John Roberts - The Year of Confusion

“Very sensible,” I said, “and when in your circuitous fashion you finally got around to that subject, what did you learn?”

“You are trying to rush me,” she said, plucking grapes and popping them into her mouth one by one. “I dislike it when you rush me.”

It was going to be one of those times. “At your own speed, then.”

“That’s better.” She pushed the heap of grapes aside and picked up a dish of cherries and cream. Julia adored cherries and had a slave whose principal work was to remove their pits, a tedious and exacting task. She began to eat them with a golden spoon that had been a gift from Caesar.

“Atia arrived after the morning sacrifice at the Temple of Venus Genetrix. She had young Octavius with her. The air grew noticeably frosty. Servilia considers Octavius a rival for Caesar’s inheritance, of course.”

“Either way it’s a stretch,” I observed. “Octavius is a great-nephew, Brutus barely a relation at all. There’s no real reason he should adopt either of them. He could as well adopt me.” I caught her look. “Don’t even think it.”

She sighed. “It would never happen. For one thing, you aren’t ambitious. Caesar will adopt only someone ambitious. Brutus is ambitious, or at least Servilia is ambitious for him. Octavius is quiet but very deep. He’s spent a lot of time with Caesar lately.”

I barely knew Octavius and had only seen him a few times, from a distance. He was just another young man beginning his career and there were hundreds like him. I couldn’t keep track of them all. “Why was Atia there, since the two women detest one another?”

She ate another spoonful of cherries. “I’d thought you would have guessed by now.”

“You’re being-” then the light dawned. “Atia wants a horoscope cast for Octavius?”

“And who better to go to for advice than Servilia?”

“What is to stop Servilia from giving her bad advice?” I asked.

“She wouldn’t dare in front of all those women of their circle. Someone would be sure to tattle to Atia. That would put the tattler in a good position should Octavius prove to be the heir.” These women had a system of politics as complicated and cutthroat as that of the Senate.

“So there were two women at the gathering, each hoping to be in possession of Caesar’s heir.”

“Three,” she corrected. “Don’t forget Fulvia.”

“Ah, yes. How could I forget?” Marcus Antonius was yet another with eyes on the glorious inheritance. In Gaul, he had been Caesar’s right-hand man, supplanting the formidable Titus Labienus, who had turned against Caesar in the civil war. When Caesar was made dictator he named Antonius his Master of Horse, second in command and enforcer. In Roman public life of the day, Antonius was a character out of Plautus: a soldier-buffoon who had himself carried about in a lavish litter while slaves carried his golden drinking vessels before him on purple pillows like holy cult objects. Caesar had forced him to give up his foolishness for a while, but he kept lapsing. Despite his many faults it was almost impossible to dislike Antonius. He was the eternal boy-man. We loved the boy and feared the man.

“I heard Antonius and Caesar have fallen out lately,” I said. “Caesar won’t be taking him to Parthia.”

“They’ve fallen out before, but they always patch it up,” Julia observed, having finally finished the bowl of cherries. “I don’t know why Caesar keeps him around. The Antonii are a family of hereditary criminals.”

“That describes most of the senatorial class,” I reminded her. “The Claudii, for instance.”

“Yes, but the Antonii are truly egregious. They’ve done everything but loot the treasury and rape all the Vestals.”

“I don’t have much hope for the treasury once Caesar leaves Rome,” I told her. “I’ve heard Antonius is to be prefect of the city.”

She rolled her eyes upward in a dramatic gesture. “We should move all our goods out of Rome. Once he’s run through the treasury he’ll start looting the best houses. The lifestyle he and Fulvia favor requires vast wealth.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve always got on well with Antonius. I’ve helped him out of a few scrapes from time to time.”

“I have a feeling any loyalty of which he is capable will fade as his money dwindles. He’ll suddenly remember he has an old grudge against you.”

“Well, he’s done nothing yet and Caesar probably won’t leave the city until next year. A lot can happen between now and then. They may have a more serious disagreement and Caesar could exile Antonius. Or Antonius may die, or Caesar may die, or some German king we’ve never heard of could forge a grand alliance of the tribes and invade Italy. That’s for the future. My problem exists in the present. So what sort of advice, good or bad, did Servilia give Fulvia?”

“You know, it might not be such a bad idea to get your horoscope done, dear. You have a future, and it always pays to be prepared.”

“Eh?” I said brightly.

“Well, Servilia said that now that Polasser of Kish is dead, the one to consult is a woman called Ashthuva.”

“I never heard such a name. Where is she from?”

“Nobody is certain, but it’s someplace far to the east.”

“Naturally. You never look westward for one of these stargazers. She’s probably some Greek freedwoman who’s adopted an exotic persona, just like Polasser. I still don’t see why-” I am not totally dense, and it came to me. “You invited yourself along, didn’t you? You’re going to accompany Atia to see this Artooshvula person.”

“It’s Ashthuva. And yes, I am going. So is Servilia. She is to make the introductions.”

“I don’t like it, but you may learn something. Anyone else going with you? Fulvia, perchance?”

“I would never go anywhere with Fulvia,” she said. “She’s scandalous. Servilia is merely ruthless and Atia is as respectable as you could wish.”

“Why should I wish her to be respectable? Respectable women are boring, for the most part.”

“Anyway, I think I’ll take Callista along. She’s quite respectable, for a foreigner.”

I considered this. “Not a bad idea at all. She should be able to read this fraudulent Ashtabulus-”

“Ashthuva. You can pronounce it perfectly well. You’re just trying to be annoying and are succeeding.”

“Anyway, Callista is an excellent choice as a companion. Have you gone to see her yet?”

“I plan to call on her tomorrow morning. We are supposed to go see Ashthuva tomorrow evening, after the sacrifice at the Temple of Vesta.”

“Take some of the men,” I advised. “I don’t like the idea of you wandering around the city at night. It’s far from safe, despite what our dictator would like us to think.”

“I’ll take a couple of torch boys,” she said. “Servilia has a veritable private army and Atia always has some of Caesar’s veterans as a bodyguard.”

“There was a time when Romans didn’t go around in fear of their fellow citizens,” I grumbled.

Julia smiled at me fondly. “There was a time when the gods came down from Olympus to sort out people’s problems, too.”

Caesar was getting impatient. There was a meeting of the Senate that morning, as there was almost every morning since he had assumed power. As dictator he could even set aside days that were nefasti , when official business was forbidden. Before his time, meetings had been irregular, usually called by a sitting consul or some other very prominent senator or one of the highest priests. However, Caesar had much to accomplish and he wanted his senators to attend upon him like a court before an oriental king, another of his regal habits that so many found so annoying.