The Year of Confusion s-13

by John Maddox Roberts

  The two showed no further interest in me so I took my leave of them and walked back out to the Forum with much to ponder about. Having made my boast, I now had to deliver. Caesar would be very displeased should I fail to hand him the killer on the day following the next. Not only the killer, but some sort of comprehensible explanation for what had been going on.

  Hermes found me in the tavern near the old Curia where we ate frequently. It enjoyed a fine view of the ancient building, the meeting-place of the Senate since the days of the kings. At that time it was still gutted, its upper facade black-smudged, the marks of the rioting that followed the funeral of Clodius.

  How like Caesar, I thought, to erect his immense basilica to his own glory practically next door while the most sacred of our ancient assembly-places stood derelict for want of someone to pony up the cash for restorations, forcing the Senate to meet in the Theater of Pompey. Maybe it was another way for him to display his contempt for the Senate. Or maybe he planned some unthinkably vast and elaborate new Curia, one that would outshine anything built by Pompey.

  Hermes plunked himself down and began helping himself to my lunch. “Domitius drops by the messengers’ tavern from time to time.”

  “I thought so. Men who share a profession or specialized skill usually like to get together with their fellows to talk shop. What do the others know about him?”

  “He regales them with stories of Cleopatra’s house. They love to hear about the extravagances that go on in that place.”

  “Everybody does. Anything else?”

  “Lately he’s been working for someone else as well. Someone he calls ‘the easterner’ or ‘the star man.’”

  “Polasser!” I said, thumping the table with my fist. “Worked for him, all right, but he set him up to be murdered.”

  “Maybe he’s the killer,” Hermes suggested.

  “I thought about that, but somehow I doubt it. I didn’t get a good long look at him, but I don’t think he had the hands and arms of a wrestler. Pure runner, that’s all. Did you get anything else?”

  “Just that he hasn’t been by for more than ten days, which they think odd. I didn’t press it. They already thought I was being suspiciously snoopy, even though I was buying the drinks.”

  “A conscientious lot,” I said. “Most men will sell you their mothers as long as you keep the free wine flowing.” I told him of my little meeting with Caesar and the queen of Egypt.

  “So maybe he really is sick,” Hermes mused.

  “Or maybe Cleopatra is just being oversolicitous of his health and insists on having a physician present, and Caesar would trust nobody but that Greek. It’s like her. Still, he didn’t look all that well. Not really sick, but lacking in his usual vigor, like that day in the Senate when he was so undiplomatic with Archelaus.”

  “Do you think Caesar will live long enough to take his expedition to Syria?”

  “If King Phraates has any brains at all,” I said, “he’s sacrificing to Ahura-Mazda right now that he will not.”

  13

  It was barely midafternoon when we set out for Callista’s. Respectable gatherings always began early. Only disreputable ones went on after dark. Of course, this party was going to move to one of the most dissolute households in Rome. I mentioned this strange juxtaposition to Julia as we were carried off.

  It annoyed me that she insisted that I ride in the big litter she reserved for the most pretentious occasions, as if my own feet would no longer carry me. She thought it was beneath my dignity to walk after the sun was low over the rooftops. Of course, the ostentatious conveyance wasn’t for the visit to Callista’s, for which her everyday litter was adequate. It was for the trip to Cleopatra’s.

  Not that everyone was riding. Two of Julia’s girls were trailing us, along with Hermes and a couple of my rougher retainers, men handy with their fists and with bronze-studded truncheons tucked into their cinctures. Anything could happen.

  We found a small mob in the street outside Callista’s house, and more gathered in the courtyard. There were litters like ours and slaves and attendants and bodyguards more numerous and rougher-looking than mine.

  “That’s Servilia’s litter!” Julia said as we were carried into this carnival. “And there is Atia’s!”

  “This should prove to be an interesting evening,” I said as the bearers set us down on the pavement of the courtyard. I got out and helped Julia from the elegant but awkward vehicle. As I did this I gazed around the courtyard. Callista’s servants circulated, carrying trays of refreshments for the attendants who had to wait without. Greater houses than this one might not have bothered.

  I hoped that the presence of these scheming women might add interest to what promised to be a dull evening. Much as I esteemed the company of Callista, I had never been able to abide the droning lectures of philosophers, and I had endured many such, as Julia had dragged me around from one learned gathering to another. She had a wholly lamentable taste for such high-toned, edifying entertainments, whereas I much preferred a good fight or chariot race.

  Hermes nudged me. “Look who’s here now.”

  The litter that entered the courtyard was unmistakable. It was Fulvia’s. The bearers were her usual matched Libyans with their outlandish, colorful costumes and their hair dressed in innumerable plaits. First to emerge was Antonius himself. The lady herself emerged, dressed, so to speak, in a gown of Coan cloth that resembled smoke drifting about her voluptuous little body.

  “She’s holding up well for her age,” Julia observed.

  “So she is. Shall we go in? It’s getting a bit crowded out here.”

  Echo met us at the door and conducted us inside, with Antonius and his wife right behind us. The inner courtyard, with its small, tasteful fountain and pool, had been set with numerous chairs and couches. At a dinner party there would have been couches for nine, but there was no such customary limitation on salons like this. The women crowded together near the fountain to gossip and sound one another out while the men gathered in a corner to commiserate. I was headed that way when Antonius came up to me.

  “Dreadful business eh, Decius?” he said, grabbing a cup from a passing servant. I did the same. “I wouldn’t mind if it was like a Greek symposium, where everybody’s drunk by nightfall, but Callista’s little dos aren’t like that. All very refined. I hope I can last until we go to Cleopatra’s. Then things should liven up.”

  “This is the sort of thing we must do if we prize domestic harmony,” I told him.

  “There’s such a thing as too much harmony, if you ask me,” he groused, burying his beak in his wine. “Ahh, Corinthian. Haven’t tasted it in years.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever tried it. I thought I knew them all.” I tasted the wine and it was decent enough but it had that resinous flavor I’ve always found objectionable in Greek wines. “I thought so. It’s the sort of stuff women serve to keep the men from drinking too much.”

  “It won’t stop me,” Antonius said. “Odd sort of group, isn’t it?”

  I studied the guests and was surprised that I knew many of them. Brutus was there, doubtless escorting his mother although he was a known habitue of these events. Marcus Aemilius Lepidus was there as well. Caesar had picked him as Master of Horse for that year, an office previously held by Antonius himself. As the dictator’s second-in-command he supposedly held a powerful office, but Caesar was such a hands-on dictator in all his doings that the office was little more than an empty honor, pretty much reduced to presiding over the Senate on days when Caesar did not feel like attending. I noted with little joy that Sallustius was oozing his way among the more illustrious guests, ferreting out secrets, no doubt. Cassius Longinus was with his wife, looking like a man who wished lightning would strike him. I didn’t spot Cicero.

  “More politics here than philosophy,” I agreed, “but at least there’s that lot.” I nodded to where the astronomers were chatting among themselves. Sosigenes was among them, along with the Indian and the Arab and the
other Greeks. “Caesar just told me he’s sending them back to Alexandria. Maybe this is Callista’s send-off for them.”

  “If she keeps the wine coming I can endure it,” he said.

  “Stay by me,” I advised. “Hermes has a skin of Massic under his toga.”

  “Good for you. I was wondering why he was wearing a toga.” By that time men rarely ever wore the toga except for sacrifices and Senate meetings, voting, and other formal occasions. Antonius and I and most of the other men wore the much lighter synthesis, a garment popularized by Caesar back when he was setting the fashion for Roman men. Nevertheless, the toga remained better for concealing things. Besides the wine, Hermes had our weapons beneath his.

  The general hubbub stilled as Callista made her entrance from the back of the house. She was dressed as usual in a modest Greek gown of the finest wool. It was deep blue, with a simple fret embroidered at the hem. Her hair was parted in the middle, gathered at her nape and hung to her waist in back. Her only jewelry was a pair of serpent armlets. The men in the room had eyes only for her. In her austere simplicity she outshone the great beauties of Rome.

  “My guests,” she said amid the silence, “please forgive me for not greeting each of you personally. Certain matters demanded my attention elsewhere. I pray you all be seated.” We all took seats, women to the front, men to the rear. Some picked at snacks proffered by the servants, but more for the sake of form than from hunger. We all knew we would be gorging ourselves to stupefaction at Cleopatra’s.

  “As some of you may know,” she went on, “the illustrious astronomers of the Alexandrian Museum, who have graced Rome these recent months, are soon to return to Alexandria. I wish to announce this evening that I shall be going with them.”

  This drew speeches of dismay and protest. Some of the women, it seemed to me, protested very lightly.

  “I have enjoyed immensely my years in Rome, which I do not hesitate to name the center of the world.” There were murmurs of agreement at this fine sentiment. “Being here, and knowing you all, has been an experience the equal of living in Athens at the time of Pericles.” Like the rest I applauded and made noises of agreement until I remembered that the age of Pericles, while a golden age in terms of art, philosophy, and culture, had in many other ways been disastrous for Athens.

  “I have come to this decision after long and hard thought. Rome has gone through turbulent times these past few years, but times of turbulence and ferment are stimulating as well, and bring about much that is good and new. It has been so during my time here. While there has been violence in the streets, there has also been fine poetry composed. There have been excellent histories written”-she nodded slightly toward Sallustius, who preened-“and many splendid edifices erected to the glory of the gods.” She gazed about the room, joining eyes with all of her guests. She had the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen. “But now I believe that Rome is soon to undergo a period of terrible trials, and violence surpassing anything that has gone before.”

  This set off a great deal of shifting and shuffling as we wondered what this might portend. Worse than the days of Sulla and the proscriptions? Worse than the final, mad days of Marius or the slave rebellion of Spartacus or the rioting in the time of the Gracchi or the atrocities of the Social War? Come to think of it, Rome had seen a lot of truly terrible times. Hannibal didn’t even come close.

  “It is of course unworthy of a philosopher to take notice of such things,” she went on. “A true philosopher must maintain perfect tranquility despite what is going on around him. He should seek to instruct those who in their folly resort to war and violence to gain their ends. Even the uproar of a city under siege should not disturb his contemplation. The imperturbability of Archimedes at the siege and fall of Syracuse stands always as our example.” Yes, and look what it got that old bugger, I thought.

  She smiled sadly. “My friends, I confess to you that I am far from being a perfect philosopher. I do not want to see blood in the streets of Rome. I do not want to see my friends die, especially at the hands of other friends.”

  For the first time someone from the audience spoke. It was Lepidus. “Callista are you telling us you foresee civil war for Rome?”

  “I am not a sibyl or an oracle,” she said, “and I do not believe that the will of the gods is made manifest in signs and portents, nor that the future may be descried in the stars nor in any other way. The future lies beyond a veil no sight may pierce. However, the doings and words of men may be observed and studied and analyzed and from these inferences may be drawn, if not conclusions.” To my astonishment, she raised her eyes to mine and I felt as ensorcelled as a rabbit in the gaze of a serpent. “Decius Caecilius, is that not your art?”

  I was as tongue-tied as a schoolboy caught by an unexpected question from his master. “Why, ah, I suppose-yes, it’s what I do.”

  “You’ve caught him sober,” Antonius said. “That’s always a bad idea.” This got a chuckle, but the sound was uncomfortable. Nobody had come expecting this.

  “I have been practicing that same art,” she said, “but on a greater scale. My position here has given me access to Rome’s mightiest as well as her wisest. Alas, these do not always overlap. Some of these have confided in me and I will never betray their trust, but what I now know fills me with grave misgivings.” Then she brightened. “In any case, my decision is made. There will be plenty of time to take my leave of each of you individually. I hope that you will call upon me should your steps lead you to Alexandria. Now we shall proceed with what I intended to be the theme of the evening, our farewell to the departing astronomers. The esteemed and very learned Sosigenes will now address us concerning some new discoveries in the heavens. Please forgive my digression.”

  Sosigenes rose and faced the gathering and began a lecture about something utterly incomprehensible to me. While this went on, a number of men, myself included, surreptitiously edged our way into a corner where we could converse in low voices. Hermes got out the Massic and filled cups.

  “Well, that’s damned odd, isn’t it?” Antonius whispered. “What do you think it’s all about?”

  “It’s a good thing she’s leaving,” Lepidus grumbled. “I’d be tempted to exile her from the City otherwise, along with all the other doomsaying fortune-tellers. Talk like that gets people upset.”

  “Surely it’s only the rabble we worry about being stirred up by prophecies,” I put in. “What rabble listens to a Greek philosopher?”

  “And to think,” said Sallustius, “I’ve had a source like this right here in Rome, and I never tried to squeeze any information out of her.”

  “You wouldn’t have gotten a word from Callista except on philosophical matters,” Brutus said. “She’s the most discreet woman who ever lived.” He thought about it for a moment. “Maybe the only one.”

  Cassius looked at him sourly. “You can’t trust anyone with secrets, man or woman.” Brutus just brooded into his wine.

  Eventually we made our way back to our seats. A couple of the other Greeks spoke on elevated matters, but not the barbarians. Romans will listen to a foreign king or envoy speak on diplomatic matters, but otherwise we have little tolerance for ridiculous accents. We are used to Greeks, of course.

  In time Callista proclaimed that we would now all repair to Cleopatra’s villa across the river and there was an audible, in fact downright loud collective sigh of relief. We went out to the courtyard and those who had litters piled into them. Callista wanted to walk but Julia all but forced her to ride in our litter. This pleased me not only because of the close proximity to Callista, but because we could speak in some degree of privacy.

  “Callista,” I said, “I beg you to reconsider this move. I feel that very soon Alexandria will be a far more dangerous city than Rome. We have a fine country estate well away from the uproar of Rome, please stay-” she held out a hand for silence.

  “I do not go to Alexandria to be safe. I want the tranquil atmosphere of the Museum. I have studies to p
ursue and books to write. I don’t fool myself that I am leaving the real world behind.”

  “Why do you think Alexandria will be dangerous?” Julia asked. “What do you know that you haven’t been telling me?”

  “I don’t know anything, but as Callista said earlier I observe and put facts and inferences together. It’s something that has come up repeatedly during my current investigation, things Caesar has said, and things I believe Caesar has planned.” I looked at Callista. “I believe he’s spoken to you of some of these things. What you’ve learned from Caesar is part of why you are leaving. Am I right?”

  “Yes,” she said, “and Caesar isn’t the only one.”

  “Why,” Julia demanded, “does Caesar confide in Callista thoughts and plans that he tells no one else?”

  “Because Callista is discreet,” I said, “and she is his only intellectual equal in Rome. Perhaps in the world.” She acknowledged this with the very slightest of nods. “A man like Caesar must be very lonely. He has countless servants and lackeys and lovers and even a few friends, but very few peers. Very few he can speak with on even terms. Whatever he thinks, he is actually human. He will miss you, Callista.”

  “He will not miss me for long,” she said enigmatically.

  Julia punched me in the side, hard. “What have you learned?” she hissed.

  “I can’t testify to the truth of it, but I heard this from the tribune Helvius Cinna. This is Cinna the poet, not Cornelius Cinna.”

  “I know who he is!” she nearly shouted. “Tell me!”

  “Keep your voice down,” I advised. “People outside can hear.” She fumed but kept quiet. In a very low voice I told her about the proposed law allowing Caesar multiple wives of whatever birth or nationality he fancied. She went pale. Callista did not change expression. She already knew. That was how I was sure for the first time that it was true.

  “But this is monstrous!” Julia whispered. “How can he-” she trailed off, unable to admit her loss of confidence in her beloved uncle.