"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 after another!"
"But how do you know this?"
He smiled. "That fellow Ajax? Looks the strong, silent type-but indulge his weakness for wine, and he sings like a lark!"
I shook my head. In Caesar's Rome, even playwrights employed spies against each other!
"Let me understand you, Laberius. You're saying that you speak harshly about Caesar but pose no threat to him. But a man like Syrus, who appears completely obsequious-"
"Is far more likely to be up to no good. But Caesar knows this. He's a shrewd judge of character. How else has he kept his head on his shoulders?"
"Are you seriously suggesting that Syrus might pose a threat?"
"A grave threat! The man who wrote the line, 'You never defeat danger by refusing to face it,' could murder the theater outright!"
"I see. Tell me, who is this Publilius Syrus?"
"He was born a slave in Syria; thus the uncouth cognomen. Acquired the name Publilius from his master, when he was freed. How that came about, no one knows, but they say he was a beautiful boy; Syrus wouldn't be the first slave who rose in this world by trading on his looks. Made his way to Italy and presented himself as a playwright. He's had a bit of success in the hinterlands, doing the small-town festival circuit. Now he thinks he can make a name for himself in the big city. Ha! What passes for cleverness in Calabria won't make them chuckle in Rome. Of course, with an audience made up of Gallic senators and the like, who knows what for passes for popular taste nowadays?"
I sighed. "Indeed, persons of true refinement are few and far between. And now there is one less such person in the world. I'm thinking of a friend of mine who was murdered recently. He was a very cultured fellow and a true lover of the theater. I think perhaps you might have met him: Hieronymus of Massilia."
Laberius looked at me blankly.
"Perhaps at one of those parties Marc Antony is famous for?" I suggested.
"Ugh! Not my crowd. For those affairs, I show up early, recite a few lines, eat and drink my fill, and then run home to an early bed."
"But you attend such parties nonetheless. A free meal is a free meal?"
"The playwright's credo!"
"But you never encountered my friend Hieronymus?"
He shrugged. "The name is vaguely familiar. But if the fellow was the type to arrive late and stay till dawn, Syrus would've been more likely to make his acquaintance. Syrus is frequently seen staggering downhill from the House of the Beaks at dawn." He frowned. "But you say your friend was murdered-"
"We need not speak of it, since you didn't know him."
Laberius nodded respectfully, then seized my arm. "Now, citizen, if you would be so kind, take a seat about midway up. I'll stay down here and finish reciting my prologue. The acoustics here aren't the same as in the theater, but I can still practice my movements and hone my timing-"
"I'm afraid I should leave now."
"Without hearing the rest?"
"I'll hear it when you perform it for Caesar, I suppose."
"Citizen! I'm offering you a rare opportunity to witness theatrical history in the making, to hear the unexpurgated version-"
"That's the problem, I fear! You see, Laberius, I left the triumph and wandered in this direction in search of escape. I thought that's what I was in for, when I paused to listen to you in the theater. Instead, what did I hear? Topical satire about the state of Rome, veiled references to the dictator-the very things from which I was fleeing! No, thank you, playwright. If there's no escape from the dictator anywhere in Rome, not even in the theater, then I might as well spend the day with my loved ones. Which reminds me, my wife will be desperately worried by now. Hercules protect me-I must face the wrath of Bethesda! Now there's a subject for a play."
With a final glance at Pompey, who gazed over our heads with a placid smile, I took my leave of Decimus Laberius.
XVII
When I returned to my seat at the triumph, Caesar had already passed, without incident. The legionaries who had served him in Asia were marching by.
I was a bit taken aback by Bethesda's reaction. She seemed hardly to have noticed my absence. Perversely, perhaps, I felt obliged to point out that I had been gone a rather long time.
"Have you?" she said. "When there's so much to watch, the time simply flies. You missed the Cappadocian acrobats. I swear, those boys and girls must have wings, to fly through the air like that!"
"And the Bithynian archers-they were impressive!" offered Davus.
"Archers?" I said.
"They shot hundreds of arrows high into the air," explained Bethesda, "from which multicolored pennants unfurled. The arrows fluttered down, as harmless as a rain of rose petals. It was really quite spectacular."
"You know, I could have been in danger," I said.
"Danger? When all Rome is watching a triumph? How?"
"I don't know. Someone might have tried to stab me in the public latrine. That happened once before-"
"Oh, that was a long time ago!" said Bethesda.
"Which doesn't mean it couldn't happen again. So, it never occurred to you to send Rupa or Davus to look for me?"
She shrugged. "I assumed you ran into someone and were chatting away. I should hate to interrupt when you're busy catching up on gossip with some lowlife from the Subura or some wharf rat from the docks-"
"Excuse me, Wife, but most of my chatting these days is done with people considerably higher up the social scale than that. I talk to senators and magistrates, and relatives of the dictator, and famous playwrights-"
"Yes, yes," she said. "Now shush. The soldiers have broken into one of those chants they love so much. By Bona Dea, it's not about Caesar and King Nicomedes again, is it? I suppose those archers from Bithynia reminded them…"
If this was material for a play, it was decidedly a comedy, and at my expense. I sat though the remainder of the triumph in glum silence.
The feasting that followed the triumph left me torpid and drowsy. I meant to read more of Hieronymus's reports when I returned home, looking especially for anything to do with the playwrights Laberius and Syrus, but I could hardly stay awake long enough to tumble into bed. I slept like a stone. Bethesda complained of my snoring the next morning.