I nodded. "But Uncle Gnaeus grew suspicious of his partner…"
"Yes. Porsenna was the one person remaining who could ruin his plans. So Uncle Gnaeus decided to put an end to him. During the triumph, he slipped away from the procession and murdered the haruspex in his home, then hurried here, in time for the ceremony."
I frowned. "The one person who could ruin his plans? What about me?"
"Uncle Gnaeus considered killing you. He very nearly did."
"When?"
"Two days ago, in the public latrine, during the Asian Triumph. Did you think it was a coincidence that he happened to join you? He was marching by in the procession and spotted you in the crowd. When he saw you slip into the latrine, he followed you. You thought he was fiddling with his robes, attempting to relieve himself-when in fact he was reaching for his knife, deciding whether or not to kill you."
"Why didn't he?"
"You were very close to death, Gordianus-as close as you've ever been. You felt it brush against you; you shivered. But Gnaeus Calpurnius decided you were harmless. You knew nothing. Or rather, you knew all you needed to know, yet you still did not suspect him. He chose to let you live." Hieronymus looked at me sadly and shook his head.
"The accident that occurred during the first triumph, when the axle of Caesar's chariot broke-was Gnaeus Calpurnius responsible for that?"
"What do you think, Gordianus? Caesar himself suspected sabotage."
"As a priest, Uncle Gnaeus would have had access to the sacred chariot… but I can't imagine him crawling under the carriage and sawing through the axle."
"Perhaps not, but he could have suborned some mischievous young camillus to do so."
"But what was the point? Caesar was unharmed. Such an accident could hardly be counted on to kill him."
"Uncle Gnaeus's intent was not to harm Caesar but to turn the people against him. Uncle Gnaeus is a very religious man; he expected the crowd to be awed and shaken by such an ill omen. How frustrating it must have been for him that the incident actually lightened the mood of the spectators. He became more determined than ever to take matters into his own hands."
Hieronymus turned his gaze to the tent and smiled.
"But look!" he said. "There's Caesar now, stepping out of the tent and mounting the steps. Listen to the people cheer!"
Caesar still wore the gold-embroidered toga and the laurel crown of a triumphing general. He walked to the top of the temple steps, where he could be seen by the crowd. The cheering was thunderous. Caesar raised his hands. The tumult subsided.
He delivered a brief speech. I couldn't follow the words; they seemed muffled and garbled, as if my head were underwater. I heard only snatches-something about "Venus, my ancestress" and "the promise I made at Pharsalus" and "the dawn of a new world, a new age, even a new way of reckoning the days that are sacred to the gods."
From the tent, the placard inscribed with the new calendar was carried by priests to a place on the steps just below Caesar. The people of Rome beheld their dictator and his new calendar. The image conveyed an awesome truth: Caesar, the descendant of a goddess, was master not just of space but also of time. On the steps of the temple he had made, in front of the calendar he had decreed, his divine power was made manifest.
But even demigods are not immortal. And now, for the crime of sacrilege, for presuming to replace the ages-old calendar of Numa, Caesar would die, and the agent of the gods' wrath would be Gnaeus Calpurnius.
The old priest, attired in spotless vestments, stepped out of the tent and quickly mounted the steps. No one tried to stop him; he had been the priest in charge of the sacrifice, after all. Even Caesar, seeing his in-law approach, thought nothing of it.
Uncle Gnaeus pulled the sacred blade from his vestments and thrust with all his might. Caesar never even flinched.
It requires only a single blow to the heart to kill a man. Caesar could be made to die just as easily as all the men and women and children whom he himself had killed in a long life of killing-all the Gauls and Massilians and Egyptians and Romans and peoples of Asia; all the kings and princes and pharaohs; all the consuls and senators, officers and foot soldiers, struggling commoners and starving beggars. Every man dies, and Caesar, thanks to Uncle Gnaeus, was shown to be no exception.
Caesar might be forgiven for all the death and suffering he had inflicted on others; warfare is the way of the world, after all. But for what he had done to Numa's sacrosanct calendar-corrupting it with Egyptian sorcery and false religion-he could not be allowed to live.
Caesar staggered, lurched, and fell forward against the placard. The weight of his dying body broke the wooden frame and ripped the fabric down the middle. Caesar tumbled down the temple steps. Triumphant, Uncle Gnaeus raised the knife and slashed the bloody blade against the remains of the calendar, destroying the hated object in a religious frenzy, all the while crying out the name of his ancestor King Numa.
The spectators gasped, wailed, cheered, screamed. Calpurnia shrieked, ran to Caesar's lifeless body, and tore at her hair like a madwoman. Hieronymus, imperturbable, fixed me with his sardonic gaze.
"Gordianus, Gordianus! How is it that you failed to anticipate this event and prevent it? Even your daughter, turning the facts over and over in her mind, has come to realize the truth. I told you she was smart! Not knowing where you are, failing to find you in the crowd, she thinks to warn Caesar herself. Look, there she is, at the entrance to the tent!"
Sure enough, I saw Diana, pleading and arguing with a lictor to let her enter. Above the tumult, I was able to hear her voice and catch a few phrases: "But you must… to warn him… Caesar will know who I am-tell him it's the sister of Meto Gordianus…"
Hieronymus laid his hand on mine. I could not feel his touch. "I was never here, old friend," he said. "Yet I am always with you."
I was blinded by tears. I closed my eyes.
I gave a start. When I opened my eyes, Hieronymus was gone. I blinked and looked around, dazed.
The sacrifice was over. The priests and the camilli had vanished. The temple steps were vacant.
"Where is Uncle Gnaeus?" I whispered.
Next to me, Calpurnia raised an eyebrow. "Why, he's in the tent, of course, changing his vestments. He did a splendid job with the sacrifice. Haven't you been watching?"
"I must have… closed my eyes… for a moment. And Caesar?"
"He's in the tent, too. He should be stepping out to speak any moment now." Calpurnia frowned. "But isn't that your daughter over there, arguing with the lictor?"
Sure enough, Diana was at the entrance of the tent. It must have been the sound of her voice that woke me. "To warn him," I heard her say. "Don't you understand? If only my father were here, Caesar would…"
The grim-faced lictor was unmoved. Diana finally relented. She slumped her shoulders, defeated, and stepped back. The lictor let down his guard. Diana bolted past him and disappeared into the tent.
Caesar was in the tent. So was Uncle Gnaeus, with his knife.
I rose from the bench and ran toward the tent. The lictor, following Diana, had abandoned his post, and I was able to slip inside unopposed.