The Judgment of Caesar (26 page)

CHAPTER XXVII

The embalmers came quickly; so quickly, in fact, that it seemed they must have gathered somewhere nearby beforehand, to await the queen’s call. The bodies of Merianis and Apollodorus were laid upon biers and carried off.

“ ‘Caesar is satisfied’!” I said, unable to contain my sarcasm. “
Are
you, Consul? How can you be?”

He looked at me for a long moment before speaking. “I
am
satisfied that I responded as I should have responded to what just took place in this room.”

“But you cannot be satisfied that the queen and her subjects told you the truth!”

“That, Gordianus, is another matter.”

“Those tears she cried! She used them like a witch to cast a spell over you.”

“Perhaps; nonetheless, I think her tears were genuine. Do you not believe that she loved Apollodorus and Merianis, as a queen loves those closest to her? Do you not think that she was profoundly moved by the sacrifice they made for her?”

“Sacrifice, indeed! That nonsense about Merianis being madly in love with Meto, and deciding on a whim to destroy him because he spurned her—and the further nonsense that Apollodorus would go along with such a plot on a moment’s notice, without question, behind the queen’s back! Apollodorus was a slave to only one woman, and we both know it wasn’t Merianis.”

Caesar sighed. “In fact, Gordianus, I do happen to know, because Meto told me so at the time, that Merianis did indeed make her affections available to him—”

“As she did to me!”

“—and that Meto declined.”

“As did I. But I don’t believe for an instant that Merianis decided, on her own initiative, to plant that vial on Meto.”

He looked at me gravely. “Nor do I.”

“Yet you’re satisfied to let the matter rest!”

“Meto will be released, Gordianus. Is that not the result you wished for?”

“I’m a Roman, Consul. Wisely or not, I take justice for granted. But truth also matters to me. While the queen was here, you refused to let me speak. Will you listen to me now?”

He heaved a sigh. “Very well. Because you’re Meto’s father; because you’ve suffered much here in Egypt; and also because, whether you realize it or not, I rather like you, Gordianus, I am going to indulge you, and allow you to tell me exactly what you believe to be the truth. Explain to me what occurred on Antirrhodus; and then let us never speak of it again. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Consul.”

“Then proceed.”

“Will you grant that the amphora of wine was already poisoned, because it was the wine with which Pompey intended to poison himself?”

Caesar nodded. “I grant as much. But what of the alabaster vial?” “I believe it was taken from my trunk by Merianis, just as she said, and for the reason she gave: She wished to deny me any chance to use the poison on myself. She stole the poison with my best interests at heart. I think that was about the only thing she told us that was true, because there was something Merianis left out. She was a spy for the queen; her eyes and ears belonged to Cleopatra. She told the queen everything, and I believe she told Cleopatra about the alabaster vial, as well. When you asked Merianis about disposing of the poison, she became flustered. I think that was her original intention, but someone ordered her not to—the queen, of course. For a woman like Cleopatra, such a poison might eventually serve a purpose, and so she ordered Merianis to keep the vial and its contents intact.

“Neither of them had any immediate use for the vial; for the moment, they both forgot about it, just as I did. Then came that terrible day on Antirrhodus. When Zoë died from the poisoned wine, the queen was as puzzled and alarmed as the rest of us. But her mind worked very quickly, searching for a way to turn events to her advantage. Because Meto had opened the amphora, he was an obvious suspect, and it may be that Cleopatra actually believed that Meto had poisoned the wine. Meto was her enemy; the queen knew that he disliked her. Whether he had poisoned the wine or not, it would benefit the queen to be rid of him, and she saw an opportunity to deal him a blow—even as she diverted suspicion from herself. A plot formed quickly in her mind, and she put it into action at once.

“While she held the body of Zoë, she called Merianis to her side. What did she say to Merianis? None of us could hear, for they kept their voices low, but did it not seem to you that Merianis balked at the queen’s commands? This was what Cleopatra told her to do: first, to fetch the alabaster vial from her room, and to empty the poison from it; then to find Apollodorus, and to convey the queen’s desire that he come at once and, when the occasion allowed, that he should plant the empty vial upon Meto. Merianis was appalled; she had no wish to harm Meto, but she had no will to resist the queen’s command. Thus the strange look she shot at Meto; thus the shame she exhibited afterward. As for Apollodorus, he obeyed the queen’s command without question, and for the very reason he gave today: ‘Because I love her,’ he said—but he didn’t mean Merianis. He meant Cleopatra!”

Caesar rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “And—supposing this version of events is true—this was why you wished the two servants to be called here without their mistress. You hoped they might reveal the truth—and incriminate the queen.”

“Yes. But Cleopatra foresaw that possibility. She might simply have refused to cooperate—but she sensed that you must, at some level, be given an explanation, and that someone would have to be punished. Before they came here, the queen told Merianis and Apollodorus exactly what to say, if called upon; and to save her, they lied, knowing it would mean their own deaths.” I remembered the look of acquiescence on Merianis’s face when Apollodorus delivered the deathblow, and my voice quavered. “If Merianis hadn’t stolen the poison from my trunk, desiring only to save me from myself, she might yet be alive.”

Caesar nodded. “Strange, how Cornelia’s alabaster vial and Pompey’s amphora of Falernian wine both seemed to take on a malevolent life of their own, even after their owners abandoned them. Dead men do bite, and so do their widows!”

“You accept my version of events, Consul?”

“It satisfies my curiosity, Gordianus. But it does not satisfy my needs.”

“Your needs?”

“I came to Egypt to settle affairs here to my own advantage, and to the advantage of Rome, which amounts to the same thing. Debts must be repaid; for that to happen, the harvests must be gathered and taxes collected; for that to happen, Egypt must have peace. Either the king and queen must be reconciled, or one must be eliminated and the other put upon the throne—and whoever occupies the throne must be a steadfast ally of Rome. Through all that’s happened, I’ve remained committed to carrying out the will of the Piper, namely that both siblings should rule jointly. What occurred on Antirrhodus was unfortunate; but as you yourself assert, the poisoning was accidental, and the queen’s response, though regrettable, was not premeditated. To press the queen for answers, to badger her with questions as if she had plotted in some criminal fashion against my person, does not serve the greater purpose—”

“But she
did
plot against you, Consul! Not once, but twice! First, when she sought to falsely incriminate Meto—all the more terrible, if you ask me, precisely because it
was
spontaneous—and again, only moments ago, when she contrived, with complete premeditation, to have her subjects lie to you, even to die, in order to conceal the first deceit!”

“Would you have me call the queen a liar to her face?”

“I would have you call things what they are!”

“Ah, but there we see where you fail to grasp the situation, Gordianus. You possess knowledge, but you lack understanding. Through these deceits, the queen sought to advance herself, not to endanger me. That is a crucial point, Gordianus, and one that you fail to apprehend. This is a political matter; it has to do with the appearance of things. When the queen was pressed to supply a response that would satisfy appearances, she did precisely that.”

“At the expense of two lives! The queen is a monster. To force those two to lie to protect her, and then to stand by and watch as they killed themselves, so that she might save face—”

“So that
I
might save face as well, Gordianus. Do you really believe she forced them to do anything? Quite the contrary, I should think; what they did, they did willingly, even eagerly. What extraordinary devotion! If only I could cultivate such depths of love and loyalty! Men have died for me, yes, but not in the way those two died for their queen. They truly believed her to be a goddess, with the power to grant them everlasting life. Amazing!” There was a note of envy in his wonderment. Would a Roman king ever be able to evoke such total devotion and blind self-sacrifice? I found the notion repellent, but Caesar seemed fascinated by the possibility.

He strode to the window and gazed at the vista that stretched to the distant Nile. “And yet . . .” I heard a note of resignation in his voice. I saw his shoulders sag. “You say that she’s bewitched me, Gordianus, and I fear you may be right. I almost believe myself that she’s a goddess, if only because she makes me feel like a god. I’m a man of fifty-two, Gordianus. Cleopatra makes me feel like a boy. I’ve conquered the world, and I feel weary; she offers me a fresh world to conquer, and makes me young again. She offers more than the world; she offers everlasting life. I’m fifty-two, and I’ve never produced an heir. Cleopatra has promised to give me a son. Can you imagine? A son to rule over not only Egypt, but Rome as well! Together we might found a dynasty to rule the whole world, forever.”

I shook my head. Caesar, looking out the window, did not see my reaction, but must have sensed it.

“I suppose,” he said, “this is precisely the sort of talk that turned Meto so adamantly against the queen and her influence on me. Do I sound like some deluded Eastern despot? Have I crossed the world, eluding every trap and besting every enemy, only to lose my bearings here in Egypt, to a twenty-one-year-old girl?”

“You say she promises you the world, Consul; yet she lies as easily as she breathes. You say she promises you a son; yet even if she were to announce that she was carrying your child, how could you be certain—”

He raised a hand. “Enough! Some thoughts are better left unspoken.”

He clasped his hands behind his back and silently gazed out the window for such a long time that he seemed to have forgotten my presence, until finally he spoke again. The tenor of his voice had changed in some subtle way; in the silent interim, he had come to some decision regarding the queen.

But first he would deal with another matter. He cleared his throat. “I want you to know, Gordianus, that I would never have executed Meto.”

“But you told me—” “I told you what I deemed necessary to tell you, in order to gain the desired result.” He turned to face me. “Did the immediate threat to Meto not spur you to find the truth about the poisoned amphora?”

“Perhaps. But still—”

“I know men, Gordianus. If any skill has brought me to the place I occupy today, it’s my ability to judge the character and capacity of the men around me. Some men respond to encouragement, some to threats, some to questions about their honor. The trick lies in perceiving the best way to inspire each man to do his utmost. I think I know you, Gordianus, better than you realize. The proof, as always, lies in the result.”

I shook my head. “Then you never believed Meto was guilty?”

“Did I say that, Gordianus? I believe I said something slightly different. But the important thing is that Meto shall be freed at once and restored to my side.”

“As if nothing had happened?”

“I’ve learned to forgive my foes, Gordianus. Some of them have even learned to forgive me. Should it not be easier for two friends to forgive one another?”

I gritted my teeth. “You posit a false syllogism, Consul.”

“How so?”

“
You
need to be forgiven; Meto has done nothing for which he needs forgiveness.”

“Oh, really? How good finally to hear you say that, Gordianus! Your son is blameless after all.”

“I meant—”

“I know what you meant. But the choice of how to proceed beyond this . . . unfortunate breach of trust . . . lies with Meto, I think, and not with you. Is your son free to make his own decisions, or will you continue to look over his shoulder and judge him at every turn, holding him hostage to your disapproval? Have my actions toward Meto been any more destructive than your own, when you disowned him? If that breach could be healed, then can this one not be healed as well?”

How deftly Caesar had turned the tables on me, elevating his own decisions above argument while challenging my paternal authority and moral judgment! I chafed at his insinuation, but I could not summon a rebuttal. Either Meto was his own man, or he was not; and if he was, then I had to acknowledge once and for all that he had moved beyond my power to shape his opinions and desires. Would he rush back to Caesar’s side, his imperator’s “unfortunate breach of trust” forgiven and forgotten? Or had the worm of doubt insinuated itself permanently into Meto’s thoughts, and would he never again be able to render to Caesar the loving allegiance the man once had commanded of him? Caesar was right: The choice belonged to Meto, not to me.