A Mist of Prophecies

by Saylor, Steven

  ‘Because Cassandra said so?’

  Sempronia gave me another chilly smile. ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘And if Caesar does triumph, what then?’

  ‘My daughter will need another husband of course. And this time she must choose the right one, a man as shrewd and ruthless as she is, a man who knows how to seize an opportunity, a survivor! A man who can give my grandchildren their rightful place in the new world about to be born.’

  I nodded. ‘Fulvia saw Cassandra a second time, didn’t she?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Because Cassandra could give her a glimpse of the future.’

  ‘Exactly! The witch could see across time as well as space. But it wasn’t Fulvia who brought Cassandra here the second time, I sought her out. Fulvia didn’t want her here. She was afraid to know her future, afraid it would match the misery of her past. But I told her that a woman must use whatever tools she can to make her way in the world. If the witch could give us even a faint glimpse of what lay in store, then we must seize that knowledge and use it!’

  ‘When did you bring her here?’

  ‘A little less than a month ago.’

  ‘And what did Cassandra foresee for Fulvia?’

  ‘Glory! Power! Riches! My daughter shall rise to the first place among all the women of Rome.’

  ‘Even ahead of Calpurnia?’

  ‘Caesar will triumph, but he can’t live forever. He must have a successor.’

  I frowned. ‘You mean to say that Caesar will be a king and pass his crown to another? That was what Cassandra foresaw?’

  ‘Nothing that specific. When her visions came, she didn’t always see them clearly or understand what she saw. She couldn’t even recall them afterward; she could only describe them as they came to her.’

  ‘And when you brought her here the second time, what did she see?’

  A look close to rapture crossed Sempronia’s face. Rather than softening her features, it made them even more severe and intimidating. ‘She saw Fulvia in a stola of purest purple, striped with gold, with a golden diadem on her head. Beside Fulvia, but in her shadow, stood a man – a great brawny beast of a man dressed in battle armour spattered with blood and holding a bloody sword. He, too, wore a diadem on his head. The witch was unable to see his face clearly, but she saw the image on his breastplate and on his shield – the head of a lion.’

  ‘Marc Antony,’ I whispered.

  ‘Who else? It’s their destiny to marry. I could have told Fulvia that myself without the witch’s help.’ The fact that Antony was already married seemed to be of no consequence to her.

  ‘What else did Cassandra see?’

  The look in Sempronia’s eyes made my blood run cold. ‘Like Antony, Fulvia was holding a bloody sword in one hand.’

  ‘And in the other?’

  Sempronia bared her teeth. ‘A head, severed at the neck!’

  ‘As Curio’s head was severed?’ I whispered.

  ‘Yes, but this was the head of another, the head of the man my daughter hates most in all the world.’

  Was she speaking of Milo, who had been exiled for the murder of Clodius, and who at that moment was said to be raising a revolt in the south with Marcus Caelius? Or King Juba, who had laughed when he received Curio’s head? I whispered their names, but Sempronia shook her head and looked at me scornfully.

  ‘The witch described him clearly enough. Not as a portrait painter or a sculptor might, but in symbols. Lips dripping with honey, she said; a tongue like a snake’s, eyes like a ferret’s, a nose with a cleft like a chickpea—’

  ‘Cicero,’ I whispered. His name was taken from the word for chickpea.

  ‘Yes! It was Cicero’s head that Fulvia held aloft!’

  Caesar triumphant but dead, Marc Antony a king and Fulvia his queen, and Cicero beheaded – was that to be the future of Rome? My heart sank. I suddenly realized why Sempronia had confided in me. It was not that I had somehow won her trust. She still suspected me of being Cicero’s lackey, perhaps his spy. In the next moment she made her desire explicit.

  ‘Go, then, Gordianus! Go back to that bitch Terentia’s house and tell her what I’ve just told you. Soon enough, my daughter will put away her mourning garb to put on a bridal stola. Then it shall be Terentia who’ll be dressed in mourning! Long ago, Cicero made himself the enemy of this household. He never missed a chance to slander Clodius while Clodius lived, and he slandered him even more viciously after he was dead. He defamed Curio as well, even as he pretended to be his friend – casting aspersions on Curio’s love for Marc Antony, telling Pompey that Curio had sided with Caesar because he was a craven opportunist – when the truth is that Curio died a hero’s death, loyal to his cause until the very end. But soon enough Cicero shall regret the suffering his words have caused in this house. My daughter shall see to that!’

  Her object achieved, Sempronia called for Thraso and ordered him to show us out.

  As we were walked down the steps, the great bronze door clanged shut behind us. Davus turned to me wide-eyed and asked, ‘Father-in-Law, was Cassandra really a witch?’

  ‘I don’t know, Davus. But if witches truly exist, I think you may have just met one.’

  VII

  The third time I saw Cassandra was again in the Forum. It was the day the consul Isauricus broke Marcus Caelius’ chair of state.

  Only a few days before, word had reached Rome that Marc Antony, departing almost three months after Caesar, had successfully made the same sea crossing and was on his way to join his forces with those of Caesar. It could only be a matter of time until Caesar and Pompey met in a grand confrontation. All Rome was abuzz with speculation.

  Meanwhile, Marcus Caelius had been setting up his rival tribunal close to that of Trebonius for over a month. The riot that had ensued on the first such occasion had not been repeated, since Caelius, instead of orating and inciting the crowd, was quietly going about the business of taking down the names and recording the situations of the citizens who lined up to see him each day. These citizens were mostly debtors who hoped to take advantage of the legislation Caelius had promised to put before the Senate, imposing a six-year moratorium on debt collection. The fact that such a proposal had no chance of being made into law as long as Caesar controlled the Senate – and the fact that Caelius had no legal authority to set up a tribunal, much less record a registry of debtors – did nothing to deter the long line of desperate men who came to see him each day. Times were hard. Those who came to Caelius were clutching at any hope for relief.

  Meanwhile, not far away, Trebonius went about his legitimate business of litigating between the debtors and creditors who lined up to see him each day. Some of the debtors, once they finished their business with Trebonius, went directly to join the queue to see Caelius. In such uncertain times, who could say whether the agreements struck by Trebonius would hold? And what debtor would dare to miss out on the relief that Caelius was promising, however slim the possibility that it might come to pass?

  Since that initial riot, things had been mostly quiet in the Forum, and the other magistrates, including Trebonius, had seen fit to let Caelius go about his fictitious business. I imagine that the official attitude, worked out in private among themselves by Caesar’s minions, went something like this: Caelius was essentially putting on a mime show, a bit of political street theatre; and so long as there was no further violence, the best thing to do was simply to ignore him.

  On this particular day Caelius arrived later than usual, so that by the time he appeared, escorted by a larger than usual retinue and proudly carrying his own chair of state, there was already a large crowd awaiting him, as well as a long queue at the nearby tribunal of Trebonius. I was there in the Forum as well, idly passing the time with Davus and Hieronymus and the usual gang of chin-waggers. Caelius happened to pass very close to me and caught my eye as he did so. He recognized me and nodded. Then he raised an eyebrow and smiled faintly, and I knew that he was about to hatch a new bit of mischief. />
  The portable tribunal was erected. The milling crowd began to form a queue. Caelius mounted the tribunal and, with a flourish, unfolded his chair of state. But instead of sitting, he remained standing and turned to face the crowd. A thrill shot through the assembly, felt by everyone there in the same instant, just as a flash of lightning is perceived by all eyes at once. Farther away, in the queue of men awaiting conference with Trebonius, heads turned to look towards Caelius. Trebonius himself, hearing the sudden murmur of anticipation, looked up from the ledger before him and peered towards Caelius. An expression of mingled exasperation and dread crossed his face. He summoned one of his clerks and whispered in the man’s ear. The clerk nodded and disappeared.

  Caelius proceeded to pace this way and that across the small space of the tribunal, his hands on his hips, his eyes scanning the crowd. But he remained silent. The effect was to unsettle the crowd even more. Those at the back pushed forward. Above the general murmur, a few men scattered through the crowd – planted hirelings, most likely – began to shout. ‘Speak, Marcus Caelius!’ they cried, and, ‘What have you come to tell us, Marcus Caelius?’ and, ‘Silence! Silence! Everyone shut up! Marcus Caelius is about to speak!’

  Caelius continued to pace the tribunal in silence. He lifted a fist to his mouth and furrowed his brow, as if debating whether to speak or not. The crowd pressed in closer. More and more men began to shout, until their cries joined in unison and became a chant: ‘Speak, Caelius, speak! Speak, Caelius, speak! Speak, Caelius, speak!’

  At last Caelius stopped pacing, looked out over the crowd, and raised his hands for silence. Some of the rowdier members of the crowd continued to chant for the sheer pleasure of making noise, but they were quickly silenced by elbows in their ribs and swats to their ears.

  ‘Citizens!’ said Caelius. ‘Not long ago, you heard me speak from this platform about the legislation I have introduced before the Senate demanding a six-year moratorium on the repayment of loans. I regret to tell you that, as of today, the Senate has yet to act upon my proposal.’

  This was greeted by a chorus of catcalls and boos. Caelius raised his hands to quiet the crowd. ‘In the meantime, my esteemed colleague, the magistrate in charge of the city’ – he indicated Trebonius with a sweep of his hand – ‘has continued to make settlements on behalf of the moneylenders and landlords whose interests he so doggedly represents.’

  This prompted a considerable uproar. Previously, Caelius had avoided making such a direct attack against Trebonius. Now his rhetorical claws were bared, and the crowd was ready to see blood drawn. He recommenced pacing back and forth, not as before, as if brooding and indecisive, but with his chin up and a swagger in his step. He looked sidelong in the direction of Trebonius, a smirk on his face and a glimmer in his eyes.

  ‘Indeed, the magistrate in charge of the city has taken every possible action to ensure that my proposed legislation is never even considered by the Senate, much less ratified by that obsequious body of sycophants. Not a man among them appears to have a will of his own. They are all, to a man, the tools of a single intelligence – including the magistrate in charge of the city. He is, after all, a soldier first and a public servant second. I presume he was given his orders before the giver of orders left Rome, and now he mindlessly carries them out with no regard to the suffering and distress that surrounds him. Is he blind? Is he deaf?’

  Caelius looked towards Trebonius, shaded his brow, and peered across the way, as if Trebonius were miles distant rather than a mere stone’s throw away. ‘Well, I’m fairly certain he isn’t blind, because he’s looking this way. To be sure, he squints a bit. Scribbling those enormous sums on behalf of the moneylenders has strained his eyes, I suspect.’ This garnered a huge laugh from a crowd that was eager for any excuse to laugh at Trebonius. Across the way, Trebonius narrowed his eyes even more. The crowd before Caelius’ tribunal roared with laughter.

  ‘He’s not entirely blind, then – but perhaps he’s deaf,’ suggested Caelius. ‘Shall we find out? Help me, citizens! Call out his name with me. Like this: “Trebonius, open your eyes! Trebonius, open your eyes!” ’

  The crowd enthusiastically took up the chant, raising their voices until the words rang through the Forum, creating a noise like thunder as they echoed off the stone walls of temples and shrines. Such a noise would carry all the way to my house atop the Palatine Hill. I imagined Bethesda and Diana going about their business in the kitchen or the garden and wondered what they would make of it: ‘Trebonius, open your eyes! Trebonius, open your eyes! Trebonius, open your eyes!’

  I looked at the object of this refrain and saw him shift nervously in his chair of state, as if the ivory inlays beneath his buttocks had grown hot to the touch. Even though the words themselves were not directly threatening, it must have been unnerving for Trebonius to hear his name cried aloud by so many hostile voices in unison. As Caelius had said, he was more experienced as a military man than a politician, more accustomed to orderly chains of command than to the volatile dynamics of the Roman mob.

  At last Caelius raised his arms. The chanting gradually dwindled to silence.

  ‘Citizens – I think he heard you!’ cried Caelius. The response was a tremendous roar of shouting and applause. I looked about and realized that the crowd had grown considerably larger. The chant had served not just to send a message to Trebonius, but as a clarion call to summon others from all over the Forum and the surrounding hills.

  Caelius raised his hands for silence. The crowd quieted at once. ‘Trebonius, Trebonius, Trebonius!’ he said, rolling his eyes and feigning utter exasperation. ‘In you we find that three goods make a single bad!’ The crowd, always appreciative of a terrible pun, especially at the expense of a man’s name, roared with laughter. Caelius was now pitching his voice to carry as far as possible, and the object of the joke, hearing it clearly, rose red-faced to his feet, clenching his fists at his sides.

  ‘But, citizens,’ Caelius continued, ‘I did not come here today to speak ill of my fellow magistrate. He is merely an obedient soldier following orders. Nor did I come today to rail against the sycophants in the Senate, who are too concerned with pleasing their absent master – and enriching themselves – to give a thought to your suffering. No, I came here today for the purpose of delivering good news! Yes, good news, if you can believe it, because in the midst of the gloom that hangs over us, is a ray of hope. I have been thinking about the six-year moratorium on debt collection that I have proposed to the Senate – and that the Senate so far has willfully ignored – and I have decided it does not go far enough. No, not nearly far enough! The good people of Rome must have even more relief from the crushing burdens imposed upon them, not just by the moneylenders, but by the landlords, those wealthy tenement owners to whom a man must hand over his lifeblood just to keep a roof over his head.

  ‘Today, citizens, I am putting forward a new proposal. Beginning retroactively from the month of Januarius, all landlords will remit a full year’s rent to every tenant! What does this mean? It means that all rents paid since Januarius will be refunded to you, and all rent due for the rest of the year will be forgiven. It means that the renters of Rome shall finally have some money in their pockets – returned to them by rich landlords who won’t miss it! It means that you shall have the security of knowing that you cannot be evicted, that you shall have a roof over your head in the uncertain months ahead.

  ‘The moneylenders and the landlords and their minions’ – he shot a look at Trebonius – ‘will tell you that such a measure will utterly destroy the economy of Rome. Don’t believe them! They’re only looking out for their own narrow interests. A sound economy is based on confidence and mutual trust, and this proposal, as radical as it may sound, is the only possible way to restore the Roman people’s confidence in the future and their bond of trust with the property-owning classes. You, the common citizens of Rome, have endured a great deal due to the upheavals of the last year. You have borne the brunt of the suffering. You have s
uffered enough! We must all make sacrifices – not just the common people of Rome, but also the wealthy who look down from their lofty perches and think only of how to make themselves more wealthy. Let them feel the pinch for a change!’

  This prompted a roar of approval from the crowd. Some resumed the chant of ‘Trebonius, open your eyes!’ The mood seemed more boisterous than angry. Merely by voicing such a radical proposal, no matter how unlikely the chance that it would become a reality, Caelius had given them hope and raised their spirits.

  Suddenly the mood changed. The roar died down. The chanting stopped. There were cries of outrage, hisses, and catcalls from the outskirts of the crowd. I rose on tiptoes, trying to see over the heads that blocked my view. Suddenly I was lifted aloft; Davus had clutched me from behind and raised me up as if I weighed no more than a child. Such are the advantages of having a son-in-law with the strength of an ox.

  I saw a cordon of bodyguards flanking some important personage – one of the chief magistrates, apparently, because the retinue was headed by lictors, the ceremonial escorts of the superior magistrates. Each lictor bore over his shoulder a bundle of birch rods called fasces, which served as a sheath for an ornately decorated axe. The use of lictors and their ceremonial weapons supposedly dated back to the time when Rome was ruled by kings. Normally, within the city bounds, the lictors would have borne their fasces without axes – but these were not normal times, and I clearly saw the flash of highly polished iron axe heads above the bundled rods.

  I also caught a glimpse of the man whom the lictors surrounded and saw that his toga had a broad purple stripe. I counted twelve lictors, and knew that the newcomer could only be Caesar’s fellow consul, Publius Servilius Isauricus. In Caesar’s absence, Isauricus was the sole head of the state. Thus had Caesar observed the ancient tradition of electing two consuls, one to govern Rome while the other conducted military operations in the field, even though everyone knew that it was Caesar alone who determined the policies of the state. Isauricus was nothing more than a figurehead, a caretaker charged with enacting Caesar’s will while Caesar was absent. He and Caesar were very old friends, and it was a sign of Caesar’s complete faith in Isauricus that he had contrived to have him elected to serve alongside him as consul for the year.