Steven Saylor - The Triumph Of Caesar

I remembered the gaunt, white-haired Sempronia, who was every bit as ambitious as her daughter but less charming.

"As for those who say I brought ill fortune to my previous husbands, and would bring ill fortune to Antony as well-"

"Who says such a thing?"

"Cytheris, of course. But it's a lie and a slander to suggest that I carry a curse. Given the times we live in, is it any wonder that two men who dared to raise themselves above the pack were struck down?"

I tended to agree with Fulvia, but it seemed prudent to change the subject. "What about Antony's falling-out with Caesar?" I said.

"The situation is ridiculous! And totally unnecessary. Cytheris is behind it, of course. She's the one who talked him into settling in at the House of the Beaks. She's made it their little love nest, where they can entertain her dubious circle of foreign dancers and acrobats."

"Dubious foreigners… like my friend Hieronymus?" I said.

"I'm sure they welcomed him into their circle because he had a certain freakish appeal-the Scapegoat who cheated death."

"On the contrary, Hieronymus could be quite witty and entertaining."

"Of course. I didn't mean to speak ill of your friend, Gordianus. But a woman like Cytheris is not to be trusted. She cares only for her own advancement. Everyone else is merely a stepping-stone, including Antony."

It occurred to me that Fulvia might be describing herself. "So your marriage to Antony…?"

"Our plans have not been finalized. He won't be pinned down. He's behaving like an irresponsible boy, rejecting the sensible advice of the two people who care most about his career and can do most to help him, Caesar and myself. He's spurning us to carry on with that-that Alexandrian whore!"

"Perhaps Antony is not such a good match for you, after all. If he lacks sound judgment…"

"No. He's come this far, and he'll go much, much farther. He's the man I should have married in the first place. We both know that; we've known it for years. But circumstances simply never fell out that way. I married Clodius, and he married that first wife of his, that nobody… I can't even remember her name. Then the Fates led us both to a second marriage but not to each other-I to Curio, Antony to Antonia-and our mutual destiny was postponed… until now. I am a widow again; Antony is divorced. Now is the time. It will happen. It must happen."

I shrugged. "The gods have a habit of thwarting even our most reasonable expectations."

"No! Not this time. It will happen because I will make it happen. Antony will achieve the destiny he deserves… and so will I."

I sighed. I feared it would not be the gods who denied Fulvia her desire but another mortal: Antony. There is nothing so unsure as the plans we make that rely on the sensible behavior of another human being.

"I gather, Fulvia, that you intend to 'save' Antony-from Cytheris, from himself. But what if Antony refuses to be saved?"

Her face lengthened. "Was that your impression, from your visit to the House of the Beaks?"

"Not exactly. I was there to talk about Hieronymus, not Antony." This was not entirely true, but the fact was that I had nothing useful to tell her about Antony's future plans, at least regarding the women in his life. "I do know that he won't be taking part in the Gallic Triumph, but I'm not sure if that was Caesar's decision or Antony's."

She shook her head. "He should be in the very front line, just behind Caesar. The whole city should see him and remember the part he played in conquering the Gauls. He offended many people when he was in charge of the city, but if they could be reminded of his sacrifice, his bravery, his loyalty-what a squandered opportunity! This rift with Caesar… it must be ended, one way or another!" The light behind her eyes suddenly flared, like flames fanned by a hot wind.

She closed her eyes, as if to hide their intensity from me. "At least I shall be able to take some satisfaction from the African Triumph, eight days from now. King Juba claimed my husband's head as a trophy; now Juba is dead, his kingdom belongs to Rome, and Caesar shall parade Juba's little son as a captive."

She abruptly rose and made ready to go, adjusting her mantle and gathering the folds of her stola. "As always, Gordianus, your candor is greatly refreshing. This city is full of flatterers and outright liars! Sometimes I think you must be exactly what that monster Cicero called you, 'the most honest man in Rome.' "

I smiled. "That was a rare compliment from Cicero, and I'm not sure he'd repeat it nowadays." I spoke carefully; if anyone hated Cicero even more than Antony did, it was Fulvia. "I haven't seen Cicero in a very long time."

"Not since you returned from Egypt?"

"No."

"I see. Then you don't know what the old goat is up to?"

"No." I raised an eyebrow.

She laughed shrilly. "It's too delicious! But I don't think I'll tell you. I'll let you find out for yourself. You won't believe it-what a fool that old scoundrel Cicero has made of himself."

I followed her out of the garden and into the vestibule. She paused for a moment to gaze at the body of Hieronymus.

"I truly am sorry about your friend," she whispered, and then stepped outside, where a retinue with a litter awaited her in the street.

I watched her depart. Hieronymus had jotted no notes about Fulvia in his reports or his journal, but he had also spoken of a menace from an unexpected quarter. It was Fulvia's ambition that Antony must be made to fulfill his destiny, at any cost. Before that could happen, his rift with Caesar must be ended-"one way or another," as Fulvia had stressed.

After Fulvia's departure, I sent a message to Calpurnia, telling her I wanted to be admitted to visit Vercingetorix in his cell the next day. She sent a message back to me before sunset. Apparently she had been able to arrange my visit at a moment's notice-and without Caesar's knowledge, since she cautioned me to tell no one, lest he learn of it. The extent of her authority continued to surprise me.

It occurred to me that Calpurnia was the woman Fulvia wished to become. How could that happen, as long as Caesar was alive?

That night at dinner with the family, I recounted some of my conversation with Antony and Cytheris but kept to myself anything that might embarrass (or simply displease) Calpurnia should it spread beyond my house. It was not that I doubted the discretion of my loved ones, but in my experience, words once uttered have a way of taking flight, as if acting on their own volition. I was struck again at Rupa's suitability to act as my companion and bodyguard. He heard all but could repeat nothing.

My body was weary. I would have slept with the sun, but restless thoughts kept me awake. The prospect of meeting the leader of the Gauls on the last full day of his life filled me with trepidation. The interview would almost certainly be unpleasant, in one way or another, and I found myself wishing I could avoid it altogether.

Unable to sleep, I left my bed. The night was warm. Crickets thrummed in the garden. I stepped into my library, lit a lamp, and did my best to peruse the difficult handwriting of Hieronymus. Previously, I had intentionally skipped over the entries having to do with Cicero, assigning them a low priority. For one thing, I had no wish to read about Cicero-if Hieronymus had thought me a windbag, what in Hades had he made of Cicero? — and for another, it seemed to me that Cicero was the unlikeliest of assassins. But Fulvia's reference to him had piqued my curiosity.

Over the years, my relations with the great lion of the Roman law courts had been mixed. Over thirty years ago, I ferreted out the truth for Cicero when he took on his first major case, defending a man accused of parricide in the gloomy days when Sulla's shadow covered Rome. I nearly got myself killed more than once in the course of that investigation, and Cicero had faced considerable danger as well, daring to take on one of the dictator's most dangerous henchmen in the court. His surprising success had redounded to the enduring benefit of us both.