The Sacrilege(74)

A bit of my god-visited mood returned as I reentered the city, and the city itself was like something seen in a dream. It was all but deserted, with the whole populace packed into the two huge Circuses and the theaters. Adding to the dreamlike quality was the profusion of triumphal decorations, the heaps of flower petals that lay everywhere. The Forum was like a city of gods, populated by statues. I glanced up toward the Temple of Jupiter Capitolinus. Within its dimness, through the smoke of the incense burning to the god’s honor, I could just descry the great statue of Jupiter, the one that was supposed to give us warning of plots against the state. I threw the god a salute. If I could manage it, Pompey would not sacrifice in that temple on the morrow.

My slave Cato gaped as I came in through my front gate.

“Senator! We’d not expected you until this afternoon! There’s a lady here to see you, but we told her—”

“Where’s Hermes?” I said, brushing past him. Then his words sunk in and I turned. “What lady?”

“A lady Julia, one of the Caesars. She insisted on waiting for you to return. She’s in the atrium.”

I entered the atrium and Julia was there indeed, rising from a chair with a look of unutterable relief.

“Decius! How glad I am to see you alive. You’re in terrible danger!”

“I know that,” I said. “But how did you find out so fast?”

“So fast? But I only learned late last night.”

“This is all too confusing,” I said. “Just a moment. I must speak with my slave.”

“No, you must speak with me!” She grabbed both my arms with surprising strength and swung me around to face her. “Decius, Clodius came to see my uncle last night. He wants to kill you. He was raving like a madman!”

“Of course he was,” I said. “He is a madman. What had Caius Julius to say to that?”

“He was terribly angry. He shouted that you were not to be killed for any reason whatsoever, but Clodius wouldn’t listen. My uncle said: ‘If I learn that you have the blood of Decius Metellus on your hands, I will solemnly pronounce the curse of Jove Optimus Maximus upon you before the whole Roman people.”

This was a serious threat. It would mean that no Roman citizen anywhere in the world could so much as speak to him or give him any aid. No allied king could take him in. He would become a rootless wanderer among barbarians.

“And what did Clodius answer?”

“He laughed. He said: ‘Jove need not concern himself. Charun will have him.’ I don’t know what he meant by that.”

I felt as if I had fallen into the cold pool at the baths. “He means that he has set his Etruscan priests on me.”

“I wish I could have stayed to hear more, but I’d had to tiptoe from my own quarters when I heard the shouting, and I might have been discovered at any moment. I couldn’t leave the house until my uncle left for the theater, and I had no way of getting word to you earlier.”

“I don’t know how I can thank you,” I said, my mind whirling. “But you dare not be seen with me. Just coming to my house put you at terrible risk.” Further implications hit me. “They could be out there already. There’s no place to hide in these deserted streets. You have to stay here until dark.”

“Would they dare attack me?” she asked, all patrician haughtiness.

“Ordinarily, no,” I answered her. “Clodius fears Caius Julius. But now his derangement has entered a particularly lurid stage, and he is liable to do anything. And the Etruscans are fanatics. Only Pompey can call them off, and he’s not about to do that. Not after the theater this morning.”

“What?”

She was not the only one with questions. Just then I was wondering why Caius Julius was so determined to keep me alive. It was a relief to know that there was someone who was not out for my blood, but I could think of no reason why in Caesar’s case. Doubtless all would be made clear in time, when more pressing matters were settled.

“Oh, I made a bit of a scene this morning. A great revelation came to me while we were watching Trojan Women.”

“A vision from Apollo!” she cried, clapping her hands. “But of course! Euripides is the most sublime of playwrights, and Trojan Women was the most inspired of his plays. I love Euripides.”

“Indeed?” I said. Women are difficult to fathom. “Well, in any case, I was suddenly vouchsafed a glimpse of the meaning of a number of anomalies. It was the sight of all those Greek men in women’s clothing, and Pompey sitting there like a puffed-up bullfrog in his triumphator’s robe. And do you know what my first thought was? Without even knowing why it came to me, I thought, ‘Milo will be pleased.’”