Стивен Сейлор - The Throne of Caesar

* * *

Even as these meetings of the Senate and the public meetings in the Forum were taking place, negotiations were held in secret between the leaders of the assassins and Caesar’s most powerful loyalists. (Caesar’s young grandnephew and protégé Gaius Octavius was away from Rome and played no part, though Piso looked out for his interests.) The most important consideration for all concerned was that everything must be seen to be done legally, in accordance with the will of the Senate and the consent of the people of Rome.

In retrospect it would seem quite remarkable, and a testament to the strength of her public institutions, that Rome did not descend into a bloodbath in those perilous first days after Caesar’s death.

* * *

On the night before Caesar’s funeral, Meto came to my house. He was wearing a dark tunic, dressed in mourning, as if he were a member of Caesar’s family. I had hardly seen him since the morning after the assassination. He was busy helping with arrangements for the funeral, shuttling between the Regia, where Caesar’s body lay in state receiving mourners, and the house of Antony and Fulvia, where the actual plans for the funeral were being arranged.

“You may not see me at all tomorrow, Papa. I may be assisting Fulvia, seeing that all goes according to plans.”

“Fulvia?”

“Yes. It’s Fulvia who’s attending to the details. Antony has no head for such things. He spends all his time pacing back and forth across their garden, practicing his eulogy. You should see the two of them at work. Fulvia occasionally looks up from whatever she’s doing to make a comment about the speech, and Antony hums and nods and then changes the speech to suit her.”

“Fulvia is planning the funeral?” I said. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that. The last time she was in charge of a funeral, the Senate House went up in flames.”

“Better this time if the senators are inside when it happens,” Meto said bitterly. “It’s what they all deserve, every one of them, after the clemency they’ve shown to Caesar’s killers.”

“Dangerous talk, my son.”

“Dangerous to me? Or to those craven senators who compromised with the killers?”

“Dangerous to us all. I won’t argue the merits of the various compromises worked out by the Senate. But frankly, I’m amazed—and thankful—that there’s been no slaughter. The assassins might have killed Antony as well as Caesar, and Lepidus, too, and many others while they were about it. But they didn’t. And Lepidus could easily have dispatched his legion to chase Cinna the praetor up the hill the other day and storm the Capitoline. Brutus and the others wouldn’t have stood a chance. Instead—except for that wild, lawless night after Caesar’s death—not a drop of blood has been spilled.”

“And you think that’s the end of it? Now the Senate and the magistrates will all get back to work, and Rome will go about its business, as if nothing’s happened? No, Papa. There will be a reckoning.”

The harshness of his voice sent a shiver through me.

“Let’s see how the funeral goes,” I said.

“Yes, the funeral…” Behind the tears that welled in Meto’s eyes I saw a glint of pure malice.

DAY ELEVEN: MARCH 20

XLII

“I’m not going unless you go, too,” said Cinna.

He had shown up at my doorstep a little after dawn, wearing a long dark tunic and a dark cloak.

“You’re not dressed as a tribune, in your toga?” I said, wiping sleep from my eyes. We sat in my small library, where a brazier warmed the chilly morning air. “It’s a state funeral, isn’t it?”

“I won’t be there as a magistrate of Rome but as a friend of the deceased. I’m properly dressed for mourning. I’d suggest you dress in similar fashion, and not in that … that toga I lent you.”

I raised an eyebrow “You’re afraid of violence, aren’t you? A senator’s toga might make a man a target of the mob, if passions run high. Is that what you think?”

“There is that possibility.”

“Lepidus’s troops will maintain order.”

“I’m almost as frightened of them as I am of the mob.” Cinna shivered.

“Yet you arrived here with only a single bodyguard.” The man was in my vestibule, dressed as somberly as his master.

“More than one bodyguard on such an occasion only draws attention,” said Cinna. “I wasn’t planning to go to the funeral at all. I told Sappho last night, ‘If I should oversleep tomorrow morning, don’t wake me. Better I should sleep though the whole day.’ Ha! I hardly slept a wink. And when finally I did … I dreamed I saw Caesar. He invited me to dinner. I didn’t want to go, but he insisted. And when I followed him into his dining room, he gestured with his hand and there was … nothing. Nothing at all before me. An abyss. An emptiness. A void. It’s impossible to convey the feeling … the terror of it. I turned around, but on all sides I saw the same nothingness. ” He shivered violently. “I awoke to find the bed soaked with sweat, too sodden to be slept in. I went to Sappho’s room and lay on the bed beside her. She saw how distraught I was, and held my hand, and even wept a little, the dear, sweet thing. I managed to doze a bit.…”

“Yet here you are,” I said.

“Before the sun rose, I was wide awake. If the dream means anything, it’s that I must pay my respects to Caesar, never mind my cowardice.” He flashed a crooked smile. “Do you think me a coward, Gordianus?”

I shook my head. “In such times, every man must decide for himself what to do.”

“Then you’ll go with me today, to the funeral?”

“I never said that. ” I started to laugh, but he looked so wretched I stopped myself.

“I suppose I am curious to see how it goes. And Meto will want me to be there, though it’s unlikely he’ll even see me. He’s at the Regia now, helping with preparations to stage the procession.…”

“Good! Then you and I shall go together.”

“Yes, I suppose we shall.”

“And you’ll dress as I’ve dressed? Something suitably dark, to blend with the crowd.”

“I have grown a bit weary of wearing that blasted toga.” I smiled. “We’ll have a bit to eat, first. And I’ll wake Davus, to come with us. One bodyguard for you, and one for me. Just in case…”

* * *

While I was putting on a suitably dark tunic, Bethesda crossed the bedroom and took me by the arm.

“You mustn’t leave the house today. ”

“Oddly enough, wife, I was about to say the same thing to you. And to you, too, Diana,” I added, seeing my daughter peeking around the doorframe. She stepped in to join us.

“Either the day will be safe or unsafe,” said Diana. “If it’s the latter, you have no more business being there than we do.”

“On the contrary, I owe my place in the Senate—if indeed I have one—to Caesar. It would be an act of crass ingratitude if I failed to pay my final respects to the man. And then there’s Meto. How my poor son is grieving. For his sake I have to be there. And then, also, there’s my visitor. Cinna wants me to go with him. To give him courage, he says, though what good I’d be to him in a dangerous spot, I can’t imagine.”

“Exactly, husband! You’ll be no use to anyone if something bad should happen.”

“Bethesda, you undermine my confidence, which is shaky enough as it is. Desist!”

“Yes, Mother, he’s right about going,” said Diana. “He really must, out of respect for Caesar, and for Meto. And he’s right that we should stay home. Calpurnia hardly knows us. Even if she sees us among the crowd, we’d be of no comfort to her.”

“And Fulvia?” said Bethesda.