view of things. The stars are my friend, Mouse. Whenever I feel the temptation to despair, I have only to gaze upward on such a night as this to recover my even and confident tenor of mind. Serenity.. ' his voice drifted away. We sat in silence, only the waves lapping against the prow.
'What is Rome?' Caesar said. 'A city, an idea… has it ever occurred to you to wonder why we Romans have been so favoured by Fortune? Have you considered that all history leads to this moment when Rome is the mistress of the world, and I am Rome's master?'
'Pompey still lives, Caesar, and he has sons with armies.'
'Poor Pompey. I was fond of him, you know, Mouse. I truly thought of him as my friend, my last friend… and he betrayed my faith.'
'Caesar has many friends.'
'Caesar has no friends, for, with Pompey eclipsed, he has no equals, and friendship is possible only between equals. Does that seem very arrogant to you, Mouse?'
There was no land in sight, merely the limitless sea, dark purple shading into dense night, but the stars clear above.
'Answer me, Mouse. Does that seem very arrogant to you?'
But I could not answer. I saw the truth of what he said, and I hated it, and would not acknowledge it.
'Marcus Crassus thought he was my friend, because I owed him so much money. He was only my creditor. You know the story of his death.'
Of course I did. Everyone knew it and had been horrified by it, even though at the same time we were ashamed.
Crassus had led his army against Parthia across the great desert of Arabia. Somewhere in the sands, his intelligence faulty, he had found himself surrounded by the horse archers of the enemy. Keeping out of range of our weapons, they had teased Crassus' mighty army like boys baiting a bear tied to a stake. The Romans pressed together. Many fell exhausted by the heat and the congestion. At last, Crassus, never famous for courage, roared (they say) like a wounded bull and led a mad charge. He was stopped by an arrow in the throat. His body was stripped and left for the fowls of the air, the dark birds that cast their shadows over the sands. But his head was cut off and carried to the camp of the Parthian king, who was, as it happened, watching a performance of The Bacchae. (Thus do barbarian kings imitate the practice of civilised men.) When the head of King Pentheus is brought on to the stage, some vile but ingenious actor substituted the head of old Crassus.
Carrhae was the greatest disaster Roman arms had suffered since Hannibal's victory at Cannae almost two hundred years ago. It was strange that Caesar should brood on it now.
'One day,' he said, 'I shall avenge Crassus.'
My mother used to speak with horror of Crassus' campaign against the leader of the slaves' revolt, Spartacus, of how, when he had defeated the slaves, he had six thousand of them crucified along the Appian Way. They lined the road from Capua to Rome. The sight and stench of the bodies, rotting in attitudes that indicated the nature of their agony, disgusted her, she used to say; for eighteen months she had been unable to bring herself to revisit our estates in the south on account of the horror that she would be compelled to see. Why did I think of this now?
'My conquest of Gaul was glorious,' Caesar said, 'and yet what is Gaul, compared to the splendour of the East? Alexander never thought to carry his conquests to the West. Some day Rome must dominate Parthia. I thought, when we were at Troy, of a new Rome, born from a colony planted there on the site where our race was nurtured. From such a base. After all, Rome cannot be the centre of the world. Things come full circle, Mouse. It may be that my Destiny is to retrace the path taken by my ancestor Aeneas, and then… but I am already twenty years older than Alexander when he died… still, Destiny
… It is a paradox, Mouse, which you have understood in Homer. We act by reason of the force of our will, and yet Destiny governs all. What shall I do with Pompey when I take him, Mouse?'
That was another question I found hard. With what crime could Pompey be charged? Though we were sure that Caesar's decision to invade Italy was justified, nevertheless Pompey had opposed us by the will, the explicit order, of the Senate. I could not conceive of any legal action that could be brought against him, and I could not believe that Caesar would willingly order any Roman citizen — least of all Pompey, who had once been married to his daughter Julia — to be put to death without trial. Besides, how often had I heard Caesar deplore the conduct of Sulla who had restored order to Rome after an earlier civil war by murdering his enemies.
I said: 'I cannot believe that Pompey will choose to survive his disgrace.'
'You don't know Pompey, Mouse. He will not feel disgraced. He will feel he was betrayed. He will be full of resentment, not shame. Resentful men do not fall on their sword. How calm the night is, a night for talk of love, not death. Have you broken with Clodia, Mouse?'
I had not imagined that Caesar knew of my passion for the lady. I did not reply.
'She will bring you nothing but harm,' Caesar said. 'Besides, she's old enough to be your mother.'
I wonder if he thought then of that morning when I had seen him emerge from my mother's room. Perhaps not; great conquerors can't be expected to recall their every conquest.
We sighted Alexandria early on a bright morning. It was late summer and not yet hot. The city shone before us. I had not imagined so many white and sparkling palaces or the beautiful curves of coast and harbour. Gardens of villas brilliant with flowers, ran down to the water.
Then a galley put out from the port to meet us. Caesar smiled. He was sure that it contained a deputation of notables come to honour him. He was (as usual) right. They boarded our ship, some of the older ones finding the transition difficult, and being forced into ludicrous positions. A bald man, with deep brown eyes and sagging jowls, advanced towards Caesar. He introduced himself as their spokesman, by name Theodotus, a Greek who had won some celebrity, as I learned subsequently, as a professional lecturer; his counsel was now said to be valued by the young King Ptolemy, whose tutor he had formerly been.
'And more than tutor, I'll wager,' Casca said.
Now Theodotus extended his left arm in one of those exaggerated gestures which are the stock-in-trade of the professional rhetorician, beings never far divorced from the world of the actor.
Two Nubian slaves, tall glistening fellows, naked but for loincloths and elaborate head-dresses, responded. The taller of them dived into a basket and withdrew an object wrapped in cloth. There was clearly going to be some sort of presentation. The second Nubian spread a carpet before Caesar and remained kneeling, while his companion also knelt and began to unwrap the parcel. He removed a succession of cotton cloths. The first two were crimson, the third white with a brownish stain.
'Now,' Theodotus cried, his voice commanding.
It was years since I had seen Pompey in the flesh, and at first I was not certain it was the flesh. I thought they had toppled a statue and removed the head as an earnest of their benevolent intentions towards Caesar.
But Caesar stepped back, threw his hands up, covered his face as a widow does. The Nubian adjusted the position of the severed head. I was standing at an angle and it seemed as if Pompey was smiling. But that must have been some optical delusion.
Trebonius stepped forward, and, twitching a cloth from the Nubian, covered Pompey's head.
Theodotus was speaking. I think he was claiming credit for himself in the organisation of the assassination of Caesar's enemy. He stretched out his hand towards the General, opening it to reveal a ring. Caesar, as if he acted without thought, took the ring, held it up for a moment, and passed it to me: the engraving showed a lion holding a sword between his paws.
Theodotus said: 'He was endeavouring to form an army, to maintain the prosecution of this terrible war which has been so grievous to all lovers of Rome, of peace and of Caesar. He had partisans in the city, adherents of the King's sister who has set herself up against His Majesty. It was necessary to act. We did so for the safety of Egypt and out of friendship for Caesar.' He bowed low. 'Dead men don't bite, General,' he said.
We were all horrified by what we had seen; yet we stood there and listened as this well-larded man, whom I had at once marked as a consummate hypocrite, argued that it was greatly to Caesar's advantage both that Pompey should be dead, and that he himself should have played no part in the execution of his rival. 'You may consider, Caesar, that in our zeal to do you service, we have acted, with u ncommon dexterity and good judg ment, as a species of deus ex machina.'
And Caesar, though he stood there weeping, could not hide the truth of these words from himself.
'When Caesar has had time to reflect, he will understand that our gift to him is priceless. Now he may indulge in grief for his dead rival, his former friend, but when he retires tonight, his heart will swell with the knowledge that
