Steven Saylor - The Triumph Of Caesar

I began to object, but Caesar silenced me with a gesture. "No, don't thank me! You've earned this favor, Gordianus. It's the least I can do." He stood and straightened his toga. "I meant to ask: did you manage to find good seats for the Gallic Triumph on your own?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. There's a little ledge at Lucullus's Temple of Fortuna that affords a good view of the route."

"Ah, yes." He nodded, then his face grew long. "If you were at the Temple of Fortuna, then you must have seen the… unexpected interruption."

"When the axle of the chariot broke? Yes. But I thought you handled it very well. The episode provided a bit of relief from all that grandiose formality. Your soldiers must love you very much indeed to think they can tease you so mercilessly."

"Yes," he said, his tone a bit cool. "A funny thing, that-the axle breaking. When we examined it later, it appeared almost as if someone had tampered with it."

"Tampered?"

"Caused it to break intentionally. It looked to me as if the wood had been partially sawed through. But it was impossible to be sure, the way the wood had splintered."

"Sabotage? But who would have done such a thing?"

He shook his head. "It was probably a simple accident, after all. And now I really must be going. Calpurnia becomes especially worried if I'm not home after dark."

I accompanied him through the house and into the vestibule, where the family still gathered, suspending their normal activities as long as the dictator was among us. Diana nudged Davus, who nudged Mopsus, who gave his little brother a kick. Androcles rushed to open the door, and Caesar, his thoughts now elsewhere, departed without another word.

The family gathered around me. While they peppered me with questions, I peered at the token in the palm of my hand. I would have preferred to stay at home the next day, avoiding the Egyptian Triumph altogether, but now that Caesar himself had gone to the effort to present this gift to me, I could hardly be absent. On the morrow, I would have an excellent view of the princess Arsinoe and her minister Ganymedes as they took their final walk on this earth.

Bethesda was quite pleased when I showed her the token Caesar had given me and explained what it was good for. Such signs of favor from a social superior always seemed to matter to her far more than they did to me, perhaps because of her origins. She had been born a foreigner and a slave; now she was a Roman matron and proud of it, despite clinging to certain foreign ways.

My own attitude toward the elite and the favors they could bestow was more problematical. Though born a Roman, I had realized from an early age that I would never become one of the so-called nobilitas, "those who are known" for having won public office; I never expected even to be allowed into the homes of such people. Now, after a lifetime of serving them, I was still not the sort of person they cared to invite to dinner. Rome's noble families are few in number and they closely guard their privileges, though outsiders of exceptional ability and ambition can occasionally join their ranks; Cicero was the prime example of such a New Man, the first of the Tullius family to be elected to office and set upon the Course of Honor in the quest to become consul for a year.

Many of those nobles, who had thought me barely worthy to serve them and certainly unworthy of their friendship, were dead now, while I, a humble citizen of no distinction, was still alive. For those aristocrats who had survived, what did the Course of Honor or nobility itself mean now, with one man installed in a permanent position at the apex of power?

And what did this token of favor from the dictator mean to me? I pondered this question as I examined the little piece of carved bone in my hand by the soft morning light in my vestibule. I was already dressed in a toga, with a simple breakfast of farina and stewed fruit in my belly. Menenia had just arrived with the twins. Bethesda insisted that the family set out early to claim our seats, even though I tried to explain to her that the whole point of possessing such a token was to allow us to show up whenever we wanted, since the seats were reserved for us. I think she wanted us to be seated early so that we might be conspicuously visible to the arriving throng, ensconced in our place of privilege.

With my family surrounding me, including Mopsus and Androcles ("We'll need them to fetch food and drinks," Bethesda had insisted), I set out, descending from the Palatine directly to the Forum, which was already more crowded than I would have expected at such an early hour. The stands with our seats were located near the end of the route, facing the foot of the Capitoline Hill and high enough to afford a panoramic view. Directly across from us were the most prestigious of the viewing stands, upon which curtained boxes with plush appointments had been erected for the comfort of important dignitaries. Those seats were still empty.

Beyond and between the dignitaries' boxes, I could clearly see the trail that led up the slope of the Capitoline to the Carcer. Later, if I cared to, I could probably watch Arsinoe and Ganymedes being led to the very door of the prison, behind which they would meet their deaths in the pit of the Tullianum.

While we waited for the procession to begin, I thought about what Caesar had said regarding his accident during the Gallic Triumph. If someone had deliberately severed the axle of his chariot, did the sabotage support Calpurnia's suspicions of a plot against Caesar? It was hard to see how; such an accident could hardly have been counted on to injure Caesar, much less kill him. Perhaps it had been devised merely to embarrass him, but by whom and for what reason? Renegade Gauls in the city might have wished to mar his victory over Vercingetorix, but how could they have obtained access to the sacred chariot? Caesar's veterans had felt free to tease him with lewd verses; might some of them have been so bold as to sever the axle to play a practical joke on him?

Had Caesar only imagined signs of tampering, and, if so, what did such imaginings indicate about his state of mind? Or was Caesar's speculation about sabotage a ruse? He had seemed to reveal this concern in a genuinely unguarded moment, but did such a man ever speak without premeditation? It might be that Caesar was disseminating this rumor of sabotage with the intent of dispelling any notion that the accident was an evil omen, the result of divine displeasure rather than human intervention.

"Husband!"

My thoughts were interrupted by Bethesda. Her voice was hushed, her tone excited.

"Husband, is that her?"

I blinked and looked about. While I had been staring abstractedly into empty space, the stands around me had filled up. Below us, every spot along the route was taken. The Forum was a sea of spectators bisected by the broad path left open for the triumph.

"Over there," Bethesda said insistently, "in the special seats. Is that really her?"

I gazed across the way. The boxes for dignitaries had also filled up. Amid the gaudily attired ambassadors and emissaries and visiting heads of states sat a lone female, resplendent in a purple gown and a golden diadem. The walls and high parapet of the box kept her from being seen by the crowd around and below her, but because our seats were directly across from the box, we had a clear view of her.

"Yes," I said. "That is Cleopatra."

The queen had arrived without fanfare. No one in the crowd seemed to be aware of her presence. Barred by Caesar from taking part in the triumph, she was merely another spectator amid the thousands present that day.

Bethesda squinted, tilted her head to one side, and frowned. "She's not as pretty as I had imagined."

I looked sidelong at my wife and smiled. "She's certainly no rival to you."