A Mist of Prophecies rsr-9

by Steven Saylor

  "Now you're a freedwoman."

  "Yes. Antony helped with that. I still have certain… contractual obligations… to Volumnius, but this house and everything and everyone in it are mine." She snorted. "No wonder a woman like Antonia hates me so much. What has she ever accomplished on her own merit? Everything comes to her because of her family and her name. She couldn't even find a husband outside her family! I should feel desperately trapped, living such a cramped little life. I've made my own way in the world, using what the gods gave me."

  "What about Cassandra?"

  "That was the hardest thing about leaving Alexandria-saying good-bye to Cassandra. I wept. So did she. I was sure I'd never see her again. When you're young, the world seems such a big place, so easy to get lost in. But it's not so big after all, is it? All roads lead to Rome. I came by one road. Cassandra came by another. Earlier this year I began to hear the rumors about a mad-woman down in the Forum who had the gift of prophecy. People said she was called Cassandra. I thought, Could it possibly be my Cassandra? I piled into that gaudy litter Antony gave me and went to have a look. And of course it was her, standing in front of the Temple of Vesta wearing a ragged tunica, muttering to herself and begging for alms. What in Hades is she up to? I asked myself. Then I began to worry. What if she really had gone mad? What if she had taken it into her head that she really was her namesake? Perhaps the gods had punished her-had looked down and seen her making a mockery of the Trojan princess whom Apollo tormented, and for her hubris they had driven her mad. Half the lunatics and religious fanatics in the world make their way to Rome; why not Cassandra, if she had gone crazy? You see…"

  Cytheris hesitated. I gave her a questioning look.

  "Even now, all these years later, this isn't easy to talk about," she said. "When we were young, I promised her I would tell no one. She was always so frightened that it would happen while she was performing, that her secret affliction would be exposed…"

  "She has no need of secrets now," I said.

  Cytheris nodded. "You're right; I'll tell you. Cassandra was subject to spells of falling sickness. In the time I knew her in Alexandria, it happened only twice that I knew of. But it was frightening to watch. I'll never forget the first time. We were alone in the room we shared at the master's house. We were talking, laughing-then suddenly she was thrown to the floor. It was uncanny, bizarre, as if a giant, invisible hand had cast her down and was holding her there while she thrashed and writhed. Her eyes rolled up in her head. She foamed at the mouth. She muttered something incomprehensible. I had the presence of mind to put something in her mouth to keep her from swallowing her tongue, and I did my best to hold her down so that she wouldn't hurt herself.

  "When it was over, she gradually came to her senses. She remembered nothing. I told her what had happened. She said it had happened to her before, and she begged me to tell no one. I told her the master would have to know, that he'd find out sooner or later. But she made me promise not to tell him. She said perhaps it would never happen again. But it did, at least once more before I left Alexandria. That time, too, it was in our room, and no one but me saw it."

  Cytheris studied my face. "This is familiar to you, isn't it, Finder? Did something similar happen to Cassandra on one of your visits to her? She told me about your visits. I know that you called on her more than once."

  I took a deep breath and evaded the question. "I was thinking of something my son-" I stopped myself from speaking Meto's name. "I was thinking of something I once was told about Caesar. For a period of time, during his youth, he suffered from such seizures. He, too, tried to keep them secret. Gradually they stopped, and they've never recurred. A priest once told him his seizures were a sign of the gods' favor. Caesar himself believes they were the result of a blow to his head when he was kidnapped by pirates as a young man."

  Cytheris considered this. "I don't know how Cassandra accounted for her spells. But when I saw her again, here in Rome, I remembered them, and I began to wonder. What if everything I'd heard about this madwoman in the Forum was true-that she didn't merely pretend to see the future or imagine such a thing, but that she really was subject to divine visions? Why not? Perhaps her seizures in Alexandria had merely been precursors to the full-blown gift of prophecy she had since acquired.

  "So which was it? Was Cassandra putting on a deliberate performance? Had she gone mad, imagining herself to be the Trojan princess she'd played in the mime shows? Or in the years since I had last seen her, had she truly become a seeress and somehow ended up here in Rome, a beggar in the streets? I remembered the Cassandra I had known and loved in Alexandria, and I had to know the truth.

  "I told the litter bearers to draw alongside her. I could see her through the gauze curtains, close enough to touch, but I didn't think she could see me-you know how such curtains work. And yet, even as I was reaching to draw back the curtains, she turned straight toward me and spoke my name. That gave me a start! Such an uncanny sensation shot through me, for a moment I hesitated to draw back the curtain. When I finally did, my hand was trembling. But when I saw her, all my trepidation melted away. She was smiling, trying not to laugh. Even with her unkempt hair and the smudges of dirt on her cheeks, she was the same Cassandra I had known in Alexandria.

  "I burst out laughing and drew her into the litter. I closed the curtains and told the bearers to take me home. That night we drank Falernian and talked until dawn."

  "And what did she tell you?" I said. "Which of your hopes or worries for Cassandra turned out to be true? Was she mad? Deluded? Pretending? Or something else?"

  Cytheris smiled and at the same time wrinkled her brow. She shook her head. "I wish I knew!"

  "But if she was the same Cassandra you had known… and if the two of you talked for hours…"

  "We talked about old times in Egypt. We talked about my fortunes since I came to Rome. We talked about Antony and Antonia, about Caesar and Pompey, about the state of the world. But when it came to talking about Cassandra-how she had come to Rome and why-she drew a veil of secrecy."

  "You allowed that?"

  "I respected it. Clearly she wasn't mad, not in the sense of having lost the spark of her old self; I could see that at once. But had she been touched by a god, given the gift of prophecy? Or was she acting a part? Had she come to Rome on her own initiative? Or had she been brought here by someone, for some purpose? I can't tell you the answers, because I never knew. Not for certain, anyway. I asked Cassandra-cajoled her, teased her, even begged her a bit-but she wouldn't tell me. She would only say that in the fullness of time I might know everything; and until then it was best if I knew nothing about her comings and goings, and told no one what I knew about her past.

  "I finally agreed to stop badgering her. A woman must be allowed to keep secrets; I have a few myself, so why shouldn't Cassandra? Secrecy is sometimes the only power a woman has in this world."

  I nodded slowly. "And after that night, after your long visit when you reminisced about the past, did you see her again?"

  Cytheris hesitated. "Perhaps I did…"

  "I know that you saw her at least one more time, late in the month of Martius. She came here immediately after leaving Antonia's house."

  "And how do you know that, Finder? No, don't tell me. Antonia had Cassandra followed, didn't she? Suspicious harpy!"

  I cleared my throat. "You might ask your neighbor to trim the branches of that fig tree in front of his house. An agile man could climb onto the roof next door and look down into this very garden." I gazed up at the line of the roof, and saw that a tiny bit of the neighbor's higher roof could indeed be seen above the scalloped row of red tiles.

  Cytheris nodded. "I see. And might such a watcher be able to hear every word that was spoken?"

  "Apparently not."

  "Thank Venus for that, at least!"

  "What did the two of you talk about during that visit?"

  Cytheris clicked a long fingernail against her cup, a signal to Chrysippus, who stood at t
he far corner of the garden, to come and pour her more Falernian wine. She took a sip and for a long moment made no answer. At last she smiled. "Very well, here's the story. But you must swear to me by Venus that you'll never divulge this to Antonia. Gaze at her statue and swear it, both of you!"

  Davus looked at me and raised an eyebrow. "I swear by Venus," I said quietly, and Davus did likewise.

  Cytheris laughed. "Actually, I've been dying to tell someone. It might as well be you, Finder. You see, even though Cassandra wouldn't tell me exactly what she was up to, I had my suspicions that it might be something-well, a bit devious. So I made a deal with her."

  "A deal?"

  "I agreed to press her with no more questions and to tell no one of her origins, on the condition that she would do a small favor for me. Perform a favor, I suppose I should say."

  "And what was that?"

  "Antonia is the type who can never be left out of any activity she presumes to be fashionable among her sort, whether it's wearing one's hair in a bun or worshipping some new goddess from the East. I knew that sooner or later she would seek out Cassandra, looking to have her fortune told. I'm afraid I couldn't resist the opportunity to stir up a bit of mischief."

  I nodded. "You suborned Cassandra to deliver a false prophecy to Antonia?"

  "I'm afraid so. Was that terribly wicked of me? I told Cassandra: Make it grim. Tell her that not only will Antony abandon her in the end, but so will Dolabella, and she'll grow old and toothless with no companion but that harpy brat of hers. That's why Cassandra came here at once after she left Antonia's house, to tell me that Antonia had finally consulted her and that she'd done as I'd asked. We shared a good laugh about that."

  "I see. Unfortunately, Antonia had Cassandra followed, and she made the connection to you and to your mime training. Antonia's not stupid, Cytheris. I'm afraid she saw through your little scheme to upset her."

  "Too bad. Even so, I think we managed to give her a nasty shock, while it lasted."

  "Perhaps. But once Antonia made the assumption that Cassandra was an actress and a fraud, she made another assumption: that Cassandra was a professional black mailer."

  Cytheris pursed her lips. "Perhaps. I considered that possibility myself, but I don't think so. The Cassandra I knew in Alexandria didn't have the temperament to be a black mailer. She didn't possess that kind of cruelty."

  "People change."

  "No, Gordianus, people never change; only their roles change. And Cassandra would have been miscast as a black mailer. Still, I can't entirely rule it out."

  "And if Antonia thought she was a black mailer, then so might someone else. True or not, that might have provided the motive for someone to kill her. What do you know about her death, Cytheris?"

  "Only what everyone seems to know, that she collapsed in the market and died in your arms. When I learned the news, I wept. Poor Cassandra! The gossips say that she was poisoned. Was she? Knowing what I did about her past, I had to wonder if one of her seizures had finally proved too much for her. Was it the falling sickness that killed her?"

  I shook my head. "No, she was poisoned. Someone murdered Cassandra. Do you have any idea who might have done that, Cytheris?"

  "Other than Antonia? No."

  I nodded. "What about Rupa? What can you tell me about him?"

  Antonia smiled. "Dear, sweet Rupa. I expected to see him at Cassandra's funeral, but he wasn't there, was he?"

  "No. Nor did he ever come to my house to see her body. He seems to have disappeared entirely since Cassandra died."

  "I certainly haven't seen him," said Cytheris. "He must be in hiding, fearful of sharing Cassandra's fate. Poor thing. It's hard to imagine how he could get along without her. They loved each other so very much."

  I frowned. "What was he to Cassandra?"

  "She never told you?"

  I shook my head.

  "Rupa was her younger brother, of course! Couldn't you see the resemblance between them? He was with her when Cassandra joined the mime troupe in Alexandria; the master saw fit to purchase them together rather than separate them. A wise move on his part, as Cassandra would have been devastated to lose her little brother. Rupa earned his keep; he even did a bit of acting himself. Nothing that required much talent, or any spoken lines, of course. He was always big, even from an early age, so he played silent guards and hulking gladiators and grunting monsters. He made a very convincing Cyclops in a skit we did about Ulysses. I played Circe. Cassandra played Calypso…"

  I sighed. "I always thought of Rupa as her bodyguard."

  "Which he was. But mostly she protected him. It was always so. Rupa may be big and strong, but the ways of the world overwhelm him, and his muteness is a great handicap. From childhood Cassandra was always looking out for him, taking care of him. I wasn't at all surprised when she told me she had brought Rupa with her to Rome. It's hard to imagine how he could have survived alone in Alexandria. It's hard to imagine how he's surviving now without her. Or do you think-"

  "What?"

  "Perhaps Rupa is dead, too," she said quietly.

  From the foyer there came the sound of a knock on the door. Chrysippus went to answer it, then returned. "Volumnius, mistress," he said.

  Cytheris gave a sigh of mingled indulgence and exasperation. "Tell him to leave his army of bodyguards outside, and show him in."

  A few moments later, a corpulent figure came shuffling into the garden. Famous for wearing showy jewelry, on this occasion the banker Volumnius was notably bereft of ornament-no bracelets, no necklaces, no ring except a plain iron ring of citizenship. In such turbulent times, even a man as notoriously ostentatious as Volumnius knew better than to flaunt his wealth in the streets.

  "Cytheris, my rosebud!" he cried. She stood to greet him and submitted to a kiss on her cheek from his fleshy lips.

  "But I see you have guests." Volumnius looked askance at Davus and me. I stood and gestured to Davus to do likewise.

  "Gordianus and his son-in-law were just about to leave," said Cytheris.

  "Gordianus? I know the name. Have we met?"

  "No," I said, "but I've dealt with your agents."

  "Ah, yes. You're another of the fine citizens to whom I've extended a helping hand in recent months. I'm only too happy, in such trying times, to find that I can be of assistance to so many of my fellow Romans."

  My loans from Volumnius, as crushing as they were to me, were surely so insignificant in his account books that I was surprised he knew of them. Did he stay apprised of every loan authorized by his agents, no matter how small? Perhaps. People said there was an invisible thread attached to every sesterce that left his greedy fist.

  "I'm grateful for your assistance, Volumnius," I said. "And even more grateful for your patience. Times are such that even men of goodwill may not be able to meet all their obligations, at least for a while."

  "Indeed, citizen, patience is a virtue-to a point. And mine will extend exactly as long as this damnable business with Caelius and Milo remains unresolved. After that, once things are back to normal…" He shrugged, which made his shoulders jiggle. "Eventually, obligations must be met. Order must be maintained. Property rights must be respected and loans repaid. Wise Caesar says so." He smiled and took Cytheris's much smaller hand in his and kissed it. In that instant I understood why he had agreed to make Cytheris a freedwoman at the request of the love-struck Antony. To please Caesar's lieutenant was to please Caesar. Her manumission was nothing more or less than a business decision.

  "As Cytheris says, Davus and I were just leaving. Good-bye, Cytheris. Good day, Volumnius."

  "And good day to you, citizen. Be wise and prosper-so that you may meet your obligations when the day of reckoning arrives."

  XI

  The fifth time I saw Cassandra was late in the month of Maius. Almost a month had passed since the attempted arrest of Marcus Caelius and his hairbreadth escape, but all Rome was still in an uproar.

  Rumors abounded. Some said Caelius had gone off to j
oin Caesar, but it was hard to imagine how he could do so after the insinuations he had made against Caesar in his speeches; was he so rash as to think he could win Caesar's forgiveness by charm alone? Some said that Caelius had not escaped after all but had been arrested, and was being held at a secret location while Isauricus decided what to do with him. Others said that Caelius had indeed escaped but was still in the city, hiding with a band of conspirators who were plotting to assassinate all the magistrates and most of the Senate.

  Some said Caelius had gone south to set free a school of gladiators in the vicinity of Mount Vesuvius, with the intention of returning to Rome and staging a massacre. Others said Caelius had gone north to try to rally various cities to his cause, hoping to win them over one by one until he felt confident of marching on Rome with an army of volunteers. From the Forum, Hieronymus reported this remark by Volcatius, leader of the Pompeian chin-waggers: "If Caelius has his way, the rabble of Rome will soon be kicking the heads of their landlords and moneylenders through the streets!"

  Yet another rumor said that Caelius was planning to rendezvous with his old friend Milo, and that the two of them were going to sweep across Italy together. To my ears this was the wildest speculation of all. In his days as Cicero's protege, Caelius had indeed been friends with Milo, but in recent years their politics had drifted so far apart that it seemed impossible that the two could ever reunite in a common cause.

  Before his forced departure from Rome, Titus Annius Milo had been the man upon whom the self-styled Best People relied to do their dirty business. As Clodius had ruled the street gangs on the left, so Milo had ruled the street gangs on the right. When a conservative magistrate wanted to break up a demonstration by the opposition, or needed demonstrators of his own to agitate in the Forum, Milo was the man who could produce angry crowds, bloody fists, and a few cracked skulls.

  Pompey, who liked to hold himself aloof from the gritty political reality of street brawls, had looked to Milo to act as his henchman. Cicero had doted upon Milo, and saw him as his brutish alter ego; Cicero had the brains, while Milo wielded the brawn. For his efforts Milo was well rewarded by the Best People. He was admitted into their inner circle; he was a man headed for great things. With his marriage to Fausta, the daughter of the late dictator Sulla, his ascent into the highest ranks of Rome's ruling class seemed assured.