I Am Livia by Phyllis T. Smith Read Free Book Online Page B

second father to me,” young Caesar said.
    That sounded as likely as pigs flying.
    “A third father,” I said. “Surely your great-uncle who adopted you was your second father.”
    He grinned. “Of course.”
    “You and Cicero have so much in common,” I said. “Naturally you would be friends.”
    “You flatter me.”
    I shook my head and sipped some wine.
    Young Caesar said in a low voice, not meant to be overheard by anyone, “Tell me, what exactly do you think Cicero and I have in common?”
    I had the impression he was testing me. If I simpered and spoke about admirable qualities they shared, he would be disappointed. I said, “What you and Cicero have in common is that you both hate Antony.”
    He asked in the same quiet voice, “And do you think that is sufficient basis for a friendship?”
    I considered the question. “Certainly. For a while.”
    The conversation became general, dominated by Cicero. He spoke about how the consuls who would be coming into office in the new year would go about raising legions to relieve Decimus Brutus. Young Caesar nodded at what Cicero said. I had the feeling the two of them had discussed this already.
    The strangeness of the situation struck me. Antony has gone to wreak revenge on Decimus, one of Caesar’s assassins. Caesar’s adopted son sits here, listening sympathetically to plans to protect Decimus from Antony’s wrath. Here he is with Cicero, who publicly lauded the assassins. With my father, the assassins’ ally. With my husband, who was Caesar’s officer but turned on him. Young Caesar smiles at them all, full of good cheer.
    What is he doing?
    “We have one other important matter to decide,” Cicero said. “An official office for our young friend.”
    “Is consul an option?” young Caesar asked.
    The law reserved the consulship, the most honored office in the Republic, to men at least forty-two years old with distinguished public careers behind them. Other than a dictator, no officeholder approached a consul in power. My father, when he heard this nineteen-year-old suggest he might become consul, looked as if he were about to choke.
    Father had invited Cicero and young Caesar to dinner because he had wished to sound them both out in a general way, and in particular to get a sense of the young man’s mind. Unfortunately, the conversation had already gone in a direction he did not like.
    “I must have the legal right to lead an army,” young Caesar said. “That is necessary.”
    “The idea of a private army is repugnant,” Father said.
    “I absolutely agree,” young Caesar said. “That’s why I want lawful authority. Surely Cicero has told you that I plan to put myself and my army at the Senate’s disposal. I am honored to be able to help protect the Republic from the likes of Antony. If I were at least a praetor—”
    “This is not the place to discuss this,” Father said. Striving for a pleasant tone, he glanced round at my mother and me and added, “We mustn’t bore my wife and daughter.”
    “I don’t think your honored wife, the lady Alfidia, looks bored,” young Caesar said. “And as for your daughter…I suspect Livia Drusilla finds this discussion quite interesting.”
    “Please forgive me, but you’re wrong,” I said. I was a loyal daughter. But I smiled at young Caesar to take some of the sting out of my words. “I’m afraid all this talk of offices and armies makes my head ache.”
    “Yes, please, do you think we might change the subjec t ?” said Mother. Her apologetic smile looked painted on her face.
    “We’ll have to discuss this further, at a more appropriate time,” Father said.
    “I’m sorry to seem impetuous,” young Caesar said with gentle courtesy. “I hope you’ll at least give what I’ve said some thought.”
    “Of course,” Father said.
    All the life drained out of the dinner party. Young Caesar left as soon as he politely could. But in saying his farewells, he smiled at me as if we shared a