Стивен Сейлор - The Throne of Caesar

“Then I suppose I should be … insulted.” My voice trailed off, for I was as amazed as Cinna. The more I thought about it, the more incredible it seemed. Of all the ways I might live out my final years, to do so as a Roman senator had never occurred to me, not even in my wildest dreams. “I’m as appalled by the news as you are, Cinna. I don’t suppose one can refuse an appointment to the Senate?”

“Not if you want to keep in the good graces of the Dictator. Don’t be ridiculous!”

“It seems I’m ridiculous if I accept Caesar’s offer, and ridiculous if I don’t.…”

We were momentarily distracted by an argument that broke out across the room, where several men were huddled together, tossing dice on the floor. One of them accused another of cheating and the usual war of words ensued, brought to an end when the burly tavernkeeper outshouted them all and threatened to throw them out.

The tavern fell quiet for a long moment, until the rattling of dice on the floor broke the silence.

“Venus Throw!” one of the gamblers cried, exulting in his triumph.

“Was Cleopatra there?” asked Cinna. “At the garden estate? I presume that’s where you met with Caesar.”

“As a matter of fact, she was.”

“Did you see her?”

“I did.”

“She was nowhere to be seen the day I delivered the new poem to Caesar. I have yet to lay eyes on her.” Cinna swirled the wine in his cup. “You have some history with the queen, don’t you?”

“A bit. I happened to be in Alexandria with my son Meto and with Caesar on the day she introduced herself to him.”

“What! You were present when Cleopatra was smuggled into the palace and unrolled from that carpet before his astonished eyes?”

“I, too, was astonished.”

“No! You’re making this up.”

I shrugged. “Think what you wish.”

Cinna gave me a sulky look. “How do I know this isn’t just another of your tall tales?” This had become a standard refrain in our conversations, especially when I happened to reminisce about my travels or the adventures of my youth. The farther back in time the story, or the farther from Rome, the more likely was Cinna to scoff and accuse me of embellishing my tale with stardust. This was merely a method of pulling information from me, as I well knew, having used the trick countless times myself. If you want a man to give you more details, express doubt.

“You know I lived for a while in Alexandria when I was young,” I said. “And I was there again only a few years ago, traveling with Bethesda. That’s where I had first laid eyes on her, in Egypt. I’ve seen the Great Pyramid … and the Pharos Lighthouse … and Cleopatra. And the greatest of all these wonders was…”

Cinna peered at me over his wine cup. “Yes?”

“Bethesda!” I laughed, and so did he. “If I dare to say otherwise, I’m likely to find myself in a great deal of trouble.”

“Come now, Gordianus. I seriously doubt that your lovely wife has spies here in the Salacious Tavern.”

“No? You might be one, for all I know.”

“Absurd!”

I shook my head. “Women have ways of gathering information that elude the scrutiny of us men. I speak from many years of experience, dealing with women of all ages, from every station in life, and from many nations. Sometimes I think they read minds.”

“A terrifying thought.”

“Not for you. You have no wife at present.”

“Ah, but I have a teenage daughter. And my daughter has a nursemaid who’s been with her from infancy. Come to think of it, sometimes she and old Polyxo do seem to communicate without speaking. But, returning to the subject of the woman—I mean the one about whom everyone in Rome is talking—am I to understand that you did in fact see Cleopatra today?”

“I did, briefly, passing through a garden that’s been decorated to remind her of Egypt. It was because of her that your poem was quoted. Cleopatra made a gift of a certain slave to Caesar, and he recited that line. How does it go? ‘As a puny Psyllus … touches a charming … wasp?’”

Cinna groaned. “‘As a Punic Psyllus by touch charms a sleep-inducing asp.’ Well! Caesar himself, quoting me to Egyptian royalty. I’m giddy. I insist we have more Falernian, this time congratulating Cleopatra.”

“Congratulating her? Does the queen have something to celebrate?”

“Ah, not yet, Gordianus. Not yet!” He gave me a coy look.

“What’s this, Cinna? My head is already spinning. I’m not sure I can stand any more surprises.”

“But you must, because I can’t keep it secret any longer.” He leaned toward me and lowered his voice. “As you know, Cleopatra was only ever married to her own brothers, but she’s run out of those. Now she may soon take a new husband.”

“A new king for Egypt? What man would Caesar allow her to elevate to the throne? And for whom would she settle, other than Caesar?”

He hardly spoke above a whisper. “They’re going to marry each other.”

I likewise lowered my voice. “Surely not. Caesar’s happily married already, and even if he weren’t, Rome would never accept his marriage to a foreigner, especially that foreigner, with all the tangle of royal politics that would ensue. Can a dictator of Rome also be king of Egypt?”

Cinna raised an eyebrow. “Why stop with Egypt?”

I looked around. The dice game proceeded. The players paid us no attention. One of the lone drinkers had fallen asleep in a corner. Another was nodding and humming quietly to himself. The women I had taken to be whores were no longer present, having gone upstairs to nap or do business. The busty serving girl was behind the bar, helping the tavernkeeper decant an amphora of wine into smaller vessels.

I returned my gaze to Cinna. “What in Hades are you talking about?”

He bit his lower lip, then let out a giggle and smiled from ear to ear. His gray eyes sparkled with excitement. “You must swear to me, by the shade of your father, that you will repeat to no one— no one —what I’m about to tell you. Not until the Ides.”

Why the Ides? I thought. That was the date set for Caesar’s last full day of business with the Senate, the day I was to be put before that august body by the Dictator himself and accepted as a member. What else would happen on the Ides? There was the annual feast of Anna Perenna, when young couples take food baskets for picnics at a sacred grove north of the city; Cinna’s daughter, if I remembered correctly, was perhaps of an age to take part in such a courtship ritual, provided she had a suitor. I also recalled that someone was staging a gladiator exhibition on the Ides, at the Theater of Pompey, in the same rambling complex of buildings where the Senate would meet. Caesar loved such exhibitions, but despite its proximity I doubted he would have time to attend.

“Very well,” I said. “I’ll tell no one. But why the Ides? What will happen that day?”

“The Senate will meet—as you well know, Senator Gordianus.”

This was the first time I had heard the title spoken aloud. I felt a thrill of exhilaration, but also something akin to panic. My heart sped up. “I’m not a senator yet.”

“No, but you will be soon enough. And quite possibly the first bit of legislation you’ll be called on to consider and to ratify—which of course you shall, as shall all the rest of Caesar’s handpicked senators, and any others who care to remain in his favor—will be a legal exemption and special permission drawn up by myself.”

“An exemption for whom? Permission to do what?”

“For Caesar, who as Dictator for Life shall be exempted from the constraints of common law regarding marriage, and who shall be permitted, while outside Italy and throughout the duration of his military campaigns, to take in marriage howsoever many wives he wishes, for the express purpose of furthering the diplomatic and strategic interests of Rome and for the propagation of children. Presumably one of those wives will include … Cleopatra.”