Among the captured weapons and machines of war, Pharnaces's own chariot was wheeled before us. It was an impressive vehicle. The carriage was heavily plated, and fearsome-looking blades projected from the wheels.
A placard displayed the flight of Pharnaces at the battle of Zela. The king was shown in his chariot, his crown tumbling from his head, his face a mask of panic. On one side of him loomed a stern-looking Caesar, his hands on hips. On the other side loomed Pharnaces's treacherous henchman Asander, the man who would murder him, flashing a wicked grin. The crowd bust into laughter at the sight of these exaggerated but cleverly rendered caricatures.
I could see that a very large placard was approaching, as wide as the pathway would permit and twice as tall as the men carrying it. The sight of it elicited a tumultuous cheer as it passed. When it came into view, I saw why. In a single battle, within five days after his arrival and within four hours after sighting the enemy, Caesar had vanquished Pharnaces. The magnitude of his victory was impressive; its speed was astonishing. Rendered in huge golden letters upon the placard were the words I CAME, I SAW, I CONQUERED.
Always eager to take up a chant, the crowd began to repeat Caesar's terse boast. One side shouted, "Came!" The other side shouted, "Saw!" Then, all together, as loudly as possible: "Conquered!"
I had been feeling the call of nature ever since we sat and could wait no longer. "I think I shall go, stand, and relieve myself."
"Take Rupa with you," said Bethesda.
He rose to accompany me, but I waved him back. "No, Rupa, there are some things it is safe for me to do all by myself. Stay and watch-and don't get into any trouble!"
Bethesda gave me an exasperated look, but I ignored her. I made my way to the aisle, descended the steps, and threaded a path through the crowd. The nearest public latrines, built directly above the Cloaca Maxima, were not far away.
The chamber was one of the largest public facilities in the Forum, but when I stepped inside I found myself alone. The most exciting part of the triumph for many spectators-the procession of prisoners-was coming up, and probably no one wanted to miss it. I had my choice of whichever of the scores of holes I wanted. I followed my nose to the freshest-smelling part of the room and stood before the receptacle. The roar of the crowd outside echoed through the stone chamber, sounding strangely distant.
I was just beginning when someone entered the chamber.
From the corner of my eye, I saw that he wore priestly garments. I took a closer look and I saw that it was Calpurnia's uncle, Gnaeus Calpurnius. He must have left his place in the procession to come relieve himself. He gave me a grunt of recognition as he walked up to a nearby receptacle and made ready, hitching up his robes. He had interrupted me, and I was slow to start again. He was slow to begin at all, which was not surprising for a man his age. We stood in silence for a long moment.
"Hot today," he finally said, staring straight ahead.
"Yes," I said, a little surprised that he would deign to strike up a conversation with me, even about the weather. "Though not as hot as yesterday, I think."
He grunted. I kept my gaze politely averted, but from the corner of my eye I saw that Uncle Gnaeus appeared to be adjusting himself, yet to no avail, for still I heard no release.
"My niece has great faith in you," he said.
"Does she?"
"Should she?" He turned his head slightly and trained a single eye upon me. "Or are you no better than the other one, the one who got himself killed, wasting her time and filling her head with yet more nonsense?"
"Hieronymus was my friend," I said quietly. "I would prefer that you not speak ill of him in my presence." My flow began. "Tell me, did you ever discuss astronomy with him?"
"What?"
"Hieronymus made notations having to do with the movements of the stars and such. You're a keeper of the calendar, aren't you? I thought perhaps you gave him instruction."
He snorted. "Do you seriously think I would waste my time giving sacred instruction to one of my niece's minions, and a foreigner, at that? Now tell me, Finder, are you wasting Calpurnia's time? Have you discovered anything of interest? Are you at all close to doing so?"
"I'm doing my best," I said. And in some ways doing much better than you, I thought, for still there was no relief for Uncle Gnaeus. No wonder he was so irritable!
He snorted. "Just as I thought. You've found nothing, because there is nothing to find. This menace to Caesar that consumes my niece is entirely imaginary, created from thin air by that haruspex, Porsenna."
"If that's true, then why did someone murder Hieronymus?"
"Your friend was poking his nose into other people's business-powerful people, dangerous people. Who knows what embarrassing or incriminating information he may have uncovered, having nothing at all to do with Caesar? The Scapegoat surely offended someone, but his death is hardly proof of a plot against Caesar."
What he said made sense, yet I found myself recalling the cryptic "key" that Hieronymus had mentioned in his journal. I repeated the words aloud. " 'Look all around! The truth is not found in the words, but the words may be found in the truth.' "
"What in Hades is that supposed to mean?"
"I wish I knew," I said. Then, seemingly from nowhere, a memory came to me, and I felt a sudden chill.
"What's that look on your face?" said Uncle Gnaeus.
I shivered. "A long time ago, in a public latrine here in the Forum, I was very nearly murdered. By Hercules, I'd almost forgotten! It was thirty-five years ago, during the trial of Sextus Roscius, the first time I worked with Cicero. A hired killer followed me into a latrine near the Temple of Castor. We were alone. He pulled a knife-"
"All very interesting, I'm sure, but perhaps you could leave a man in peace!"
I turned and left at once, almost feeling sorry for Uncle Gnaeus. Judging by the silence, he still had not managed to begin relieving himself.
The crowd had grown even thicker than before. I looked in vain for a way to pass through. The din of the shouting and laughter was deafening.
I realized I had no desire to return to my seat in the stands. I had seen quite enough of doomed, humiliated prisoners, of Caesar in his ceremonial chariot, and of lictors and cavalry officers and marching legionaries.
I suddenly longed to be anywhere else. I started walking, heading away from the triumph, fleeing the crush and the noise. At length, taking a roundabout path of least resistance, I found myself at the Flaminian Gate in the old city walls.
I kept walking. Once through the gate, I was outside the city proper, on the Field of Mars. When I was a boy, much of this area had still been literally a field, with vast parade grounds. Some areas of the Field of Mars remained undeveloped, but in my lifetime the greater part of it had been filled with new tenements and temples and public buildings. It had become one of the liveliest neighborhoods of Rome.
But on this day, the streets were almost deserted. From beyond the Capitoline Hill, which now loomed between me and the Forum, I could still hear the roar of the crowd but more and more faintly as I continued to walk toward the great bend of the Tiber. I felt a sense of freedom and escape-from haughty Uncle Gnaeus, from Caesar, from Calpurnia, from my fretful wife, and even from Rupa, my constant companion in recent days.
At length I came to the new neighborhood of shops and apartments that had sprung up around Pompey's Theater, where I had come to visit Arsinoe. Was she there still, returned to her high prison, but alone now, without Ganymedes to look after her?