of Porsenna on the Aventine. Had you been there before?"

  "Yes," said the man, "many times." He had regained his breath, but his eyes had a haunted look. Clearly, he was recovering from a shock.

  "Did Porsenna live alone?"

  "Yes, except for a single slave."

  "And what did you find when you went there today?"

  "The door was unbarred. That was very strange. When I stepped inside, I found Porsenna's slave lying in the vestibule. His throat was cut. It took all my courage not to run!"

  The messenger ventured a glance at his mistress, wanting her to take note of his bravery, but Calpurnia was not impressed. "Go on!" she snapped.

  "I called for Porsenna, but there was no answer. I made my way to the garden. Porsenna was lying on his back, in a pool of blood. He had been stabbed through the heart."

  "The heart?" I said. "Are you sure?"

  "The wound was here." The slave pointed to his left breast.

  "Was the blood wet or dry?"

  He thought. "Mostly dry, but in places, still wet."

  "Had there been a struggle?"

  "I saw no signs of one."

  I considered. "If the slave allowed the visitor into the vestibule, it may be that the killer was already known in the house. And Porsenna must not have feared the visitor, if he let the man join him in the garden, and then stood facing him, so that he could be stabbed in the chest."

  "Conjecture!" said Calpurnia.

  "Do you prefer conjuring tricks, like those Porsenna gave you? If his powers of prophecy were so great, how did he come to such an unexpected end?"

  Calpurnia fell silent. Desperation mounted in her eyes. "Gordianus, what can we do?" she whispered.

  "Surely Caesar has taken all precautions. I see lictors everywhere-"

  "It's not enough! Porsenna told me yesterday: 'Shields cannot protect him. Blades cannot protect him. Amulets and talismans cannot protect him. No circle of men can stop the one who seeks to harm him. Only I can help you!'

  "Porsenna can't help you now. What do you think I can possibly do?"

  She seized my arm and pulled me to a narrow opening in the tent. She peered out at the milling crowd with nervous, birdlike movements of her head. "Which of them is it? Which of them intends to kill Caesar, Gordianus?"

  "I don't know."

  "Go out among them. Listen to what they're saying. Look them in the eyes."

  I shook my head. "Calpurnia, I've done my best. Not just for you but for Hieronymus. I wish-"

  "They call you 'Finder,' don't they? Or they used to. Because you find the truth."

  I sighed. "Sometimes."

  "Others see but are blind, but when you see the truth, you know it! That's your gift. The truth is there to be found. The guilt is already written on someone's face. Go. Observe. Listen."

  I took a deep breath. "I'll take a walk through the crowd," I said, partly because I was now desperate to escape Calpurnia but also because there was indeed a chance, however slight, that I might see or overhear something of significance.

  "Go!" she said. "But return here before the ceremony begins. If something… goes amiss… I want you beside me."

  I turned to leave. Calpurnia hurried across the tent to Uncle Gnaeus, who had just entered. He put his arms around her, and she hid her face against his shoulder. Uncle Gnaeus held her tightly and gave me a curt nod, as if to dismiss me and send me on my way.

  XX

  I left Rupa standing outside the entrance of the tent, telling him to await my return, then went to mingle among the dignitaries. Wearing my best toga, I did not feel entirely out of place among my betters.

  The front row of benches had been reserved for the priests, camilli, and others taking part in the sacrifice and dedication ceremony, and for the dictator's immediate family. Most of these seats were empty, since their intended occupants were at present inside the tent, which made young Gaius Octavius and his family look all the more conspicuous. Dressed in spotless armor which had never seen the wear of a single battle, Octavius sat with his mother, Atia, on one side of him and his sister, Octavia, on the other. Aulus Hirtius stood over him, fussing with the straps of Octavius's breastplate; somethi
ng about their adjustment was apparently not quite up to regulation. Octavius abruptly lost patience and waved Hirtius back. I almost laughed at the petulant look on his face, but when he glanced at me, there was nothing at all boyish in his malevolent gaze. I hurried on.

  The foremost section of benches were reserved for the highest dignitaries, including senators. I noticed that Cicero had a choice spot on the aisle, with Brutus sitting next to him. Or perhaps the spot was not so choice after all, for beyond Brutus the entire row was filled with Gallic senators. The boisterous newcomers were talking loudly among themselves in a dialect that mixed their native tongue with Latin. It seemed to me that Cicero and Brutus were pointedly trying to ignore their new colleagues, even when the man next to Brutus repeatedly jostled him.

  Cicero saw me and flashed a perfunctory smile, then trained his gaze on a figure behind me. I turned to see the playwright Laberius.

  "Looking for a seat, Laberius?" said Cicero.

  The playwright shrugged. "Not in this row, Senator. It will be something further back for the humble likes of me, I fear."

  "Why, I should have been glad to have you join our ranks were we not already so pressed for room!" Cicero raised his voice and glared sidelong at the rowdy, oversized Gauls, none of whom took any notice of his sarcasm.

  Laberius smiled. "I'm surprised that you of all people should be pressed for room, Senator. You're so good at straddling the aisle." Brutus barked out a laugh before covering his mouth. Cicero's face grew long. This was a barb aimed at his unseemly efforts to please both sides in the civil war.

  Laberius looked pleased with himself, then caught sight of someone in the section reserved for the wealthy. "You must all excuse me while I go pay my respects to Publilius Syrus. Look at him over there, consorting with the millionaires! As if he plans to join their ranks quite soon. Do you suppose the dictator has already promised him the grand prize, before we've even performed the plays? Well, Pig's Paunch shouldn't count his million sesterces yet!"

  Laberius stalked off.

  I was about to say something to the two senators, then realized they were paying me no attention. "What in Hades are they babbling about?" muttered Brutus, speaking to Cicero and referring to the Gauls.

  "Hard as it is to follow their uncouth dialect," said Cicero under his breath, "I think I actually heard one of them say something like, 'He spared the Egyptian princess, and he spared little King Juba-you'd think he might have spared Vercingetorix as well!' But I couldn't tell whether the man was joking or not." He groaned. "Hercules give me strength, the sooner this is over, the sooner I can return to the arms of my dear Publilia."

  Having had enough of Cicero's oblivious self-concern, I moved on.

  In a special section reserved for her retinue, I saw the queen of Egypt, resplendent in a multicolored robe and wearing a nemes headdress with a golden uraeus crown in the form of rearing cobra. For this occasion of state, she sat in a formal pose, holding the emblems of her royal status, the flail and the crook, crossed over her breasts. She was surrounded by many consorts. That the queen should be present, and in such an ostentatious fashion, was perhaps not surprising; Caesar was installing her statue in the temple, and it was scholars from the queen's library at Alexandria who had devised the new calendar, which was to be formally presented that day. With some surprise, I saw the boy Caesarion seated next to his mother, dressed like a Roman child in a simple white tunic with long sleeves. Caesar must have approved the child's appearance at the event. It seemed to me that the contest of wills between Caesar and the queen regarding the boy's status might yet go one way or the other.

  Where was the queen's sister? Arsinoe was still in Rome, presumably, and still a prisoner. Having brushed so close to death, and having survived, what role would she play from this point onward?

  "Gordianus!" I heard my name called from nearby, and turned to see Fulvia waving to me. Caesar had granted her a special seat at the triumph, and also at the dedication, it seemed. She appeared to be in unusually high spirits. Seated next to her, I saw the reason: Marc Antony, looking quite handsome and surprisingly sober in his senatorial toga.

  I greeted the two of them. Fulvia smiled. "You needn't look so surprised, Finder. Antony and I are old friends. Aren't we, Antony? And Cytheris does occasionally let him off his leash."

  "You were missed at the triumphs," I said to Antony, simply to make conversation. "The people expected to see you."

  "That's exactly what I told him!" said Fulvia. "It was foolish, missing the opportunity to show himself off, especially since he earned a place of distinction in every one of those triumphs."

  Antony smirked. "Technically, I didn't serve at all in the Egyptian campaign, or in-"

  "And Gaius Octavius never served in Africa," said Fulvia, "yet Caesar saw fit to shower the boy with honors and show him off, as if Octavius himself put an end to King Juba. You may not have been by Caesar's side at every moment and in every battle, but you were always in his service. It was you who made it possible for him to wage war all over the world, because it was you who kept his name and his authority alive here in Rome-"

  Antony clutched his head. "Please, must I hear all this again? Is it not enough that I'm here, as you wanted?"

  "Caesar sent you a special invitation to attend this ceremony. You could hardly have refused without insulting him. Don't you see? This is his way of initiating a reconciliation with you. You couldn't turn your back on such an opportunity. Nor could you bring her with you, for all Rome to gawk at!" Apparently Cytheris had been left behind at the House of the Beaks-to brood, to pout, to plot her own next move? It looked as if Fulvia might be gaining the upper hand in her campaign to become Antony's wife. Where would her ambitions take them both?

  I looked to see Antony's reaction, but he was distracted by someone nearby. I followed his gaze and saw that he was staring at Cleopatra. His expression was one of curiosity more than anything else. I recalled that he had met her years ago in Egypt, when she was hardly more than a child. Having been estranged from Caesar, he had not gone to visit the queen at Caesar's villa. This was his first look at Cleopatra in many years.

  Fulvia followed his gaze. "The queen of troublemakers, I call that one," she muttered. "She leaves for Egypt soon, and without having achieved either one of her goals here. Her sister still breathes; her son is still a bastard. But I'll wager we haven't seen the last of that one!"

  "I hope not," whispered Antony. Fulvia looked at him askance.

  I left these two and continued to stroll among the crowd, searching every face I passed.

  The sun was still high. The heat of the day sapped my strength. My instinct and reason were equally at a loss. Lurking behind every pair of eyes was a different consciousness with an unknown agenda. Every face might be utterly innocent; every face might be that of a murderer.

  I looked at the rich and powerful, who milled among the benches, but also at the common people in the crowd beyond. They had suffered from the war and its reversals of fortune no less than their betters. How many of these men and women had lost a loved one, fighting for Caesar or against him? How many of them harbored feelings of hatred and resentment against the dictator? How many among that vast crowd, if they could have killed Caesar with a thought, would have done so?

  A priest on the temple steps blew a shrill fanfare on a pipe, signaling that the ceremony was about to begin. People took their seats. The standing crowd pressed closer. I looked among them for Bethesda and Diana and the rest of my family, but saw them nowhere.

  Calpurnia had instructed me to return to her, and so I did. She had moved from the tent and had taken a seat in the front row, not far from Gaius Octavius and his family, but I saw no empty seats around her. A hush was falling on the crowd, so I spoke in a low voice.

  "Calpurnia, if you wish me to stay near you, I suppose I could stand over there, beyond the tent. That is, if the lictors will allow it." I frowned. "Where has Rupa gone? I left him at the entrance to the tent."

&
nbsp; "I dismissed him," she said. "He couldn't stay there. Now hush, and sit here beside me."

  I pointed out the obvious. "Your Uncle Gnaeus is sitting there."

  "Not for long. He's performing the sacrifice, so he'll spend most of the ceremony at the altar."

  "The sacrifice?"

  "The slaughter of the ox. Why not? Uncle Gnaeus is as qualified as any other priest, and it seemed fitting that someone from my side of the family should play a role in the ceremony. This day shouldn't be entirely about Caesar and the Julii and their divine ancestress and-and that queen whose statue he insists on putting in the temple, next to Venus."

  With a haughty flourish, Uncle Gnaeus stood and offered me his seat. I sat between Calpurnia and a man I had never seen before, presumably another of her relatives. Uncle Gnaeus strode toward the altar, pulling the mantle of the robe over his head.

  Beside me, Calpurnia continually fidgeted, grunted, and pulled at her fingers.

  The crowd fell silent. The ceremony commenced.

  The camilli led the ox from the tent. Like the beast, the children were strewn with garlands of flowers and laurel leaves. While the ox lumbered forward, some of the camilli laughed and sang and danced in a circle around it. Others carried trays of smoking incense. They cajoled the creature into ascending a ramp, where the priests used hooks to pull it onto its side on the altar and quickly tied its limbs. The ox began to bleat in alarm. Some of the boys and girls assembled on the temple steps and sang a hymn to Venus while priests played upon pipes. Uncle Gnaeus stepped forward, holding aloft the ceremonial knife.

  The heat of the day, the smoking incense, and the chanting of the children acted on me like a drug. Weariness descended on me. I bowed my head. I closed my eyes…

  I gave a start. I opened my eyes. I looked around me, dazed, and saw a most remarkable thing.

  The stranger sitting next to me had vanished. In his place sat my friend Hieronymus.

  XXI