The Judgment of Caesar (25 page)

“But this is what I think: When Pompey retired to his pavilion, he had no illusions that he had won the battle. Quite the opposite; he stayed long enough to see the tide turn against him, then rode back to his camp knowing that all was lost. He retired to his pavilion to await the inevitable end. He gathered his closest associates—including you, Philip—and demanded that a lavish banquet be served at once. He ordered a very trusted subordinate—was it not you, Philip?—to fetch a very special amphora of Falernian wine that he had been saving for just that occasion, and that occasion alone.

“Do you remember what you said to me, Philip, as you wept for Pompey on the beach? I remember, though at the time I didn’t fully understand. ‘He should have died at Pharsalus,’ you said. ‘Not like this, but at a time and in the manner of his own choosing. When he knew that all was lost, he made up his mind to do so.’ What were his exact words to you, Philip?”

Philip gazed vacantly, looking beyond me into his memory of that terrible day at Pharsalus. “The Great One said to me: ‘Help me, Philip. Help me keep up my courage. I’ve lost the game. I have no stomach for the aftermath. Let this place be the end of me. Let the history books say, “The Great One died at Pharsalus.” ‘ ”

I nodded. “But at the last moment, he lost his nerve; isn’t that what you told me, Philip? Pompey the Great quailed and fled, so quickly that you had to run after him to keep up.” I shook my head. “I heard, but I misunderstood. I thought you meant he was in the midst of his premature victory banquet when he realized that all was lost, and he looked in vain for the courage to pick up his sword and die fighting, only to lose his nerve and ride off on a horse instead. But even before the banquet began, he knew that he was finished. Indeed, it was when the banquet was served that he asked you to help him find the courage to die as he had previously decided to die, should everything go against him. It wasn’t a victory banquet; it was a farewell feast! That carefully sealed amphora of Falernian wine he had been carrying around with him, from battlefield to battlefield, to be opened only in the presence of Pompey himself—what was so very special about that wine, Philip?”

Philip shook his head, not wanting to answer, but Caesar was beginning to understand. “Pompey meant to die by his own choice,” Caesar said. “Not by falling on a sword—but by poison?”

I nodded. “With his closet friends around him, surrounded by the trappings of wealth and luxury, and with a fine meal in his stomach. But then the ramparts were overrun, and you yourself came riding through the camp, Consul. Pompey faced a choice he could no longer postpone: capture and humiliation, or a quick, sure death by poison—the same poison his wife kept close at hand, in case she too should face such a choice. He had only to unseal the Falernian, drink a cup, and make his exit to oblivion. That had been his plan. But when the crisis came, he couldn’t do it. Was it fear of death? Perhaps. But I think his will to live another day, even in misery and defeat, was simply too strong. He ran from the tent, mounted the first horse he found, and rode off, escaping in the very nick of time. And you rode after him, Philip, leaving the sealed amphora of Falernian behind.”

Caesar looked at Philip. “Is this true?”

Philip lowered his eyes and gritted his teeth. His silence was answer enough.

Caesar shook his head. “And to think, had I been of Pompey’s ilk, craving luxury and self-indulgence at every turn, instead of overseeing the last stages of the battle, I might have sat down to help myself to a plate of Pompey’s venison and a flagon of his Falernian—a victory feast!—and I would have died then and there, of poison. Or indeed, I might have died any day since, on any occasion I chose to drink Pompey’s Falernian!”

I nodded. “As the Great One himself was well aware. He said as much to me when he summoned me to his ship. ‘Caesar may yet get his just deserts,’ he told me, ‘and when he least expects it. One moment he’ll be alive, and the next—dead as King Numa!’ I thought that he meant he had an assassin in your midst, or that he was simply raving—but he was talking about the Falernian, which he knew had fallen into your hands, and which, as he hoped, you might any day decide to open and drink.”

“Which must have been the hope of this scheming freedman here, as well. Eh, Philip? You knew about the Falernian, yet you never warned me about it. Did you hope that I might yet drink it and die the death Pompey was too craven to claim for himself?”

“Yes!” cried Philip. “To his shame, the Great One discovered he was incapable of suicide, so he came to Egypt instead—which amounted to the same thing. I often wonder if he didn’t come here knowing these monsters would do away with him, and thus relieve him of the burden of doing away with himself. But the acts of men live after them, and there was one hope left to me—that sooner or later messengers would come running through the palace, shouting the good news: ‘Caesar is dead! No one knows how, no one knows why—he was simply drinking a cup of wine and suddenly dropped dead! Could it be poison? Oh, dear!’ ” The little man seethed with sarcasm and fury.

“And so it would have been,” Caesar said coldly, “had I drunk the wine that day on Antirrhodus. I would have died, struck down by a dead man!”

“ ‘Dead men don’t bite,’ ” I said. “That was what Pothinus said of Pompey. But he was wrong. Even dead, Pompey might have exacted a final revenge upon you, Caesar. As it happened, the Falernian killed the queen’s taster, instead; and the confusion spawned by that event very nearly drove you to do away with Meto—who as you now must realize was innocent all along.”

Caesar looked at me sidelong. “But what of the alabaster vial discovered on Meto’s person—a vial that we know contained poison, and that was empty when we found it?”

With timing as perfect as that of a messenger in a play, the soldier guarding the door stepped forward to tell Caesar that the others he had summoned had arrived.

“Take this creature away,” ordered Caesar, referring to Philip, “and show the others in.”

CHAPTER XXVI

Apollodorus entered first, followed by Merianis, both looking grim. I glanced at Caesar and saw that grimness mirrored on his face. Then another expression, hard to discern—consternation, resignation, apprehension?—crossed his countenance as Cleopatra entered the room.

I had asked Caesar to summon her minions without the queen, and without her knowledge if possible; yet here she was. She swept into the room, fully outfitted in royal dress, draped in gold-and-scarlet robes, with the vulture-headed uraeus crown upon her head. Her presence now was very different from that which she projected at ease in her own quarters on Antirrhodus, and more different still from that of the seductress who had emerged from the rug in this very room. Even when I had seen her in her robes of state in the reception room on formal occasions, she had not possessed the air of majesty that radiated from her now.

She cast a singeing glance at me, then turned a softer gaze to Caesar. “The consul desires to question my subjects yet again?”

Caesar cleared his throat. “Gordianus has been able, after all, to cast some light upon the events that occurred on Antirrhodus.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Something to do with the freedman Philip, whom I passed in the hall outside?”

“Perhaps. Suffice to say that the amphora of Falernian had been poisoned even before it was opened. We may discuss the details at another time, but for now, that fact has been demonstrated to my satisfaction.”

The queen slowly nodded. “Which presents a very awkward question.”

“Yes. How did it come to pass that the empty alabaster vial was discovered on Meto’s person, when the vial, as it turns out, had nothing to do with the poisoning?”

“A curious situation.”

“Curious indeed, Your Majesty, and most distressing. Yet I’m convinced that someone here among us can explain it.”

A silence settled over the room. At last the queen spoke. “Is the simplest explanation not the most likely? You say the amphora was already poisoned. But could it not have been doubly poisoned? The vial was found on Meto; the vial was empty. I suggest that Meto acquired the vial from Gordianus—with or without his father’s knowledge—and conspired to use it, perhaps against you, Caesar, or perhaps to do away with us both. He fetched the amphora for you, and brought it to Antirrhodus; doing so, he saw his opportunity to use the poison, so he brought that with him as well. When he opened the amphora, he opened the vial at the same time and emptied it into the amphora. None of us noticed, simply because none of us were watching. You say the amphora was already poisoned. It appears that Meto acted in ignorance of that fact, but with no less malice. His crime was no less heinous for being redundant.” The queen, in making this assertion, stood erect and kept her voice low and steady, with a gaze that never wavered. Cicero himself, standing in the Forum before a skeptical jury, could not have delivered the argument with greater authority.

But Caesar was not convinced. “What Your Majesty says makes perfect sense, yet the explanation does not satisfy me.” He turned his gaze to Merianis, who lowered her eyes and bit her lip. The exuberant, smiling, beautiful young woman who had greeted me when I first arrived at the palace seemed very far away at that moment, replaced by a haggard figure whose shifty eyes and furtive manner reminded me more of Philip. Since the death of Zoë on Antirrhodus, I had not seen a smile on Merianis’s face. Each time I saw her, she looked more haunted.

“Perhaps, Merianis, you can offer an explanation that gives more satisfaction?” said Caesar.

She shivered, though the room was warm. She lifted her eyes just enough to cast a questioning look at the queen, who responded with an almost imperceptible nod.

“I confess,” said Merianis. Her voice trembled.

“Explain,” said Caesar.

“I did what I did . . . to hurt Meto. It was a shameful act, unworthy of a priestess of Isis.”

“Go on,” said Caesar.

“Yes, Merianis, go on,” said the queen, her voice stern.

I shook my head. “Consul, when I asked you to summon the queen’s subjects, this was not what I had in mind. This is—”

“Quiet, Gordianus. I shall conduct the questioning. Go on, Merianis. Explain to me what you did that day.”

“I had nothing to do with the poisoning. But when Zoë died, and the queen called me to her side . . .”

“Yes, I remember,” said Caesar. “You conversed in whispers.”

“She merely told me to fetch Apollodorus.”

“You conversed at some length, and with noticeable emotion.”

“I—I was jarred by what had happened. I was confused and upset. The queen had to repeat herself. She became impatient with me.”

Caesar nodded. “And then I saw you look at Meto. Your expression was strange.”

“I looked at him strangely because . . . that was the moment I conceived of the plot against him.”

“I see. Go on.”

“The queen told me to bring Apollodorus. I ran to find him. But first . . . first I went to my room . . . to fetch the vial of poison.”

“Then it was you who took the vial from Gordianus’s trunk?” said Caesar.

“Yes.”

“But how did you even know about the vial’s existence, and what it contained?”

“On the day I brought Meto to his room, Gordianus asked me to leave—but I lingered in the hallway outside. I listened to their conversation. I heard what Gordianus said about the vial and the poison inside—and I also heard what Meto told him, to get rid of it! Later, when I had a chance, I took the vial from the trunk—but only because I feared that Gordianus might be tempted to use it against himself, and I could not bear the thought.” Her eyes met mine at last. “That’s the truth, I swear to you by Isis! I stole the vial only because I wanted to protect you from yourself, Gordianus! Please, believe me!”

I drew a breath to speak, but Caesar raised a hand to silence me. “Go on, Merianis,” he said.

“The queen sent me to fetch Apollodorus, but first I ran to my room and found the vial. I emptied it—”

“You hadn’t emptied it before?” Caesar asked sharply. “Why did you not empty it when you stole it, if your purpose was to keep the poison from being used?”

Merianis became flustered. “You’re right. It was empty already—I forgot. I’m becoming confused again . . .”

“Go on!” Caesar’s tone made even Cleopatra wince. Merianis began to weep.

“When I found Apollodorus, I quickly explained what had happened . . . and I told him of my desire: that he should place the empty vial upon the person of Meto, so that Meto would be blamed for the poisoning.”

“But why, Merianis? What was your grudge against Meto?”

“Not a grudge; a broken heart! From the moment I saw him, I desired him. He should have desired me in return. I made my feelings plain to him, and he spurned me. I wanted him to suffer!” She shuddered and hid her face in her hands.

“And you, Apollodorus?” Caesar cast a burning gaze at the tall Sicilian. “You went along with this deception?”

Before, in every circumstance, Apollodorus’s attitude had been utterly self-assured, even brazenly defiant; but now he lowered his eyes and spoke in a hoarse whisper. “I did what Merianis asked me to do.”

“But why, Apollodorus?”

“Because . . .” He spoke through gritted teeth. “Because I love her.”

“I see.” Caesar nodded gravely. “You must love her very much indeed.”

“I do!”

I could no longer remain quiet. “Caesar!” I said—but again he silenced me with his hand and an angry glare. He turned to Cleopatra.

“What does Your Majesty have to say about this?”

Her demeanor was more haughty than ever. Cleopatra seemed as cool and unassailable as a pillar of marble. “Such a deception impugns the dignity of the consul, to be sure. . . .”

“No less than it impugns the majesty of the queen, if she, too, was deceived by her servants!”

“Yes; but their crime is less heinous than that of poisoning. . . .”

“Hardly less heinous, if the result had been the execution of one of my closest lieutenants, an innocent man!” Caesar took a deep breath. “Your Majesty, there must be a reckoning.”

A ripple of dismay marred the bland perfection of the queen’s composure, like a wind-flaw on flat water. There was a very slight catch in her voice when she spoke. “The consul speaks justly. There must be a reckoning for this deceit, and so there shall be.” She turned her gaze first to Merianis, and then to Apollodorus. Something profound was communicated in the look the queen exchanged with these two, the closest of all her subjects. The queen gave them a silent order; in silence they accepted it. The three of them seemed transported to a plane of existence where neither Caesar nor I could follow. Thus I excuse my inaction during the events that immediately followed. They became like actors on the stage, and Caesar and I became mute spectators, able only to watch in horror and awe.

Apollodorus produced a dagger. Later I would wonder why Caesar’s guards had not disarmed him. But as we knew already, he was skilled at sleight of hand, and somehow he had slipped the weapon past them.

Apollodorus turned to Merianis, who stood trembling with her eyes shut, as if she knew what would happen next. Her lips moved sound-lessly, reciting a prayer. Apollodorus plunged the knife into her heart. I think she died very quickly, for she made only a small, sibilant utterance—”Sweet Isis!”—as she collapsed to the floor. Her body convulsed for a moment, and then became utterly still.

Without hesitation, Apollodorus knelt, planted the long, bloody dagger upright before him, and fell upon it with his full weight. His death was more unseemly than that of Merianis. He grunted, coughed blood on the floor, and expelled a rattling breath. “My queen!” he cried, struggling to lift his eyes to gain a final glimpse of Cleopatra. His eyes rolled back in his head. His jaw gaped. Blood ran from his mouth. He fell onto his side, drawing his knees to his chest. His feet twitched and kicked, and then he lay as still as Merianis.

The guard at the door gave a shout and came running, quickly followed by others. Caesar raised his arm. “Stay back!”

“But, Consul—!” protested the guard.

“Leave us. Now!”

Looking askance at the queen and mumbling among themselves, Caesar’s men withdrew.

Cleopatra gazed down at the lifeless bodies at her feet. She drew a sharp breath and let out a cry. Tears ran down her cheeks. For a moment

I thought she might lose her composure entirely and fall to the floor weeping. But she stiffened her neck, fought back tears, and turned her glittering eyes to Caesar.

“Is Caesar satisfied?” she asked.

Once more I felt compelled to speak, but Caesar cocked his head, thrust out his jaw, and silenced me with a look. “Caesar . . . is satisfied.”

She lowered her eyes. “And this matter is closed?”

“The matter is closed. The queen’s subjects have been punished. Meto is absolved and shall be released. We shall never speak again of what happened on Antirrhodus.”

“Very well,” said the queen. She removed a long linen mantle that was gathered and pinned at one shoulder, shook the garment loose, and laid it over the bodies of Merianis and Apollodorus. “If you will, see that no one touches these remains. Embalmers from the temple of Isis will come very soon to collect them, so that the proper rituals may be observed at each stage of the journey upon which they have embarked.”

I could not help myself. My voice trembled. “How terrible, if anything should go amiss and disappoint the queen! Even in the life hereafter, her loyal servants must be ready and waiting for her when the day comes that the queen herself crosses over!”

She gave me a chilly look. “You understand completely, Gordianus. Apollodorus and Merianis worship Isis, and I embody Isis. Their loyalty knows no bounds, and neither does their reward. So it is in this world; so it shall be in the next, and through all eternity. The impious will fall aside and turn to dust, but the righteous shall have life everlasting.”

“With you as their queen?”

“Don’t worry, Gordianus. I doubt very much that you will be among my subjects in the life hereafter.”

With that she collected herself and strode from the room, her head held high.