Steven Saylor - The Triumph Of Caesar

Next, marching in single file, came Caesar's private bodyguard. As the multitude of armed lictors went by, their numbers seemingly endless, the crowd gradually ceased its raucous cheering and grew quiet.

Long ago, Romulus had surrounded himself with lictors, each bearing an ax to protect the person of the king and a bundle of rods to scourge anyone who defied him. When the monarchy gave way to the republic, the Senate assigned lictors to the consuls and other magistrates to protect them during their term of office. Despite their perpetually grim expressions and the fearsome weapons they carried, there was nothing alarming about the mere sight of a band of lictors; one saw them every day, crossing the Forum. What made the crowd uneasy that day, I think, was the sheer number of lictors. Never had I seen so many at one time. Not even the ancient kings had given themselves such a vast bodyguard. Even the most oblivious citizen was made to realize, by the sight of so many lictors, the unprecedented status that Caesar had claimed for himself.

Sobered by the parade of lictors, the crowd broke into a deafening roar when Caesar appeared. I saw the four snow-white horses first, tossing their proud heads and splendid manes, then caught a first glimpse of the golden ceremonial chariot. Caesar was wearing the traditional costume: a tunic embroidered with palm leaves, over which was draped a gold-embroidered toga. A wreath of laurel leaves covered his receding hairline. In his right hand he held a laurel bough, and in his left, a scepter. A slave stood behind him, holding above Caesar's head a golden crown ornamented with jewels.

While I watched, the slave leaned forward and whispered in Caesar's ear. No doubt he was reciting the ancient formula, "Remember, you are mortal!" The reminder was not meant to humble the triumphant general but to avert the so-called evil eye, the damage that could be inflicted by the gaze of the envious. Other talismans attached to the chariot served the same purpose-a tinkling bell; a scourge; and, placed in a hidden spot underneath by the Vestal virgins, the phallic amulet called a fascinum. The higher a man rose, the more protection he required against the evil eye.

Behind Caesar I saw the troops that followed, the foremost on horseback, and behind them, carrying military standards and spears adorned with laurel leaves, a great multitude of the legionaries who had served in Gaul.

Just as Caesar was passing before us, I heard a cracking noise, so sharp and loud that Mopsus and Androcles covered their ears. The ceremonial chariot lurched to a halt. Caesar was thrown violently forward. The slave holding the crown tumbled against him. The white horses clattered their hooves against the paving stones, tossed their heads, and whinnied.

My heart pounded in my chest. I felt an icy trickle down my spine. What was happening?

The nearest lictors turned and ran back to the chariot. Some of the officers on horseback sharply reined their mounts, but others bolted forward to see what was happening, with looks of alarm. Caesar was hidden from sight by the bodyguards and officers swarming around him. Confusion spread among the spectators.

I felt a sinking sensation. Calpurnia was right, after all, I thought. There was a plot on Caesar's life-and now it's playing out right before my eyes…

The hubbub around the chariot continued. There were murmurs and cries of panic from the crowd.

At last an officer on horseback broke from the group. He raised his arm and addressed the crowd.

"Be calm! There's nothing to worry about. Caesar is unharmed. The axle of the chariot broke, that's all. The triumph will continue as soon as another chariot can be brought." The officer rode off to address another part of the crowd.

" 'That's all,' the man says?" muttered someone in the crowd below me. "An evil omen, for sure!"

The crowd around Caesar thinned. He was standing near the stalled chariot. I could see now that the carriage had collapsed and the wheels were askew. Aware that all eyes were on him, Caesar did his best to adopt a nonchalant expression, but he looked a bit shaken nonetheless. He tapped one foot fretfully. It must be hard to maintain one's dignity after very nearly being thrown from a chariot.

The wait stretched on. To pass the time, the idle soldiers sang a marching song, then shouted cheers for Caesar. As the waiting continued and the mood became more relaxed, some of the rowdier soldiers took up a rude chant about their commander:

Lock up your money,

Roman bankers!

He took it all,

To spend in Gaul!

Lock up your women,

quivering Gauls!

Here Caesar comes,

So bold, so bald!

Lock up your law books,

Senators, consuls!

Hail, Dictator!

Crown you later!

There were many more verses, some of them mildly obscene. The crowd responded with gales of laughter. Roman troops are famous for making fun of their commanders, and the commanders are famous for enduring it. Caesar managed a crooked smile.

As the mood grew even more relaxed, the chants grew more ribald, including one about Caesar's youthful dalliance with King Nicomedes of Bithynia:

All the Gauls did Caesar conquer,

But Nicomedes conquered him.

In Gaul did Caesar find his glory,

In Caesar, Nico found a quim!

The crowd laughed even harder. Caesar's face turned as red as if he had stained it with cinnabar, like the triumphant generals of old. He stepped onto the broken chariot, faced the soldiers, and raised his hands, still clutching the laurel bough and scepter. The men stopped chanting, though they continued to chuckle and grin while Caesar addressed them.

"Soldiers of Rome, I must protest! These songs are amusing, to be sure, and your bravery has earned you the right to indulge in a bit of levity on this day, even at Caesar's expense. But these verses about the king of Bithynia are unfair and unsubstantiated-"

"But not untrue!" shouted someone from the ranks farther back, to a burst of laughter.

"And untrue!" insisted Caesar. "Most assuredly, untrue. On my honor as a Roman-"

"Swear by Numa's balls!" shouted someone.

"No, swear by Nicomedes' staff!" shouted someone else.

The laughter was deafening. Caesar's face turned even redder. Did he realize how absurd he looked at that moment, a fifty-two-year-old man resplendent in his laurel crown and toga, perched on a broken chariot, attempting in vain to convince his soldiers that he had not been another man's catamite some thirty years ago?

The soldiers did not believe him. Nor, for that matter, did I. During one of our conversations in Alexandria, Caesar had spoken quite wistfully of his youthful relationship with the older king, despite the fact that his enemies had needled him about it many times over the years. It was not so much the affair itself that caused him embarrassment but the assumption that Caesar had played the receptive role, an unbecoming position for a Roman male, who is required always to dominate and penetrate. Whatever the true details of Caesar's intimacy with the king, the story had acquired a life of its own. The more Caesar denied it, the more it dogged him.

He was at last rescued from further ridicule by the arrival of the replacement chariot. As he climbed from the broken carriage, I could see the relief on his face.

The new chariot was an identical ceremonial model, with the same distinctive round shape, but not quite as splendidly gilded. A group of priests and Vestal virgins arrived to transfer the talismans for averting the evil eye. Among them I saw Calpurnia's uncle Gnaeus, who chanted under his breath and tinkled the bell as he fixed it to the new chariot. His expression of solemn joy was gone, replaced by a stern frown; perhaps he was peeved at having to perform this sacred duty a second time.