The Raven and the Rose (17 page)

A few of the men exchanged glances, and Antony shifted uncomfortably. Caesar was already running the country, but most of those present knew that the Roman people abhorred the idea of an overlord, embodied in the title of ‘rex’, or ‘king.’ This was contrary to the
animus
, or spirit, of a republic, their cherished ideal, even if the reality had drifted far from the model by Caesar’s time.
Primus inter pares
, “first among equals”, was much more acceptable to the average Roman than a monarchy in which the monarch was thought superior to the rest of the population.
 

Antony had acted hastily and made a strategic mistake. The people loved Caesar, but they were not ready for a king. Caesar’s enemies had only to promote the notion that he wanted that title to gain attentive listeners and increase their following.

“But this morning,” Caesar went on in a weary tone, “Lucius Cotta announced in the Senate that it was written in the Sibylline Books that the Parthians could be conquered only by a king, and therefore in view of the upcoming campaign against them I should immediately be given that title.”

A groan arose from the group. Octavian spoke up, saying, “Lucius Cotta is a senile old fool. Nobody will pay any attention to him.”

“Somebody must have put Cotta up to it,” Tiberius suggested darkly. “Casca, maybe.”

“On the contrary, I think Cotta was sincere and his news occasioned much discussion,” Caesar said. “He is a priest of Jupiter. His interpretation of the oracle’s words receives the close attention of the people, who have heard about it already, I’m sure.”

A gloomy silence prevailed.

“My point is this,” Caesar said. “If I remain in Rome until May, when the army is scheduled to depart for Parthia, there will be more than two months for Casca and the others to inflame the people against me. I propose that I leave with the scouts on March 18 and give all this talk a chance to cool down. The disadvantage will be that the army will remain in camp here without me, as it will be too early to march east with the full complement. The spring floods will still be running and the earth will be too soft for a hard march. What is your advice on this matter?”

The men looked at one another measuringly, considering what he had said. Marcus knew that, as usual, Caesar had already made up his mind on the subject, and was only asking his allies for their thoughts in order to make sure he had not overlooked anything in his planning.
 

 
“Your presence here could act more as a panacea than an irritant,” Antony said reasonably. “You don’t want to look like you’re running away.”

Caesar nodded, then turned to Octavian.

“I think you should go,” Octavian said. “Seeing you every day wearing the Imperator’s robes and preceded by lictors carrying the axed fasces will only fan the flames. Issuing orders from a distance is safer. The effect will be the same but your enemies will be denied their rallying symbol: you wearing the purple, sitting in a gilded chair and heading the Senate, acting, in their opinion, like a god.”
 

“Marcus?” Caesar said.

“I agree with your nephew,” Marcus replied. “Go to Parthia and let the situation settle in your absence. The army will uphold your standard here.”

Caesar polled the rest of the group and it was agreed that he would leave Rome in mid-March with the advance guard. As the meeting broke up Tiberius took Marcus aside and said, “Where were you tonight? Your slave Lisander did not know.”

A line waited by the guardhouse door; the men were departing one by one to avoid arousing suspicion.

“I went for a walk,” Marcus replied.

“You must like to live dangerously,” Tiberius said. “The gangs have been rampant in the streets lately.”

“I kept to the Campus,” Marcus said hastily.

“Nothing like a brisk tramp through the marshes to bring on the flux,” Tiberius said, laughing. “You’re an odd one, Demeter. It must be your Greek blood.”

“Maybe,” Marcus replied, smiling thinly.

“No, I’m serious,” Tiberius said. “All those athletic contests in the nude, I can never decide whether the Greeks are decadent or just careless of their health.”

Marcus laughed.

“Well, my turn to go,” Tiberius said, and slipped through the door. Marcus glanced back at Caesar, who was engaged in conversation with his sister’s son. Marcus decided to wait and talk to him later, then left when he saw through a crack in the door that Tiberius had disappeared and the coast was clear.
 

Marcus hardly noticed the walk back to the barracks; his head was filled with disturbing thoughts.

Caesar was in trouble. How could he, Marcus, consider deserting his position in the army and running off with Julia when the man who had raised him so high, transformed his life from that of a poor farmer to that of a hero of the state, was relying on him for future support?

Marcus paused to lean against a piling supporting a
ballista
, or stone throwing catapult, and closed his eyes. A few months ago he would have turned in anyone he knew was considering deserting, would have killed anyone caught in the act. And now he was contemplating it himself! Meeting Julia had altered his goals so dramatically that sometimes he stopped in mid-reverie and wondered how he could be thinking what he was thinking.
 

So suddenly, in the moment he set eyes on her, nothing much mattered to him except their future together.

But his notions of honor had not completely deserted him. Perhaps he could persuade Julia to wait for him until he returned from Parthia. A victory there would assure that the spoils of that extremely rich country would flow into Rome, and the Roman people would certainly express their gratitude by finally giving Caesar anything he wanted. Quibbles over titles or which kind of robes he should wear would mean little in the face of an ultimate triumph which filled the coffers of every citizen. That’s why Caesar’s enemies wanted to bring the situation to a head before he left for the summer campaign; they knew if he won a another victory in the wealthy east their political cause at home would be lost.

Marcus sighed and forced his feet to move forward again. He didn’t know what to do; he had never before faced a situation in which his personal desires conflicted with his duty. They had always been one and the same. The notion of a life without Julia was bleak indeed, but his conscience would not allow him to desert his mentor when Caesar’s need was so great.

Marcus walked on with a heavy heart.

* * *

“Livia Versalia wants to see you,” Margo said to Julia, as the Vestal walked into her apartment in the Atrium. “She has sent me twice to check and see if you had returned.”

“What is it about?” Julia said, trying to disguise her reaction as she removed her veil.

“I don’t know. Perhaps she wants to hear what you learned from the physician.”

“I didn’t learn much. He is sending me some medicine in the morning.”

“Medicine for what?”

“Pain.”

“What pain?”

“Margo, stop interrogating me,” Julia said, with more than a trace of irritation. “I don’t know what’s wrong, if I did I wouldn’t be consulting a doctor.”

“You never complained to me of any pain,” Margo said.

“I never complained to you, but I felt it.”

Margo’s silence was strained, and Julia relented when she realized the older woman was worried about her. She went over to the servant and put her hand on Margo’s shoulder.

“I’m sure it’s not serious. Paris thinks it’s a female complaint resulting from a lack of childbearing.”
 

Margo’s brow cleared. “That sometimes happens.”

“Yes, I know. So don’t fret and let me go on to see Livia. She doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
 

Margo adjusted the drape of Julia’s palla. “We’ll talk when you get back,” she said, then dropped her hand.

Julia slipped out into the torchlit hall of the Atrium, the sound of her steps echoing off the marble walls as she headed for the corner suite which housed the Chief Vestal. She passed statues of Jupiter and Minerva, Diana and Mars, all standing on pedestals or enclosed in wall niches. Various Vestals had left offerings of early spring flowers or shafts of grain and ears of corn before the images, hoping to placate the gods. When she reached Livia’s door she was admitted by Danuta, Livia’s personal slave.

“Is your mistress ready to see me?” Julia asked.

Danuta bowed and indicated that Julia should go inside. As Julia passed her the slave stepped into the hall and closed the door behind her.

Livia’s suite was the most luxurious in the Atrium; her floor was decorated with costly mosaics, the walls were hung with rich tapestries, and all of her furniture was inlaid with lapis lazuli, which gave a soft blue glow to the torchlit rooms. Livia was seated on a silk covered couch with carved mahogany arms. She smiled when she saw Julia and gestured for her visitor to sit opposite her.

“Greetings, daughter of Vesta,” Livia said, and Julia knew that this was not going to be an informal chat.

“
Gratia,
Mater
, ” Julia responded evenly, returning the formula salute.

“I requested this visit because I am concerned about you,” Livia began, looking up as Danuta re-entered the room with a tray containing an arrangement of sliced fruit and two goblets of honeyed goat’s milk. The servant put the tray on a small table in front of the couch and then looked inquiringly at Livia. Livia waved her away and she disappeared.

“I’m fine,” Julia said evenly, once Danuta had left.

“I don’t agree. You have been nervous and distracted, you said the wrong invocation prayers at your last sacrifice. Now I understand you have undertaken a program of physician’s visits at Lady Sejana’s house in addition to the one which I authorized.”

“I confused the days at the sacrifice, I said the prayers for freedom from plague rather than for the general safety of the Roman state. Anyone could make such a mistake. I had never done so before then.”

“Exactly my point. Something is bothering you.”

“I have not been feeling well. I suppose it’s made me forgetful.”

“What does the physician Paris say?”

“He says it’s a female complaint.”

Livia arched her brows inquiringly.

“Lack of childbearing,” Julia elucidated.

“I see. I have heard this before with regard to our sisters. It seems to be the first idea that comes to a doctor’s mind for an unexplained medical condition, since our virginal state is regarded as unhealthy and so must be the reason for everything.”

Julia was silent. Livia was shrewd and in her quarter century with the Vestals had seen and heard quite a bit.

She would not be easy to fool.

“Something to drink?” Livia suggested.

Julia shook her head.

“I do not understand why your complaint requires such frequent visits with this physician,” Livia went on, taking a sip from her own cup.

“I assume he wants to follow the progress of his treatment. He’s recommended an extract of foxglove which will be delivered here in the morning.”

“A painkiller?” said Livia, who was familiar with the healing properties of many plants and herbs.

“Yes,” Julia responded, wishing miserably that she had never begun this deception. She was a novice liar and therefore not a very good one.

“You must be uncomfortable, then,” Livia observed.

“Only at certain times.”

Livia leaned forward and replaced her cup on the tray. “Very well,” she said briskly. “You may continue to see the doctor, but I expect to be kept informed of your progress. Your health is of the utmost importance to me. You cannot serve the goddess unless your concentration is perfect.”

“I understand,” Julia said meekly.

“You may go,” Livia said, not looking at her.

Julia rose and quickly exited the Chief Vestal’s suite, her hands shaking so badly she had to clasp them in front of her to steady them.

Was it possible that Livia Versalia actually knew something? It was widely rumored that she had spies; her position was powerful and she must certainly do what was necessary to protect it. Or maybe she really was in direct communication with the goddess, as others, more superstitious, suggested. Whatever the explanation, she seemed to have a lot more information than her cloistered position would allow. Preserving the integrity of her women was paramount to her, and she would sacrifice Julia without a second thought if Julia threatened the reputation of the Vestals.

“Are you all right, Julia Rosalba?” Danuta asked, and Julia jumped.

“Yes, of course, why do you ask?” Julia said hastily, turning to face the servant.

“You were standing in the middle of the hall staring into the air,” Danuta said.

“I was just thinking,” Julia replied. “I have a lot on my mind. Don’t you have something to do?”

 
Danuta, who gave herself airs because she was Livia’s confidante, dropped her eyes and walked away. Julia took a deep, shuddering breath, resolving to maintain better control of herself. Snapping at the servants would only make her appear more erratic than she already did.