generosity, but I think she showed great wisdom in making such an arrangement. Rupa is a strong young man, probably an excellent bodyguard, and able to take care of himself in a fight-he certainly got the better of that gladiator Fausta sent to kill him. But in many ways he's not fit to look after himself. Cassandra was the one who always took care of him. Now that she's gone, it was her wish that you should do so. And why not? Haven't you a propensity for taking strays into your house-the two sons you adopted and that pair of rowdy slave boys you acquired from Fulvia? It was also Cassandra's wish that the money she earned should buy you out of the hole you've dug yourself into. I understand your debts are considerable. Even so, given the amount she's left you, there should be a tidy sum left over-enough to look after Rupa and the rest of your family for quite a while.'
I thought about this and took a deep breath. I looked over my shoulder at Davus, who had followed the entire exchange in silence. He looked back at me with a furrowed brow, and I realized that I would face no easy task when it came to explaining to Bethesda and Diana how I had come into such a fortune, and why I was coming home with a new mouth to feed.
But why should I worry about explaining myself? Was I not a Roman paterfamilias, the supreme head of my own household, granted by law the power of life and death over everyone in that household? A paterfamilias had no need to justify himself. So tradition dictated, although real life never seemed to adhere very strictly to the model. If my wife or daughter pestered me with uncomfortable questions about Cassandra or Rupa or my sudden windfall or the abrupt vanishing of my debts, I could always fall back on my privileges as paterfamilias and simply refuse to answer them… for a while, anyway.
'Do you accept Cassandra's terms?' asked Calpurnia, suddenly impatient for the audience to end.
'Yes.'
'Good. I'll have the money delivered to you this afternoon. Take Rupa with you as you go. Stay in the forecourt for a while if you wish to hear the formal announcement.' She made a wave of dismissal. Guards appeared from the shadows to see us out.
We lingered for only a few moments in the forecourt before Calpurnia appeared on the steps. Every voice fell silent as all eyes looked to her.
'Citizens, I stand before you with wonderful news. Caesar has triumphed! There was a great battle in Thessaly, near a place called Pharsalus…'
She repeated the news just as she had given it to me, word for word. When she was done, the forecourt was oddly silent as those present absorbed the enormity of the news. Isauricus and Trebonius were the first to cheer. Others joined them, until the forecourt rang with acclamations for Caesar and cries of 'Venus for victory!'
And so I made my way home with not one but two stout young men to act as my bodyguards-and a good thing that was, for the streets of the Palatine were suddenly thronged with people cheering and weeping and kissing one another and madly jumping up and down. Some appeared quietly pleased, some genuinely ecstatic. How many were simply experiencing a rush of emotion at the tremendous release of the tension that had been building in everyone for months? And how many were not happy at all, but were doing their best to laugh and shout and blend in with the rest?
As we slowly made our way through the crowd, I was startled to see, some distance off, a familiar face amid the throng. It was old Volcatius, Pompey's most vociferous partisan among the chin-waggers. His hands were in the air; his head was thrown back, his mouth open. Amid the din I could hear his reedy voice, shouting, 'Hurrah for Caesar! Venus for victory! Hurrah for Caesar!'
'We are all Caesarians now,' I muttered under my breath.
XX
'What about this?' asked Diana, holding up one of my better garments, a green tunic with a Greek-key border in yellow along the hem.
'Surely I've packed enough clothing already,' I said. 'The shipmaster charges passengers by the trunk, so we should take only what we need for the journey. It will be cheaper to buy what we need when we get there.'
'Mother will like that. A shopping trip!' Diana forced a smile. She was not happy about her mother's trip to Alexandria; she had done all she could to dissuade her. That part of the world was already unsettled and dangerous, she pointed out, and likely to become more so if Pompey had fled there with Caesar chasing after him. Besides that, a sea journey was always dangerous, and autumn was coming; if we stayed in Egypt past the sailing season, we might be stranded there for months, unable to find a ship willing to risk stormy waters. But Bethesda would not relent: to be cured of her malady, she must return to Egypt and bathe in the Nile.
Diana's greatest worry she left unspoken: that she would never see her mother again if the rigors of travel proved too much for her, or if Bethesda's true purpose in returning to Egypt was to die.
'Perhaps-perhaps I should come along,' she said.
'Absolutely not, Diana! We've already discussed this.'
'But-'
'No! It's unthinkable that a young woman in your condition should take off on such a long and uncertain journey.'
'I shouldn't have told you.'
'That you're with child? You couldn't have hidden it much longer. You don't know how relieved I was to find out that your morning sickness was due to pregnancy and not something else. No, you will remain in Rome to oversee the household, and Davus will remain by your side. And don't worry-your mother and I will be back in plenty of time to see the birth of our grandchild. Do you think Bethesda would miss that?'
Diana forced another smile and busied herself checking the contents of my trunk. 'What's this?' she asked, holding up a sealed bronze urn.
I took it from her and returned it to the trunk. 'Ashes,' I said.
'Ah. Her ashes.'
'You can say her name: Cassandra.'
'But why are you taking them to Egypt?'
'It was Rupa's idea. Cassandra lived most of her life in Alexandria. He wants to scatter her ashes in the Nile.'
'I don't see why she should go along on Mother's trip.'
'Don't forget that it's her legacy that's paying for the trip.'
'Ironic, isn't it?' said Diana sharply. 'If this trip does cure Mother's condition, it shall have been paid for by the woman who-' She saw the look on my face and left the thought unfinished. 'I suppose it is a good thing that you're taking Rupa with you, since Davus isn't going along to protect you. Rupa will know his way around the city.'
'You forget that I lived in Alexandria myself for a while.'
'But, Papa, that was years and years ago. Surely it's changed since then.'
The Alexandria of my youth was fixed in my memory, encircled by nostalgia as a city is encircled by walls to keep it safe. It seemed unthinkable that it could have changed, but why not? Everything else in the world had changed, and seldom for the better.
Diana clicked her tongue. 'But I'm not sure about the advisability of taking Mopsus and Androcles.'
'I'm an old man, Diana. I'll need quick feet to run my errands.'
'So will I, once my belly begins to grow.'
'I suppose I could take only one of the boys with me, and leave you the other…'
'No, it would be unthinkable to separate them. But they're likely to get themselves thrown overboard if they behave on the ship the way they behave in this house. They're such a handful, those two little…' Something caught in her throat. She cleared it with a cough and a sniffle and lowered her voice. 'A shame you're not taking Hieronymus. He keeps hinting that he'd like to go. Having lived all his life in Massilia, he's eager to see the world.'
'At my expense! No, Hieronymus can stay here. Surely he hasn't exhausted all the discoveries that Rome has to offer.'
I sat on the bed. Diana sat beside me. She took my hand in hers. 'There's something we haven't yet talked about,' she said.
