The Year of Confusion(24)

“Oh, no. I have far more tranquil pools. This one is perfect for intimate conversation.”

She led us to a pool that could have floated a trireme, surrounded by a veritable forest of palms, myrrh shrubs and other exotic vegetation. Among the bushes, tiny black people of a type unfamiliar to me rushed about, shooting miniature arrows at hares. In the water beautiful naked nymphs swam about, singing hymns to obscure river gods while on the island a handsome youth attired as Orpheus played upon the lyre.

“The very soul of intimacy, indeed,” I commended. She reclined on the cushions of a sort of half couch, a type I had seen in Alexandria, similar to a dining couch but made for only one person. Hermes and I sat in more conventional chairs. Slaves armed with fly whisks kept us free of vermin.

Cleopatra was about twenty-five years old at this time, and at the height of her beauty, which was not all that great. She could not compare with the great beauties of Rome, such as Fausta and Fulvia, but what she lacked in symmetry of feature she made up for in the sort of radiance that seems to come naturally to people who have a special relationship with the gods. In Egypt she was a god, but that is just a sort of political formality in some barbarian countries. Kings and queens in those places get old and die just like other mortals.

“Your majesty,” I began formally, “in recent days Demades and Polasser were found with their necks broken in a singular fashion—”

“What was singular about it?” she asked.

“It is an injury so odd that even the distinguished Asklepiodes cannot figure out how it was done, and I thought he knew every possible way to kill somebody.”

“How interesting,” she said. “Far be it from me to be morbid, but it is pleasing to know that somebody has brought a little originality to something as commonplace as murder.”

“Ah, yes, I daresay. Anyway, Caesar is understandably upset. These men were in Rome at his invitation, working on a project very dear to him. He is taking this matter personally.”

“Well that’s bad news for somebody. Look at what happens to people who cross my husband.”

“Precisely. So I am trying to settle this matter as expeditiously as possible. Now, we have two victims. Both were astronomers but aside from that they were opposites. One was a Greek rationalist, the other a pseudo-oriental mystic. For whatever reason, Polasser chose a Babylonian persona, probably because gullible persons consider the Babylonians to be masters of the astrological arts.”

“They are,” she said.

“How would you rate Polasser as an astrologer?” I asked her. It had not been a question much on my mind, but it struck me now. There had seemed to me to be something distinctly off about the man. It was not just that I considered starry forecasts to be fraudulent anyway, or that his foreign pose was absurd. I had known many perfectly agreeable frauds in my life, some of them delightful persons.

She considered it for a while. “Let me put it this way: He was a competent astronomer, or he would not have been in the company of Sosigenes and the others, employed upon a project as important as the new calendar. He could perform observations and calculations as well as anyone. But astrology is different. Calculations are only a part of it. A truly great astrologer must have inspiration. His art partakes of prophecy.”

“And how deeply did Polasser partake?” I asked.

“He was what I would term a social astrologer. His art was casting horoscopes for wealthy people and trimming them to reveal what his patrons wanted to hear.”

“Yet you give credence to this art,” I pointed out.

“Certainly. The success of a fraudulent practitioner does not invalidate the art. During my years as a princess with my future always uncertain and precarious, I consulted with many astrologers; Egyptians, Greeks, even a few genuine Babylonians. Some were like Polasser, interested in ingratiating themselves with me or, more often, with my father or my brother or sisters, all of whom were far more powerful and with better prospects than I. But there were others whose calculations were careful, who did not deal in flattery and who predicted for me much sorrow, tragedy, and an early death.”

“Surely you don’t believe that last part,” I said.

“Oh, but I do. It is only to be expected. I have already outlived the rest of my family. It is unworthy of a queen to desire more years than the gods have decreed for her.”

“Admirably philosophic,” I told her. “Now, I have heard that you have held parties in this house for many of the great ladies of Rome.”

“As many as I could get to come,” she said.

“And that both victims attended some of these get-togethers.”