Steven Saylor - The Triumph Of Caesar

"But now it's over, at least in Rome. People are beginning to live again-to hope, to plan, to think about the future. To think about life instead of death. No one wants a return to the bloodshed and sorrow of the last few years. If Caesar were to be murdered-especially before he names an heir-the killing would start all over again. You don't have to love Caesar to want him to keep breathing. You don't even have to like him. You can despise him-and still want him to stay alive, for the sake of peace, for the good of all of us."

"Has it come to that? Must a man submit to having a king, and want him to live forever, because the alternative is too awful to consider?"

Diana cocked her head. "It must be terrible to be a man and to have think about such things, even in this heat. For those of us who can't vote, or fight, or own property-or ever hope to do any of those manly things-it's all much simpler. How many more people have to die before the world can be at peace? If Caesar were to be killed, I don't know if any good would come of it, but I'm certain a great deal of evil would follow. That's what you dread, Papa. That's why you care about what happens to Caesar."

I looked up, and realized that the sun had slipped behind the roofline. Twilight would come after all, followed by night, and then another day.

I closed my eyes.

I must have slept, because I seemed to be in the Tullianum. The dank, cool darkness was almost pleasant compared to the brutal heat of the day. Amid the shadows, lemures were all around me-the lemures of Vercingetorix and Ganymedes and countless other Gauls and Egyptians, soon to be joined by more victims from Asia and Africa and unheard-of lands beyond. But the lemur of Hieronymus was not among them.

The next day, for the Asian Triumph, we arrived a bit late, and with our party incomplete. There was some minor crisis with little Beth, and after much discussion, Diana convinced her mother to come along while she stayed home. Our seats were waiting for us in the viewing stands. We missed the opening procession of senators and magistrates-small loss! — but managed to take our places just as the trumpets were sounding to mark the parade of trophies.

The rebellious King Pharnaces had overrun Cappadocia, Armenia, and Pontus. All these regions, which Caesar had subsequently reclaimed, were represented by precious objects donated by the grateful inhabitants. A golden crown and other treasures, with which Pharnaces had attempted to placate Caesar upon his arrival in Asia, were also displayed, along with a statue of the moon goddess Bellona, the principal deity of the Cappadocians, to whom Caesar had sacrificed before he began the campaign.

Among the captured weapons and machines of war, Pharnaces's own chariot was wheeled before us. It was an impressive vehicle. The carriage was heavily plated, and fearsome-looking blades projected from the wheels.

A placard displayed the flight of Pharnaces at the battle of Zela. The king was shown in his chariot, his crown tumbling from his head, his face a mask of panic. On one side of him loomed a stern-looking Caesar, his hands on hips. On the other side loomed Pharnaces's treacherous henchman Asander, the man who would murder him, flashing a wicked grin. The crowd bust into laughter at the sight of these exaggerated but cleverly rendered caricatures.

I could see that a very large placard was approaching, as wide as the pathway would permit and twice as tall as the men carrying it. The sight of it elicited a tumultuous cheer as it passed. When it came into view, I saw why. In a single battle, within five days after his arrival and within four hours after sighting the enemy, Caesar had vanquished Pharnaces. The magnitude of his victory was impressive; its speed was astonishing. Rendered in huge golden letters upon the placard were the words I CAME, I SAW, I CONQUERED.

Always eager to take up a chant, the crowd began to repeat Caesar's terse boast. One side shouted, "Came!" The other side shouted, "Saw!" Then, all together, as loudly as possible: "Conquered!"

I had been feeling the call of nature ever since we sat and could wait no longer. "I think I shall go, stand, and relieve myself."

"Take Rupa with you," said Bethesda.

He rose to accompany me, but I waved him back. "No, Rupa, there are some things it is safe for me to do all by myself. Stay and watch-and don't get into any trouble!"

Bethesda gave me an exasperated look, but I ignored her. I made my way to the aisle, descended the steps, and threaded a path through the crowd. The nearest public latrines, built directly above the Cloaca Maxima, were not far away.

The chamber was one of the largest public facilities in the Forum, but when I stepped inside I found myself alone. The most exciting part of the triumph for many spectators-the procession of prisoners-was coming up, and probably no one wanted to miss it. I had my choice of whichever of the scores of holes I wanted. I followed my nose to the freshest-smelling part of the room and stood before the receptacle. The roar of the crowd outside echoed through the stone chamber, sounding strangely distant.

I was just beginning when someone entered the chamber.

From the corner of my eye, I saw that he wore priestly garments. I took a closer look and I saw that it was Calpurnia's uncle, Gnaeus Calpurnius. He must have left his place in the procession to come relieve himself. He gave me a grunt of recognition as he walked up to a nearby receptacle and made ready, hitching up his robes. He had interrupted me, and I was slow to start again. He was slow to begin at all, which was not surprising for a man his age. We stood in silence for a long moment.

"Hot today," he finally said, staring straight ahead.

"Yes," I said, a little surprised that he would deign to strike up a conversation with me, even about the weather. "Though not as hot as yesterday, I think."

He grunted. I kept my gaze politely averted, but from the corner of my eye I saw that Uncle Gnaeus appeared to be adjusting himself, yet to no avail, for still I heard no release.

"My niece has great faith in you," he said.

"Does she?"

"Should she?" He turned his head slightly and trained a single eye upon me. "Or are you no better than the other one, the one who got himself killed, wasting her time and filling her head with yet more nonsense?"

"Hieronymus was my friend," I said quietly. "I would prefer that you not speak ill of him in my presence." My flow began. "Tell me, did you ever discuss astronomy with him?"

"What?"

"Hieronymus made notations having to do with the movements of the stars and such. You're a keeper of the calendar, aren't you? I thought perhaps you gave him instruction."

He snorted. "Do you seriously think I would waste my time giving sacred instruction to one of my niece's minions, and a foreigner, at that? Now tell me, Finder, are you wasting Calpurnia's time? Have you discovered anything of interest? Are you at all close to doing so?"

"I'm doing my best," I said. And in some ways doing much better than you, I thought, for still there was no relief for Uncle Gnaeus. No wonder he was so irritable!

He snorted. "Just as I thought. You've found nothing, because there is nothing to find. This menace to Caesar that consumes my niece is entirely imaginary, created from thin air by that haruspex, Porsenna."

"If that's true, then why did someone murder Hieronymus?"

"Your friend was poking his nose into other people's business-powerful people, dangerous people. Who knows what embarrassing or incriminating information he may have uncovered, having nothing at all to do with Caesar? The Scapegoat surely offended someone, but his death is hardly proof of a plot against Caesar."

What he said made sense, yet I found myself recalling the cryptic "key" that Hieronymus had mentioned in his journal. I repeated the words aloud. " 'Look all around! The truth is not found in the words, but the words may be found in the truth.' "