Steven Saylor - A Mist of Prophecies

It was all a fantasy, of course, frightening and fascinating to imagine, but ultimately unthinkable. Then I reminded myself that hardly more than a year ago, it had been unthinkable that Caesar would dare to cross the Rubicon and march on Rome like an invading barbarian.

"Look there!" said Didius. "My eyes are weak, Gordianus, but don't I see men coming from the direction of the Senate House?"

"You do indeed, Didius. Armed men, a whole troop of them, scattering the mob before them. And farther back I believe I see a cordon of lictors with Isauricus in their midst." I couldn't tell whether there had been any bloodshed, but the men scattering before the armed troops were screaming and yelling, making such a noise that it carried above the raucous chanting and cheering of the mob around Marcus Caelius. Caelius himself appeared to hear the noise, for I saw him raise his hands for silence. A moment later, all heads turned in the direction of the Senate House. The cries of the fleeing mob echoed about the Forum, along with another noise, for not all those who fled did so passively; some were casting stones at the soldiers, who responded by drawing into tortoise formation with shields locked around them and above their heads. The flying stones pelting the shields made a racket like heavy hail against a roof. The noise heartened the mob around Caelius. They began to chant: "Abolish all debts! Bankrupt the bankers! Abolish all debts! Bankrupt the bankers!"

I looked on, aghast. In Massilia, during the worst of the siege, I had witnessed something similar-citizens casting stones at their own soldiers. For any city to reach such a level of disorder was a terrifying thing. To see it happen in Rome was appalling.

Suddenly I heard a roar of laughter from the crowd around Caelius. He was strutting across the raised platform holding up his chair of state. I squinted, trying to see what they were laughing at. It was the same deliberately plain, modestly ornamented chair Caelius had used before, the one that Isauricus had broken in a rage. The seat had been mended, not with wood, but with leather straps. In a flash I caught Caelius's little joke, which was typically convoluted, cruel, and vulgar. The one anecdote everybody knew about Isauricus had to do with his father's temper, and the fact that Isauricus had received regular beatings with a leather strap when he was a boy. When others needled him about it, Isauricus tried to make a virtue of his father's abuse, saying such discipline had toughened him up. Gave him a tough bottom, people would say behind Isauricus's back. For breaking his chair, Caelius had taken revenge on Isauricus by mending the chair with leather straps-a reminder to everyone of the legendary abuse of Isauricus's father and of the consul's own uncontrolled fit of temper. With Isauricus and a company of armed troops quickly approaching, Caelius, defiant to the last possible moment, was holding up the chair for the crowd's amusement-his way of tweaking his nose at the Ultimate Decree.

Above the roaring laughter and the hail of stones on shields-still distant, but drawing closer by the moment-I heard Caelius's stentorian parting words: "Shame on Caesar's lackeys who dare to call themselves elected magistrates! I give up my office! I give up my chair of state! But I shall return!" With that he hurled his chair of state high in the air. It landed in the midst of the crowd. Men swarmed to claim pieces as a souvenir. They tore the chair apart and snapped leather straps over their heads.

When I looked back at the tribunal, Caelius had vanished.

"But where…?" I whispered.

"Into thin air," said Didius, "like a sorcerer!"

A few moments later the armed troops pushed their way into the crowd around the tribunal. Isauricus arrived, surrounded by his lictors, looking furious.

"Abolish all debts! Bankrupt the bankers!" cried the mob.

Caelius was nowhere to be seen.

I glanced at Cassandra, who was watching the spectacle below as raptly as the rest of us. It seemed to me that I saw a faint, elusive smile on her lips.

A few more stones were thrown, but with Caelius gone, the adoring mob had no reason to stay, and neither did the soldiers who had come to arrest him. The crowd dispersed.

When I looked again for Cassandra, she and Rupa had vanished, leaving as little trace as Marcus Caelius.

I talked for a while longer with Didius, then took my leave. I felt an urge to return to Cassandra's apartment, but for what purpose? By now my family must have noticed my absence and would know about the disruption in the Forum. Bethesda would be worried.

I hurried home, bracing myself for her reception. But when I arrived, a little out of breath from hurrying up the Palatine Hill, it was Diana who greeted me. Her brow was furrowed with worry as I had so often seen her mother's.

"I suppose I'm in a bit of trouble," I said sheepishly. "Your mother-"

"Mother's gone to bed," said Diana, quietly.

"In the middle of the day?"

"She became dizzy while we were in the market. She felt so poorly, she had to come home at once." Diana frowned. "I hope it's nothing serious."

That was the first appearance of Bethesda's lingering illness, which was to cast such a deep shadow over my household in the months to come.

"I suppose you ate your fill of those stuffed dates at Antonia's house, and we needn't go looking for anything more to eat before our next stop?" I said to Davus.

"They were very good," he said.

"I'll have to take your word for it. I'm afraid our hostess spoiled my appetite."

"She seemed like a very unhappy woman."

"Typically, Davus, you understate. I suppose we should try to be sympathetic. It can't be easy being married to a fellow like Marc Antony."

"Unhappy," he repeated thoughtfully, "and bitter. She spoke very harshly of Cassandra. She said she'd have killed Cassandra herself if someone else hadn't already done so."

"Yes, Davus, I heard what she said."

"So where are we off to now, Father-in-Law?"

"I'm thinking it's time I paid a call on a certain famous actress who keeps a house near the Circus Maximus."

Davus nodded, then reached inside his toga. He produced a stuffed date and popped it into his mouth.

He saw me staring. "I'm sorry, Father-in-Law. Would you like one? I have plenty more."

"Davus! What did you do, slip a handful into your toga while I wasn't watching?"

"Antonia said to take as many I wanted," he said defensively.

"So she did. You should have been an advocate, Davus. Cicero himself couldn't split a hair more finely."

It wasn't hard to find the house we were seeking. Everyone in Rome knew who Cytheris was, and everyone in the neighborhood of the Circus Maximus knew where she lived. An old woman selling plums from a basket-they should have been made of gold for what she was asking-pointed us in the general direction, down the wide avenue that runs along the south wall of the circus. We passed a troupe of acrobats practicing in the street, much to the delight of a crowd of children. A team of chariot racers all dressed in green came walking by. They were covered with dust, with whips wrapped tightly around their forearms and snug leather caps on their heads. I asked their leader for more-specific directions.

He was straightforward enough when he gave them, but as we were walking off, he yelled after us, "Mind you don't let Antony catch you!"

"Or the fat old banker, for that matter!" added one of his companions, cracking his whip in the air to a chorus of raucous laughter.

As Antonia had said, it was a very respectable-looking house, tucked away on a narrow, quiet side street. I noted the fig tree her slave must have used to climb onto the roof of the neighboring house so as to look down into Cytheris's garden, spying on the actress and Cassandra.