Стивен Сейлор - The Throne of Caesar

“Splendid news, indeed,” I said.

Cinna paced about the room, too excited to sit. I had never seen him so animated. I was struck by how handsome he looked, with his eyes ablaze and a broad grin on his face. “But look at you, Gordianus, dressed in my summer toga. Stand up so that I can see. Yes, turn around for me. The garment fits as if it were tailored for you. With that toga, and a trim to neaten your beard, you shall look quite presentable on your first day as a senator. Now if only you can assume the pompous bearing of a senator, people will think you’ve been one all your life. That may take some practice. ”

“Should I wear the toga tomorrow, at the dinner?”

“I think not. The occasion will be elegant, but not formal. Let Caesar see you in that toga for the first time on the Ides. I think he’ll be quite happy to see the last of his new senators turned out so smartly—an omen that the rest of the day’s business will go smoothly.”

“Is there any reason to think it won’t?”

“You never know. This will be the last chance for the envious and the grudge holders to express their discontent before Caesar leaves Rome. Who knows what mischief they might get up to?”

DAY FIVE: MARCH 14

XXVI

The next morning, Bethesda and Diana descended on me as the harpies descended on the feast of Phineas. No visible part of me was left ungroomed. My hair was washed and combed, then given what Diana assured me was a fashionable cut for a man of my age and station. My beard was also neatly trimmed, as were my eyebrows, and various hairs were plucked from various places where hairs tend to grow as a man gets older, such as his ears. My nails were also trimmed.

With the help of a slave, I donned the toga Cinna had given me. Diana clapped her hands with joy. Bethesda looked ready to swoon. But as I paced back and forth across the garden, trying to assume the “pompous bearing” Cinna had talked about, Diana stifled a laugh. Bethesda raised an eyebrow and clucked her tongue.

“Do I look that absurd?” I asked.

“Of course not, Papa” said Diana. “Pay us no attention. We’re only teasing you.”

Nevertheless, I banished them from the garden, drained of my confidence and feeling more nervous than ever at the prospect of wearing the toga in public. I set about pacing again, trying to find a gait that felt natural to me .

A slave came to tell me that I had a visitor in the vestibule. It was Tiro. I told the slave to show him in.

Tiro’s jaw dropped when he saw me. He grinned and laughed, and then with some effort assumed a more serious expression. “Gordianus, of course I’ve heard the news, but to actually see you—I mean to say, you look quite—yes, very —but why shouldn’t you?—I mean to say—congratulations!”

“Thank you, Tiro. Does Cicero send his congratulations, as well?”

Tiro skirted the question. “No other man in Rome is more deserving of the honor than you. I mean that sincerely. Yes, there may be some who complain or express doubt. It may take some getting used to. Even Cicero, perhaps—”

“Just how bad a tantrum did he throw when he heard the news?”

“Tantrum? I would hardly call it that. He did throw a rather heavy bronze stylus at one of the slaves, and almost blinded the fellow, but he felt terribly sorry afterward. But never mind. Every senator in Rome, all of them, including Cicero, shall be won over by your dignity and gravitas, I have no doubt. Just look at you! Born to wear that toga, I would say.”

“‘Clothes make the man,’ as Plautus says.”

“Exactly.” Tiro flashed a crooked smile. “To be honest, I was afraid you might turn up wearing something—well, something not quite—that is to say, not all togas are equal, and to obtain a really fine one, especially at short notice.… Where did you get that toga?”

“That, Tiro, is a state secret. To reveal the source of my toga would compromise not only myself but also a high-ranking magistrate of the Roman people. I shall say no more.”

“You know I could find out if I really wanted to.”

“I’m sure you could. You and Cicero must have a network of informers second only to Fulvia.”

“That woman does set the standard for spycraft. But that brings me to the purpose of my visit.” He lowered his voice. “Have you anything to report to me, Gordianus? I know you’ve been out and about the last few days, paying calls on various people—Fulvia, included. ”

“Yes. I made it seem that I was testing the waters, seeing how those ‘various people’ would react to my impending appointment.”

“And while doing that, did you also happen to learn anything that might be of interest to Cicero, regarding the matters the two of you discussed?”

I grunted. “Caesar will outlive us all, I suspect.”

“You detect no current of anger or resentment against him? No thread of envy or spite? No tide of discontent?”

“No such current or thread or tide, by themselves, ever killed any man, as far as I know. Of course there are those who might wish Caesar gone, if they could do so by snapping their fingers. The world would suddenly be quite a different place, wouldn’t it? A better place, in Cicero’s judgment. Don’t deny it.”

“Cicero accepts the dictatorship and conducts himself accordingly.”

“I’m sure he does, holing himself up and writing dissertations—on divination, of all things! How he must long for the days of great speeches in the courts and fiery debates in the Senate. How he must wish that the dead Republic could be brought back to life. But I’ve never seen a dead body get back on its feet.”

Tiro sighed. “Then Caesar is safe. No one will be brave enough, or mad enough, to change the course laid out for us by the Fates.”

“The Fates always have surprises in store, Tiro—as this garment demonstrates.” I felt the weight of the toga wrapped around me and sensed the elegant rise and fall of the folds as I shrugged. “Wait a moment—that’s why Cicero decided to devote all his energies to a study of divination, isn’t it? Not to debunk it, but to see if in fact there might be some supernatural means of seeing the future, of discovering where and how and by what means the thread of Caesar’s life will reach its end. Instead, Cicero found nothing in divination to help him—so he turned to me. That would bring us full circle, wouldn’t it, taking us back to the very beginning of his career, when you and he and I all got the better of that other dictator, Sulla. Oh, Tiro, what your master … forgive me—Cicero, I mean to say … what Cicero needs is a magical spell to rid him of useless nostalgia. Sulla was long ago. Caesar is now. Cicero must learn to live in the world as it is.”

“And what world is that?”

“A world where Caesar is dictator for life. Where men forget all those speeches by Cicero that you transcribed so carefully, because the ideas in those speeches no longer make sense. A world where Rome is ruled by a dictator, and that dictator rules an empire bigger than that of Alexander, stretching all the way to Parthia, maybe even to India. A world where Gordianus the Finder is a senator, no less than Cicero—unthinkable as that may be.”

Tiro shook his head. “It seems that neither you nor I have learned anything in the last few days to contradict the future you describe. By every indication—every bit of gossip, every scrap of information I’ve managed to collect—the future will be as you say. Nothing will happen in the next few days to change it. No person or persons will do anything to change it. There is no conspiracy against the Dictator. If there were, then surely Cicero and I would know about it.”

“There, your duty is done, Tiro. You have my final report. Cicero won’t like it, but there it is. I know of no imminent threat to the Dictator.”