The second was my memory of how Clodia had told me that when Caesar first informed her (in bed) that he was a god, she had imagined he was inviting her to share a joke; and only much later had realised that he spoke in all seriousness.
And the third was that a priest once told me it was written in the Sibylline Books, those repositories of ultimate wisdom, that 'The Romans could never conquer the Parthians unless they went to war under the conduct of a king…'
Artixes said to me:
'But from what you say, this Caesar of yours was a madman. In Gaul we venerate such beings but we do not entrust them with responsibility.'
'Don't you remember, my dear,' I replied, 'that I told you Cato once said Caesar was the only sober man to set himself to destroy the State?'
'Many madmen are nevertheless sober,' Artixes said.
Chapter 14
I must hurry. The days shorten. Artixes assures me that no reply has yet arrived by way of the emissaries his father, the Prince, sent. But there is a look in his eye which suggests to me that his father no longer has any great hopes of receiving a substantial ransom.
As the days shortened then too, in that, my last Roman winter, the mood of the city grew ever more tense, and sharp-knifed.
Casca remarked to me one day: 'It's odd, isn't it? We fought all these battles and nothing is settled. A few great men have disappeared — none of my creditors, unfortunately. The parties have re-formed. Cicero has less to say for himself. But otherwise nothing seems to have changed, except that, I'm sorry to say, Diosippus has quite lost his looks. Even that diet I put him on hasn't worked. It merely makes him look his years. However, I have had some hopeful reports from my agent in the slave-market. He tells me he expects a charming cargo from Phrygia very soon. Don't see how he can be telling the truth, not with the seas as they are. They'll either be wrecked or arrive utterly wind-blown and ugly, while if they attempt the overland journey it'll take months to get them into any desirable condition.'
There were days when Casca was a considerable comfort. On the other hand he went on to say, 'Don't you think our Lord and Master is behaving really a bit oddly these days? Too bizarre for words. Only the other afternoon he was seen to be wearing knee-length red boots. Yes, bright red boots. And when someone had the nerve to ask him what this was in aid of, he declared that his ancestors, the Alban kings, had always been accustomed to wearing such boots as a sig n of their rank. Well, to me of course, that simply explains why the Alban kings haven't lasted. I can't think of anything to make anyone look sillier than knee-length red boots, like a comedian in a low pantomime. But, well, our Lord and Master — I mean I know he has some pretensions to a certain wit, but I've never thought he had a sense of humour. Indeed I remember once suggesting to you that it would take a surgical operation to get a joke into Caesar's head. You bit my head off, I remember. After all, those were the days when you thought the sun shone out of Caesar's arse, and, to be fair to you, he had something of the same idea about you. Well, as you know, I followed him with the utmost and most admirable loyalty, for quite different reasons: because I saw that the old boy was a winner, and, except at the gaming-tables, your fat old Casca has always preferred to be on the winning side. In any case, when it came to a choice between the noble and fortunate Caesar and that great lump of lard they used to call the Great One, it was as simple for me as choosing between a pretty lad and, let us say, Calpurnia; but — how I do ramble on, I've always noticed that garrulity is the sign that I'm worried. Anyway, to cut a long matter short, as the man said when he made a eunuch of a Nubian, do you suppose our esteemed master is going off his rocker? Because, darling Mouse, if he is, I'm going to find another bed to lie in. What do you say?'
What could I say? I certainly couldn't start talking about the Parthian plans and the Hyrcanian wastes and the frosted Caucasus. So I said:
'You've always underestimated Caesar's sense of humour. Besides, he's a dandy. He's always been famous for being a dandy. And dandies take strange whims at times. Do you remember that chap — who was it? — one of the Dolabellas, I forget which — who had his hair permed with goats' piss because he thought it gave it a most distinguished sheen?'
But others were worried too. One was Calpurnia. She summoned me to her presence, taking care to do so on a night when she knew that Caesar was with Cleopatra.
I obeyed, without enthusiasm. As I've made clear, I always disliked Calpurnia. She has less charm than any woman I have ever known except the Madam who ran a certain brothel in Cadiz.
She looked even more than usually scraggy and nervous that evening, with her hair unsuitably dyed a dull red. She had been drinking too; her breath stank of acidulous white wine. Her hands, the fingers loaded with rings, were never still. They patted her hair, plucked at her neck, twisted around each other. She could not sit still, but, having directed me to a couch, immediately leapt up and flitted about the room, her gait unsteady as she embarked on a monologue.
'He's bewitched, that's what it is, that woman, whether she has actually given him some potion, I can't say, but she's bewitched him. And she's not really beautiful, you told me that yourself, and others have confirmed it, so what does he see in her if she's not bewitched him? I could strangle her with my own hands, yes I could, look, just like this, like wringing a chicken's neck, I'm told he calls her 'Chicken'. And this boy she has with her, this child, she says he's Caesar's son. I don't believe it myself, I've good reason not to, you know, think of all the women Caesar has had, and have any of the others claimed he has fathered a child? No, of course not, well there's that bitch Servilia, she's sometimes hinted, or let others hint, or not denied, that that toad Marcus is Caesar's child. But it's not true, because I don't believe he's… well, I've never said this to anyone and you're to keep it to yourself, but though I've never had children myself I had three miscarriages by my first husband, and Caesar has never made me pregnant. So, what conclusion do you draw from that? It's obvious, isn't it, he's sterile. Between you and me, that's why he's so determined to be a Great Man. It's to wipe out the shame of not being, well, normal, of not being able to father a child. That's the truth, and that little bitch has the brass neck to call the child Caesarion. And he purrs and goes along with it… but it's not true.' (Calpurnia was talking nonsense. Caesar and his first wife had a daughter, Julia, later married to Pompey.) 'And now he's set on this Parthian expedition, it's madness, I've told him that, but, well, you know him, you've known him all your life, yes of course I know your mother was one of his lovers, that doesn't worry me, it was before my time, do you think he's going mad?
'There's this prophecy, you must have heard it, that the Romans can only conquer Parthia under a king, and when I mention that to Caesar, he just laughs, and says prophecies are nonsense. And only yesterday he said, quite casually, we hadn't been quarrelling or anything, he just said, quick as boiled asparagus, 'I might divorce you and marry the Queen.' That would make him a sort of king, I suppose he thinks, a King of Egypt, imagine. You know how superstitious he can be when it suits him. It's always when it suits him, him, him, never any consideration for me, or anyone else. 'Look,' I said to him, 'you've a big enough mess to clear up here in Rome, why don't you get on with that and stop this Parthian nonsense?' and he laughed again and said I understood nothing about politics. But I understand a great deal, you know, I'm not a fool. I know you don't like me, Decimus Brutus, and perhaps I am not likeable, I have moments when I see that, but I'm not a fool. Your mother would have told you that. So, let me tell you what I see happening. They're going to kill him. I don't know who, but people are frightened of him now as they never were before, not just because he's so powerful but because he has really and truly started to go off his head. There's this clemency business. 'Look,' I said to him, 'you've got enemies, you know. You think because you've forgiven them for fighting on the other side, they are grateful. You're a fool, Caesar, don't you understand, the one thing people can't tolerate is that you have been in a position to say 'I forgive you,' and that you've said it as if you were some sort of superior being, a god of some kind. People can't stand that. In politics, if you have enemies and defeat them, you should get rid of them, finish, that's what Sulla did, yes, and your uncle-by-marriage Gaius Marius, they knew how people behave and feel. But you've forgotten. You think because you're a Great Man, everything will be easy for you and the world will arrange itself to suit you. It's not like that, Caesar.' Do you know I taste every dish that is put before him, myself, first, in case of poison, yes, I risk my own life for him at every meal, that's what I do. I put myself at risk, and is he grateful? Oh no, he laughs and tells me not to be foolish. Besides, I can only do
