Стивен Сейлор - The Throne of Caesar

The curtains were parted by a delicate hand adorned with exquisite rings and bracelets, all of gold and set with fiery rubies that glinted by the light of the rising sun.

“Good morning to you, Gordianus-called-Finder.”

I stopped and peered though the narrow opening in the curtains. I caught a glimpse of one eye peering back at me. “Is that you, Queen Cleopatra?”

She gave a throaty laugh. “You sound surprised to see me.”

“I would have thought the queen of Egypt would be seen in a more conspicuous vehicle, one worthy of your divinity.”

“Not in this town. Not at this time.”

“You’re out and about very early in the day.”

“I had some business with your consul Antony … some final business … before I leave this place for good. It was an amicable parting.”

“I’m rather surprised that you’re still in Rome.”

“It takes time to decamp a royal embassy, even in the wake of … such a catastrophe.” There was a catch in her voice. “I’ll be gone within the hour. This closed litter will be loaded onto a barge on the Tiber. The barge will take me to Ostia. From there a ship will take me back to Egypt. How curious that yours should be the last face I look upon in Rome.”

I thought of the queen’s strange and twisting destiny. If Caesar had lived, and Cinna had successfully proposed the legislation allowing him foreign wives, Caesar’s first act in Egypt might very well have been to marry Cleopatra and legitimize Caesarion as his heir, at least in Egypt, where Caesar would have become the legitimate king, not by conquest but by marriage. All that was impossible now, but Caesarion’s legitimacy might yet be affirmed. “This amicable meeting with Antony—may I take it that Rome has a royal prince now?”

“Don’t taunt me, Gordianus-called-Finder. No, my son is not yet officially Caesar’s heir, at least not here in Rome. But who knows what the future holds?”

A thought struck me. “The Dictator gave you many gifts.…”

“Caesar and I often exchanged gifts, yes.”

“Perhaps he gave you books, for that famous library of yours.”

“Certainly. He was very generous in that regard. He wished for the Library of Alexandria to possess all the best that the Latin language has produced.”

“Including poetry?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Are you familiar with the poet Cinna?”

“Of course. He was Caesar’s friend.”

“You know the Zmyrna ?”

“I do. A charming work. Caesar gave me a copy. I knew he loved it, so I read it with great interest. I suspect the Library already has a copy or two, but I shall take the copy he gave me back to Alexandria … as a memento.” She stopped speaking for a moment, choked by emotion. “Of course, no Latin poem can ever match the best of Greek poetry, but Caesar thought it a masterpiece.”

“What did you think of the subject matter? The incest, I mean.” Cleopatra’s family was notorious for marriages between royal siblings. She herself had been married to one younger brother, killed in the civil war between them, and was now married to an even younger brother, on whose longevity I would not care to wager. But as far as I knew, the Ptolemies never sanctioned marriage between parent and child.

“The poem was merely true to the legend,” she said.

I nodded. “I don’t suppose…” My heart beat faster. Was it possible? “I don’t suppose that Caesar gave you a copy of another poem by Cinna, a new poem, about Orpheus and Pentheus?”

There was a pause that stretched until I found it almost intolerable.

“No,” she finally said. “He did mention such a work—something the poet was still working on, or perhaps had just finished? But no, I never saw a copy.”

“Ah, well. Safe travels, Queen of Egypt, to you and your son.”

“And may your dealings be safe as well, Gordianus-called-Finder, if you choose to remain in this nest of vipers.”

The bejeweled hand withdrew. The curtains fell shut. The litter began to move again. That was the last that I, or anyone else, was ever to see of Cleopatra in the city of Rome.

L

Before I could knock, the front door of the House of the Beaks opened for me. I had been observed talking to Cleopatra in the forecourt and recognized. Antony, informed of my visit, had instructed a slave to admit me at once.

I told Davus to wait for me in the vestibule. The slave led me down quiet hallways. I heard the hushed murmurs and soft footfalls of numerous slaves going about their early morning chores.

Antony greeted me in a reception room off the garden. He was casually dressed in a green linen gown, a garment I would have thought more suitable for sleeping or lying about the house than for receiving the queen of Egypt. A bit incongruous was the elaborate silver pectoral he was wearing, a massive thing with jewel inlays depicting a hawk with outspread wings, clearly of Egyptian design.

He saw me staring at it. “Do you like it?” he asked. “A parting gift from Queen Cleopatra. A bit gaudy, perhaps?”

“Quite beautiful, I would say.”

“Yes, well, I can’t imagine where or on what occasion I could possibly wear such a thing here in Rome. Perhaps in one of the Asian provinces, at some informal gathering not requiring a toga or military dress.” Stroking the gleaming silver with a forefinger, he seemed to ponder this idea rather fondly. Did he dream of taking up Caesar’s ambition to invade Parthia? “Ah, well, gaudy or not, it’s certainly quite valuable.”

“A precious gift,” I agreed. “The queen must greatly esteem you.”

“What Cleopatra esteems is the future friendship of Rome,” said Antony with a laugh. “Although … well, don’t tell my wife I said so, but she’s quite a charmer, isn’t she?”

“Caesar thought so.”

“But you don’t? Ah, Finder, always immune to bad influences. But no, I mustn’t call you that anymore. Senator Gordianus, I should say.”

“If indeed I am a senator.…”

“Ah, yes, I understand your concern, given … how the day of your induction was interrupted.” He took a deep breath. “Have no fear, you are as certainly a senator of Rome as I am consul. That’s the deal we’ve struck with … the others. All Caesar’s appointments must be respected— all of them. That includes your appointment to the Senate. I specifically made sure of that, as a favor to Meto.”

And to ensure Meto’s allegiance to you, I thought. And my allegiance, as well? “Thank you, Consul.”

“You are most welcome, Senator.”

“May I ask you a question, then, as senator to consul?”

“Certainly.”

“The funeral oration—was there more than one version?”

Antony gave me the thinnest of smiles. “Astute of you, Senator, to perceive the situation. Yes, ahead of time we considered various scenarios for how the day might play out. Had the crowd been unexpectedly hostile to Caesar, we had a very short and very bland eulogy prepared. If the crowd proved to be … volatile … we planned for that eventuality as well. And that was how things turned out. Rather more volatile than I expected, in fact. So yes, we prepared more than one version of the speech.”

“We?”

“Did I say ‘we’? ”

“Several times.”

“A terrible habit. One should never refer to oneself in the plural.”

“I thought perhaps the ‘we’ included the consul’s wife, as his collaborator.”

Antony narrowed his eyes. “Nothing slips past you, does it? No wonder Cicero speaks ill of you behind your back, and that you tried even Caesar’s patience. I’ll only say this: No consul could ask for a better helpmate than my wife. Her contributions to the funeral day were incalculable.”