The Triumph Of Caesar

XVIII

With typical modesty, Caesar intended to call his new complex of buildings the Great Forum, to differentiate it from the ages-old Forum (officially, the Forum Romanum) created by our forefathers. As yet, only the outlines of the Great Forum could be discerned; except for the completed Temple of Venus, prominently situated at one end of the concourse, the area was a vast construction site, with its constituent parts in various stages of completion.

When it was finished, the Great Forum would become the legal center of Rome, with hearing rooms, judicial halls, offices for advocates, and legislative archives clustered around a large square bordered by a colonnaded portico. In its center would stand a monumental equestrian statue of Caesar (as yet, only the huge pedestal was in place), while the area in front of the Temple of Venus would be graced by an elaborate fountain (for which only the pipes had been laid down).

The site was swarming with workmen. For tomorrow's dedication ceremony, the space in front of the temple was being cleared of debris and tidied up so as to accommodate a great many spectators. Most would be expected to stand. For the more important personages, benches were being delivered and arranged in rows before the temple steps. At the foot of the steps, a marble altar for sacrifice was being set up.

The temple was a magnificent sight, made entirely of marble. It was built on a high podium accessed by a long flight of steps, with the columns set close together. Every detail of the facade-the cornices and capitals, the pediment and sculptural decorations-had been exquisitely crafted.

This was the temple Caesar had pledged to erect on the eve of the battle of Pharsalus, should he be victorious, in honor of his divine ancestress. Its full name was the Temple of Venus Genetrix. Pompey's temple atop his theater was officially consecrated to Venus Victrix, but the victory of Venus had been bestowed on Caesar.

I surveyed as much of the construction site as the workmen would allow us to enter, looking for potential places of ambush or traps. It seemed unlikely that anyone could engineer such a threat in secret, with so many men involved in clearing and cleaning the site.

"Let's have look inside," said Diana.

"I'm not sure we can. The temple isn't open yet."

"Nonsense-the doors are standing wide open! Besides, you have Calpurnia's seal, don't you? And she's an in-law of Venus, isn't she?"

Without waiting for me, Diana headed up the long flight of steps. I dutifully followed and gestured for Rupa to come along. She paused on the porch for me to catch up, then together we stepped through the wide doorway.

The interior was even more sumptuous than the facade. The marble floors, walls, ceiling, and columns presented a staggering array of colors and patterns, and everything was newly finished, so that all the surfaces gleamed with a mirrorlike polish. To decorate the facing walls of the vestibule, Caesar had acquired two of the most famous paintings in the world, the Medea and the Ajax by the renowned artist Timomachus. A series of ornate cabinets exhibited an extraordinary collection of jewelry and gemstones acquired by Caesar in his travels. Not the most beautiful, but surely the most exotic, was a savage-looking breastplate strung with tiny pearls; a placard noted that it came from the island of Britannia, at the furthest end of the world.

From the sanctuary, I could hear the tapping noise of a sculptor's hammer and chisel. Diana heard it, too, and we exchanged a curious look.

"You don't think someone is still at work on the statue, on the very day before the dedication?" she said.

"Let's find out," I said. We entered the sanctuary.

The sculptor who had received Caesar's commission, Arcesilaus, was reputed to be the most highly paid artist in the world. He was mentioned in passing in Hieronymus's reports and had sent a note of condolence. Many years ago, I had met him at the house of the late Lucullus, a great patron of the arts. Arcesilaus had been young then, and quite handsome, with a reputation for vanity and hot-tempered genius. His hair had grown grayer, but he still had the big shoulders and biceps of a sculptor, and his temper still ran hot, if his reaction to our appearance in the sanctuary was any indication.

"What in Hades are you doing here?" he shouted. The marble statue of Venus stood on a high pedestal at the rear wall. Arcesilaus was perched on a riser which allowed him access to the base of the statue, where he was tending to a finishing detail with a small hammer and a chisel.

I cleared my throat. "My name is Gordianus-"

"And I'm Diana, his daughter. And this is Rupa, his son."

I frowned at Diana's forwardness. Arcesilaus raised an eyebrow. I didn't care for the way his mouth twisted at one corner as he looked Diana up and down.

"You and I have met before," I said, "though it was a long time ago-"

"I know your name. I know who you are. And I remember when we met. That doesn't answer my question. What are you doing here? If the answer isn't, 'Caesar sent me and this is an emergency,' then all three of you can get out! Well, you two fellows, anyway." He looked at Diana again and narrowed his eyes.

"I am here on behalf of Caesar," I said, speaking a sort of truth.

"What can that man possibly want now?" Arcesilaus threw down his hammer and chisel. I flinched in anticipation of the impact, but the statue was surrounded by canvas drop cloths. The instruments landed with a soft thud.

Arcesilaus launched into a rant. "He says to finish the statue by the end of the year. 'Very well,' I say, 'that's possible.' Then he tells me it must be done by September. 'Impossible!' I tell him, 'It can't be done.' 'Ah, but it must be done,' he says. 'Make it possible.' And when I protest, he begins to recite his miracles on the battlefield, how he built a snare made of ships to catch Pompey at Brundisium, and tunneled under the walls at Massilia, and so on and so forth, always making the impossible possible by sheer exercise of will. 'This is art, not war,' I told him. 'This is a statue, not a slaughter. I'm creating a goddess, not sacking Gaul!' "

He jumped from the platform and with a loud grunt bent down to pick up his tools. When he stood straight, he glared at me for a moment, then was distracted again by Diana. The fire in his eyes burned even hotter. His lips curled into a leer. When he was younger, men called Arcesilaus a lover; nowadays they called him a letch. I snapped my fingers to regain his attention.

His face went blank for a moment, then registered glum resignation. "Well? What does Caesar want now? Out with it!" When I hesitated, stumped for an answer, he threw down his tools again. "And don't tell me it has anything to do with that abomination!" He pointed past us, toward one of the corners of the sanctuary nearest the entrance. Partially wrapped in ropes and canvas, lying on its side, was the gilded statue of Cleopatra that had been displayed in the Egyptian Triumph.

"What is that doing here?" I said.

"My question, exactly!" Arcesilaus stormed over and stopped in front of the statue of the Egyptian queen. For a moment, I thought he might kick it. Instead, he glowered at the thing, stamped his feet, and came storming back. "What indeed is that-that atrocity-doing in this temple? Don't ask me. Ask Caesar!"

"Are you telling me Caesar intends to install it here, in the Temple of Venus?"

" 'As close to the statue of the goddess as possible'-his exact words. 'Without, of course, detracting from the integrity of your own work'-also his exact words. 'Without detracting'-as if such a thing were possible! The temple has been built to house the statue; the statue has been designed to fulfill the sacred purpose of the temple. The two things are one and indivisible. To introduce another element, especially a piece of garbage such as that thing-"

"The spectators at the triumph liked it well enough," said Diana. "People appeared to be quite impressed by it."

He scowled at her. "I preferred you with your mouth shut."

"That's uncalled for!" I said.

"Do you agree with your daughter, then? Do you think a drunken mob is capable of exercising artistic judgment? Is that what we've come to? Between chanting obscene ditties, they were momentarily awed by a gaudy statue, so now the thing deserves to be installed in a sacred temple, next to the work of the greatest sculptor in the world? Thank the gods, Lucullus is no longer alive to see this!"

He was close to tears. He grabbed my arm. Rupa darted forward, but Arcesilaus meant me no harm. He pulled me toward the statue of Venus.

"Look at her!" he commanded. "She isn't even finished yet-a few places need polishing, and no color has yet been added. But look at her, and tell me what you see."

I appraised the statue for a long moment. "I see the goddess Venus. She stands with one arm bent back to touch her shoulder, and her other arm slightly extended-"

"The pose is exquisite, is it not?"

I nodded. "Yes. One of her breasts is bare-"

"Her naked breast captures the exact weight and texture of actual flesh, does it not? You can almost feel the supple, warm skin beneath your fingertips. You can almost see her bosom rise and fall, as if she breathes."

"Yes," I whispered.

"And her face?"

"Serene. Wise. Beautiful." I thought of Arsinoe's face, when Rupa kissed her toe.

"And the molding of her gown, the way the folds bend and drape?"

I shook my head in amazement. "They look as if the slightest breeze might stir them."

"Exactly! What you see is made of stone, and yet, the longer you look at her, the more she appears to be alive, breathing, watching-as if she might step down from her pedestal at any moment."

The effect was indeed uncanny. I truly felt as if the statue of Venus gazed back at me. Unnerved, I lowered my eyes. At the base of the statue, I noticed the finishing detail which Arcesilaus had been adding when we entered. It was the artist's famous hallmark, an image of a rampant satyr.

"Now, come over here." He gripped my arm and led me to the statue of Cleopatra. "What do you see?"

I frowned. "It seems a bit unfair to make a comparison. The statue is lying on its side, after all."

"And would it look any less stiff and lifeless if it stood upright?"

"It's a different sort of statue," I argued. "It depicts a living human being, for one thing, not a goddess."

"And yet it seems less alive, less present in the room than does the image of Venus!"

He was right. The workmanship of Cleopatra's statue was decidedly inferior. The gilded bronze, which had been so dazzling under the hot sun, was less impressive in the dim light of the sanctuary; in fact, it looked a bit tawdry. The statue was not without beauty, but compared to the Venus, it was only a lifeless piece of metal.

"It hurts my eyes even to look at it!" declared Arcesilaus. "Yet Caesar insists that it be placed here in the temple, where it will upset the whole balance."

"Perhaps it will only point out the superior nature of your Venus," I said.

"That's not how it works!" he snapped. "Bad art diminishes good art. The closer the proximity, the greater the damage."

"Have you pointed this out to Caesar?"

" 'You've been working on the Venus for a long time,' he told me. 'I realize you're exhausted, and here I am, posing you yet another challenge. But you'll rise to it, Arcesilaus! You'll find the ideal spot for the queen's image. You can do it!' As if this were just another part of my commission, an opportunity to create something harmonious and beautiful, for which I should be grateful-instead of an insult to everything I've achieved in a lifetime of making art!"

I drew a sharp breath. How harmless was Arcesilaus's rant? Had he ever before expressed such rancor against Caesar? And had Hieronymus been there to hear it? I couldn't remember encountering any mention of the sculptor's animosity against Caesar in Hieronymus's reports.

"Why do you think Caesar wants this statue in the temple?" I asked. "Can there be a religious purpose? Cleopatra is linked to the Egyptian goddess Isis-"

"So she is," said Arcesilaus. "But Isis is a manifestation of the Greek goddess Artemis, our goddess Diana-not Venus. No, the image of Cleopatra cannot possibly be construed as another image of Venus. Isn't it obvious why Caesar wants that statue in a temple that honors his ancestress? He means to honor the mother of his own child."

"I think you're wrong there," I said, remembering my recent conversation with Caesar, and the absence of Caesarion in the Egyptian Triumph. And yet, a man like Caesar liked to keep all his options open. He also liked to keep people guessing.

"Perhaps you know Caesar's mind better than I do," granted Arcesilaus. "Why did he send you here today, anyway? It wasn't about this other thing, was it?" He indicated another corner of the sanctuary, where a large placard made of cloth on a wooden frame was propped against a wall. I drew closer and examined it. It was an image of a calendar painted in the traditional style, with the abbreviated names of months across the top and columns of numerals beneath marking the days, with the Kalends, Ides, Nones, and various holidays indicated. It was very artistically rendered in many colors, with exquisitely wrought letters.

"A calendar?" I said.

"The calendar," said Arcesilaus. "Hardly a subject worthy of my talents, but since Caesar means to announce his new calendar at the same time that he dedicates the temple, he wanted an image to unveil, so I made this thing myself. What do you think?"

"It's a object of beauty. Very elegant."

"I don't suppose you've come to check the accuracy? Someone is supposed to do that before tomorrow."

"No."

He frowned. "Why did Caesar send you here?"

"Send me?"

"That's what you said, that Caesar sent you."

"No, I said I came on his behalf."

"What's the difference?" Arcesilaus scowled.

"I wanted to check that the route from the Forum to the temple was safe for Caesar to traverse-"

"Is that your job?"

I considered how to answer. "Well, as a matter of fact, it's the sort of thing my son Meto does on Caesar's behalf; but Meto is away from Rome. And as long as I was here, I thought I'd have a look inside the temple." Not one word of this was a lie.

Arcesilaus was indignant. "Do you mean I've been wasting my time standing here and talking to you, and for no good reason? Get out, all three of you, at once!"

I took Diana by the arm and turned toward the exit. Arcesilaus's demeanor was so threatening that Rupa lagged behind, as if to make sure the artist didn't follow us. But when I looked back, he had returned to the statue of Cleopatra and was glaring down at it. While I watched, he gave it a hard kick, then shouted a curse to Venus. While the dull, hollow ring of the metal resounded through the chamber, Arcesilaus hopped about and clutched his injured toe.