Antistius caught up with Silius under the portico of the theatre dedicated to Pompey, which had been finished a decade earlier. Adjacent to the theatre was the Curia, where the Senate was meeting temporarily until works in the Forum were completed. The two men sat at a table in front of an inn. The doctor ordered two cups of hot wine with honey and spices.
‘Has Caesar really received a message from Publius Sextius?’ asked Antistius.
‘Yes, but it was written seven days ago.’
‘Do you know what it says?’
‘It refers to the information Caesar was expecting, regarding his expedition against the Parthians. All good news. We can count on support from Anatolia and Syria, and even Armenia, and we have a complete listing of all our forces deployed from the Danube to the Euphrates. The commander has decided to call a meeting of the general staff in order to examine the feasibility of the invasion plan.’
‘So that’s why he was awaiting the message so impatiently.’
‘I see no other reason and he did not mention anything else himself. He seems quite determined. He means to put his plans into action.’
Antistius shook his head repeatedly. ‘I don’t understand. He’s not well, his work here is not finished, Spain and Syria have not been entirely pacified and yet he wants to take off on an adventure with an uncertain outcome that will keep him away from Rome for years and may cost him his life. An adventure from which there may be no return.’
Silius sipped at his wine.
‘Has he had any more seizures?’ asked Antistius.
‘No, not that I know of. I hope he never has another.’
‘No one can say. Where is he now?’
‘With her.’
Antistius lowered his head without speaking.
Silius put a hand on his shoulder. ‘That Greek teacher. . Artemidorus, wasn’t it? Have you managed to contact him?’
‘I’ll be seeing him soon. I sent him word that he needed a check-up.’
‘Keep me informed if you learn anything new. It’s very important.’
‘You’ll be the first to know. Don’t worry. In any case, don’t leave Rome. I may need you.’
‘I won’t go beyond the city limits unless he orders me to do so in person.’
‘Take care of yourself.’
‘You too.’
The two men parted. Antistius went back to his island, while Silius remained seated, sipping his spiced wine. A stiff wind began blowing from the north and he gathered his cloak around him to ward off the chill.
Rome, Caesar’s gardens, 9 March, two p.m.
‘You’re the most powerful man on earth. If you don’t do something it’s because you don’t want to do it, not because anyone or anything is standing in your way!’
The queen had raised her voice and the flush on her cheeks was visible even under the make-up smoothing her skin. Her features were too exotic for her face to be perfect, but they only added to her undeniable allure, which many felt showed the influence of her mother’s native blood. Her figure was absolutely sublime, its perfection untouched by her first pregnancy.
Caesar got up abruptly from the couch she’d been reclining on when she’d received him.
‘I’ve done what I thought was right. You should show some appreciation for the decisions I’ve made regarding both you and the child. I’ve recognized him as my son and I gave you permission to give him my name.’
‘How good of you! He is your son, Caesar, what else could you have done?’
‘I could have done anything. You said so yourself. But I recognized him, not only by allowing him to take my name but by placing a golden statue of you-’
‘Gold-plated,’ the queen corrected him haughtily.
‘In any case, a statue of you in the Temple of Venus Genetrix. Do you realize what that means? That temple is the sanctuary of my family. It means that by having borne Caesar’s child, you have become part of my family and that he, your son, is of divine lineage.’
Cleopatra seemed to calm down. She rose from the couch, drew close and took his hand.
‘Listen to me. Your wife is sterile and Ptolemy Caesar is your only son. I am the last heir of Alexander the Great and you are the new Alexander. In truth, you are greater than he ever was! You have conquered the West and you are about to conquer the East. No one is your equal anywhere in the world, was or will be. You will be considered a god, Caesar, and that means that two divine dynasties will be united in your son! I’ve heard, by the way, that in the Senate there’s been a proposal to make polygamy legal — that is, a man will be permitted to take more than one wife in order to guarantee a bloodline. Is that so?’
‘The initiative didn’t come from me.’
‘Well, it should have!’ burst out Cleopatra, raising both of her hands almost to his face.
Caesar took a step back and stared into her fiery black eyes without saying a word.
‘Don’t you understand?’ the queen continued. ‘Without that law, your son will remain the bastard son of a foreign woman. You must become the king of Rome and of the world, Caesar, and your only successor will be your son, your only true son, blood of your blood. Why did you refuse the crown Antony offered you that day of the Lupercalia?’
‘Because there’s nothing my enemies would have liked better! They are bent on my ruin. They would do anything to make me fall out of favour with the people, to make me look like a tyrant. Can’t you understand that? In Rome, being a king is detestable. Any Roman magistrate in the provinces has a queue of kings and princes waiting months on end just to be received by him. Why would Caesar aspire to a position that is inferior to that of any one of his governors?’
The queen bowed her head and turned her back to him as tears of rage and frustration flowed from her eyes.
Caesar looked at her and couldn’t help but remember that night of intrigue and betrayal in Alexandria, when Cleopatra had been brought to his chambers in secret, wrapped up in a carpet. He had been under siege from every direction and was convinced there was no way out. No way out for him! The conqueror of Gaul and victor over Pompey, caught in a trap of his own making. And yet, when he had seen her standing before him dressed only in a fine, transparent linen gown, her hair pulled back in the Egyptian manner, her shiny eyes rimmed in black, framed by incredibly long lashes, her splendid breasts, everything else had vanished. The besieging armies, Pompey’s beheading, the underhand manoeuvrings of those scheming Greeks. . all faded away. Only she remained, proud and tender, so young in her body and face and so perverse in her gaze. No woman he had ever known — not even Servilia, his lifelong mistress, Brutus’s mother and Cato’s sister — had ever had such a dark, thrilling gleam in her eyes.
Her voice shook him from his musings: ‘What will become of us? Of me and your son?’
‘My son will be the king of Egypt and you will be the regent until the day he comes of age. You will be protected, honoured, respected.’
‘King of Egypt?’ repeated Cleopatra, in an offended tone.
‘Yes, my queen,’ replied Caesar. ‘You should be glad of it. Only a Roman can govern Rome and only as long as he succeeds in justifying his powers.’
Caesar was plagued by the disagreeable thought that the only emotion emanating from Cleopatra was raw ambition. Nothing else. Not that he expected love from a queen, but it made him feel very alone at that moment. He felt torn by doubt and menaced by impending threats, by his own physical ailments, by the awareness that he who climbs high has much further to fall.
‘I must go now,’ he said. ‘I’ll come back to see you, if you like, as soon as I can.’
He walked towards the door and a servant rushed over to open it for him.
