“Decius Caecilius,” Caesar said, “you have duties and I will not detain you.”
I know when to take a hint. I took my leave of Callista and Servilia and Caesar and went outside. Caesar’s twenty-four lictors crowded Callista’s little courtyard sipping wine from small, tasteful cups, trying not to ogle the surpassingly beautiful girls who served them. Like Fausta, Fulvia, and Clodia, Callista had only beautiful servants, and all of Callista’s were women or young girls. Whereas with the others it was a matter of sensuality, with Callista it was a matter of pure Greek aesthetics. She would not have ugliness around her. Despite this concentration of pulchritude, there had never been a hint of scandal or unseemly behavior from her household.
I went to a lictor named Flavius, who had been one of my own lictors during my praetorship. “What brings Caesar across the river?” I asked him.
“Now, Senator, you know we are forbidden to discuss our magistrate’s affairs.”
“Not even a bit of gossip?” I wheedled.
“It would mean my hide on the curia door if I talked,” he said, taking a sip. “Not that there’s anything to talk about,” he amended hastily.
I gave it up for a bad job and left. I had a lot to think about.
3
Hermes found me at the tavern beside the old bathhouse just off the Forum, the one favored by senators. The hour was still rather early, but a number of senators were already fortifying themselves for their afternoon baths with some of the tavern’s excellent wine to accompany the specialty of the house, fried squid with a sauce compounded of garum, pepper, and mysterious ingredients known only to the old cook.
Hermes came in and sat and selected a neat, crisp-fried ring from the great heap of them on my plate and dipped it in the bowl of sauce and proceeded to chew ecstatically. The cook insisted that the squid and sauce must be kept separate lest the former become soggy and the flavor of the latter diluted. Any man, however highly placed, who simply poured the sauce over the squid would quickly find himself served sour wine and rancid fish.
“Do make sure you’ve had enough to eat before you render your report,” I said. “As always, your comfort is my highest goal.”
He ignored my sarcasm, as usual. “The praetor peregrinus the last two months of last year was Aulus Sabinus. The first was Publius Hirtus but he was killed at Thapsus.”
“On whose side?”
“Caesar’s.” He took another piece of squid and signaled the server for a cup. “Sabinus was appointed by Caesar personally.”
“One of the advantages of being dictator,” I noted, “is that you don’t have to observe the niceties of formal elections.”
He shrugged. “Rome needs praetors, and who would campaign for a praetorship of just two months?”
“It would have been at least five if Caesar hadn’t dropped his new calendar on us. Anyway, what did you learn?”
“Only that there was never a shade of a chance of anyone bringing suit against any of those astronomers. I talked to Junius, the praetor’s secretary last year. It seems that the astronomers are here as Caesar’s personal guests and he stands in the position of hospes to them. That means that in court—”
“I know what their legal status means,” I said, grabbing myself some squid while there was still any left. “In court, Caesar would be their personal representative. Imagine bringing suit against someone defended by a man who is not only one of Rome’s greatest lawyers but dictator to boot.”
“Your prospects would be pretty weak,” he said, watching as a server filled his cup from the pitcher that stood on the table.
“Was there any court gossip about any difficulties concerning the foreigners?”
He frowned into his cup. “There was one man who wanted to sue one of them, but it wasn’t Demades, it was Polasser of Kish, the fake Babylonian.”
“Oh? What was the man’s grievance?”
“He claimed that Polasser had sold him a fraudulent horoscope, one that encouraged him to invest heavily in grain futures. Last year’s harvest was huge despite the wars and Caesar got the Egyptian crop practically free from Cleopatra and the price of grain plummeted. The man lost a fortune. Sabinus told him who he was up against and said that he got off lightly, and he didn’t want his court time wasted by a gullible fool. The man slunk off like a whipped dog. That was all I could find concerning the astronomers.”
“Did you get the name of the man Polasser duped?” Hermes nodded. “Good. It’s not much, but I may wish to talk with him.”
“So what have you found out?” he asked. At one time this might have seemed presumptuous but I had long since learned that if he was to be of any use to me he had to know everything I did about an investigation we were working on together. I gave him an account of my talk with Callista.
“You didn’t get much more than me,” he said, “except that you got to enjoy Callista’s company and sit in a house that contains some of the most beautiful women in Rome.” He sipped and pondered, a habit he had learned from me. “I just can’t see how the doings of a bunch of boring old philosophers can have anything to do with something serious, like murder.”
“It’s a puzzle,” I admitted.
“It does seem that Caesar turns up everyplace.”
“So he does, but he’s involved in everything that goes on in Rome in a way that no other man is. He wants to be Caesar the Great but he may end up being remembered as Caesar the Ubiquitous. War, the law, religion, the calendar, huge building projects, he’s into everything.”
“Don’t forget women,” Hermes said. “Cleopatra, Servilia, there must be a dozen others. How can one old man be so busy?”
“He’s not that much older than I am,” I grumbled, “but then, I’m not trying to make myself the greatest man in history before I croak. That’s the sort of thing that ages a man.”
“Odd about the two Cinnas,” he said, “and Cassius turned up at the murder scene.”
I shrugged. “They’re all part of Caesar’s circle of close companions: Cinna, Cassius, Brutus, Servilia—it’s not unlikely that where you find one you find them all. Cassius hinted that the horoscope was for Caesar.”
“Why does Caesar make confidants of his enemies like Brutus and Cassius and Cinna when you’ve always been his friend and he treats you like an errand boy?”
“Julia had the same question. Right now, I’d just as soon not be a close friend of Caesar.”
From the tavern, full of squid and our heads buzzing pleasantly with the wine, we went to the bathhouse. It was one of my favorites, though there were finer ones in Rome by that time. I did not pick it idly that day. It was a great favorite with the Senate generally, and I was looking for one senator in particular. He was seldom to be found at home. He spent most of his time prowling for inside information, useful intelligence, and gossip. I had little liking for him, but he was a fount of information on the doings of the highest people, the ranker the better. I was looking for Sallustius Crispus.
As I had expected, he was there, lolling in the hot bath. I undressed and joined him while Hermes went off to take the cold plunge in the frigidarium, an austerity I had never favored, but which gladiator lore insisted was essential for good muscle tone.
“Decius Caecilius!” Sallustius said with a broad, insinuating grin. He always managed to look like he knew all your guiltiest secrets. There was no doubt that he knew some of mine. A few years previously the censor Appius Claudius and his colleague had expelled Sallustius from the Senate for immorality in their general housecleaning. He was accused of a staggering list of transgressions and insisted that he was guilty of no more than half of them. He weaseled his way into Caesar’s good graces and was soon back in the Senate.
“Good day, Sallustius,” I said, settling into the water beside him.
“Aren’t you looking into the death of that Greek?” he said. Naturally he knew about it.
“Among the other duties on my busy schedule. Speaking of which, what has Caesar got you doing?”<
br />
“I am to go to Africa as governor,” he said. “It is perfect, because Catilina was governor there, and I’ll be able to interview the people who knew him then.” He fancied himself a historian and had been working for years on his history of the Catilinarian conspiracy. The thought of Sallustius governing a province was appalling, but he’d probably be no worse than Catilina.
“Congratulations. I’m sure you’ll find your province both interesting and lucrative.”
“So I hope. You rarely seek my company unless you’re looking for information, Decius.”
“What a coincidence. I’ve noticed the same thing about you.”
He grinned again. “Trade?”
“First let’s see if you have anything to trade.” I told him most of what I knew already. There was little sense in trying to withhold information from Sallustius. The fact that I was asking would pique his interest and he would soon weasel out everything anyway. I even mentioned the fool who tried to bring suit against Polasser. He leaned back against the rim of the great pool and gazed at the ceiling. Around us other men, many senators, the rest mostly wealthy equites, relaxed or splashed about, gossiping and making business or political deals. They ignored us.
“I may have something for you,” he said at length. “If you think my information valuable, I would like very much to know more about Caesar’s doings back at the beginning of the war in Gaul, when you were his secretary.”
“Actually, I was a cavalry commander,” I informed him. “I only worked in the praetorium when I was being punished for insubordination and Caesar wanted to protect me from being killed by his other officers.”
“Still, you’ve seen him at one of the most significant stages of his life at a proximity few can boast, and you were writing down his thoughts. You are what I call a valuable source.”
“A new book?”
“I’ve finished my study of the Jugurthine War and I’m almost done with my Catilina. What greater subject can I have for my next book than the life of Rome’s greatest man?”
“Greater than Scipio or Horatius or the first Brutus?” I asked.
“I meant the greatest man of our time, but I suspect that he will be greater than all of them together. Who else has accomplished as much?”
“There are many who dislike what he’s accomplished,” I noted.
“What of that? The resentments of lesser men are of no consequence. Do we remember those who resented Alexander or Philip? What of the enemies of Pericles? Only when peers struggle, as Achilles with Agamemnon, do we care. Otherwise, only greatness is worthy of notice.”
“I suppose that is true; you’re the historian. All right. If you can be of any help to me, I’ll inform you about anything Caesar won’t kill me for telling.”
“Who can ask for more than that? Very well, then. Who would you think are Rome’s most enthusiastic adherents of the cult of astrology?”
I thought about it for a while. “I know of few men who care for it. Most of those I have known who give it much credence are highborn women.”
“Precisely. The wives of senators and great equites are almost uniformly bored and they are barred by custom from most male amusements like gladiator fights and politics. So they relieve their tedium by taking up foreign fads. If they involve religion or mysticism, so much the better. The great mystery cults such as the Eleusinian and the Delphic require foreign travel, but there are plenty of practitioners here in Rome to keep them amused. Astrology in particular has been all the rage in recent years.”
“Has Polasser of Kish or any of Caesar’s other pets been among their idols?”
“Let’s draw back and look at this from a certain distance. We’ll get down to details later.”
I took a deep breath and settled down in the water. Sallustius had a habit of circuitous discourse, but he usually got to the point eventually, and when he did you realized that none of what had gone before was extraneous. He could be an infuriating person, but he had an incisive mind and a fine way of organizing information.
“This fad for astrology has been active in Rome for some time. There have been many practitioners hustling among our bored ladies. What is required to unite these women into something resembling a cult is a really highborn woman who is a part of their circle and has a wonderful knowledge of the subject.”
I ran the list through my mind and came up with nothing. Sallustius was watching me, smirking knowingly and then I realized I was wrong in considering only Roman women. “Cleopatra!”
His eyebrows went up. “You are quick, I confess it. Yes, despite their resentments of her foreignness and her seductive wiles, Rome’s women are fascinated with the Queen of Egypt. The common rabble think she is a native Egyptian, but of course she is actually Greek, and well-born Greeks are respectable.”
“Actually she’s Macedonian, but that’s close enough. I hadn’t considered it. For such an intelligent and educated woman, she is crazed by every form of mysticism imaginable. And I’ve visited that temple in Egypt that has the zodiac set into the ceiling. Astrology made its way from Babylonia to Egypt centuries ago.”
“So for many months now Cleopatra and her Roman friends have been having stargazing parties at her house out on the Janiculum. Her astrologers are always on hand to deliver nebulous pronouncements, advise the ladies on their love lives and their husbands’ careers, and what the future holds for their children.”
“And are some of these astrologers among the calendar crowd on the island?”
“Ah, here is my boy Apollo with some refreshment!” His “boy” Apollo was perhaps the ugliest old man in Rome, a lifelong retainer of the Sallustius family who, according to long rumor, had as a youth been incredibly handsome, hence his name. Whatever his history, he carried wine not in a skin, but in an enormous bottle of green glass that was worth a fortune. The cups he carried were of fine hammered gold and he poured us each a cup. It was wonderful Caecuban.
“Sallustius, with your love of fine things, why do you have that ugly old man dogging your steps?”
“Decius, there are some things better even than beauty. Loyalty is one of them.”
“Profoundly true. You were about to tell me about those astrologers.”
“No, I was about to ask you a question.”
“I was afraid of that, but for the sake of wine this good, I’ll be patient.”
“Every social circle has a leader at its center. Which Roman lady do you think has been the most enthusiastic about astrology and who first broke the ice and took her friends to Cleopatra despite their initial resentment of that exotic queen?”
“You’re not going to tell me that it was Calpurnia, are you?”
“I am a historian, not a fabulist. Who is the second most unlikely?” It was just his annoying Socratic method.
It struck me. “Not Servilia!”
“Servilia, indeed. Back several years ago, when she was trying to win back Caesar’s affections, she consulted with every crackpot, lunatic, fraudulent witch, fortune-teller, and mystic in Rome. As you know well, Rome abounds with such people. If I were one inclined to gossip,” he assumed a look of comical innocence, “I might tell you that she engaged in some practices with these people that might lay her open to some very severe punishments, were they to come to light.”
I examined the fine gold cup and speculated about the sources of Sallustius’s wealth, but said nothing.
“So she was able to set aside her understandable resentment toward the latest lady to acquire the ever-migrating affections of the great man?”
“So it would seem. It might have been calculation but I prefer to attribute it to greatness of soul.”
“Who could doubt it? Now, I will grant you I doubt that Demades was involved in these convivial explorations of the gods’ plans. He was, after all, of the anti-astrology party, if I may so term it. Were any of the pro-astrology party present? Polasser, for instance, or the Arab or the Indian?”
“Oh, but you are wrong. Demades was th
ere at many of the meetings. As to the others, I confess ignorance.”
“Why would the rationalist Demades take part in these mystic gatherings, when he evinced great hostility toward such things?”
“My friend Decius,” he said, grinning, “I can only present you with the facts available to me. It is your special art to make sense of these things.”
“And so I shall, in time,” I assured him, rising to go.
“But wait. You agreed to an exchange of information,” he protested.
“I agreed on the proviso that your information should prove useful to my investigation. That is yet to be proven. Should I decide in the affirmative, rest assured that you shall have your interview concerning Caesar in Gaul.”
“You are a legalistic hair-splitter, Decius,” he said.
“It’s my heritage,” I told him. “We Metelli are all great lawyers.”
Outside I found Hermes and told him what I had learned. I was unsure about the value of Sallustius’s information. The presence of Servilia had come as a jolt, but I probably would have discovered it eventually as Cleopatra was among the persons I had intended to interrogate. The astronomers were, after all, her own gift to Caesar, for his calendar project. Unfortunately she was out of Rome and one didn’t summon a queen to come back to the City to answer the questions of a lowly senator. And I wasn’t about to demand that Caesar call her back.
“Who next, then?” Hermes asked me.
I thought about this for a while. Then it came to me. “You know, I have a source very close to home. We are talking about great patrician ladies here. I think I’ll wander home and talk to Julia.”
“But she’ll learn that you went to visit Callista without her.”
I sighed. “She’ll find out anyway. She probably knows already.”
Indeed, I detected a certain frostiness in Julia the moment I crossed my threshold.
SPQR XIII: The Year of Confusion Page 5
