"Yes. Of course he was." I sipped the water.
"I want to know what happened to him, just as you do," she added. "And since you think it unseemly that I should go about asking questions of strangers, as you do, what else can I do but read his reports and try to imagine which of those people wanted to kill him?"
"I'll grant that you have the advantage of younger, stronger eyes. How much have you read?"
"Only bits and pieces. Some of his Greek I can't follow, and sometimes his handwriting is very hard to make out."
"As I know only too well! But what were you saying earlier, about something I've overlooked?"
"I don't know that you've overlooked it, Papa. But it strikes me that it might be significant. It's this part here." She reached for a scrap of parchment and read aloud. " 'I dare not write my supposition even here; what if this journal were to be discovered? Must keep it hidden. But what if I am silenced? To any seeker who finds these words and would unlock the truth, I shall leave a key. Look all around! The truth is not found in the words, but the words may be found in the truth.' "
I nodded. "Yes, yes, I noticed that passage at once when I discovered his private writings. There was no literal key, or at least none that I could find. As for looking all around, I did so. I scoured every corner of his rooms."
"Was Rupa with you?"
"No, this was before your mother issued her proclamation that I should never venture out alone. Why do you ask?"
"Another pair of eyes might have seen something you overlooked."
"Do you think I should go back and look again, and take Rupa with me?"
"No, I think you should take
me
with you."
"Diana, you know how I feel about your interest in this sort of—"
"But, Papa, you just admitted that my eyes are younger and stronger. Might I not see something that you overlooked? Four eyes are better than two."
"An aphorism worthy of Publilius Syrus!"
"So you
will
take me with you to Hieronymus's apartment?"
"I never said that!"
But that was what I did.
An hour later, three of us arrived at the building in the Subura: Rupa, Diana, and myself. Agapios the door slave was nowhere to be seen, but we did not need him; I had the key to Hieronymus's rooms. As we made our way up the stairs, Diana bounded ahead of me. I could see she was very excited to be accompanying her father in the performance of his work.
But her excitement gradually faded as we conducted our examination of the rooms. Together, we searched the furniture, looked for hidden compartments in the walls and the floor, and sorted though Hieronymus's few possessions. We looked through the various scrolls that remained in the bookcase, searching for any scraps of parchment with Hieronymus's handwriting. We circled the rooftop terrace, searching for hidden compartments in the exterior walls.
We discovered nothing of interest.
At length, Diana sighed. "I was so sure we'd find something."
I nodded. "I know that feeling."
"And yet, I was wrong."
"I know that feeling, too. There's a great deal of frustration and disappointment in this sort of work. But when there's nothing to see, four eyes are no better than two."
"I suppose you're right. But I'd be even more frustrated if I hadn't been able to take a look for myself. Thank you, Papa."
As we made our way down the stairs, I heard voices from the vestibule below. We came upon young Agapios in conversation with Gnaeus Calpurnius. The old priest looked surprised to see me, and even more surprised at the sight of Rupa and Diana.
"What are these people doing here?"
The usually cheerful Agapios seemed completely cowed by Uncle Gnaeus, who was no doubt immune to his powers of flirtation. "The one called Gordianus has the key to the rooftop apartment," he explained.
"How did he acquire that?"
"He took it from me. He showed me the mistress's seal—"
Uncle Gnaeus boxed his ear. "A fine job you've done, looking after this property. I should send you to the salt mines." No sooner had Agapios recovered himself than Gnaeus struck him again.
"Stop!" I said. "It's as the slave says. I took the key by Calpurnia's authority. What business is it of yours?"
"My niece delegated the running of this property to me months ago. She's much too busy to deal with evicting tenants or collecting rents. The slave should never have given you a key to this building without my authority."
"Gnaeus Calpurnius, I think you know the importance your niece attaches to my work, whether you respect it or not. Would you have denied me the key? I think not. For Numa's sake, leave the boy alone!"
"How dare you invoke the name of my ancestor on behalf of a slave, Finder!"
"Here, take back the key. I don't need it anymore." I tossed it at his feet, but it was Agapios who scrambled to retrieve it. The groveling slave offered it to Gnaeus Calpurnius, who gave him a kick.
I hurried out, with Diana and Rupa behind me.
"Now you've seen another side of my work, Daughter." I could see that Diana was shaken by the exchange. "It isn't all sipping wine with Cytheris or trading barbs with Cicero. Strip away their cultivated manners, and you'll find that our betters are a nasty lot."
"What an awful man!" Diana shuddered.
"I've encountered worse," I said, but at the moment I couldn't remember where or when.
After sharing a midday meal with the family, I was inclined to take a nap, but Diana insisted that we sit together in the garden and continue reading Hieronymus's notes. Having worn me down in her pursuit to share my work, she was eager to continue.
It was Diana who came across a passage that neither of us had read before:
Do I miss living in the household of Gordianus? I certainly miss Bethesda's cooking. I miss Gordianus's largesse and his conversation. But the two of them are gone, perhaps never to return. I miss the others, too, of course, but there is much to be said for striking out on one's own and not looking back. I am living my own adventure.
"His own adventure," I whispered, "which came to such a sad end."
Diana nodded. "There's also a bit about that haruspex Porsenna."
Part of the fun is seeing how far I can trick a fellow trickster like Porsenna into trusting me (and inducing Calpurnia to pay me). The fellow is probably a charlatan through and through, but I wonder if he hasn't convinced himself of his powers of precognition. If I validate his prediction of a plot against the dictator, his hold on Calpurnia can only increase. If I were to show him up as a fool or a fraud, even she could not protect me from his fury.
"Do you think he's exaggerating, Papa, about how dangerous Porsenna might be? You've met the man. I haven't."
"Hard to say."
"It's a thought, though, isn't it? Hieronymus might have been killed because he was close to proving that Caesar was
not
in danger from a plot on his life."
I gazed at her and shook my head. "You have your mother's looks, thank the gods, but I fear you've inherited your father's devious mind."
This made her smile.
"I was also wondering, Papa, if we shouldn't be thinking more about the dedication ceremony at the new Temple of Venus."
"What of it?"
"It's scheduled to take place shortly after the completion of tomorrow's triumph. Might that not be a more likely occasion for someone to gain access to Caesar, if they wanted to do him harm?"
"Perhaps. I presume work on the temple is finished, but I'm not sure about the surrounding area. There's a great deal of new construction taking place. I suppose there might be hiding places suitable for staging an ambush, traps that could be made to look like accidents, that sort of thing."
"Perhaps we should have a look."
"
We?
"
"It was my idea, Papa."
I sighed. "Very well. Go find Rupa. Let's take a look at Caesar's new temple."
XVIII
With typical modesty, Caesar intended to call his new complex of buildings the Great Forum, to differentiate it from the ages-old Forum (officially, the Forum Romanum) created by our forefathers. As yet, only the outlines of the Great Forum could be discerned; except for the completed Temple of Venus, prominently situated at one end of the concourse, the area was a vast construction site, with its constituent parts in various stages of completion.
When it was finished, the Great Forum would become the legal center of Rome, with hearing rooms, judicial halls, offices for advocates, and legislative archives clustered around a large square bordered by a colonnaded portico. In its center would stand a monumental equestrian statue of Caesar (as yet, only the huge pedestal was in place), while the area in front of the Temple of Venus would be graced by an elaborate fountain (for which only the pipes had been laid down).
The site was swarming with workmen. For tomorrow's dedication ceremony, the space in front of the temple was being cleared of debris and tidied up so as to accommodate a great many spectators. Most would be expected to stand. For the more important personages, benches were being delivered and arranged in rows before the temple steps. At the foot of the steps, a marble altar for sacrifice was being set up.
The temple was a magnificent sight, made entirely of marble. It was built on a high podium accessed by a long flight of steps, with the columns set close together. Every detail of the facade—the cornices and capitals, the pediment and sculptural decorations—had been exquisitely crafted.
This was the temple Caesar had pledged to erect on the eve of the battle of Pharsalus, should he be victorious, in honor of his divine ancestress. Its full name was the Temple of Venus Genetrix. Pompey's temple atop his theater was officially consecrated to Venus Victrix, but the victory of Venus had been bestowed on Caesar.
I surveyed as much of the construction site as the workmen would allow us to enter, looking for potential places of ambush or traps. It seemed unlikely that anyone could engineer such a threat in secret, with so many men involved in clearing and cleaning the site.
"Let's have look inside," said Diana.
"I'm not sure we can. The temple isn't open yet."
"Nonsense—the doors are standing wide open! Besides, you have Calpurnia's seal, don't you? And she's an in-law of Venus, isn't she?"
Without waiting for me, Diana headed up the long flight of steps. I dutifully followed and gestured for Rupa to come along. She paused on the porch for me to catch up, then together we stepped through the wide doorway.
The interior was even more sumptuous than the facade. The marble floors, walls, ceiling, and columns presented a staggering array of colors and patterns, and everything was newly finished, so that all the surfaces gleamed with a mirrorlike polish. To decorate the facing walls of the vestibule, Caesar had acquired two of the most famous paintings in the world, the Medea and the Ajax by the renowned artist Timomachus. A series of ornate cabinets exhibited an extraordinary collection of jewelry and gemstones acquired by Caesar in his travels. Not the most beautiful, but surely the most exotic, was a savage-looking breastplate strung with tiny pearls; a placard noted that it came from the island of Britannia, at the furthest end of the world.
From the sanctuary, I could hear the tapping noise of a sculptor's hammer and chisel. Diana heard it, too, and we exchanged a curious look.
"You don't think someone is still at work on the statue, on the very day before the dedication?" she said.
"Let's find out," I said. We entered the sanctuary.
The sculptor who had received Caesar's commission, Arcesilaus, was reputed to be the most highly paid artist in the world. He was mentioned in passing in Hieronymus's reports and had sent a note of condolence. Many years ago, I had met him at the house of the late Lucullus, a great patron of the arts. Arcesilaus had been young then, and quite handsome, with a reputation for vanity and hot-tempered genius. His hair had grown grayer, but he still had the big shoulders and biceps of a sculptor, and his temper still ran hot, if his reaction to our appearance in the sanctuary was any indication.
"What in Hades are you doing here?" he shouted. The marble statue of Venus stood on a high pedestal at the rear wall. Arcesilaus was perched on a riser which allowed him access to the base of the statue, where he was tending to a finishing detail with a small hammer and a chisel.
I cleared my throat. "My name is Gordianus—"
"And I'm Diana, his daughter. And this is Rupa, his son."
I frowned at Diana's forwardness. Arcesilaus raised an eyebrow. I didn't care for the way his mouth twisted at one corner as he looked Diana up and down.
"You and I have met before," I said, "though it was a long time ago—"
"I know your name. I know who you are. And I remember when we met. That doesn't answer my question. What are you doing here? If the answer isn't, 'Caesar sent me and this is an emergency,' then all three of you can get out! Well, you two fellows, anyway." He looked at Diana again and narrowed his eyes.
"I
am
here on behalf of Caesar," I said, speaking a sort of truth.
"What can that man possibly want
now
?" Arcesilaus threw down his hammer and chisel. I flinched in anticipation of the impact, but the statue was surrounded by canvas drop cloths. The instruments landed with a soft thud.
Arcesilaus launched into a rant. "He says to finish the statue by the end of the year. 'Very well,' I say, 'that's possible.' Then he tells me it must be done by September. 'Impossible!' I tell him, 'It can't be done.' 'Ah, but it must be done,' he says. 'Make it possible.' And when I protest, he begins to recite his miracles on the battlefield, how he built a snare made of ships to catch Pompey at Brundisium, and tunneled under the walls at Massilia, and so on and so forth, always making the impossible possible by sheer exercise of will. 'This is art, not war,' I told him. 'This is a statue, not a slaughter. I'm creating a goddess, not sacking Gaul!' "