Just as Caesar was passing before us, I heard a cracking noise, so sharp and loud that Mopsus and Androcles covered their ears. The ceremonial chariot lurched to a halt. Caesar was thrown violently forward. The slave holding the crown tumbled against him. The white horses clattered their hooves against the paving stones, tossed their heads, and whinnied.
My heart pounded in my chest. I felt an icy trickle down my spine. What was happening?
The nearest lictors turned and ran back to the chariot. Some of the officers on horseback sharply reined their mounts, but others bolted forward to see what was happening, with looks of alarm. Caesar was hidden from sight by the bodyguards and officers swarming around him. Confusion spread among the spectators.
I felt a sinking sensation. Calpurnia was right, after all, I thought. There was a plot on Caesar's life-and now it's playing out right before my eyes…
The hubbub around the chariot continued. There were murmurs and cries of panic from the crowd.
At last an officer on horseback broke from the group. He raised his arm and addressed the crowd.
'Be calm! There's nothing to worry about. Caesar is unharmed. The axle of the chariot broke, that's all. The triumph will continue as soon as another chariot can be brought.' The officer rode off to address another part of the crowd.
' 'That's all,' the man says?' muttered someone in the crowd below me. 'An evil omen, for sure!'
The crowd around Caesar thinned. He was standing near the stalled chariot. I could see now that the carriage had collapsed and the wheels were askew. Aware that all eyes were on him, Caesar did his best to adopt a nonchalant expression, but he looked a bit shaken nonetheless. He tapped one foot fretfully. It must be hard to maintain one's dignity after very nearly being thrown from a chariot.
The wait stretched on. To pass the time, the idle soldiers sang a marching song, then shouted cheers for Caesar. As the waiting continued and the mood became more relaxed, some of the rowdier soldiers took up a rude chant about their commander:
Lock up your money,
Roman bankers!
He took it all,
To spend in Gaul!
Lock up your women,
quivering Gauls!
Here Caesar comes,
So bold, so bald!
Lock up your law books,
Senators, consuls!
Hail, Dictator!
Crown you later!
There were many more verses, some of them mildly obscene. The crowd responded with gales of laughter. Roman troops are famous for making fun of their commanders, and the commanders are famous for enduring it. Caesar managed a crooked smile.
As the mood grew even more relaxed, the chants grew more ribald, including one about Caesar's youthful dalliance with King Nicomedes of Bithynia:
All the Gauls did Caesar conquer,
But Nicomedes conquered him.
In Gaul did Caesar find his glory,
In Caesar, Nico found a quim!
The crowd laughed even harder. Caesar's face turned as red as if he had stained it with cinnabar, like the triumphant generals of old. He stepped onto the broken chariot, faced the soldiers, and raised his hands, still clutching the laurel bough and scepter. The men stopped chanting, though they continued to chuckle and grin while Caesar addressed them.
'Soldiers of Rome, I must protest! These songs are amusing, to be sure, and your bravery has earned you the right to indulge in a bit of levity on this day, even at Caesar's expense. But these verses about the king of Bithynia are unfair and unsubstantiated-'
'But not untrue!' shouted someone from the ranks farther back, to a burst of laughter.
'And untrue!' insisted Caesar. 'Most assuredly, untrue. On my honor as a Roman-'
'Swear by Numa's balls!' shouted someone.
'No, swear by Nicomedes' staff!' shouted someone else.
The laughter was deafening. Caesar's face turned even redder. Did he realize how absurd he looked at that moment, a fifty-two-year-old man resplendent in his laurel crown and toga, perched on a broken chariot, attempting in vain to convince his soldiers that he had not been another man's catamite some thirty years ago?
The soldiers did not believe him. Nor, for that matter, did I. During one of our conversations in Alexandria, Caesar had spoken quite wistfully of his youthful relationship with the older king, despite the fact that his enemies had needled him about it many times over the years. It was not so much the affair itself that caused him embarrassment but the assumption that Caesar had played the receptive role, an unbecoming position for a Roman male, who is required always to dominate and penetrate. Whatever the true details of Caesar's intimacy with the king, the story had acquired a life of its own. The more Caesar denied it, the more it dogged him.
He was at last rescued from further ridicule by the arrival of the replacement chariot. As he climbed from the broken carriage, I could see the relief on his face.
The new chariot was an identical ceremonial model, with the same distinctive round shape, but not quite as splendidly gilded. A group of priests and Vestal virgins arrived to transfer the talismans for averting the evil eye. Among them I saw Calpurnia's uncle Gnaeus, who chanted under his breath and tinkled the bell as he fixed it to the new chariot. His expression of solemn joy was gone, replaced by a stern frown; perhaps he was peeved at having to perform this sacred duty a second time.
Meanwhile, another priest attached the scourge to the chariot, after flicking it in the air a few times. Then, under the supervision of the Virgo Maxima, a young camillus crawled under the broken carriage and removed the fascinum. Before it was placed under the new chariot, some in the crowd caught a glimpse of the phallic amulet, which is usually never seen, and uttered cries of religious awe.
The broken carriage was removed from the roadway. The white horses were attached to the new chariot. The procession recommenced. Caesar disappeared from view, and following him the multitude of soldiers marched by. The men were in high spirits, laughing and smiling.
The collapse of the axle had been a simple accident, it seemed. The outcome had been not only harmless but amusing, as the disruption allowed for some flashes of candor amid the orchestrated pomp and ceremony. The chants had been spontaneous, and Caesar's blustering reaction to them had certainly been unrehearsed.
But I kept thinking of what the man below me had said about the breaking of the axle: 'An evil omen, for sure!'
There would be more days of celebration to come, and many more opportunities for the enemies of Caesar to act.
X
At the end of the long procession, Caesar left his chariot and ascended the Capitoline Hill on foot. The winding path, visible to those of us who remained below in the Forum, was flanked by forty elephants in bright regalia stationed on either side.
Before the Temple of Jupiter, he awaited word that Vercingetorix and the other prisoners had been executed in the Tullianum. When a crier arrived bearing the news, a cheer went up, and the sacrifice of the white oxen to
