A Mist of Prophecies

XIX

"Egypt!"

Bethesda delivered this pronouncement in much the same fashion that she had announced her previous, sudden insights into a cure for her illness. How she arrived at these revelations, where the knowledge came from, and why she trusted it, I had no idea. I only knew that where once she had uttered, "Radishes!" and the household had gone on an expedition in search of radishes, now she uttered, "Egypt!"

A trip to Egypt would cure her-that, and only that.

"Why Egypt?" I asked.

"Because I came from Egypt. We all came from Egypt. Egypt is where all life began." She said this as if it were a fact that no one could possibly dispute, like saying, "Things fall down, not up," or, "The sun shines during the day, not at night."

I had thought she might say: Because Egypt is where we met, Husband. Egypt is where you found me and fell in love with me, and Egypt is where I intend to reclaim you and purify you of the transgression you committed with another woman. But that was not what she said, of course. Did she know about Cassandra? I thought not; she had been too preoccupied with her own illness.

Did Diana know? Not for certain, perhaps, but Diana had to suspect something. So far, she hadn't confronted or questioned me. If she had suspicions, she kept them to herself-more for her mother's sake, I suspected, than for mine. What was done was done, and the important thing was to keep peace in the household, at least until her mother got better.

"I must return to Alexandria," Bethesda announced at break fast one morning, and not for the first time. "I must bathe once more in the Nile, the river of life. In Egypt I shall either find a cure, or I shall find eternal rest."

"Mother, don't say that!" Diana put down her bowl of watery farina and gripped her stomach. Had her mother's words upset her digestion-or was Diana, too, falling prey to some malady? She was nauseous as many mornings as not. It seemed to me that a curse had fallen on all the women in my life.

This was the first time that Bethesda had explicitly mentioned the possibility of dying in Egypt. Was that the real point of the journey she insisted on making, and was all her talk of a cure a mere pretense? Did she know that she was dying, and did she wish to end her days in Alexandria, where her life had begun?

"We can't afford it," I said bluntly. "I wish we could, but-"

There was a noise at the front door, not a friendly or respectful knocking, but a loud, insistent banging. Davus frowned, exchanged a guarded look with me, and went to answer it.

A moment later he returned and spoke in my ear. "Trouble," he said.

"Stay here," I said to the others, and followed Davus to the foyer. I looked through the peephole. On my doorstep a pair of hulking giants flanked a small ferret of a man in a toga. The ferret saw my eye at the peephole and spoke up.

"It's no good hiding behind that door, Gordianus the Finder. A man can avoid the day of reckoning for only so long."

"Who are you, and what are you doing on my doorstep?" I asked, though I knew already. Since the annihilation of Caelius and Milo, the moneylenders and landlords of Rome reigned supreme. Any organized resistance to them had evaporated. Trebonius was said to favor creditors quite blatantly now in any negotiation he brokered between them and their debtors; those who had sought relief before the stillborn insurrection had received much better deals than those who were seeking relief now.

"I represent Volumnius," said the ferret, "to whom you owe the sum of-"

"I know exactly how much I owe Volumnius," I said.

"Do you? Most people have difficulty calculating the interest that accumulates. They almost always underestimate the amount. They don't understand that if they miss making even a single payment-"

"I haven't missed a payment. According to the agreement I made with Volumnius, the first installment isn't due-"

"— until tomorrow. Yes, this is merely a courtesy call to remind you. I presume you will have the first installment ready for me, first thing in the morning?"

I peered out the peephole at the faces of the ferret's two henchmen. Both had hands the size of small hams and small, beady eyes. They looked too slow and stupid to be gladiators. Their sort was good for only one thing, overpowering and intimidating victims smaller and weaker than themselves. The sum of their brainpower combined was probably below that of the average mule, but they could probably follow simple orders from the ferret-"Break this fellow's finger," say, or, "Break his arm," or, "Break both arms."

"Go away," I said. "Payment isn't due until tomorrow. You've no right to come harassing me today."

"Harassing you?" said the ferret, flashing a wicked smile. "If you call this harassment, citizen, then just wait until-"

I slammed shut the little hatch over the peephole. The noise it made was as feeble as I felt at that moment. "Go to Hades!" I shouted through the door.

I heard the ferret laugh, then bark an order at his henchmen to move on, then the sound of their footsteps receding.

Davus frowned. "What are we going to do if they come back tomorrow?"

"If they come back, Davus? I don't think there's any doubt about that."

We returned to the dining room. Bethesda looked at me expectantly. Diana, I noticed, looked first to Davus to ascertain his expression, and only then at me; further proof, if any was needed, that she was now more his wife than my daughter. That was only proper, but still it irked me. Hieronymus was eating the last of his farina very slowly and looking glum. Androcles and Mopsus, having risen and eaten before anyone else, were in the garden, where I had assigned them some tasks to work off their morning burst of energy. Through the window I could see them squabbling and pelting each other with pulled weeds, oblivious to the crisis in the household.

I opened my mouth to speak, but what was there to say? False words of reassurance? An abrupt change of subject? Or perhaps a resumption of the previous subject, namely the hopelessness of Bethesda's demand for a journey to Egypt? At that moment, nothing would have pleased me more than the prospect of a trip to Alexandria, or to any other place, as long as it was as far from Rome as possible.

I was spared from having to speak by an abrupt knock at the door. "Not again!" I muttered, stalking back to the foyer. I didn't bother with the peephole but threw back the bar and pulled open the door. Even the ferret and his henchmen wouldn't dare to attack a Roman citizen on his doorstep on the day before a loan came due. Or would they? I wondered if I could gouge out the ferret's eyes before the two giants had time to disable me…

"What are you doing back here?" I shouted. "I told you-"

The man on my doorstep stared at me blankly. I stared back at him just as blankly, until I recognized him. He was the personal secretary to Calpurnia who had called at my door previously.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, in a very different tone of voice.

"My mistress sent me. She wants to see you."

"Now?"

"As soon as possible. Before-"

"Before what?"

"Please, follow me and ask no questions."

I looked down at the old tunic I was wearing. "I shall have to change."

"No need for that. Please, come at once. And you might want to bring a bodyguard with you, for later."

"Later?"

"To walk you home safely. The streets are likely to be-well, you'll see." He smiled, and I had a glimmer of what he was trying to tell me, or more precisely, what he was trying not to tell me.

"Come along, Davus," I called over my shoulder. "We've been summoned by the first woman in Rome."

The slave led us across the Palatine Hill to the large house where Calpurnia was residing in her husband's absence. Even before we reached the house, I could see that the surrounding streets were busier than normal. Messengers were fanning outward from the house while men in togas were converging upon it. There was a sense of excitement, of a charge like lightning in the air. It intensified in the forecourt of the house, where men in small groups talked in hushed voices while slaves scurried to and fro. I recognized several senators and magistrates. Trebonius and Isauricus stood together off to one side, surrounded by their lictors. Something important had happened. The eyes and ears of all Rome were becoming trained upon this house.

The slave ushered us through the forecourt, up the steps, and into the house. The guards recognized him and allowed us to pass without question.

From the buzz of excitement outside, I expected the inside of the house to be a veritable beehive, but the hall down which the slave led us was surprisingly empty and quiet. We emerged in a sunlit garden where Calpurnia, seated in a backless chair, was dictating in a low voice to a scribe. At our approach she looked up and made a sign for the scribe to withdraw. At another sign, the slave who had escorted us also vanished.

"Gordianus, you came very quickly." With a raised eyebrow she took note of my shabby tunic, and I knew I should have taken time to put on my toga, no matter what the slave had said.

"Your man indicated that the summons was urgent."

"Only because, in a few moments, all Rome shall know. Once the word is out, there's no telling how people will react. I assume that most people will be as overjoyed as I am-or will pretend to be."

"You've received good news, Calpurnia?"

She drew a breath and closed her eyes for a moment. She had not yet repeated the news often enough to have become inured to it. When she opened her eyes, they glittered with tears. Her voice trembled.

"Caesar has triumphed! There was a great battle in Thessaly, near a place called Pharsalus. Pompey's front lines gave way; then his cavalry broke and fled. It was a complete rout. Caesar himself led the charge to overrun the enemy's camp. Some of their leaders escaped, but the engagement was decisive. Almost fifteen thousand of the enemy were slain that day, and more than twenty-four thousand surrendered. Caesar's forces lost scarcely two hundred men. Victory is ours!"

"And Pompey?"

Her face darkened. "Even as Caesar was leading his men over the ramparts into the enemy's camp, Pompey fled from his tent, threw off his scarlet cape to make himself less conspicuous, mounted the first horse he could find, and escaped through the rear gate. He made his way to the coast and boarded a ship. He appears to have headed for Egypt. Caesar pursues him. That's the only bad news, that Caesar can't yet return to Rome. But that was to be expected. Caesar will have to settle Rome's affairs in Egypt and elsewhere before he can at last come home to rest."

For a long moment, I took in the momentous nature of what Calpurnia had just told me. Waves of emotion passed through me. Like her, I experienced a trembling in my throat, and tears came to my eyes. Then doubts and questions intruded on my thoughts.

Could it really be over? With a single battle, was the war truly ended? What of Pompey's naval fleet, which had always been superior to Caesar's and which was still presumably intact? Who else besides Pompey had survived, and how easily would they give up the fight? What of Rome's other enemies, such as King Juba, who had annihilated Curio and his expedition in Africa? What of Egypt, which was engaged in its own dynastic civil war? Calpurnia spoke of settling affairs there as if the job involved tools no more complicated than a broom and a dustpan, but when had anything to do with Egypt ever been that simple? Would it really be such a trivial task to track down Pompey, as if he were an escaped slave? If and when Caesar trapped him, did he intend to murder Pompey in cold blood? Or would he bring him back to Rome as a prisoner, parading him in chains behind his chariot in a triumphal procession, as he had done to Vercingetorix the Gaul? Doubts shadowed the news Calpurnia had given me, but I said nothing of them. How many of the men in her forecourt were entertaining the same questions, and how many would feign jubilation and leave their doubts unspoken-for the time being?

"Remarkable news," I finally managed to say.

"Is there nothing you wish to ask? No one you wish to ask after?"

I thought for a moment. "What of Domitius Ahenobarbus?" He was one of Caesar's fiercest enemies. At the outset of the war, he had lost the Italian city of Corfinium to Caesar, botched a suicide attempt, and been captured. Humiliated by Caesar's pardon, he made his way to Massilia-where his path crossed mine-and took command of the forces resisting Caesar's siege. When Caesar and Trebonius took Massilia, Domitius Ahenobarbus had escaped once more, to join Pompey.

"Redbeard is no more," said Calpurnia, with a glint of satisfaction in her eyes. "When the camp was overrun, Domitius fled on foot and headed up a mountainside. Antony's cavalry hunted him down like a stag in the woods. He collapsed from fear and exhaustion. His body was still warm when Antony found him. He died without a wound on him."

"Faustus Sulla?"

"Fausta's brother apparently escaped. There was a rumor he might head for Africa."

"Cato?"

"He, too, eluded capture. He may be on the way to Africa as well."

"Cicero?"

"Cicero lives. He missed the battle entirely, on account of an upset stomach. Rumor has it he's headed back to Rome. My husband is notorious for his clemency. Who knows? He may yet forgive Cicero for siding with Pompey." She stared at me for a long moment. "Why not ask what you most want to ask, Finder?"

Why not, indeed? I bowed my head and sighed. I tried to control the trembling in my voice. "What news of Meto?"

She nodded and smiled, a bit more smugly than was warranted. "Meto is well. According to my husband, he distinguished himself admirably throughout the campaign and most especially in the battle at Pharsalus. He remains at Caesar's side, traveling with him to Egypt."

I shut my eyes and held them shut, to hold back tears. "When did this battle take place?"

"Four days after the Nones of Sextilis."

I drew a breath. "The day Cassandra was buried!"

"So it was. I hadn't realized that."

On the very day Cassandra turned to ashes upon her funeral pyre, the fate of Rome was decided. I thought of all that had transpired and all I had discovered in the time it took the news from Pharsalus to reach Rome. I thought of the women who had shared with me their secrets, none of us knowing that even as we raked over the past and agonized over the future, the battle between the titans was already decided.

"Why did you summon me here, Calpurnia, and bid me come so quickly? I should think that every man out there, shuffling nervously about your forecourt, is more deserving to be kept abreast of the latest news from Caesar."

She laughed. "Let those senators and magistrates grind their teeth and swap rumors and stand on pins awhile longer. I intended to call you here today, anyway, because of a certain other event. Rupa, step forward."

He had been standing in the shadows. When he stepped into sight, the look I saw on his face was closer to chagrin than anything else. He put his hands on my shoulders and gave me a rather stiff embrace.

"So you're alive, after all," I said. "Where have you been all this time?"

He covered one hand with the other. In hiding. Who could blame him? Fausta had sent a slave to kill him. When he learned about Cassandra's death, he must have been as baffled as I was, not knowing whom to blame or whom to fear.

"He should have come straight to me, of course," said Calpurnia. "But I suppose he was afraid of me, thinking I might have had something to do with Cassandra's death. But ever since Fausta died, all sorts of rumors have been circulating about her death and her role in the insurrection, including a rumor about her poisoning Cassandra. Rupa heard it and decided to risk coming here to find out the truth. I told him of all your efforts to find his sister's killer, not to mention the care you took to see that she was properly cremated."

Rupa looked in my eyes and embraced me again, less stiffly. At that moment he looked very much like Cassandra.

"He also came here to collect Cassandra's earnings, which I kept in trust for her. It's a considerable sum. But there's a slight problem. It has to do with you, Finder."

"Please explain."

"At some point, Cassandra gave Rupa a letter addressed to me, to be delivered only in the event of her disappearance or death. Rupa can't read, and of course he didn't dare to show the letter to anyone besides me, so he's had no idea what's in the letter until today, when he delivered it to me. I've read it to him and discussed what it means. He's agreed to its terms, but I can't be certain that you will."

"I don't understand. The letter mentions me?"

"Yes. Shall I read it to you?" Without waiting for an answer she produced a scrap of parchment and read aloud:

TO CALPURNIA, WIFE OF GAIUS JULIUS CAESAR:

IN RECENT DAYS, I HAVE FOUND MYSELF THINKING A GREAT DEAL ABOUT MY DEATH. WERE I TRULY GIFTED WITH THE POWER OF PROPHECY, I MIGHT ALMOST SAY THAT I HAVE EXPERIENCED A PREMONITION OF DEATH. PERHAPS I AM ONLY SUFFERING A NORMAL MEASURE OF TREPIDATION, GIVEN THE INHERENT DANGER OF MY WORK FOR YOU.

BUT IF YOU ARE READING THESE WORDS, THEN I MUST INDEED BE DEAD, FOR MY INSTRUCTIONS TO RUPA ARE TO DELIVER THIS LETTER TO YOU ONLY IN THE EVENT OF MY DEATH, OR IF I SHOULD DISAPPEAR UNDER CIRCUMSTANCES SUCH THAT MY DEATH CAN ALMOST CERTAINLY BE PRESUMED.

IN SUCH AN EVENT, THIS IS MY DESIRE REGARDING THE DISPOSITION OF THE MONEY I HAVE EARNED FROM YOU AND WHICH YOU ARE HOLDING FOR ME. BECAUSE RUPA HIMSELF WOULD BE ILL-DISPOSED TO HANDLE SUCH A LARGE AMOUNT OF MONEY, I WISH FOR THE ENTIRE SUM TO BE GIVEN TO GORDIANUS, CALLED THE FINDER, A MAN WHO IS KNOWN TO YOU AND TO YOUR HUSBAND, UPON THIS CONDITION: THAT HE SHALL TAKE RUPA INTO HIS HOUSEHOLD AND SHALL ADOPT HIM AS HIS SON. IN RETURN FOR ASSUMING A FATHER'S RESPONSIBILITY FOR RUPA'S WELLBEING, GORDIANUS MAY DISPOSE OF THE MONEY AS HE SEES FIT. I KNOW HE HAS GREAT NEED OF IT. I HOPE IT WILL COME AS A BOON TO HIM AND TO HIS FAMILY.

THIS IS THE WISH OF YOUR LOYAL AGENT, CASSANDRA.

Calpurnia put down the letter. "I'm not sure about that last bit-her loyalty, I mean. She did conspire with Fausta to induce Milo to raise arms against the state. One might argue that she was a traitor in the end, and that I would be entirely justified to seize all her assets-including the money I was holding in trust for her. But I ask myself: What would Caesar do? And the answer is obvious, for no leader of the Roman state has ever shown as great an inclination to clemency as Caesar. Cassandra cannot be made to suffer any more for her collusion with Fausta; she paid for that mistake with her life. I see no reason why Rupa should also suffer, and I have no wish to take from you, Gordianus, the money that Cassandra wished for you to have. You did me a great favor when you uncovered Fausta's perfidy, and while I suspect you don't wish to be paid for that effort-that would make you my agent, wouldn't it? — I do hope that this audience and its outcome may mark the first step toward a complete reconciliation between you and my husband, as well as those who serve my husband… including young Meto."

I stared at her, not sure how to answer. "What is the sum you hold in trust for Cassandra?" I asked.

She named it. The amount so surprised me that I asked her to repeat it.

I looked at Rupa warily. "Do you understand the amount of money that your sister earned?"

He nodded.

"Yet you accept the terms she laid out in her letter? That you should receive none of that money, and instead should become my son by adoption?"

He nodded again and would have embraced me a third time had I not stepped back. I looked at Calpurnia. "Perhaps it would be fairer if Rupa and I were to split the amount," I suggested.

She shrugged. "Once you receive the money from me, Gordianus, you can do with it whatever you wish. But you'll receive it only if you agree to adopt Rupa, as Cassandra requested. You appear to be a bit taken aback by her generosity, but I think she showed great wisdom in making such an arrangement. Rupa is a strong young man, probably an excellent bodyguard, and able to take care of himself in a fight-he certainly got the better of that gladiator Fausta sent to kill him. But in many ways he's not fit to look after himself. Cassandra was the one who always took care of him. Now that she's gone, it was her wish that you should do so. And why not? Haven't you a propensity for taking strays into your house-the two sons you adopted and that pair of rowdy slave boys you acquired from Fulvia? It was also Cassandra's wish that the money she earned should buy you out of the hole you've dug yourself into. I understand your debts are considerable. Even so, given the amount she's left you, there should be a tidy sum left over-enough to look after Rupa and the rest of your family for quite a while."

I thought about this and took a deep breath. I looked over my shoulder at Davus, who had followed the entire exchange in silence. He looked back at me with a furrowed brow, and I realized that I would face no easy task when it came to explaining to Bethesda and Diana how I had come into such a fortune, and why I was coming home with a new mouth to feed.

But why should I worry about explaining myself? Was I not a Roman paterfamilias, the supreme head of my own household, granted by law the power of life and death over everyone in that household? A paterfamilias had no need to justify himself. So tradition dictated, although real life never seemed to adhere very strictly to the model. If my wife or daughter pestered me with uncomfortable questions about Cassandra or Rupa or my sudden windfall or the abrupt vanishing of my debts, I could always fall back on my privileges as paterfamilias and simply refuse to answer them… for a while, anyway.

"Do you accept Cassandra's terms?" asked Calpurnia, suddenly impatient for the audience to end.

"Yes."

"Good. I'll have the money delivered to you this afternoon. Take Rupa with you as you go. Stay in the forecourt for a while if you wish to hear the formal announcement." She made a wave of dismissal. Guards appeared from the shadows to see us out.

We lingered for only a few moments in the forecourt before Calpurnia appeared on the steps. Every voice fell silent as all eyes looked to her.

"Citizens, I stand before you with wonderful news. Caesar has triumphed! There was a great battle in Thessaly, near a place called Pharsalus…"

She repeated the news just as she had given it to me, word for word. When she was done, the forecourt was oddly silent as those present absorbed the enormity of the news. Isauricus and Trebonius were the first to cheer. Others joined them, until the forecourt rang with acclamations for Caesar and cries of "Venus for victory!"

And so I made my way home with not one but two stout young men to act as my bodyguards-and a good thing that was, for the streets of the Palatine were suddenly thronged with people cheering and weeping and kissing one another and madly jumping up and down. Some appeared quietly pleased, some genuinely ecstatic. How many were simply experiencing a rush of emotion at the tremendous release of the tension that had been building in everyone for months? And how many were not happy at all, but were doing their best to laugh and shout and blend in with the rest?

As we slowly made our way through the crowd, I was startled to see, some distance off, a familiar face amid the throng. It was old Volcatius, Pompey's most vociferous partisan among the chin-waggers. His hands were in the air; his head was thrown back, his mouth open. Amid the din I could hear his reedy voice, shouting, "Hurrah for Caesar! Venus for victory! Hurrah for Caesar!"

"We are all Caesarians now," I muttered under my breath.