silver or a rare scroll or whatever else they're up for carrying. Antony tells me, 'I'd rather your actor friends end up with Pompey's spoils than some rich banker friend of Caesar's.' Have a look around, Gordianus, and see what you might like to take home with you. Rupa's big and strong. He could probably carry that statue of Cupid over there.'
'You are joking?'
'Are you not a friend, Gordianus? You've met Antony, haven't you?'
'A few times, over the years.'
'And doesn't he like you? Antony likes everyone. Well, everyone except Cicero. Antony says Caesar should have executed Cicero after Pharsalus, instead of pardoning him. 'Shows just how little my opinion counts with Caesar these days,' as poor Antony says. But you were going to tell me about Alexandria, Gordianus. If you're going to earn that Cupid, you'll have to cough up an amusing anecdote or two.'
'I'm afraid my time in Egypt was not particularly amusing.'
'But you must have had many adventures. You were there for months, and right in the middle of that nasty little war between Cleopatra and her brother, with Caesar showing up to play kingmaker. You must have had a brush or two with death-or perhaps a dalliance with one of the queen's handmaidens?' Cytheris raised an eyebrow.
'Well, I suppose I could tell you about the narrow escape we had from a rioting mob, when we had to find our way through a secret passage beneath of the tomb of Alexander the Great…'
Cytheris sat forward. 'Yes! That's exactly the sort of tale I want to hear! Hilarion, bring more wine. We must keep Gordianus's throat well lubricated.'
I regaled her with that story, and thought of a few more incidents in Alexandria that might amuse her, and then steered the conversation back to the subject of the house.
'How beautiful it is, here in your garden. And what a splendid house this is. No wonder Pompey loved it. But I still don't quite understand; does Antony own the house or not?'
The wine had relaxed her considerably. She spoke freely. 'That depends on whom you ask. When Caesar saw that Antony was dragging his heels, they exchanged some harsh words. Caesar pressed the matter. 'Throw a final party there if you must, then auction the damned place and get out!' But Antony wouldn't budge. He was quite blunt. 'The way I see it,' he told Caesar, 'I deserve this house as much as anyone. I did my part to bring down Pompey, no less than you, and this is my reward!' The two of them have carried on a pissing match about it ever since. Officially, Caesar insists on an auction, but I think he may have finally given up, or maybe he's just too busy arranging his upcoming triumphs to keep pestering Antony. So Antony's plan now is to hold some semblance of an auction-toss out Pompey's moth-eaten togas and get rid of the dented silver-then declare that the auction is done and go on living here. I want to redecorate the whole place, anyway. Pompey's wife had dreadful taste in furniture.'
What a long way Cytheris had come, from working as a street dancer in Alexandria to cohabiting with one of the world's most powerful men. An actress and a foreigner, speaking ill of Pompey's wife and brazenly living in Pompey's house, in defiance of Caesar himself!
'But surely,' I said, 'Antony must realize how this might look to those who accuse Caesar of betraying the common people. They might say Caesar's behaving like Sulla, allowing a henchman to distribute the spoils of war to a small circle of favorites rather than using them for the common good.'
'The common people aren't that stupid. Every gossip in Rome knows that Antony is keeping the house against Caesar's wishes.'
'But I should think that's even worse, from Caesar's point of view. The people will see that he allows open defiance. A dictator can't afford to tolerate disobedience. It makes him look weak.'
Cytheris smiled. 'No, it makes Antony look like a spoiled brat, and Caesar like an indulgent parent. Is he not the father of the Roman people now? And isn't Antony his most brilliant protege, a little stubborn and reckless at times but worth a bit of spoiling in the long run? Never mind that the two of them are hardly speaking at the moment. That will pass.'
Was this really what Cytheris believed? Or was she glossing over a deeper anxiety? Had Caesar become a menace to her world?
And what were Antony's feelings? To me, he had always seemed a bluff, brash fellow, completely open about his likes and dislikes, an unlikely candidate for conspiracy. But anyone who had risen as high as Antony undoubtedly possessed the instinct for self-preservation at any cost that characterized such men and women. Just how serious was his falling-out with Caesar?
Even as these questions flashed through my mind, Cytheris spotted him across the garden, smiled, and waved. Antony came striding over, wearing a tunic that was a bit more brief than many would consider seemly; it certainly showed off his brawny legs. The rumpled yellow garment looked as if he might have slept in it, and there was a long wine stain down the front. He looked and moved as if he might be slightly hungover. He cast a curious, heavy-lidded glance in my direction, then bent forward to plant a kiss on Cytheris's cheek. She whispered something in his ear-my name, no doubt-and he gave me a halting nod of recognition.
'Gordianus… yes, of course, Meto's father! By Hercules, how long has it been?'
'Since our paths crossed? Quite some time.'
'And yet, they cross again.' Was there a glint of suspicion in his bleary eyes? Antony's face combined the poet and the brute, making his expression hard to read. He had a harsh profile, with his dented nose, craggy brows, and jutting chin; but there was something gentle about the curve of his full lips and a soulful quality in his eyes. I would have called him a bit homely, but women seemed to find his looks fascinating.
He grunted and held out his hand. A slave put a cup of wine in it. 'Where is Meto nowadays? I suppose he must be back in Rome, for…' He was surely going to say 'the Gallic Triumph,' for Meto had served Caesar in Gaul, as had Antony, but his voice trailed away.
'No, Meto is in Spain, I'm afraid.'
Antony grunted. 'Scouting the extent of young Pompey's forces, no doubt. You and Meto were both in Alexandria, weren't you, while Caesar was there?'
'Yes,' I said.
'But now you're back.'
'Can you believe it?' said Cytheris. 'We met by chance outside the Temple of Tellus. And this is Rupa, who's Gordianus's son now. Rupa is an old friend from my days in Alexandria.'
'Ah, yes,' said Antony, 'all roads circle back to Alexandria, it seems. I shall have to return there myself someday. But I seem to recall hearing… yes, I'm certain someone told us that you were missing in Egypt and presumed to be dead, Gordianus. Now who was it who told us that? I can recall standing in this very garden, and somehow your name came up, and some fellow… Cytheris, help me remember.'
'Oh, I know!' she said. 'It was the Scapegoat.'
'Scapegoat?'
'The Massilian. You know-Hieronymus. He's the one who told us the rumor of Gordianus's demise. He seemed quite upset. He hardly ate or drank a thing that night.'
'Ah, yes… Hieronymus…' Antony nodded. 'An odd character, that one. I thought he was another of your actor friends, my dear, until you explained where he came from. Claims to be a friend of yours, Gordianus.'
'Hieronymus,' I whispered. 'So you knew him?' What a stroke of fortune, that they should be the first to mention him, not I.
'Oh, yes, the Scapegoat is one of Cytheris's pets.' Antony did not sound entirely pleased.
'Come, Antony, Hieronymus never fails to make you laugh. Admit it! Such a naughty tongue that fellow has.'
'Actually, I'm afraid I have some bad news about Hieronymus.' I tried to make my face and voice register the emotion one feels when confronted, suddenly and unexpectedly, with the task of delivering sad news. I glanced at Rupa. His muteness made him a good companion for this investigation; he would never blurt out anything to give me away.
'Hieronymus is dead,' I said bluntly.
'Oh, no!' Cytheris's surprise seemed genuine. Of course, she was a trained actress.
Antony was harder to read. He furrowed his forehead and narrowed his eyes. 'When did this happen?'
'Two nights ago.'
