'You will be king
if you can cling
to the height.
Do the thing
to prove you're right,
send 'em tumbling
with all your might!'
I sat forward in my seat, no longer pretending to be his attentive audience but genuinely riveted. In my mind, his voice conjured images of boys at play, so seemingly harmless in their rush to compete. But I also saw fields of dead bodies and heads on stakes, the terrible outcomes of those boyhood games carried into the world of men. I was reminded of how completely an actor could command the stage, controlling his audience's emotions with a change in the tone of his voice or a simple shrug of his shoulders.
'Ah, but I suppose I was getting too big for my toga anyway,' said Laberius with a sigh. 'I was due for a bit of taking down. Weren't we all, O people of the toga? We forgot the way of the world. All cannot be first, and the highest rank is the hardest to hold on to. From the pinnacle of success, the only direction is down. A man has his day and falls; his successor will fall in turn, and his successor, and so on. Only the immortals hold fast to their place in this universe, while everything around them changes in the blink of a god's eye.
'We rightly fear the gods. We rightly fear certain men, but mark my words: the man who is feared the most has the most to fear-'
A shrill voice, coming from behind me, interrupted him. 'Laberius, you old fraud! You will never dare to speak that line from the stage. Why are you even bothering to rehearse it?'
I looked over my shoulder and saw a striking figure, a man perhaps in his forties with touches of silver in his dark beard. He struck me as the type who's quite handsome in his youth but runs to fat in middle age. He was striding down the aisle toward the stage, followed by a troupe of actors.
'I'll rehearse the prologue just as I wrote it!' snapped Laberius. 'Whether I deliver it that way… is another matter, and none of your business, Publilius Syrus. If the temper of the audience and the exigencies of performance call for a bit of spontaneous rewrite-'
'How about a spontaneous exit?' The newcomer had passed me and was fast approaching the stage. 'You shouldn't even be here. This is the hour scheduled for my troupe to practice, and you know very well that we rehearse in secret. I can't have eavesdroppers plagiarizing my best lines.'
'How dare you, Syrus? As if I would steal a single one of your tired platitudes. You-you freedman!'
'That right, insult a man who's actually made his way in this profession by merit! Go on, Laberius, off with you! Disappear! Send a puff of smoke out of your rear end and vanish through a trapdoor.'
'You're the one who resorts to such vulgar stage effects, Syrus. I rely on words and the instrument of my body-'
'Well, get your instrument out of here! And take your assistant with you.'
I cleared my throat. 'Actually, I am not this man's assistant. I only happened to be-'
'Whoever you are, get out! Or I'll have Ajax throw you out.' Syrus gestured to one of his actors. Whether Ajax was his name or his role in the play, it suited the man's brawny build. I suddenly regretted having wandered off on my own without Rupa.
I had no desire to become involved in a brawl between rival playwrights, though I was curious about the men themselves. Both Laberius and Syrus were listed by Hieronymus as frequent guests at Marc Antony's parties. Syrus must have known Hieronymus; he had sent a message of condolence to my house.
I headed out the way I had come, and was walking down a long portico when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to see Laberius.
'What did you think of my prologue, citizen?'
I shrugged. 'Amusing. Provocative, I suppose. I'm not a great follower of the theater-'
'Yet you laughed in all the right places, and when I did the bit about the boys playing king of the hill, it gave you chills, didn't it? Admit it!'
'It did.'
'Come with me, Citizen.' He took my arm and steered me to a nearby doorway. The door was plain and unadorned, but the chamber into which it opened was quite grand. We had entered by a side door into the great meeting room in the theater complex. Pompey had built it expressly to accommodate gatherings of the Senate. The hall was an oval-shaped well, with seats on either side descending in tiers to the main floor. Marble was everywhere, in many colors and patterns. The design and workmanship of even the smallest detail was exquisite.
A common citizen like me is seldom allowed into such a place. I must have gawked like a tourist, for Laberius laughed and gave me a friendly pat on the back.
'Quite a room, isn't it? Come, see the man who built it.'
We descended to the main floor. Laberius indulged in a bit of mummery, raising his arms and twirling like a speaker orating to his colleagues. He ended his little mime show by doing an about-face and bowing low before a statue placed conspicuously against the wall, where everyone in the hall could see it. I did not need to read the inscription on the pedestal to recognize Pompey, the man who had built this complex as a gift to the city and to serve as his crowning accomplishment.
The statue depicted Pompey in a toga, as a statesman rather than a soldier. On his blandly handsome face was an amiable, almost serene expression. My most enduring memory of Pompey's countenance was quite different. Once, in a rage, he tried to kill me with his bare hands, and the look on his face then had been anything but serene. I still had bad dreams, haunted by Pompey's face.
As depicted by this statue, the Great One looked harmless enough, gazing with a smile at the grand assembly room he had provided for his colleagues.
'A great patron of the theater,' said Laberius, with a sigh. 'Though, to give him his due, Caesar promises to be even more generous. For the upcoming competition, he's offering the winning playwright a prize of a million sesterces. A million! That could go a long way to easing an old man's retirement.'
'So your reason for taking part in the festival isn't entirely because a dictator compels it,' I said.
'No? I don't see much difference, jumping because I fear the man who tells me to jump, or doing it because he owns all the world's gold and promises to throw a few coins my way.'
'Strong words, playwright!'
'When politicians give up on liberty, it falls to poets to preserve it. Or to write its epitaph.'
'I don't know what your play is about, but with a prologue like that, can you really expect Caesar to give you the prize?'
'Why not? It would prove that he allows dissent, loves freedom, and has excellent taste. What harm can I do to Caesar? At my worst, I'm no more than the buzzing of a gnat in his ear. All my ranting is mere flattery to such a man. I meant what I said: 'It matters not a fig that I should stand here and complain; he merely takes my mutterings as a compliment.' '
'Still, that last bit-how did it go? 'The man who is feared the most…' '
' 'Has the most to fear.' '
'No tyrant likes to hear that sort of talk.' Calpurnia certainly wouldn't like it, I thought.
'Better that such words be shouted in public than whispered in private,' said Laberius. 'At least I'm no hypocrite, like that no-talent Pig's Paunch.'
'Who?'
'Syrus. That's his nickname. Since he arrived in Rome, he eats it at every meal.'
'Which makes him a voluptuary, perhaps, but not a hypocrite.'
'No one speaks more scathingly about the dictator behind his back than Syrus. Yet his so-called play consists of nothing but insipid platitudes in praise of Caesar.'
'A million sesterces could purchase an endless supply of pig's paunch. But how do you know this? Syrus rehearses in secret.'
Laberius snorted. 'I know every line of drivel in his new play. 'A gift worthily bestowed is a gift to the giver.' 'Too much wrangling and the truth is lost sight of.' 'A quick refusal is a kindness half done.' One cloying banality
