John Roberts - The Year of Confusion

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 pursue 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.

“I think that Caesar is very ill,” I told her, “and that he is no longer quite sane. It hasn’t yet affected his intellect, or his clarity of thought. Those are as outstanding as ever, but it has altered his”-I grasped for a word, for an expression of an unfamiliar concept-“his perception of reality. He no longer recognizes a boundary between what Caesar wants and what is permissible, or even possible.”

I gathered my thoughts, tried to place things in order, the way Callista would have organized one of her philosophical tracts. “This is something we’ve seen coming, but we’ve all been so in awe of Caesar that we haven’t wanted to recognize it. We are reluctant to believe he has the same weaknesses as any other mortal. A few days ago he tongue-lashed a foreign envoy as you would an insolent slave, in front of the whole Senate. He’s planning a major foreign war without having quite finished the last one. He plans to completely rebuild Rome to his own liking without any really clear idea what to do with the Rome that is already here. He is bringing long-haired barbarians into the Senate without even Romanizing them first! All right, that last one could actually improve the tone of the place, but you get the idea. He isn’t rational anymore, but he can carry it off because he seems so rational.

“Now he wants to be pharaoh, with Cleopatra’s aid”-I looked at Callista-“and that is why I think you shouldn’t go back to Alexandria. He wants to conquer Parthia but Egypt is the real prize in this game. Alexandria got badly damaged the last time he was there. It could be far worse this time.”

“He is right,” Julia acknowledged. “Stay at our villa. Or if you must leave Italy, go to Athens. You could teach there.”

“I deeply appreciate your concern,” Callista said, “but I belong in Alexandria. If that is where the world is to end, then that is precisely where I should be.” She smiled. “Besides, they don’t let women teach in Athens. There hasn’t been any new thought in Athens since Aristotle. Ah, here we are.”

We had arrived at Cleopatra’s, and a greater contrast to Callista’s house would be hard to imagine. Legions of slaves helped us from our litters as if we were a visitation of cripples. Golden cups brimming with rare vintages were pressed into our hands. Lest we grow bored between litter and doorway, jugglers and tumblers performed for us, bears and baboons danced, people in white robes strummed upon lyres and sang. Atop the wall, a line of near-naked men and women walked on their hands, tossing balls to one another and catching them with their feet in a bewildering yet seemingly orderly fashion. Julia and some of the other women gathered together, apparently for mutual protection and made their way inside.

“This is more like it!” Antonius proclaimed. “I thought listening to those astronomers would turn me to stone.”

“You were listening?” Lepidus said coldly, but the prospect of a really degenerate party had put Antonius in such a good mood that he ignored the sour-faced Master of Horse. Brutus and Cassius were huddled together and Sallustius looked like a man about to reap a great harvest of drunken gossip. We passed inside where, though it was not quite dark, things had reached a truly demented stage. Antonius grinned. “I’m going to have to get to know Cleopatra better.”

As intrigued as I was by the lively goings-on, I knew better than to participate too fully with Julia present somewhere. Besides, I was hungry. With Hermes in tow I went in search of dinner, keeping a wary eye out for homicidal pygmies. We went past a pond full of crocodiles. People tried to tempt the awful beasts with fish and other delicacies, but the scaly monsters remained torpid. Another pool was full of hippos that splashed guests with water and noxious fluids. Signs in several languages warned that hippos are far more ill-tempered than they look. Cheetahs wandered freely. I hoped our hostess didn’t have lions in her menagerie.