John Roberts - The Year of Confusion

“What interest might so exalted a person as the dictator Caesar have in me?” she asked when we had downed a few bites.

“The dictator has assigned me to investigate the murders of two astronomers on the Tiber Island.”

“Oh, yes, I had heard about that. How terrible.” She made a strange gesture of head and one shoulder that is difficult to describe. I remembered my conversation with Callista about how each culture has its own vocabulary of gestures and I wondered what this one might signify. Horror, perhaps.

“One of the victims was a notable astrologer, the one who called himself Polasser of Kish. Did you know him?”

She made another gesture, this one a flick of her right hand, which I guessed to denote denial. “No, Senator. There is no guild of astrologers. We tend to be solitary, not gregarious. An astrologer may have apprentices, but rarely colleagues.”

“That seems odd,” I said. “Astronomers are always flocking together to talk and argue.”

“That is because, like philosophers, they are always coming up with something new and want to discuss it with their peers. Astrology is a very ancient art, and it never changes. All was discovered before human memory, and there are no new findings.”

“I never thought of it that way,” I admitted. “That is an observation worthy of Callista herself.”

She inhaled sharply. “Ah! I met that learned lady just a few nights ago. She is the most remarkable woman I have ever encountered.”

“She was quite impressed by you, as well,” I said. I could have bitten my tongue. It was stupid of me to let her know that I had been discussing her with Callista. This woman’s awesome sexuality drove my cautious instincts clear out of my head. “But I fear she has little regard for your art,” I went on.

She smiled unsettlingly. “But, Senator, I have many arts.”

I’ll just bet you do, I thought. “She has a philosophical aversion to astrology, I fear.”

“And I have little use for Greek philosophy. People need not agree on everything to find one another appealing.”

“Just so,” I said, wondering how our conversation had taken this odd turn. Then I remembered that I had started it by mentioning Callista. “So, you never met Demades?”

“Demades?” she said.

“The senator meant Polasser,” Hermes said, coming to my rescue. “Demades was the other murdered astronomer, the one who did not practice astrology.”

“I knew neither of them,” she said. “In fact, I know none of the men who have been working on Caesar’s new calendar.”

“Is this because most of your clients are women?” I hazarded.

“No, because they are Greek philosophers and would seek out an astrologer of their own nationality, should they have need of one. But it is true that most of my clients are women.”

“Rich and well-born ones at that,” I said.

She surprised me by not denying it. “Such women have the greatest concerns, especially for their husbands and sons. Not all are well-born, though. Some of my clients are freedwomen, especially those whose men are risk-taking merchants and travelers. The well-being of such people is always precarious.”

“Servilia is one of your clients,” I said. “I assume she is concerned for the future of her son, Brutus. Does she want to know if he is to be Caesar’s heir?”

“Senator, you must understand that I cannot discuss the affairs of my clients. It would be unethical.”

I wondered of what the ethics of an astrologer might consist. “Ashthuva, I am here at the behest of the dictator. I am empowered to demand the cooperation of anyone I feel it necessary to question.” As long as they are not too powerful and influential, I failed to add.

“I assure you, Senator, that the dictator Caesar would not wish me to answer that question, nor any other about either himself or the Lady Servilia.” This was accompanied by a gesture of her whole body that put me in mind of several venomous serpents I had encountered in Egypt. This was one gesture, however unfamiliar, the meaning of which was unmistakable: It was pure threat.

I knew when to back off. “I’ll discuss it with him, then.”

“I regret that I can be of so little help to you.”

“Your presence alone is gratifying,” I assured her.

She beamed, all menace gone and the seductiveness back in full force. “And it is a great pleasure to me to meet one of the most interesting men in Rome. I have been hearing about you for some time, and meeting your wife made me even more intrigued with you.”

“The horoscope you cast for Julia predicts a rather dreary future for me,” I said.

“Only at the end. And, Senator, I have foreseen far worse futures than yours.”

Something occurred to me. “Is Queen Cleopatra among your clients?”

“I have met her,” she said, “but not in a professional capacity. I was invited to one of her parties shortly after her arrival in Rome.”

“Invited personally by the queen herself?”

She put her palms together and bowed over them. “I am far too lowly a person to merit the personal attention of a great queen. I attended as the guest of one of my clients, a lady of high position. It seems that, at Queen Cleopatra’s parties, it is customary for invited guests to bring along as many friends as they please. It is expected that such persons should be interesting and amusing.”

“This lady could hardly have chosen a more interesting person,” I assured her.

“You are too kind, Senator.”

“Not at all,” I said, rising, “and now I fear I must tear myself away from you. I have other calls to make.”

She rose, but far more sinuously than I. “Please call again. If you like, I can cast a far more detailed horoscope for you.”

“Please do not,” I urged. “The last thing I want is to know what is going to happen to me. Some forms of ignorance are a blessing, and that is one of them.”

She smiled again. Even her teeth were dazzling, the whitest I had ever seen, beautifully set off by her dark complexion and red-stained lips. “More people should possess your wisdom, though it would ruin my profession.”

Once outside, we walked a few paces from the house, then I stopped. “Wait a bit,” I told Hermes. “I have to get my breathing back to normal.”

“Maybe a plunge in the frigidarium would help,” he said.

“That woman could turn an Egyptian eunuch into a stallion.”

“She could inspire an erection from an Egyptian mummy ,” Hermes said. “She may be wealthy from her fortune-telling, but if she ever turns professional whore she’ll be as rich as Cleopatra.”

We started down the hill. “Hermes, I would rather hold a bridge single-handed against an invading army than meddle in an affair as full of dangerous women as this one.”

“It doesn’t help that Caesar is withholding information from you.”

“That is the truth,” I said bitterly, “but then, just about everybody I’ve questioned so far is lying and holding back. Nothing new about that. Cleopatra has me shot in the nose when Servilia’s name comes up; Servilia gives me the viper treatment when I dare to question her about anything. Cassius drops dark hints about obtaining a horoscope for Caesar-” I threw up my hands in disgust. “So far, it seems only Brutus has been straight with me, not that he knows much. Even Callista-” Some fragments of memory clicked together.

“Callista?” Hermes said.

“Callista said that Brutus had been at one of Cleopatra’s parties and he talked for a long time with that Indian astronomer, not about astronomy but about some Indian belief in the transmigration of souls.”

“What of it?”

“She said that it was because Brutus was studying Pythagoreanism. The Pythagoreans also believe in transmigration of souls. Yet when I spoke with Brutus he spoke disparagingly of them. He said they were to true mathematicians what the astrologers are to true astronomers.”