The Year of Confusion(81)

From the river I made my way back to the Forum. It was as good a place as any to be, since I had run out of leads to investigate. The political gossip being bandied about from end to end of the Forum was no less lively for the overbearing presence of a dictator. There were plenty of lesser offices that were still desirable because they were too small for such a man’s attention, others that were coveted for their prestige.

Consul was one of these. Though the dictatorship usurped the consular powers, Caesar kept the office alive. Each year, he was always one of the consuls, with some chosen politician acting as his colleague. At that date his colleague as co-consul was Antonius. There was much talk of who would take Caesar’s place as suffect consul when he left for Syria.

It seemed, if I was collecting the right gossip, that Caesar had chosen Publius Cornelius Dolabella, and according to report (unattributable, naturally) Antonius was furious about it. I remembered the man slightly. Three years previously he had been a tribune of the people and had proposed legislation canceling debts and remitting house rents, always a winner with the commons. His proposals had gone nowhere of course, but he had gained much popularity thereby.

It was entirely possible that his choice of causes was not lacking in self-interest. Dolabella was a notorious wastrel and many of the debts cancelled would be his own. Like many another such reprobate, Caesar, upon his return from Alexandria, had taken him under his wing, covered the worst of his debts, and hauled him off to Spain for some personal training and education. He was now firmly in the pro-Caesar camp. In just such a fashion had Caesar attached Scribonius Curio to his cause. Curio made him another useful tribune.

I couldn’t see that the choice could make much difference. Antonius’s prefecture of the City was where the real power lay and Caesar would undoubtedly leave Dolabella a minutely detailed list of every action he expected the second consul to take and a very long list of things he forbade him to do. Antonius would get his own list, which he would ignore, but Dolabella would never dare.

I crossed the broad pavement and pushed past some oxen hauling a wagonload of marble to the new basilica. There was a great crowd of people standing about before the huge building, and many of them were foreigners. Some were truly exotic specimens and I knew these were not the usual travelers come to see the sights of the famous city. The lictors on guard pushed them back if they got too close. I walked up to one of the fasces-bearing men I recognized.

“Hello, Otacilius. I’ve come to see the dictator. I take it from your presence that he’s here?”

“Certainly, Senator. Your name is on the list of those allowed in.” He stepped aside for me.

I suppose I should have felt uniquely privileged to have my name on that list. Perhaps I should have preened. It was certain that many other senators preened to be thus singled out. At that time I could only reflect that there had been a time when any citizen could walk into a basilica any time it struck his fancy to, even if the thing was under construction.

I found Caesar inside, and Cleopatra was with him, which came as no surprise to me, having seen the crowd of exotics loitering about outside. Caesar, uncharacteristically, was seated and looked rather drawn.

“Well, Decius Caecilius,” Caesar said when he saw me, “I hope you have brought me some good news. I could use some.”

At that moment some things began to fit together in my mind. They did not give me anything complete, but it was as if some bricks had been added to what was still a very incomplete wall. I must have looked strange because Cleopatra said, “Well? Can you not speak?”

Caesar raised a hand. “Patience. The gods are speaking to him. It happens sometimes. I’ve seen this before.”

“Caius Julius,” I said at length, “I think that in, oh, two days, I shall have the answer to these murders.”

“That is oddly imprecise, but if you have the killer for me, I shall be content.”

Cleopatra looked at me sharply. “You are certain of this?”

“I am,” I assured her. Actually, I had no such confidence, but I was not about to admit it in front of her. I smiled as if I knew something that she didn’t. I always hate it when people do that to me and was gratified to see her look of discomfiture. It might mean something. Or perhaps not. Everyone has something to hide and a person like Cleopatra has more than most.

“I’m sending the astronomers back to Alexandria,” Caesar said. “They’ve been here long enough.”

“I rejoice to hear it,” I assured him. “I’d hate to lose Sosigenes. The rest I don’t care much about.” As we spoke I noticed a man hovering in the background, beneath one of the interior arches. He was a tall, thin man, coiffed and bearded in Greek fashion. Beside him was a boy who carried a large, leather-covered chest slung from his shoulder. I knew the man well, as he had worked on me upon occasion in Gaul. He was Caesar’s personal physician.