Стивен Сейлор - The Throne of Caesar

“But,” Hipparchus continued, “I could never accept any gratuity, no matter the size, without informing my master.”

“Tell Caesar, then, if you wish,” I said, thinking that such a small transaction could hardly merit the attention, even for the blink of an eye, of a man with Caesar’s responsibilities. But from single stones are built the longest roads, as my father used to say. No detail was too small to escape Caesar’s attention. The loyalty of every man, from slave to senator, mattered to him.

With a last stolen glance at my daughter, the slave took his leave. I turned toward Diana, thinking to rebuke her with a raised eyebrow, but found myself face-to-face with my wife. Her hair was combed and piled up in an even bolder fashion than that of my daughter. She couldn’t have been that worried about me if she had spent the afternoon with Diana doing up their hair. At least they were putting the new slave to good use .

“Husband, you smell of—” she began, but I pressed a finger to her lips.

“Say nothing, wife, until you’ve heard my news. Diana, gather everyone in the household, including the slaves. I might as well tell all of you at once, and be done with it. Come, we’ll do it in the garden. Light lamps and braziers. I want to see everyone’s face when I deliver the news.”

Diana rounded them up. There were the two slaves who cooked and ran the kitchen and the three who cleaned the house and kept the garden (and were supposed to take turns minding the front door); there was another who sewed and did shopping, and her small son, who ran errands and took messages, and of course the new one who applied cosmetics to my wife and daughter and dressed their hair; and yet another couple of slaves who surely did something all day—Bethesda must have known their duties, though I did not. There was no point in trying to keep the news from any of them, because household slaves inevitably discover everything of importance that takes place in the house. They might, if they feared or loved or respected me enough, be trusted to keep the knowledge to themselves and not spread it outside the house. I made sure that was the first thing I said—“Say nothing of this to anybody until after the Ides”—looking not only at the slaves but also at Diana and Davus and Bethesda, as well as little Aulus and tiny Beth (for even my grandchildren would know the word “senator” and might repeat it in public unless admonished not to).

“Well, husband, what is it? What have you to tell us?” Bethesda looked at once dubious and quietly excited. A part of her, suspicious as a cat, thought I must be up to no good. Another part thought I must have a good reason to gather them all in one place to make my announcement.

“As you know, Meto dropped in on us earlier today and swept me off to visit the Dictator, at Caesar’s request.”

“Are you in trouble?” asked Davus. A furrow of concern creased his broad forehead.

“You might say that. You might say that I’ve been made an offer of the sort no man can refuse. ”

“An offer?” said Bethesda. “Holy Isis, husband, what are you talking about? Has Caesar offered you work?”

“You might say that as well.”

“What can the man possibly want from you, at your age? You’re a respectable member of the Equestrian order now. I won’t have you digging through people’s rubbish and getting yourself into trouble, not even for Caesar!”

Why was I hesitating? I had heard the words spoken—by Caesar, by Meto, and by Cinna—but I myself had not yet said them. Words once spoken can never be called back. It was as if the words themselves contained a sort of magic, like a spell, irrevocable once uttered.

“I…”

“Yes, Papa?” said Diana.

“I’m going to be … that is, Caesar has appointed me … or will appoint me … on the Ides…”

“Husband!” Bethesda almost shouted. Her lips trembled. There was a look on her face I had never seen before. She had guessed what I was about to say and could hardly contain herself.

Diana looked from one of us to the other, not quite understanding but sensing the enormity of the thing yet to be spoken. Like her mother, she trembled. Davus put his arm around her.

The excitement was contagious. Aulus clutched his father, little Beth her mother, and both let out a scream.

“I am going to be a senator,” I said, in a low, hoarse voice so unfamiliar in my ears that I felt compelled to say it again. “I … am going to be … a senator.”

Bethesda rushed into my arms. Diana followed, as did the children. Davus blinked and staggered a bit, as if I had smacked his forehead. The slaves burst into applause. I felt somewhat unsteady, but was in no danger of falling, encircled by so much adoration. Was this what real politicians felt when crowds of cheering well-wishers lifted them on their shoulders? Was this what Caesar felt when senators sprang to their feet and shouted his name as if he were a god ?

“We must send word to Eco and Menenia at once!” cried Bethesda, between planting kisses all over my face. She was ecstatic. And why not? She had come the farthest of anyone in that house. She had been born a slave in Egypt but would end her days as the wife of a Roman senator. “Oh, what will Fulvia say?”

“No, no, no, wife! Did you not hear me? No one must be told until it actually happens, on the Ides.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t keep such a thing secret. For one thing, you’ll need to go shopping for a new toga—a senator’s toga!”

“She’s right, Papa,” said Diana. “There can’t be more than a handful of tailors who specialize in such an item, and even the most reputable tailors are notorious for spreading gossip. They see everyone stripped naked, so to speak.”

“Why would you want to keep it a secret, anyway?” said Davus.

I blinked. “Fear of the Evil Eye?”

Even Roman generals feared the misfortune that might arise from envy. That was why chariots in triumphal processions were fitted with an ancient phallic talisman underneath, to ward off the black magic that might emanate from so many jealous onlookers. That was why mothers put such talismans in the cribs of their newborns, to ward off the malevolent envy of women who were barren or whose babies had died.

“Never fear, mother and I will do all that can be done to propitiate the gods and ward off ill fortune,” said Diana. “Mother knows Egyptian spells she’s never even shared with me. And we can ask Fulvia. She knows a lot about such things—”

“That Fulvia is a sorceress I don’t doubt!” I laughed. “But not the most successful, to judge by her string of dead spouses—”

“Husband! That is just the sort of quip that might attract the Evil Eye. Not to mention the ire of Antony, a man you can hardly afford to offend, since Caesar will be leaving him in charge after he goes, and you’re to be … you’re to be a … senator!” Bethesda, too, felt the strange, giddy power of speaking the word aloud. She clapped her hand over her mouth.

* * *

Dinner that night was a celebration. Bethesda called for the best wine in the house. While not in a class with the Falernian I had been drinking with Cinna, it was quite pleasant to the taste, especially accompanying a hearty lamb stew. The cooks outdid themselves.

Every word Bethesda said, every movement she made seemed slightly more calculated than usual, more elegant, more refined. It was as if she were trying on the guise of a Roman senator’s wife, which fit a bit snugly but flattered her nonetheless. To see her thus stimulated and gratified was the most compelling reason to accept Caesar’s appointment. For Bethesda to be a senator’s wife, I had to be a senator. So be it.

Diana, too, seemed quietly content. She wore a heavy-lidded expression like that of a purring cat. Davus, always affable, seemed happy for the rest of us, but surely he too felt a sudden welling of pride. Having attained freedman status by impregnating (secretly) and then marrying (with my blessing) my daughter, he would now be a senator’s son-in-law, and his children would also rise in status.