The Inquest (9 page)

Varro made a mental note: this chamberlain must wield more than elementary influence with the queen. It never paid to underestimate a servant or their covert power, he reminded himself, no matter how servile or unobtrusive they may be. “I was hoping to find a resident of your fair city who might have been in Jerusalem at the time,” he said.”

“Four decades ago?” she commented with a flicker of a frown. “It would seem much too long ago for witnesses to have survived, questor. Has anyone come forward?”

“Not as yet, Your Majesty. But it is early days yet.”

“I wish you well on your mission, questor, but I very much doubt that you will learn anything of value on this journey of yours. You are bound for Jerusalem?”

He nodded, holding out his cup for the beauty to pour wine and water in equal measure. “In time, Your Majesty.”

“There is nothing there, questor,” said Berenice, sounding just a little scornful. “Not any longer. The city has gone. The Temple has gone. The people are dead, or in chains, or fled.”

“I can only seek the truth, wherever it lies, Your Majesty.”

“The truth?” She raised her eyebrows. “Whose truth do we believe, questor? You must believe what you choose to believe, and must do what your conscience dictates.” She took a sip of wine. “I believe that your patron is Gnaeus Licinius Mucianus.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. I came out to Syria as questor to Licinius Mucianus.”

“You will be returning to Rome soon?”

“In the new year.”

“On the arrival of Cesennius Petus?”

He nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty.” She was remarkably well informed. It occurred to him that perhaps she was in regular communication with Titus, that Titus was keeping her appraised of the decisions and appointments made by his father and himself.

“That will be in the spring or summer?” she asked.

“Most probably the summer, Your Majesty.”

“Petus is bringing the 6th Gallica Legion back to its station in Syria, is he not?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. The 6th is not expected to be ready to commence its march to the East before next spring.”

“After which you sail for Rome? You will be glad to be going home, questor.”

In front of them, bowls of fruit were being replaced by platters of fresh water fish from lakes to the south.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Varro agreed. “It has been a long and eventful posting.”

“You have family back at Rome? Responsibilities? Family clients?”

“As you say, I will resume my late father’s responsibilities to family clients.”

“You will be in a far better position to assist those clients now. Before, you were a mere Roman knight with an ex consul for a patron. Now, Marcus Terentius Varro, you are the client of Caesar’s most trusted, most powerful deputy.”

“Yes, Your Majesty, indeed.”

“You must enjoy an excellent relationship with your patron.”

“An excellent relationship, yes. Some find Licinius Mucianus a difficult man…”

“I can testify to that,” she said, washing her hands.

“Ah. Personally, I have always had the most cordial relations with him.”

“That is because you are a man, Varro, and young, and presentable.”

Varro had heard rumors that Mucianus dis liked women, and that Mucianus’ sexual inclinations were toward men and boys, but he had never seen any evidence of that for himself in all the years he had known his patron. He had even heard it said that Mucianus and Titus were supposed to have had sexual relations, but he had never believed it, and he doubted that Berenice would either. “I can only speak as I find, Your Majesty, and I have found Licinius Mucianus a most generous and agreeable patron.”

“I am glad of it.” She began to eat a delicate slice of Coracin fish with her fingers. “Questor, I am contemplating going to Rome, to join my lord Titus,” she announced.

So, he thought, the queen was either pining for Titus so much that she planned to follow him to Rome like a discarded pet, or she had prearranged with the emperor’s son to make the journey and reunite with him at the capital. One way or another, it was an interesting proposition. Under Roman law, Berenice, a foreigner, could never marry a Roman. Titus could never make her his wife. At best, Berenice could only be his mistress; unless Titus chose to ignore Roman law. This had all the connotations of the disastrous liaison between Egyptian queen Cleopatra and her Roman lover Marcus Antonius. Varro realized he must step very carefully with Berenice, must watch what he said and what he did not say. Diplomacy of the highest order was called for here. “You would be made most welcome at Rome, I am sure, Your Majesty,” he said, “as your royal dignity demands.”

“One would expect so,” she said. “Do you all think that I should follow my lord Titus to Rome, my lords?”

The question took her guests by surprise. The three of them looked at her, uncertain as to how they should answer. It occurred to Varro that perhaps Berenice had not discussed the matter with Titus after all.

“Tribune Martius?” the queen persisted. “Do you think that it would be wise of me to follow Titus to Rome? How would the Roman people view me, if I were to do so?”

“Well, I, er.. that is, Your Majesty…,” Martius floundered, looking to Varro.

Berenice turned to Martius’ neighbor. “Prefect Crispus? What is your opinion? Would the Senate resent my presence, do you think, if I were to take up residence at Rome…?” Again her eyes flashed to Bostar; this time, they conveyed a look of censure. “As some are telling me,” she added, for Bostar’s benefit.

Crispus paled. “Actually, Your Majesty, as a mere prefect, I could not venture an opinion on the attitude of the conscript fathers of the Roman Senate,” he responded.

Impatient with the lack of response, the queen returned her attention to Varro. “Questor, should I go to Rome? I was thinking that perhaps I might take a ship to Italy in the summer. That way, there would be a seemly gap between my lord Titus’ arrival and my own. Should I sail to Brindusium, or land at Micenum and then continue from there to Rome? Or should I go all the way to Ostia, and then take a barge up the Tiber, as many noble Romans do? Then again, I could perhaps take a house at Brindusium and send a message to my love that I had arrived, and await his call to Rome.” She leaned toward him, an expectant look in her eyes. “What do you think, questor?”

Varro hesitated. He told himself that if the emperor’s son had not arranged for Berenice to
follow him, he must have his reasons. A major personal embarrassment for Titus and an equally major diplomatic incident for Rome must be avoided. It now occurred to the questor how to respond. “Your Majesty, I think that Caesar would welcome a visit to Rome by you and your brother the king, at a suitable time.”

“My brother the king? Ah, but of course.” Obviously, she had been thinking of making the voyage alone. The inclusion of Agrippa would be tiresome for her, but, seen as an official royal visit by king and queen, it would be less likely to upset the establishment at Rome. Such an official visit would also require an invitation to be first issued by the Palatium, a time-consuming process. “Yes, of course,” she said again, absently now. Her disappointment was obvious. “At a suitable time, as you say.”

“As to the exact timing of such an enterprise, I could not really advise you,” Varro added. “Not being at Rome, not knowing the circumstance there…” His voice trailed off. What else could he tell her? He held out his hands for washing.

Berenice bestirred herself, as if invigorated by a new thought. “Questor, you are absolutely right.” She nodded vigorously. “Yes, it would be too soon this year. Next year perhaps, when Caesar and Titus have come to grips with Rome and all the problems that beset her at present. You have a wise head on young shoulders. No wonder Licinius Mucianus and Gnaeus Collega have placed such trust in you.”

Varro smiled, a little embarrassed. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” His eyes went to the beautiful servant as she poured water over his outstretched fingers with one hand and held a bowl beneath them with the other. He wanted to touch her, almost to convince himself that she was real; but he dare not.

“The question is,” Berenice pondered, “how would one know when it was precisely the right time to go to Rome?” She looked over at Varro for further guidance, then followed his eyes to the servant in front of him. The queen smiled to herself. “Her name is Miriam,” she said.

Varro’s eyes left the servant, and went to the queen. “Your Majesty?”

“The slave. Her name is Miriam. A beauty, is she not?”

“Well, yes, Your Majesty,” Varro replied with embarrassment. “I hadn’t really.

“She is yours.”

Varro blinked. “Er, I beg your Majesty’s pardon?”

“The slave is a gift, from me, to you. In thanks for your kind advice here tonight.’

Varro’s eyes flashed to the slave. Obviously disconcerted, Miriam would not look him in the eye. He returned his attention to the queen. “Your Majesty is very generous, but, I have no need of a female attendant. All in my party are male.”

“I will not take no for an answer, questor.” With that, the queen beckoned Miriam. The slave hurried to the queen, and knelt so that Berenice could whisper something in her ear. As she listened, the slave nodded impassively.

Beside Varro, Martius leant close. “Accept the queen’s gift, Julius,” he urged in a whisper. “It’s the diplomatic thing to do.”

“It would be awkward, taking a female slave with us,” Varro whispered in return.

“Be gracious, my friend, take the beauty. You can do what you like with her once we leave here: sell her, bed her, or drown her. Or…” He winked. “Give her to one of your friends.”

“So, questor, Miriam shall be delivered to your camp tomorrow,” said the queen, as the slave, blank faced, straightened and resumed her duties. Berenice looked over to her chamberlain. “Arrange it, Bostar,” she instructed.

“As Your Majesty commands,” the chamberlain formally replied.

“Your Majesty is most generous,” said Varro, conceding to the queen’s wishes with a resigned sigh.

“Now, questor, there is a favor that you can render me in return,” said Berenice.

Varro was suddenly consumed with dread. What could she possibly want him to do now that he was in her debt? “Your Majesty?” he responded with trepidation.

“It is clear to me that I need someone to be my eyes and ears at Rome, Varro. Someone with impeccable connections, someone who can send me messages alerting me to the appropriate time to apply to Caesar, or to set off for Rome, advising me when the atmosphere at Rome was right for either or both. I could not think of anyone better placed than a client of Licinius Mucianus. I want you to be my eyes and ears, Julius Varro.”

“Ah.” He felt like an animal caught in a trap.

“Neither Licinius Mucianus nor anyone close to him can know of our arrangement. It will be our little secret.” Berenice cast a cautionary eye to Martius and Crispus, to emphasize the need for confidentiality. “No one at Rome can know. No one!”

Now Varro realized that this arrangement had been in the back of the queen’s mind all along. That was why she had excluded Venerius from the banquet; as nephew to Mucianus, he could not be permitted to know that Varro had been commissioned to be the queen’s spy in Caesar’s court, a spy whose role was to report on, among other things, Mucianus’ thoughts and actions. Whether Berenice had planned to entice him with the gift of one of her female slaves was debatable. Varro suspected that perhaps his own straying eyes had betrayed him and the perceptive queen had quickly seen an opportunity.

“Say yes,’” Martius hissed to Varro from behind his hand.

“Your Majesty…” Varro began, sounding conflicted.

“I know that my lord Titus will be eternally grateful to you once he and I have been reunited,” said Berenice, eyeing him with a gaze which had become intense.

It was now apparent to Varro that she had set her mind. He felt a jab in the ribs from Martius beside him, as his colleague reinforced his belief that Varro should agree to whatever the queen wanted. Varro reluctantly decided to accede to her request. The mention of Titus had been the final straw. If Titus and Berenice did reunite, sooner or later, Varro reasoned, then it might not go well for his family if a refusal to help the queen burdened his record. “Your Majesty, it will be my honor to do whatever I can for you….” He said it without enthusiasm, but he said it none the less, and meant it.

The queen beamed. “Thank you, Varro. Thank you. You will not find me ungrateful.” She turned to her chamberlain. “Do you hear what the questor said, Bostar?”

Bostar nodded gravely. “Your Majesty should be very pleased,” he said.

With that the queen was ready to depart. Beckoning her maidservants, she said to her guests, “Please, my lords, enjoy the remainder of the banquet. I am tired, and will retire for the night.” When she came to her feet, the men did swiftly the same.

“I bid you all a restful night.” She smiled Varro’s way. “I look forward to receiving illuminating correspondence from you at Rome in due course, questor.”

And then, having achieved her objective for the evening, the queen departed.

A trio of litters provided by the queen waited in a courtyard. Pedius the lictor and freedmen in the employ of the three Roman knights including Varro’s man Callidus quickly came to their
feet as their masters descended toward them. Across the courtyard, a troop of dismounted cavalrymen of Crispus’ Vettonian command huddled in the gloom.

As Crispus ordered the troopers to mount up, Martius took Varro aside.

“For a moment there, Julius, I thought you would not agree to be her agent.”

“What choice did I have, Marcus?” Varro sighed unhappily.

“Just the same, I did briefly have a vision in my mind’s eye of an ax hovering above my neck. If the queen does resume her place in Titus’ bed, my friend, she will wield immense power beyond the bedroom, including the power to have our heads. If you had not agreed, you would have marked us all for destruction.”

The three of them climbed into the litters. The cavalry troop went ahead at the walk, while, with torch bearers lighting the way and with Pedius preceding them, the litters passed through the little city to its northwestern gate, then out into the countryside and along the road a short distance to the camp of the Varro expedition. As they went, the thoughts of the three Romans were very different.