Стивен Сейлор - The Throne of Caesar

He went on. “At least, there are not many older men left whose opinion I would ask. Tell me, have you yet experienced in your long life a moment when you thought, This is it. This is the apex, the zenith. I have arrived. After this, everything else will be downhill ?” Caesar paused for a moment, more to compose his thoughts than to await a reply. “For me, such a moment came during my first triumph, the one that celebrated the conquest of Gaul. I was in the chariot, wearing the laurel wreath, holding the scepter and the laurel bough, surrounded by the cheering multitudes. And I thought, I have reached the peak, the very summit of human affairs, from which I can gaze down on every land and sea. Only a god could stand higher. That feeling has never quite left me. It sustains me from day to day, like the air I breathe, like the water I drink. But after that moment—more triumphs. More war—that messy operation in Spain—and yet another triumph. Moments of satisfaction, of anticipation, even of exaltation—but never … never quite the same…”

“But now, Caesar, the Parthian campaign,” said Meto, with a look of concern. I took it that Caesar seldom spoke in such a way, even with his intimates. “It’s all we’ve thought about or talked about for days. Planning, poring over maps, looking ahead. Another campaign. Another triumph!”

“Ah, yes, now Parthia.” Caesar sighed. “Of course, before I even begin that campaign, we’ll have to stop in Damascus to fix the current mess in Syria.”

“Syria is in a mess?” I said.

“Isn’t it always?” Caesar suddenly laughed and shook his head. “Great Venus, here sits the master of the world feeling sorry for himself! How absurd I must look. I do believe there is some truth to those rumors about your power to draw secrets from others.”

“Is it a secret that Caesar has moments of uncertainty? Surely every man does.”

“And I am as mortal as all the rest—as those fellows behind me in my triumphal chariots kept reminding me. But where was I? What was I talking about?” Caesar looked genuinely perplexed, and Meto again looked concerned. “Oh, yes! Answer the question, Finder. Have you yet experienced the apogee of your rather long life?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve never really thought about it. There have been certain moments.…” I remembered the day Meto, born a slave, had reached manhood and put on the toga of a Roman citizen. Had that been the proudest moment of my life? Perhaps …

“Well, good citizen, you may very soon have cause to feel that you’ve reach the summit. Before I leave Rome, I’ll attend one final session of the Senate, on the Ides. There are some important items on the agenda—including the addition of one more member to the ranks of the Senate, my final appointment. Have you any idea whom that last senator will be—Gordianus?”

I shook my head, then looked at Meto. He had a broad smile on his face. So euphoric was his expression that I was almost alarmed by it .

Caesar gave me a cunning look. “Must I repeat the words I just said? ‘That last senator will be— Gordianus. ’”

It was a not a question this time. It was a statement.

I looked from Caesar to Meto, who was wiping tears of joy from his eyes, and then back to Caesar. I was too stunned to speak.

VIII

“Well, Finder, what do you say?” Caesar’s smile was almost cruel, as if he enjoyed my befuddlement.

“Yes, Papa, speak!” said Meto

“I…”

Caesar laughed. “Well, that’s a start. Of course, I’d never have considered such an appointment had you not been added to the Equestrian roster. I’ve been quite generous with my appointments—innovative, some would say—but there are limits to just how far I’ll push the old-timers in the Senate. Not a few of them would balk, I suspect, at welcoming Gordianus the Finder into their ranks, but they can hardly object to Gordianus of the Equestrian class, a man of wealth and accomplishment. I must admit, I was surprised to see your name when it appeared on the list. I had no idea you’d accumulated such a fortune. I asked Meto if you’d received an inheritance, and he said you hadn’t. How did you make all that money, Finder? Bit by bit, or by a sudden windfall? Well, I won’t pry into the matter.”

“I assure you, Caesar, the sudden increase in my wealth came from strictly legal means— ”

“No, no! Say no more.” Caesar waved one hand at me and with the other raised his cup to his lips. He took a long sip. “With whom a Roman citizen sleeps, which gods he worships, and how he makes his money should be no one’s business but his own, don’t you think?”

I blinked and slowly nodded.

Caesar leaned back on one elbow and peered at me. “I’ve seen other men become speechless when I’ve given them this news, but every one of them eventually managed to say, ‘Thank you.’”

“And I do, Caesar. Of course I do…” I had been made an Equestrian whether I liked it or not. But was it possible to turn down an appointment to the Senate? Why was I even thinking such a thought? But how could I not think it? I, who had shunned politics all my life, was to be thrust into the very center of what remained of republican government in Rome. “Indeed, Caesar. Thank you.”

Caesar sighed. “You might muster at least a modicum of enthusiasm.”

“My father has a tendency to overthink,” said Meto. “Things that are simple he makes needlessly complicated. He’s doing it right now. I can see the cogs and wheels spinning behind his eyes.” Meto smiled as he pointed a gyrating finger at me, but I could hear the strain in his voice. He was embarrassed by his father’s peculiar, even perverse reaction.

“It’s only that…” A blunt refusal was out of the question. What argument could I make against myself? “Gauls and haruspices are one thing, but I fear that your appointment of a fellow such as myself would rouse more controversy than you anticipate. A man of my lowly origins—”

“Lowly? You were born a Roman citizen, were you not? As was your father before you, and his father, I presume. There is nothing lowly about that.”

My eyes were on Meto. He was a citizen now, having become a freedman when I adopted him, but he had been born a slave. Did I see a shadow cross Meto’s face as Caesar spoke?

“What will Cicero say?” I murmured, thinking aloud.

“Cicero? Ha! To be sure, I would like to see his face when he finds out,” said Caesar. “But you must know, though I continue to show him respect in public, for the sake of decorum, Cicero’s time has passed. No one cares about his opinion anymore. And didn’t Cicero once call you ‘the last honest man in Rome’? If he dares to object to your appointment, here’s a chance for you to out-Cicero Cicero: Throw his own words back in his face, as he’s so famous for doing to others in the courts and on the floor of the Senate.”

A chill ran down my spine. “Might that happen? Might I be called on to debate Cicero? To defend myself before the Senate?” The idea made me light-headed.

“Certainly not,” said Caesar. “Once I announce your appointment, your approval by the Senate is a mere formality. You deserve to join their ranks as much as any other man I’ve named. Have you not been a hardworking, honest, and loyal citizen of Rome all your life, and have you not rendered valuable services to some of the most powerful men in Rome, including myself, always with an eye toward what was best for the Republic? Well, then, there you have it. Five days from now, on the Ides of March, you shall become a senator of Rome.”

Caesar sat upright on his dining couch and leaned forward. I thought he was about to reach out and give me a reassuring touch, but he leaned the other way and did so to Meto, grasping his shoulder firmly and giving him a look so intimate and tender that I suddenly felt an intruder. For many years now there had been a special bond between them. On long military campaigns they had shared the same tent. Back in Rome, by lamplight, they had spent long hours collaborating on Caesar’s memoirs. Now the two of them were about to set out on yet another campaign that might take them to the ends of the earth and beyond, together.