The Memoirs of Cleopatra Part 30

A platform with steps sat in the middle of a somewhat open area, with the bronze rams of ships, called rostra rostra, mounted on its front wall, bristling out like a row of boars' snouts. This must be the famous place, named for those rams, the Rostra, where their politicians shouted speeches, backed up by the reminder of Rome's military might. How subtle!

Off to one side was a tall, square building that looked like a box standing on end. "What is that?" I asked the bearer. He must have been tiring of my questions by now.

"The Curia, my lady," he said. "Where the Senate meets."

So the mighty Senate of Rome met here here? In this coffin?

"There are special tiers inside for the senators' seats," he said, almost as if he sensed my thoughts. "The doors are of bronze," he said proudly.

And, indeed, they were the only fine thing about it.

"Caesar rebuilt it," he said. "He had to move it to make room for his new Forum."

"What?" I asked. "What Forum?"

"Caesar is building a new one, because he says this one is crowded and ugly. He is paying for the new one entirely out of his own funds. They say it will cost over a million sesterces. But then, he can afford it."

"Let me see it," I said suddenly.

Obediently the litter swung around and-we made our way across the paved center of the Forum, over a broad paved roadway, between the Curia and a huge covered building, and found ourselves overlooking a small, perfect rectangle bordered with colonnades. A welcoming green s.p.a.ce covered the middle. At the far end was a temple, finely proportioned and gleaming in white marble.

"The temple isn't dedicated yet," said the bearer. "He built it to fulfill a vow he made before the final battle with Pompey. It's to honor his lineage, and the G.o.ddess Venus--and incidentally, to show off some of his artwork."

I stared at it. It was lovely, as graceful as any in Greece itself, of that I was sure.

"I hope I shall be here when it is dedicated," I said.

We returned to the old Forum, and continued down its middle, being careful to avoid the pedestals and statues. We pa.s.sed what I had to admit was an admirable temple, and then came to a cl.u.s.ter of buildings: a large, long one, a round one with columns, and a square, blocky one with another attached.

The patient bearer pointed them out one by one.

"The square building is the Regia, where the College of Pontiffs meet and keep their records. The round temple is the Temple of Vesta, where the sacred flame is kept burning," he said. " "The priestesses, the Vestal Virgins, live in that long building beside it, so they can tend the flame, and--"

"The house attached to it is the Pontifex Maximus/' I said. "Caesar lives there."

"Yes, my lady."

His home! This was where he resided--right in the middle of the Forum! How did he stand it? My eyes swept up to a cool-looking, wooded hill rising beside the Forum, covered with s.p.a.cious homes.

"A popular place to live for the rich people," said the bearer, pointing at it. "The Palatine Hill. Cicero has a home there--he bought it from Cra.s.sus-- and Marc Antony's family home is there as well."

Yes, I would choose the Palatine to live on, were I a Roman. I understood now why Caesar had a villa outside the city. I understood so much more than I had this morning. In that way the disguised visit was a success, even though I had not been able to penetrate any conversations. What the man in the Roman street thought about politics, I still had no inkling. But now at least I had met him face-to-face.

Chapter 24.

I awoke on the day of the dinner to a gentle rain. I could hear it falling on the trees outside, hitting the leaves. A moist breath came in the windows. It was a kind of rain I had never encountered before--a summer rain. In Alexandria--the only place in Egypt where it rains at all--there were lashing winter gales, but no sweet, warm rain like this.

I lay in bed and sighed. I had heard nothing more from Caesar. Tonight-- who did he plan to have at his table? He had said dinner at his home. Was it to be a banquet? Truthfully, his house did not look grandiose enough to have one. This villa was probably where he usually held large banquets. I a.s.sumed Ptolemy was invited; after all, it was Caesar who had insisted we be "married." Since he was my legal husband, he could hardly be omitted.

At midday I availed myself of the baths on the premises, marveling at the engineering genius that allowed the Romans to have hot and cold running water, as well as heated floor tiles. Thus had the Romans conquered most of the world, with their eager corps of engineers attached to each legion, putting up bridges over swirling rivers, laying down roads over bogs, copying the designs of captured ships. Now Roman engineering was providing for creature comforts like these baths, building aqueducts to bring fresh water--and wasting it in fountains and pleasure grottoes--and inventing concrete, a liquid stone, that let them mold buildings, as rich as they liked, to their fancy. Soon there would be nothing left of the famous Roman asceticism. Those who could afford to wallow in comfort and pleasure usually ended by giving themselves up to it.

I thought hard about what to wear to this affair, because it was all symbolic. Should I go in full monarchical regalia? I was, after all, a visiting queen. But this was a small dinner, not an official banquet--I a.s.sumed. On the other hand, to go in unadorned clothes might seem insulting. The question was-- how did Caesar wish to present me? He had not indicated.

"Charmian, what is your true feeling?" I asked her. "Your sense of these things is usually correct. What must I wear?"

I was standing before my trunks, br.i.m.m.i.n.g with clothes of all description. The very variety of them made choosing more difficult.

Charmian said, "My instinct is that you must make yourself as beautiful as possible. However you do that is up to you. Whatever you do, don't be plain! Leave that to the Roman matrons."

"But it may offend them."

"I said beautiful, not vulgar. What is appropriate in the east may seem garish here. So put on only half as much jewelry and cosmetics."

I had a sudden suspicion. "You don't suppose Calpurnia will be there?" Surely he couldn't!

"Unless she is conveniently away, how could she not be?"

My heart sank. "I don't know the Roman custom. Do husbands and wives attend all the same functions?" Maybe they didn't. Maybe they went their separate ways at the table, as they seemed to in bed.

"Probably," she said. "Where else would the women get to plan their a.s.signations with their husbands' friends?"

"Is it that bad?" It sounded so sordid.

"It is always the scandals that reach our ears," she said. "No one ever talks about someone who behaves himself--which most people in Rome probably do."

I pulled out one costume after another. It did not help that they came in three varieties: Egyptian, Greek, and what I thought of as simply Mediterranean. Finally I decided, on an impulse, to wear Egyptian garb.

"It is what people have the most curiosity about," I said. "It is the thing they see least often, and will provide the most diversion." I had a feeling that it would please Caesar, reminding him of those long warm days on the Nile.

I was ready. I stood before the pool in the atrium where I could see my full reflection: a slender column of white with a broad gold collar. I was wearing a close-fitting linen dress with sheer sleeves, tied with a wide sash of red silk. The heavy gold bracelet the Kandake had given me graced one wrist, and on my head was a gold fillet ornamented with the sacred cobra of Egypt in miniature. The effect was regal, exotic, and understated.

Ptolemy was similarly attired in Egyptian style, wearing a jeweled collar, pleated linen robes, and gold sandals.

I drew myself up and took a deep breath. The figure in the pool did likewise. I had to admit that she looked most imposing. Now to set out--and calm my pounding heart. I felt as if I were back in the carpet again, ready to be rolled out before a hostile audience.

The litter swayed sensuously from side to side as it descended into the Roman twilight. The rain had stopped, leaving a sweet aftermath. Birds were singing madly, celebrating the end of the rain. In the fading light the Forum was much more appealing; the rain and the dinner hour had driven most people away, so it was almost deserted. Now I could see far down to the area where the Regia lay, and the round building of the Temple of Vesta. Torches were burning outside it, and as we came closer I saw that servants were stationed outside Caesar's house to guide us.

The litter was set down. A servant helped both me and Ptolemy out. Another bowed and then ushered us into the house. From the outside, it was a simple one, although of two stories, and the doors were plain wood studded with iron.

My own attendant, who had followed in a separate litter, announced our entrance when we pa.s.sed into the atrium. I saw several people gathered at one end of the room, but really I saw only one person: Caesar.

His face broke into a smile when he saw us, and immediately he came to our sides. His gladness was unfeigned, and I felt joy flooding through me. It would be all right. I need not fear the others; they could not touch us.

"Welcome to my home," he said, "Your Majesties." But he did not bow, since he was not our subject. "Allow me to present you. I have gathered together those nearest and dearest to me, whom I most wish you to meet." He was speaking Greek. So that would be the tongue for tonight.

There were some five or six people in a knot at the back of the room.

"I am pleased," I said.

He led us over to them, to all those faces with mixed expressions of curiosity, wariness, and--distaste.

"My wife, Calpurnia."

A tall woman with tightly bound brown hair closed her eyes and lowered her head. "Your Majesties," she said in a low, expressionless voice. She was prettier than I had hoped.

"My great-nephew, Gaius Octavian."

I try now to recall my exact first impression of him, of this boy who was only sixteen years old at the time. To be honest, it was that he was a slight, pale, beautiful statue. His features were delicate, his eyes a cold shade of light blue, his hair dark gold. Even though he was short, his proportions were perfect. He looked like a work of art that Caesar might have carried off from one of his conquests.

"I am honored," he said quietly.

"And his sister, my great-niece, Octavia."

Octavia was more substantial, older, larger, with abundant thick, dark hair. She inclined her head.

"My dear friend Marcus Brutus, and his mother, Servilia."

A middle-aged man with a melancholy expression and straight lips stepped forward, and an older woman with an ample bosom, bound with crisscrossed linen strips around her gown, inclined her head.

"He honors us by returning from his post as governor of Cisalpine Gaul to attend our Triumphs," said Caesar.

Both Brutus and his mother were silent. Finally Servilia smiled and said, "Welcome to Rome, Your Majesties." Her voice was very pleasant. Brutus just made a stabbing nod of the head in concurrence.

"Now, let's see, that's all of us--oh yes, last of all is Marcus Agrippa here." With a sweep of his arm, Caesar indicated a youth standing next to Octavian. He was ruggedly handsome, with plain, blunt features--deep-set eyes, straight eyebrows, thin, well-formed lips. His hair was a close-cropped, dark thatch. "They are inseparable, so that makes Agrippa almost related to me."

Agrippa gave the only full smile I had received so far, besides Caesar's.

"The King and Queen of Egypt have traveled a long way in order to attend the Triumphs," said Caesar. "It was, indeed, in restoring them to the throne that I was forced to fight the Alexandrian War. So it is fitting that they should come and gaze on their vanquished enemies."

"Including their own sister." A man spoke--someone with a low voice.

"Yes, Brutus," said Caesar. "As we know, so sadly, family ties are not always strong enough to prevent treason. That is the agony of civil war--brother against brother. That is why I am so deeply thankful to have ended the civil wars that have torn us Romans apart."

A heavy silence fell over the group. With a beginning like this, I thought, how could we endure an entire evening?

Caesar made a motion with his hand, and from an alcove a lyre and a flute began playing, simple melodies that belied the tension. I had not even glimpsed the musicians when we first entered. Now a maidservant came with her arms br.i.m.m.i.n.g with garlands of roses we were to wear as chaplets on our heads. I remembered now that the Romans liked to put on flowers for dinners, twining them in their hair and draping them around their necks. These were white, many-petaled, and very fragrant. Close on her heels came the cellarius, cellarius, the wine steward, with silver cups of mulsum, a divine blending of wine and honey. Gratefully I took mine, hoping that the magic of wine would act on the company to make the evening easy. the wine steward, with silver cups of mulsum, a divine blending of wine and honey. Gratefully I took mine, hoping that the magic of wine would act on the company to make the evening easy.

"The tables await," said Caesar, gesturing toward an adjoining room. We all followed him, marching two by two, with only Agrippa by himself.

The room was surprisingly large, and I saw that beyond the far doors a garden opened. The entire center of the room was taken up with the couches and tables where we would dine--three couches, touching end to end to make a rectangle with one side open. Each couch held three diners, and where one reclined was subject to the strictest protocol. No one needed to be told where to go; everyone knew. I was on the end of the middle couch, in the place of honor, and Caesar, as host, was on my right, at the top of the family couch. On my other side was Octavia, and on her other side was Ptolemy.

There were bolsters for us to lean our left elbows on, and the couches were spread with costly material, not ornamented but luxurious in the fineness of the wool and silk itself. Servants brought footstools for us, and removed our sandals, after first wiping our feet with scented water. The cellarius cellarius discreetly refilled our wine cups. discreetly refilled our wine cups.

Before each couch was a long table, inlaid with silver, a little lower than the couches. There our plates, knives, and spoons rested, along with gigantic napkins made of stuff even more precious than the couch-covers themselves. Nonetheless we took the napkins and spread them out in front of us, protecting one material with its better.

Caesar leaned on his elbow and held out his cup. Even in this awkward position, such was the strength of his arm that he did not tremble; his hand was absolutely steady.

"Welcome, friends and family," he said. "As Aeschylus said, 'What is pleasanter than the tie of host and guest?' "

Everyone made polite low murmurs of a.s.sent and smiled.

Now I in turn raised my cup. I must speak. "That is one of the chiefest joys of life. As our own Alexandrian Callimachus wrote, 'You are walking by the tomb of Battiades, who knew well how to write poetry, and enjoy laughter at the right moment, over the wine.' Let us enjoy laughter tonight, over the wine, my friends and companions." I took a sip.

Everyone followed. Dear Dionysus! I thought, as I watched them drink. Don't fail me!

"The Queen and King have had a most perilous journey here," said Caesar. "It seems that I must count my enemies not only on land but on the sea as well. Those I thought long dead have risen up against me. Seeking revenge, a group of pirates, led by two who had held me years ago, attacked their ship and drove them into the Strait of Messina." He paused, while everyone waited to hear the outcome. "The G.o.ds were with them--so that in addition to their other gifts, they were able to present me with these enemies as prisoners. A most welcome present!" He gave a hearty laugh. "And so, to celebrate this adventure, tonight, instead of the usual Falernian wine, I serve Mamertine, from Messina." He nodded to the celarius, celarius, who now presented a new amphora, then disappeared to transfer the wine into smaller pitchers. who now presented a new amphora, then disappeared to transfer the wine into smaller pitchers.

The servers now began to bring the first course, the gustum gustum, which would serve to stimulate our appet.i.tes. There were platters of mackerel in rue, with slices of egg; olive paste with flat bread from Capea; a roll of asparagus and figp.e.c.k.e.r; and sliced stalks of leeks, on beds of curly lettuce. Everyone busied himself with the food, and the awkwardness began to subside. I stole a look at Caesar, then at Calpurnia, next to him on the other side. She was gazing at him possessively. Our eyes met for an instant before I looked away.

Calpurnia was somewhere around thirty, I would guess. She must have married young. She was not beautiful enough for Caesar, but still I wished she were plainer. We want our lover to be loved by someone worthy of him, but never to be worthier than ourselves.

"Tell me about this house," I said. "I know it is the official house of the Pontifex Maximus. But what does that mean? What office is this?" I hoped my tone was brightly interested, and that the topic was an innocent one.

"Uncle Julius, may I answer?"

I was startled to hear Octavian, sitting in the lowest position in the room-- the third place on the family couch--speak up in a clear voice.

"Certainly," said Caesar, looking pleased. "Now that you yourself are a pontiff in the college, it is fitting."

Octavian leaned forward, his fine-featured face solemn. "It is the oldest and most sacred order of priests in Rome. We go all the way back to the founding of Rome. We guard the shields and spears that foretell victory, and we keep the archives and the city annals." In all his youthful earnestness, he burned pure as a flame before the altar of Mars. "My uncle has been Pontifex Maximus for almost twenty years."

"Yes," said Caesar, "and the Pontiff is going to exercise one of his prerogatives and reform the calendar."

There were sharp intakes of breath all around the tables.

"It is time! Our calendar no longer bears any resemblance to the natural one. We celebrate harvest festivals while it is yet summer, and midsummer when the days are shorter than the nights. The priests who had the duty of regulating it have failed. So I shall revise it. It falls within my purview."

"But, Caesar," said Brutus, "it is not something for an ordinary man, no matter how well intentioned. It requires knowledge of astronomy and mathematics and other calendar systems that have been tried, and failed." I watched his face; it was hard to tell whether he thought Caesar a fool or was just trying to warn him.

"In Alexandria we have a man who excels at that, and is world-renowned among scholars," I said. "Sosigenes. You have heard of him?"

Nodding heads told me they had.

"I will send for him straightway, Caesar," I said. "I place him at your service." Suddenly I remembered what I had heard about a month being named in his honor. "Is it true that the new calendar will bear a newly named month?" I asked.

"There has been mention of perhaps renaming my birth month, Quintilis, in my honor, but--" He shrugged.

"It is just a rumor!" said Brutus, scowling. "The months are properly numbered, or named after G.o.ds, not human beings. Rome would not permit such a thing."

"Nonetheless I have heard it spoken of," said Octavian. He looked, unblinking and adoring, at his uncle. Did he wish it to be true? Or would it offend his fierce sense of propriety?

His very intensity made his finely chiseled features seem to take on yet more beauty. I had heard of the characteristic "Julian beauty," had heard that all the faces of that family were known to be delicate, with an exquisite bone structure. Even though Octavian did not look like Caesar, they did share that characteristic. I looked at Octavia. Again, she did not resemble the other two, but her features were likewise elegant and well formed. I noticed. She wore a wedding ring on one of her long, graceful hands. I wondered where her husband was.