The Year of Confusion(84)

“My guests,” she said amid the silence, “please forgive me for not greeting each of you personally. Certain matters demanded my attention elsewhere. I pray you all be seated.” We all took seats, women to the front, men to the rear. Some picked at snacks proffered by the servants, but more for the sake of form than from hunger. We all knew we would be gorging ourselves to stupefaction at Cleopatra’s.

“As some of you may know,” she went on, “the illustrious astronomers of the Alexandrian Museum, who have graced Rome these recent months, are soon to return to Alexandria. I wish to announce this evening that I shall be going with them.”

This drew speeches of dismay and protest. Some of the women, it seemed to me, protested very lightly.

“I have enjoyed immensely my years in Rome, which I do not hesitate to name the center of the world.” There were murmurs of agreement at this fine sentiment. “Being here, and knowing you all, has been an experience the equal of living in Athens at the time of Pericles.” Like the rest I applauded and made noises of agreement until I remembered that the age of Pericles, while a golden age in terms of art, philosophy, and culture, had in many other ways been disastrous for Athens.

“I have come to this decision after long and hard thought. Rome has gone through turbulent times these past few years, but times of turbulence and ferment are stimulating as well, and bring about much that is good and new. It has been so during my time here. While there has been violence in the streets, there has also been fine poetry composed. There have been excellent histories written”—she nodded slightly toward Sallustius, who preened—“and many splendid edifices erected to the glory of the gods.” She gazed about the room, joining eyes with all of her guests. She had the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen. “But now I believe that Rome is soon to undergo a period of terrible trials, and violence surpassing anything that has gone before.”

This set off a great deal of shifting and shuffling as we wondered what this might portend. Worse than the days of Sulla and the proscriptions? Worse than the final, mad days of Marius or the slave rebellion of Spartacus or the rioting in the time of the Gracchi or the atrocities of the Social War? Come to think of it, Rome had seen a lot of truly terrible times. Hannibal didn’t even come close.

“It is of course unworthy of a philosopher to take notice of such things,” she went on. “A true philosopher must maintain perfect tranquility despite what is going on around him. He should seek to instruct those who in their folly resort to war and violence to gain their ends. Even the uproar of a city under siege should not disturb his contemplation. The imperturbability of Archimedes at the siege and fall of Syracuse stands always as our example.” Yes, and look what it got that old bugger, I thought.

She smiled sadly. “My friends, I confess to you that I am far from being a perfect philosopher. I do not want to see blood in the streets of Rome. I do not want to see my friends die, especially at the hands of other friends.”

For the first time someone from the audience spoke. It was Lepidus. “Callista are you telling us you foresee civil war for Rome?”

“I am not a sibyl or an oracle,” she said, “and I do not believe that the will of the gods is made manifest in signs and portents, nor that the future may be descried in the stars nor in any other way. The future lies beyond a veil no sight may pierce. However, the doings and words of men may be observed and studied and analyzed and from these inferences may be drawn, if not conclusions.” To my astonishment, she raised her eyes to mine and I felt as ensorcelled as a rabbit in the gaze of a serpent. “Decius Caecilius, is that not your art?”

I was as tongue-tied as a schoolboy caught by an unexpected question from his master. “Why, ah, I suppose—yes, it’s what I do.”

“You’ve caught him sober,” Antonius said. “That’s always a bad idea.” This got a chuckle, but the sound was uncomfortable. Nobody had come expecting this.

“I have been practicing that same art,” she said, “but on a greater scale. My position here has given me access to Rome’s mightiest as well as her wisest. Alas, these do not always overlap. Some of these have confided in me and I will never betray their trust, but what I now know fills me with grave misgivings.” Then she brightened. “In any case, my decision is made. There will be plenty of time to take my leave of each of you individually. I hope that you will call upon me should your steps lead you to Alexandria. Now we shall proceed with what I intended to be the theme of the evening, our farewell to the departing astronomers. The esteemed and very learned Sosigenes will now address us concerning some new discoveries in the heavens. Please forgive my digression.”