The Triumph of Caesar by Steven Saylor Read Free Book Online Page A

stayed up late that night, reading for as long as the lamps had oil to burn. My eyes are not what they were, and neither my brain nor my body can boast the stamina they once possessed. Deciphering Hieronymus's ornate handwriting and his cluttered prose, especially by dim lamplight, wearied me to exhaustion. The great majority of documents remained unread when I finally succumbed to a few hours of restless sleep.
    Before breakfast, I stepped into the vestibule to view the body of Hieronymus. All had been properly done, according to Roman custom. Washed, perfumed, and dressed in a spotless tunic, surrounded by fragrant garlands, he lay upon a bier with his feet toward the door, his upper body slightly elevated so that any visitors could see him at once from the entrance, where a wreath of cypress had been hung on the door to signal the household's grief.
    No doubt the Massilians had their own way of doing these things, but Hieronymus had rejected his native city, and it seemed to me that Roman rites would be proper.
    I gazed for a long moment his face, which was peaceful in repose. In death, his features gave no indication of the tart words that could issue from that mouth of his, within which now lay the coin to pay his passage to the underworld.
    "Puffed-up," he had called me, and "charlatan," and, worst of all, "windbag." Indeed! Yet, gazing at him, I could feel no resentment. Tears welled in my eyes, and I turned away.
    After a breakfast of farina prepared in the Egyptian manner, with bits of dates and a sprinkling of poppy seeds—since our return from the Nile, Bethesda had prepared nothing but Egyptian dishes, revisiting all the favorites of her childhood—I set out, with Rupa at my side. If I were to discover the reason for Hieronymus's murder, I had to begin somewhere. The house of Pompey, where Antony now resided, seemed as good a place as any.
    The so-called Great One had owned several houses in Rome. I was most familiar with his magnificent villa with gardens on the Pincian Hill, outside the city walls. The house claimed by Antony was within the walls, in the very heart of the city. People called it the House of the Beaks, because the vestibule was decorated with metal ramming beaks from ships captured by Pompey during his illustrious campaign to rid the sea of piracy some twenty years ago. Only the choicest of these trophies were displayed; it was said that Pompey captured some 846 ships. The House of the Beaks was located in the Carinae district, on the southwestern slope of the Esquiline Hill above the valley of the Subura.
    The most prominent monument on the slope of the Carinae was the Temple of Tellus, the earth goddess. We passed it on the way to Pompey's house, and Rupa indicated, by a nod and gesture, that he wished to step inside for a moment. I could guess his reason. Tellus is celebrated during sowing and harvest, for accepting seed and giving forth grain, but she is also worshipped for receiving the dead, for all things return eventually to the soil. Rupa still mourned his older sister, Cassandra, whose death had brought him into my family. No doubt he wished to put a coin in the temple coffers and say a prayer for the departed spirit of Cassandra.
    I waited outside on the temple steps, remembering Cassandra in my own way.
    Just as Rupa emerged, I saw a litter coming up the hill, heading in the direction of the House of the Beaks. Through a break in the yellow curtains, I caught a glimpse of the occupant. It was Cytheris, lounging on a pile of rust-colored cushions that complemented her auburn hair and exquisite complexion. Cytheris had known Cassandra, and Rupa, back in her days as a dancer in Alexandria. If I moved quickly, I might make it appear that we had run into her by chance. A meeting that seemed fortuitous rather than premeditated was often to be preferred in my work—as I had more than once told Hieronymus. Had he absorbed that lesson, or had he considered it hot air from a windbag?
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