The Triumph Of Caesar rsr-12

by Steven Saylor

  I reminded myself that Octavius was only seventeen, a sheltered youth without a father and hardly any practical experience of the world. He must be acutely self-conscious about living in his granduncle's shadow, and was probably a bit intimidated by the huge public reaction to his birthday. What I took to be aloofness was more likely the closely guarded expression of a young man who did not yet know himself and was quite uncertain of his place in the world.

  When I arrived home, Calpurnia's messenger was waiting for me.

  Again, she asked whom I had interviewed and what I had discovered. Despite her deliberately cryptic choice of words, I could sense her increasing anxiety.

  Again I sent a reply saying I had nothing significant to report.

  I spent the rest of the day in a strange state of mind, hardly stirring from my garden. The day was brutally hot. I thought of young Octavius sweltering in his toga while augurs watched the flight of birds from atop the Capitoline, no doubt assuring Caesar that all the auspices were good. I drank only water, abstaining from wine, and took a number of brief naps. From time to time I reached for Hieronymus's reports, but his handwriting seemed more indecipherable than ever and his prose more pointlessly prolix. There was still a great deal of material I had not yet read or had only scanned in a haphazard fashion.

  Finally, shadows began to lengthen, but the heat of the day gave no indication of relenting.

  My daughter joined me in the garden.

  "Are you all right, Papa?" said Diana.

  I considered the question. "I'm not unwell."

  "It's this heat! Davus and I were just down at the riverside market. The whole city is in a kind of daze."

  "Good. I thought it was only me."

  She frowned. "Your work isn't going well, is it?"

  I shrugged. "Who can say? A sudden revelation could come to me at any moment. That's happened before. But right now, I have no idea who killed Hieronymus or why."

  "It will come to you. You know it will. But something else is bothering you."

  I nodded. "You can see inside my head; you inherited that ability from your mother."

  "Perhaps. From the look on your face, I can see that you're troubled."

  I shaded my brow and squinted at the sun. It seemed to have caught on the edge of the roofline; I could have sworn it was just sitting there, not moving. "When I accepted this mission from Calpurnia, I told her I was doing so for only one purpose: to see justice done for Hieronymus. But that's no longer true, if it ever was. Somehow, I've become caught up in her zeal to safeguard Caesar. Today, outside the house of Gaius Octavius, there was a large gathering. Caesar walked through the crowd alone, without any lictors, without even friends to protect him. I found myself very nearly in a panic when I thought of the danger he was facing. My breath shortened. My pulse began to race. I was relieved beyond words when he passed safely through the crowd and disappeared into the house."

  "Was he any safer inside?" said Diana. "Weren't all those people going to follow him in, one or two at a time, to pay their respects to his kinsman? And might not this Gaius Octavius himself pose a threat to Caesar? You must have thought so, or you wouldn't have paid a call on him."

  "You can see inside my head! I never discussed any of this with you."

  She smiled. "I have my own ways of 'finding,' Papa. But the point is, neither you nor anyone else can protect Caesar all the time, especially if someone close to him is determined to harm him."

  "True enough, Daughter. But you miss the point."

  "Which is?"

  "Why should I care whether Caesar lives or dies? I told Calpurnia I would study these documents and follow them wherever they led only so that I might discover who killed Hieronymus. Caesar means nothing to me."

  "Not true. Caesar means something to all of us. For better or worse, he's brought an end to the civil war and all its suffering."

  "Caesar himself inflicted a great deal of that suffering!"

  "But now it's over, at least in Rome. People are beginning to live again-to hope, to plan, to think about the future. To think about life instead of death. No one wants a return to the bloodshed and sorrow of the last few years. If Caesar were to be murdered-especially before he names an heir-the killing would start all over again. You don't have to love Caesar to want him to keep breathing. You don't even have to like him. You can despise him-and still want him to stay alive, for the sake of peace, for the good of all of us."

  "Has it come to that? Must a man submit to having a king, and want him to live forever, because the alternative is too awful to consider?"

  Diana cocked her head. "It must be terrible to be a man and to have think about such things, even in this heat. For those of us who can't vote, or fight, or own property-or ever hope to do any of those manly things-it's all much simpler. How many more people have to die before the world can be at peace? If Caesar were to be killed, I don't know if any good would come of it, but I'm certain a great deal of evil would follow. That's what you dread, Papa. That's why you care about what happens to Caesar."

  I looked up, and realized that the sun had slipped behind the roofline. Twilight would come after all, followed by night, and then another day.

  I closed my eyes.

  I must have slept, because I seemed to be in the Tullianum. The dank, cool darkness was almost pleasant compared to the brutal heat of the day. Amid the shadows, lemures were all around me-the lemures of Vercingetorix and Ganymedes and countless other Gauls and Egyptians, soon to be joined by more victims from Asia and Africa and unheard-of lands beyond. But the lemur of Hieronymus was not among them.

  XVI

  The next day, for the Asian Triumph, we arrived a bit late, and with our party incomplete. There was some minor crisis with little Beth, and after much discussion, Diana convinced her mother to come along while she stayed home. Our seats were waiting for us in the viewing stands. We missed the opening procession of senators and magistrates-small loss! — but managed to take our places just as the trumpets were sounding to mark the parade of trophies.

  The rebellious King Pharnaces had overrun Cappadocia, Armenia, and Pontus. All these regions, which Caesar had subsequently reclaimed, were represented by precious objects donated by the grateful inhabitants. A golden crown and other treasures, with which Pharnaces had attempted to placate Caesar upon his arrival in Asia, were also displayed, along with a statue of the moon goddess Bellona, the principal deity of the Cappadocians, to whom Caesar had sacrificed before he began the campaign.

  Among the captured weapons and machines of war, Pharnaces's own chariot was wheeled before us. It was an impressive vehicle. The carriage was heavily plated, and fearsome-looking blades projected from the wheels.

  A placard displayed the flight of Pharnaces at the battle of Zela. The king was shown in his chariot, his crown tumbling from his head, his face a mask of panic. On one side of him loomed a stern-looking Caesar, his hands on hips. On the other side loomed Pharnaces's treacherous henchman Asander, the man who would murder him, flashing a wicked grin. The crowd bust into laughter at the sight of these exaggerated but cleverly rendered caricatures.

  I could see that a very large placard was approaching, as wide as the pathway would permit and twice as tall as the men carrying it. The sight of it elicited a tumultuous cheer as it passed. When it came into view, I saw why. In a single battle, within five days after his arrival and within four hours after sighting the enemy, Caesar had vanquished Pharnaces. The magnitude of his victory was impressive; its speed was astonishing. Rendered in huge golden letters upon the placard were the words I CAME, I SAW, I CONQUERED.

  Always eager to take up a chant, the crowd began to repeat Caesar's terse boast. One side shouted, "Came!" The other side shouted, "Saw!" Then, all together, as loudly as possible: "Conquered!"

  I had been feeling the call of nature ever since we sat and could wait no longer. "I think I shall go, stand, and relieve myself."

  "Take Rupa with you," said Bethesda.

  He
rose to accompany me, but I waved him back. "No, Rupa, there are some things it is safe for me to do all by myself. Stay and watch-and don't get into any trouble!"

  Bethesda gave me an exasperated look, but I ignored her. I made my way to the aisle, descended the steps, and threaded a path through the crowd. The nearest public latrines, built directly above the Cloaca Maxima, were not far away.

  The chamber was one of the largest public facilities in the Forum, but when I stepped inside I found myself alone. The most exciting part of the triumph for many spectators-the procession of prisoners-was coming up, and probably no one wanted to miss it. I had my choice of whichever of the scores of holes I wanted. I followed my nose to the freshest-smelling part of the room and stood before the receptacle. The roar of the crowd outside echoed through the stone chamber, sounding strangely distant.

  I was just beginning when someone entered the chamber.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw that he wore priestly garments. I took a closer look and I saw that it was Calpurnia's uncle, Gnaeus Calpurnius. He must have left his place in the procession to come relieve himself. He gave me a grunt of recognition as he walked up to a nearby receptacle and made ready, hitching up his robes. He had interrupted me, and I was slow to start again. He was slow to begin at all, which was not surprising for a man his age. We stood in silence for a long moment.

  "Hot today," he finally said, staring straight ahead.

  "Yes," I said, a little surprised that he would deign to strike up a conversation with me, even about the weather. "Though not as hot as yesterday, I think."

  He grunted. I kept my gaze politely averted, but from the corner of my eye I saw that Uncle Gnaeus appeared to be adjusting himself, yet to no avail, for still I heard no release.

  "My niece has great faith in you," he said.

  "Does she?"

  "Should she?" He turned his head slightly and trained a single eye upon me. "Or are you no better than the other one, the one who got himself killed, wasting her time and filling her head with yet more nonsense?"

  "Hieronymus was my friend," I said quietly. "I would prefer that you not speak ill of him in my presence." My flow began. "Tell me, did you ever discuss astronomy with him?"

  "What?"

  "Hieronymus made notations having to do with the movements of the stars and such. You're a keeper of the calendar, aren't you? I thought perhaps you gave him instruction."

  He snorted. "Do you seriously think I would waste my time giving sacred instruction to one of my niece's minions, and a foreigner, at that? Now tell me, Finder, are you wasting Calpurnia's time? Have you discovered anything of interest? Are you at all close to doing so?"

  "I'm doing my best," I said. And in some ways doing much better than you, I thought, for still there was no relief for Uncle Gnaeus. No wonder he was so irritable!

  He snorted. "Just as I thought. You've found nothing, because there is nothing to find. This menace to Caesar that consumes my niece is entirely imaginary, created from thin air by that haruspex, Porsenna."

  "If that's true, then why did someone murder Hieronymus?"

  "Your friend was poking his nose into other people's business-powerful people, dangerous people. Who knows what embarrassing or incriminating information he may have uncovered, having nothing at all to do with Caesar? The Scapegoat surely offended someone, but his death is hardly proof of a plot against Caesar."

  What he said made sense, yet I found myself recalling the cryptic "key" that Hieronymus had mentioned in his journal. I repeated the words aloud. " 'Look all around! The truth is not found in the words, but the words may be found in the truth.' "

  "What in Hades is that supposed to mean?"

  "I wish I knew," I said. Then, seemingly from nowhere, a memory came to me, and I felt a sudden chill.

  "What's that look on your face?" said Uncle Gnaeus.

  I shivered. "A long time ago, in a public latrine here in the Forum, I was very nearly murdered. By Hercules, I'd almost forgotten! It was thirty-five years ago, during the trial of Sextus Roscius, the first time I worked with Cicero. A hired killer followed me into a latrine near the Temple of Castor. We were alone. He pulled a knife-"

  "All very interesting, I'm sure, but perhaps you could leave a man in peace!"

  I turned and left at once, almost feeling sorry for Uncle Gnaeus. Judging by the silence, he still had not managed to begin relieving himself.

  The crowd had grown even thicker than before. I looked in vain for a way to pass through. The din of the shouting and laughter was deafening.

  I realized I had no desire to return to my seat in the stands. I had seen quite enough of doomed, humiliated prisoners, of Caesar in his ceremonial chariot, and of lictors and cavalry officers and marching legionaries.

  I suddenly longed to be anywhere else. I started walking, heading away from the triumph, fleeing the crush and the noise. At length, taking a roundabout path of least resistance, I found myself at the Flaminian Gate in the old city walls.

  I kept walking. Once through the gate, I was outside the city proper, on the Field of Mars. When I was a boy, much of this area had still been literally a field, with vast parade grounds. Some areas of the Field of Mars remained undeveloped, but in my lifetime the greater part of it had been filled with new tenements and temples and public buildings. It had become one of the liveliest neighborhoods of Rome.

  But on this day, the streets were almost deserted. From beyond the Capitoline Hill, which now loomed between me and the Forum, I could still hear the roar of the crowd but more and more faintly as I continued to walk toward the great bend of the Tiber. I felt a sense of freedom and escape-from haughty Uncle Gnaeus, from Caesar, from Calpurnia, from my fretful wife, and even from Rupa, my constant companion in recent days.

  At length I came to the new neighborhood of shops and apartments that had sprung up around Pompey's Theater, where I had come to visit Arsinoe. Was she there still, returned to her high prison, but alone now, without Ganymedes to look after her?

  I wandered past the empty porticos. All the shops were closed. I came to the entrance to the theater itself. The gate was open and unmanned. I wandered inside.

  The tiers of seats were empty. I gazed up row after row, fascinated by the play of sunlight and shadow on the repeating semicircles, all the way to the top, where the Temple of Venus stood. Lost in thought, I slowly ascended the steps.

  I remembered the enormous controversy that erupted when Pompey announced his plans to build the theater. For centuries, conservative priests and politicians had thwarted the construction of a permanent theater in Rome, arguing that such an extravagance would lead the Romans to become as decadent as the stagestruck Greeks. Pompey circumvented their objections by adding a temple to the complex, so that the whole structure could be consecrated as a religious building. The design was clever; the rows of theater seats also served as steps leading up to the sanctuary at the summit.

  "Can you hear me?"

  I was not alone. A lone figure with a white beard, dressed in a tunic of many colors, had stepped onto the stage.

  "I said, can you hear me up there? Don't simply nod. Speak."

  "Yes!" I shouted.

  "No need to yell. That's the whole point: acoustics. I'm barely talking above normal volume now, and yet you can hear me perfectly well, can't you?"

  "Yes."

  "Good. La-la-la, la-la-la. Fo-di-da, fo-di-da." He continued to utter a series of nonsensical noises. I realized he was a performer limbering his throat, but I laughed aloud anyway.

  "Well, I can see you're going to be an easy audience!" he said. "Sit. Listen. You can help me with my timing."

  I did as I was told. I had come here seeking escape, after all. What better escape could I hope for, than a few moments in the theater?

  He cleared his throat, then struck a dramatic pose. When he spoke again, his voice was utterly different. It had a rich, dark tone, full of curious inflections. It was an actor's voice, trained to fascinate.


  "Friends and countrymen, welcome to the play. I am the playwright. This is the prologue-my chance to tell you what to think about the tale you're about to see. I could let you simply watch the play and make up your own minds-but being fickle Romans, I know better than to trust your judgment. Oh that's right, jeer and boo…" He broke from his pose. "Well? Jeer and boo!"

  I obliged him with what I imagined would be a suitably obscene jeer, involving his mother.

  "That's better," he said, and continued his soliloquy. "I know why you're all here: to celebrate a great man's good fortune. Not a good man's great fortune; that would be a different matter-and a different man."

  I obligingly laughed at this witticism, which was clearly a jab at Caesar, the sponsor of the upcoming plays. My laughter may have sounded a bit forced, but Decimus Laberius-for now I recognized the man, one of the leading playwrights and performers of the Roman stage-seemed not to care if my reactions were sincere as long as I gave him a token response to help him with his timing.

  "But why am I here?" he continued. "To be perfectly candid, I had rather be at home right now, with my feet up and my nose in a book. I've had enough of all this carrying-on and celebrating; it grates on an old man's nerves. Yet here I am, with a new play produced on demand, and why? Because I'm desperate to beat that fool Publilius Syrus out of the prize? No! I don't need a prize to tell me I'm a better playwright than that babbling freedman.

  "No, I am here because the Goddess of Necessity compels me. To what depths of indignity has she thrust me, here at the end of my life? You see me at twice thirty years, a broken man. When I was thirty-or better yet, half thirty-oh, how young and proud I was! No power in heaven or on earth could bend me to its will. Neither begging nor bribery, cajoling nor threatening could move me one iota. But now-look at me jump!" Laberius executed a sudden leap and barely stopped himself from tumbling head over heels; his awkwardness was so convincing that I laughed out loud. He paused for a moment, as if waiting for the laughter of a huge audience to subside. "A most unbecoming activity for a man my age! So why do I jump? Because a certain man demands it.