The Sacrilege(83)

“Good,” I said. “Just Clodius and me. That’s the way I want it.”

“Venus, my ancestress, deliver me from such fools!” Caesar cried, in one of his better theatrical gestures. “He has those Etruscans Pompey loaned him, and they don’t care about Roman holidays.”

“And I killed one of them last night,” I said with satisfaction.

“Worse. Now it’s personal. Decius, I will stand beside you on the Rostra for the great procession, and maybe they won’t try to attack you. But when Pompey goes up to the Capitol, I will have to be there to preside over the sacrifice and then the banquet. Do Rome a favor and sneak away. Come back in a month or two, when Pompey has more immediate enemies to concern him.”

We were almost to the Rostra by this time, and to all outward appearances we were conversing in greatest conviviality.

“I know what you were up to, Caius Julius,” I said. “You and Pompey and Crassus. I wish I had been there. The sight of you three in women’s gowns must have been a rare spectacle.”

I had expected him to be embarrassed. “Political expediency is not always consistent with one’s highest vision of one’s own dignity. But even that particular indignity is not to be despised. Glorious foreign conquest usually means months of lying on a verminous pallet, fever-ridden, covered with one’s own blood and bodily effluvia, yet it can result in a triumph such as this.” By this time we stood at the railing of the Rostra, and Caesar gestured toward the marching soldiers bearing standards and trophies, his golden bracelet flashing. I understood then that men such as I was up against had no more concept of shame than of conscience.

“Why are you so solicitous, Caius Julius?” I asked. “Why try to preserve me when your friends want me dead?”

He looked at me with open puzzlement. “Why do you call them my friends?”

“Cohorts, then. I know what you plotted, dividing the world among you, setting aside the constitution and the Senate, and I intend to destroy all three of you!” I never made such a reckless speech sober.

“How did you figure it all out?” Caesar said, smiling gently and obviously interested. I almost told him about Nero’s letter, but decided that it might make me look less astute. I still had a young man’s vanity, but more important, I had learned that it was best to maintain a sense of mystery about one’s own capabilities. That was something Caesar had long known.

“To a logical mind,” I said, “to one who knows how to see with clarity and think with penetration, the evidence was all there.” That, I thought, was rather good.

“You are a truly remarkable man, Decius Caecilius,” he said. “And that is why I go to so much trouble to preserve you from your own suicidal stupidity. I shall have work for you to do, in the future.”

“What?” I said incredulously. “You won’t have a future after this evening!”

“Look!” he said, pointing. “Here come the animals!”

So we watched the procession: the floats bearing treasures, the exotic beasts, the chained prisoners, the unthinkable booty Pompey had assembled in three separate conquests. And Pompey himself, of course. He stood like a statue in his toga picta and red paint. Getting a little pudgy, it seemed to me.

“Love your purple dress!” I shouted as he went past. Under the red paint I couldn’t tell if he turned truly red. In the uproar, I doubt if he or anyone else heard me.

As the crowd broke up, I noticed that Caesar was gone. It struck me, with a chill, that I was now on my own. I saw other Senators making their way up the Capitol, toward the banquet in Pompey’s honor. I began to go that way myself. It was time to confront the three would-be tyrants before the assembled Senate and bring them low. Besides, I was hungry.

It was getting dark fast. I was perhaps halfway up the hill when I saw the first Etruscan. He lurked in a space between two buildings, and the last beams of the setting sun struck glimmers from his bronze hammer and steel dagger. One was no problem. I glanced at the other side of the street. Two more. Then I saw a small crowd behind the two. These were Romans, most likely followers of Clodius, taking a few minutes from the festivities to eliminate an enemy. I looked up toward the temple, which suddenly seemed to be very far away. I was already in plenty of trouble with the Roman courts, and the gods seemed to have deserted me, so I drew my sword.

“Two more!” I yelled. “I want two more of you pointy-bearded Tuscian slaves to pay for the blood of two Romans. The one I got last night wasn’t enough!” No sooner asked for than received. The Etruscans attacked, howling. Even in the excitement of the moment I noted that the others weren’t so eager. I would like to think that they were overawed by my heroics, but more likely they thought it unworthy to assist wretched foreigners in killing a Senator.