“What Caesar wants and what he can accomplish are not the same thing,” I said.
“Then it behooves us all,” Cassius said, “to assure that he does not accomplish his ambitions.”
“And how do you propose to do that?” I asked him.
He glanced at Cicero, but Cicero didn’t catch it. “Roman patriots have always found ways to frustrate the designs of tyrants.”
“Let me know as soon as you’ve found a way,” I told him.
“At least his soldiers look fit for battle,” Brutus said, changing the subject clumsily.
“So they do,” Cicero agreed, “and perhaps this war of his will be the best thing for all of us. It will keep him out of Italy for some time, perhaps a few years. Much can happen in that time.”
“And much will, I’ve no doubt,” said Cinna, “but not an election. Not as long as Caesar is dictator in perpetuity. All offices with imperium will go to men nominated by Caesar and confirmed by his tame assemblies. We’ll have tribunes of the plebs, but their power of veto is suspended while he is dictator, and what is a tribuneship without the veto? All they can do is propose the legislation he has already laid out for them.”
That was the real reason for the resentment of these men. Caesar was frustrating their own ambitions and humbling their pride. Except for Cicero, they were all men from the great families, men who thought high office to be their natural right, inherited from their ancestors. I had been such a man myself, once. When men prate of things like patriotism, you can be sure that self-interest is at the root of it.
“Caesar is not immortal,” Brutus said, a pronouncement that could be banal or fraught with meaning, depending on how you looked at it.
“He thinks himself godlike,” Cicero said lightly. “Let us hope that his fellow deities see fit to call him to join them soon.” The rest laughed, but without much humor.
They turned back toward the City gate and left me pondering. “Cassius is plotting something,” I said to Hermes, “but he doesn’t want to talk about it in front of Cicero.”
“I caught that,” he said. “But why, do you think? They all seem to be of a mind on the subject of Caesar and his power and ambition.”
“He could be planning something desperate, and Cicero is not a man you want to involve in desperate action. He’d lose his nerve at the last minute. He acted decisively and against popular opinion once in his career, when he put down the Catilinarian revolt. He’s been conservative and vacillating ever since. He’d be the weak reed in any conspiracy.”
“What is Cassius up to?”
“I don’t want to know.” It was all a great distraction. I had other things on my mind.
That evening Julia filled me in on what she had learned the previous night.
“Servilia is definitely on the outs with her dear little Brutus, and she doesn’t really approve of his friends lately, Cassius and Cinna and that lot.”
“Why not? They positively reek of nobility and old-fashioned Roman virtue.”
“I think it’s because they’re so vehemently anti-Caesarian. I, on the other hand, am most definitely in the Caesarian camp so she feels she can confide in me. She wants Brutus close to Caesar and wishes he’d go back to his old moneylending habits. She loathes the business as ill-bred, but at least it’s politically neutral.”
“Anything about the astrologers? The exotic woman in particular?”
“No, and every time I tried to bring the subject up-discreetly, of course-nobody seemed much interested. Atia was there and she had a whole collection of omens from all over Italy. She must employ people just to collect them. So everybody was talking about a two-headed goat born in Bruttium and an eagle that snatched a child in Cumae and a statue of Scipio Africanus in Nola that wept blood.”
“And what did these ladies discern from such prodigies?”
“That something dreadfully important is going to happen.”
“Something dreadfully important is always going to happen. What of that?”
“They all believe that it will concern them personally.”
“Did they say why, other than that this lot never needs much excuse to see the will of the gods at work in all their doings?”
“They were noticeably reticent on that point.”
“Because they fear what they say to you will get back to Caesar?”
“Most likely.”
“At least Atia should be in your camp, since she wants her vaguely Caesarian brat to inherit. She may want to call upon you privately soon.”
“In fact, as we were leaving she asked if she might do exactly that tomorrow after the morning ceremony at Vesta’s.”
“Do you patrician women do anything that doesn’t revolve around that temple?”
“It’s convenient. Common women get together at the corner fountain or the laundry to meet and gossip. The rich freedwomen and wives of the equites gather at the expensive shops on the north end of the Forum. We have the Temple of Vesta. To be terribly honest, very few even pay attention to the ceremonies except on special days.”
“I always thought it must be something like that. Like senators at the baths in the afternoon.”
I told her about our barely productive visit to the gymnasia, then about the military review on the Field of Mars. Her face fell when I told her about the boots.
“He’s giving his enemies a sword to use against him, isn’t he?” she said.
“I’m afraid so. Everything else they’ve been able to swallow, albeit with poor grace: the triumphal regalia, the ivory staff, the wreath-they’re all the things we allow a triumphing general, although only for a day. But the trappings of royalty? That’s different. The day he shows up in the Senate wearing a diadem there will be a revolt.”
“Do you think he’ll go that far?”
“I fear that the day isn’t far off,” I assured her.
One of Julia’s slaves came in. “There is a messenger outside. He says he bears a missive for my mistress from Callista of Alexandria.”
My eyebrows went up. “What might this portend?”
“I can think of a very easy way to find out,” Julia said. “Send him in.”
The messenger was dressed in the tradition of his guild in a white tunic that exposed one shoulder, brimmed red hat with the silver wings of Mercury attached, sandals with similar wings, and a wing-topped wand twined with serpents. He handed Julia a rolled and sealed letter. I tipped him and told him to wait in the atrium in case she should wish to return a reply. Julia unrolled the thing and read it for an unconscionably long time.
“Well,” I fretted, my patience at an end, “what is it?”
“Don’t rush me, dear, you know I don’t like that.”
So I snapped my fingers at a slave and the well-trained man instantly refilled my cup. It was, as I recall, an excellent Massic.
“It begins with the usual pleasantries. She calls me her sister and says that I have not called upon her in far too long, that she has missed my company dreadfully, yet she doesn’t overdo these formalities the way so many women do. She is a woman of the most exquisite taste.”
“I daresay,” I muttered.
“She invites us to a salon to be held the evening after tomorrow and apologizes for the short notice.”
“Aha!” I said, my ears pricking up finally.
“Aha what?”
“Just aha. Do go on.”
“She says that some astronomers of her acquaintance will be attending.”
“This sounds promising. Perhaps she’s found out something for us.”
“But here is the most interesting part. She says that at sundown, the whole group will go to a small banquet at Cleopatra’s villa.”
“Interesting, indeed. What is the woman up to?”
Julia smiled. “I just can’t wait to find out.”
12
The next morning I woke up realizing what I had missed the previous evening. That messenger with his Mercury garb. I should have thought of it much sooner, but I was finding that, as I got older, some mental processes seemed to be slowing down. The baleful influence of a hostile god, no doubt.