Стивен Сейлор - The Throne of Caesar

“Nonetheless, someone might have got wind of it.”

He shifted about in his seat. “‘Beware.’ Awfully vague. Beware what, or whom?”

“Could it be that you interrupted the writer before he finished?”

“I looked up and down the street. I saw no one scurrying off.” He squinted and gazed into the middle distance, picturing the scene. “The way the word was positioned, precisely centered in front of the doorstep, makes me think that single word comprised the entire message.”

“Puzzling, then, as well as alarming. Perhaps that was the intention—to cause you distress. A political enemy winding you up. Or could it be a fellow poet? Have you offended some rival versifier, slighted some fledgling author?”

“They’re all jealous of me, of course. Just as every senator is jealous of Caesar. Greatness inspires envy, always.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“But I’m not actively feuding with anyone at the moment, if that’s what you mean. I haven’t picked any literary quarrels lately. I’ve been too busy trying to finish my new poem! That is, when I haven’t been listening to complaints and petitions and pleas from my fellow citizens, in my role as a tribune. ”

“Your role as a tribune—I think you’ve put your finger on it. I imagine this word scratched in the sand has something to do with politics. But whether it’s a trivial bit of harassment, or a serious warning, who can say?”

“Indeed. Ah, well, I only thought I’d mention it, before I forget about it altogether. I suspect it’s of no importance. No importance whatsoever.”

“Let’s hope so.”

“Well, then, off with you. I won’t keep you any longer. Fortune be with you until we meet again, Gordianus.”

“May fortune be with you as well, Cinna.”

* * *

I left the stuffy, warm air of the tavern and stepped into the bracing twilight of an early Martius evening. The few patches of the horizon I could see between the jumble of buildings were a dusky blue. Overhead, the black sky twinkled with stars. I drew a deep breath and tried to blow the fumes of wine from my lungs.

I took a few steps and at once regretted having dismissed Caesar’s litter. I was a bit drunker than I had thought, and the way home was almost entirely uphill.

I took a few more steps and then froze, for it seemed to me that a figure was approaching from the deep shadows where the narrow, empty street met an intersection. I looked around. There was no one behind me; no one ahead, either, except the hulking silhouette. I took a step backward, for the towering figure was most certainly coming closer.

Where was my son-in-law when I needed him? At home with Diana, I thought, where he belonged. If something unpleasant was about to occur, I couldn’t blame Davus, only myself.

Any other man of my wealth, no matter how newly acquired, would have hired a professional bodyguard or two to shadow his every step. I had preferred to spend the money on household slaves for Bethesda and a tutor for my grandchildren.…

The figure moved closer. I took another step back, and stumbled. I righted myself and suddenly felt quite sober. The figure made a sniggering noise, as if amused by my awkwardness. In the eerie silence that followed, I heard the booming sound of my own heartbeat.

Why had I so casually dismissed Caesar’s litter-bearers? Because I’d had my fill of people demanding my attention, and I wanted to be left alone. I wanted to step into the Salacious Tavern with no one waiting for me outside, a free man, unfettered by worries and cares.

I was worried now.

The shadowy figure spoke in a deep, steady voice. “I haven’t frightened you, have I?”

I recognized the voice of Hipparchus, the leader of Caesar’s litter-bearers. He moved closer. His face was lit by dim starlight.

I pressed my hand to my chest, trying to muffle the booming of my heartbeat. “What were you thinking, sneaking up on me like that? And what are you still doing here? I sent you back to Caesar.”

“Apologies, citizen.” He lowered his head. Being so tall, he still looked down on me. “I sent back the litter and the other bearers, but I couldn’t leave you here alone. Caesar would never forgive me if something untoward befell a guest on his way home. I decided to wait here, outside the tavern, out of sight, so as to attract no attention.”

“You were certainly out of sight until you came lumbering toward me. You might have spoken sooner.”

“Apologies, citizen. I’ve been taught not to speak until spoken to, unless it’s absolutely necessary. I kept my mouth shut, until I saw the look on your face—”

“Yes, I understand.” What a frightened old man I must have looked, for such a well-mannered slave to snigger at my misstep. I thought of the doddering, panic-stricken old fools who were stock characters in Roman comedies. Is that what I had come to resemble, after so many years of rectitude and striving? I stood stiffly upright and drew the folds of my toga more securely around me. That, too, was a stock character, the put-upon man of affairs in a toga trying not to look a fool.

I stared at Hipparchus. At least he wasn’t laughing at me. “I suppose you’ll want to accompany me all the way home. ”

“If you’ll allow me, citizen,” Hipparchus said, sounding quite respectful.

I took a deep breath. I collected my wits, until I felt myself again. I was Gordianus the Finder, citizen of Rome, world traveler, friend of famous poets and dictators alike, soon to be a senator—no man’s fool, surely.

XII

To say that I hoped to skulk unobserved into my own home would do me a disservice. That would cast me as yet another laughable character from Plautus. Nonetheless, when I arrived at my front door, with a watchful Hipparchus striding dutifully beside me, I lifted a finger to my lips to demand his silence and made a very gentle knock. What were the chances I could shush the slave who opened the door before he could say a word, slip quietly inside, and find some hiding place where no one would bother me until I was entirely sober?

My hope was thwarted. Whichever slave was supposed to be minding the front door at that hour—I left it to Bethesda to assign such duties—was either absent or asleep. I knocked a bit louder. Then, with a sigh of exasperation, louder still.

At last the peephole opened and I saw the eyes of my daughter staring back at me.

“Papa! What took you so long? Mother is getting worried.”

The peephole was shut, the lock gave a rattle, and the door swung open. Diana stepped to the threshold. Her dark hair was done up in some fashion I’d never seen before, with combs and pins and a slender silver chain holding it all together. There was a new slave in the household, a very expensive eunuch from Egypt, who had been purchased because he was expert at creating such hairstyles.

I turned and gestured to Hipparchus. “As you can see, daughter, and attest to your mother if necessary, I was never alone or in any danger, thanks to the diligence of this fine servant of the Dictator.”

“I see,” said Diana, appraising Hipparchus a bit more closely than was necessary.

“You may leave me now,” I said to Hipparchus. “No, wait.” I stepped inside the door and reached for a small bowl in a niche, in which were stored small coins suitable for gratuities to deliverymen and messengers. I pressed a few pieces of copper into Hipparchus’s hand. “Your master needn’t know that I gave you this.”

“Thank you, citizen,” he said, but with his eyes on Diana, not me. The two of them seemed to have arrived at some tacit agreement allowing the mutual gratification of their ocular senses. At the risk of playing yet another stock character—the disapproving father—I felt obliged to step between them. The interruption seemed to break some invisible thread of tension, for they simultaneously released very faint noises of regret, one coming in my right ear and the other in my left.