I shook my head. "Calpurnia, I've done my best. Not just for you but for Hieronymus. I wish-"
"They call you 'Finder,' don't they? Or they used to. Because you find the truth."
I sighed. "Sometimes."
"Others see but are blind, but when you see the truth, you know it! That's your gift. The truth is there to be found. The guilt is already written on someone's face. Go. Observe. Listen."
I took a deep breath. "I'll take a walk through the crowd," I said, partly because I was now desperate to escape Calpurnia but also because there was indeed a chance, however slight, that I might see or overhear something of significance.
"Go!" she said. "But return here before the ceremony begins. If something… goes amiss… I want you beside me."
I turned to leave. Calpurnia hurried across the tent to Uncle Gnaeus, who had just entered. He put his arms around her, and she hid her face against his shoulder. Uncle Gnaeus held her tightly and gave me a curt nod, as if to dismiss me and send me on my way.
XX
I left Rupa standing outside the entrance of the tent, telling him to await my return, then went to mingle among the dignitaries. Wearing my best toga, I did not feel entirely out of place among my betters.
The front row of benches had been reserved for the priests, camilli, and others taking part in the sacrifice and dedication ceremony, and for the dictator's immediate family. Most of these seats were empty, since their intended occupants were at present inside the tent, which made young Gaius Octavius and his family look all the more conspicuous. Dressed in spotless armor which had never seen the wear of a single battle, Octavius sat with his mother, Atia, on one side of him and his sister, Octavia, on the other. Aulus Hirtius stood over him, fussing with the straps of Octavius's breastplate; something about their adjustment was apparently not quite up to regulation. Octavius abruptly lost patience and waved Hirtius back. I almost laughed at the petulant look on his face, but when he glanced at me, there was nothing at all boyish in his malevolent gaze. I hurried on.
The foremost section of benches were reserved for the highest dignitaries, including senators. I noticed that Cicero had a choice spot on the aisle, with Brutus sitting next to him. Or perhaps the spot was not so choice after all, for beyond Brutus the entire row was filled with Gallic senators. The boisterous newcomers were talking loudly among themselves in a dialect that mixed their native tongue with Latin. It seemed to me that Cicero and Brutus were pointedly trying to ignore their new colleagues, even when the man next to Brutus repeatedly jostled him.
Cicero saw me and flashed a perfunctory smile, then trained his gaze on a figure behind me. I turned to see the playwright Laberius.
"Looking for a seat, Laberius?" said Cicero.
The playwright shrugged. "Not in this row, Senator. It will be something further back for the humble likes of me, I fear."
"Why, I should have been glad to have you join our ranks were we not already so pressed for room!" Cicero raised his voice and glared sidelong at the rowdy, oversized Gauls, none of whom took any notice of his sarcasm.
Laberius smiled. "I'm surprised that you of all people should be pressed for room, Senator. You're so good at straddling the aisle." Brutus barked out a laugh before covering his mouth. Cicero's face grew long. This was a barb aimed at his unseemly efforts to please both sides in the civil war.
Laberius looked pleased with himself, then caught sight of someone in the section reserved for the wealthy. "You must all excuse me while I go pay my respects to Publilius Syrus. Look at him over there, consorting with the millionaires! As if he plans to join their ranks quite soon. Do you suppose the dictator has already promised him the grand prize, before we've even performed the plays? Well, Pig's Paunch shouldn't count his million sesterces yet!"
Laberius stalked off.
I was about to say something to the two senators, then realized they were paying me no attention. "What in Hades are they babbling about?" muttered Brutus, speaking to Cicero and referring to the Gauls.
"Hard as it is to follow their uncouth dialect," said Cicero under his breath, "I think I actually heard one of them say something like, 'He spared the Egyptian princess, and he spared little King Juba-you'd think he might have spared Vercingetorix as well!' But I couldn't tell whether the man was joking or not." He groaned. "Hercules give me strength, the sooner this is over, the sooner I can return to the arms of my dear Publilia."
Having had enough of Cicero's oblivious self-concern, I moved on.
In a special section reserved for her retinue, I saw the queen of Egypt, resplendent in a multicolored robe and wearing a nemes headdress with a golden uraeus crown in the form of rearing cobra. For this occasion of state, she sat in a formal pose, holding the emblems of her royal status, the flail and the crook, crossed over her breasts. She was surrounded by many consorts. That the queen should be present, and in such an ostentatious fashion, was perhaps not surprising; Caesar was installing her statue in the temple, and it was scholars from the queen's library at Alexandria who had devised the new calendar, which was to be formally presented that day. With some surprise, I saw the boy Caesarion seated next to his mother, dressed like a Roman child in a simple white tunic with long sleeves. Caesar must have approved the child's appearance at the event. It seemed to me that the contest of wills between Caesar and the queen regarding the boy's status might yet go one way or the other.
Where was the queen's sister? Arsinoe was still in Rome, presumably, and still a prisoner. Having brushed so close to death, and having survived, what role would she play from this point onward?
"Gordianus!" I heard my name called from nearby, and turned to see Fulvia waving to me. Caesar had granted her a special seat at the triumph, and also at the dedication, it seemed. She appeared to be in unusually high spirits. Seated next to her, I saw the reason: Marc Antony, looking quite handsome and surprisingly sober in his senatorial toga.
I greeted the two of them. Fulvia smiled. "You needn't look so surprised, Finder. Antony and I are old friends. Aren't we, Antony? And Cytheris does occasionally let him off his leash."
"You were missed at the triumphs," I said to Antony, simply to make conversation. "The people expected to see you."
"That's exactly what I told him!" said Fulvia. "It was foolish, missing the opportunity to show himself off, especially since he earned a place of distinction in every one of those triumphs."
Antony smirked. "Technically, I didn't serve at all in the Egyptian campaign, or in-"
"And Gaius Octavius never served in Africa," said Fulvia, "yet Caesar saw fit to shower the boy with honors and show him off, as if Octavius himself put an end to King Juba. You may not have been by Caesar's side at every moment and in every battle, but you were always in his service. It was you who made it possible for him to wage war all over the world, because it was you who kept his name and his authority alive here in Rome-"
Antony clutched his head. "Please, must I hear all this again? Is it not enough that I'm here, as you wanted?"
"Caesar sent you a special invitation to attend this ceremony. You could hardly have refused without insulting him. Don't you see? This is his way of initiating a reconciliation with you. You couldn't turn your back on such an opportunity. Nor could you bring her with you, for all Rome to gawk at!" Apparently Cytheris had been left behind at the House of the Beaks-to brood, to pout, to plot her own next move? It looked as if Fulvia might be gaining the upper hand in her campaign to become Antony's wife. Where would her ambitions take them both?