CHAPTER XXII

XXII

And, in fact, this was only the beginning.

–Bellona’s temple… that one which my father consecrated….

Cornelia’s stunned look seemed lost amidst her pale parchment-like face. She could hardly control her words.

–…. Nobody knows how…A real pyre, Calpurnia.

Yes, a funeral pyre… This was making me nervously tremble, though quite imperceptibly. The devastated temple which I once saw in my visions returned to my memories… And so did you, pouring blood all through your body, within my arms….

–Kornel … does he know…?

My voice went out, alien and mechanical.

– Everyone in Rome is hanging on…! Fortunately, Apollo’s temple is still standing… what does it all portend?

I told her what Kornel had warned me about destroyed Basilica Portia and Curia Hostilia.

– Yes, don’t discard the idea this might have a meaning: the rabble, mourning their indecent false leader’s execution, beating down what best represents Roman patricians’ solid values. Our Cato should have lived at my father’s time… However, who knows, maybe some kind of superior will might have chosen him to live in this age for a well-defined purpose: his lonely defence, amidst his inebriety and that pathetic bizarreness of his, of what many think is… ridiculous, unreal and utterly unpractical. Fortunately, our Marcia and Portia have shown themselves as loyal friends: it seems that Cato hasn’t learnt anything about my trading on wines (something unbearable of a Cornelia) Truly, Calpurnia, what I am doing is immensely good for many families throughout Roman world. Just remember what my situation was like: Milo was exiled and I needed to pay for bodyguards during all that time after Clodius; therefore I had to get a good amount of money to live as it suits our lineage. You know that I am no spendthrift, unlike so many families we both know but…. Neither do you ignore that I like treating my servants well. My father’s memory is enough to intimidate them. Not to mention Milo’s shadow… then I don’t need to use violence against them. On the other hand, there is so much need of manpower for our vineyards! As you can imagine, the villa has to be kept. You who have villae by the sea well know how that air carrying salt and ashes damages buildings …

All this exposure of reasons to justify her businesses made me think there was something else. However, I also had my own secrets and then I did not find it fair or fitting to scrutinize her privacy….

–By the way…I see you full of life, even…self-confident. Having dared….doing something you had never dared has positively helped you…. You are going to need it, Calpurnia…

Again the old quiver. She looked into my eyes understandingly, with that touch of tenderness proper of someone very close to you and old enough to be your mother .There was no need to say “You know that well, Calpurnia”. She silently embraced me and left.

I thought that it wouldn´t be fitting to go and see Bellona’s wreck, though one of my friends could have come with me in the litter…The rabble would be too excited and I decided that I should stay in my room , examining that gift brought by Kornel to Domus Publica. It was a string musical instrument, carved in some kind of smooth, almost ethereal fragrant wood, quite similar to that which Blodwynn once brought, though mine was not as capriciously shaped as hers. He had also given me a flask with whose contents – some kind of queasy, sticky-scented anointment – he told me to slightly smear both strings and frame. Likewise, inside a tiny agate arch, he showed me a collection of what might be small gems in seven gold threads, similar to pomegranate, carnelian, amber, jade, turquoise, beryl and amethyst. He told me to activate them with my following menses and then, for a week, I would anoint them with that balm, in the same way as I would do it on my instrument. Each day I would work on one string of beads, which I would put around my neck and, focusing my attention on the light which was being filtered through the tiny gems, I would rhythmically play one string , starting with the lowest one, setting my mind in that sound as deeply as in the sparkling of the gems , the first day I would use the pomegranate, the following day I would work on the carnelian and the string whose note was a bit less low than that of the previous day….and so on until the seventh day, dedicated to the amethyst and the highest notes. Obviously, this should be carried about at a time in which I would not be disturbed by anyone – not to mention the Vestals – at night and, if possible, when the moon was waxing. Why did he dare advising me that, knowing that I would have to do it alone and foreseeing that the consequences would be similar to my previous experiences? Nevertheless he knew that, encouraged after having got over my prejudices by wandering around Rome with a man in a litter, I was willing to take challenges which could lead me to gain what was essential to improve my existence… Yes, Kornel had come to know me so well… And, once finished my menses, the night I saw a thin, shiny curved line on that bit of sky that could be seen from the peristylium, after making sure that I was not going to be disturbed or heard by any vestal, I started to slowly anoint the tiny pomegranates with that acre musty balm, concentrating my attention on those bits of crystal like crystallized blood, as if raising a silent prayer to that motherly force that we call Bona Dea, Aphrodite, Tellus…among other names. Through that sombre red of the pomegranate, I also saw those flames that had devastated the temple dedicated to that motherly power which protected Roman warriors and the blood spilt by them and consecrated to it “Mother, Goddess…. I pray you that this won’t mean a foreseeing of his death… Save Rome from being devastated as it happened in the past. If you listen to my prayer, I shall convince him so that he will have your temple restored” Perhaps was this obsessive request getting mixed with my own voice, played like an instrument, constantly repeating that note which was being torn from a string of the harp. Merged into that sweetish repelling mist which was flooding my tongue and nostrils, my sight, my ears…?

I woke up in the middle of the night, feeling that taste brimming my throat and on the verge of vomiting. How on earth would I go on like that? Perhaps was it a plan that had been devised to test my resilience?

Which would be the outcome of all this? How would it all affect my health? Evidently, Kornel had a clear intention.

The morning after, when noon sunshine woke me up from the peristylium, one of the vestals broke into my cubiculum. Something alarming, no doubt, since never before had any of the girls dared intruding into my privacy so shamelessly.

–Domina…. Noble Marcus Antonius wishes to greet you and inform you about several things …. Excuse my ….behaviour. He has urged me to do so

Bloody… beast! From that moment I guessed how he would proceed years later. Even my father, in spite of his plebeian origin and all that has been said about him, has always considered Antonius one fine example of the filth proud Roman patricians have become. It relieves me, however, that all that Kornel has made me assimilate through queasiness, fears and strain might be useful to summon evil forces so that this former magister equitum of yours and that evil Eastern force, Isis’ incarnation, might be sacrificed in honour of the natural forces which veil for the good ruling of the peoples and propitiate the qualities that make lineages noble.

Luckily, he was wearing the toga when we met in the tablinium. Yes, what a relief that the folding didn´t let me see that nasty thick neck and that unpleasant volume of his muscles, though it is said that most Roman women, from all social levels… well, you know.

–Dear Calpurnia… I know that it is no vestal’s labour but…your husband hastily begged me to see you as soon as I arrived in Rome….

Despite all he might be, his expression did not show the attitude that other Roman patricians who share his views keep regarding the virgin keepers of the sacred fire, cunningly using them as they liked. But this was no moment to scrutinize my personal likings.

–Noble Marcus….But, then, my husband…?

–In Alexandria he commended me to keep order in Rome in his name…

“And controlling anything related to Caesar, including your family”, that was obvious.

–When he gets enough resources he will march on Northern Africa in order to suppress the only place which is still controlled by Cato and his followers…

He gave a long gaze throughout the room as if missing Marcia and Portia.

–The problem is that Egypt is still involved in a civil war, little King Ptolemy against his sister Cleopatra, who, as it is said, still has the ambition of ruling as a female Pharaoh in the ancient style of almost two thousand years ago…Then you can draw your own conclusions….

Gods, don’t let him see how pale I am growing inside! I almost saw his irony: no, he can’t know what I have guessed: only Kornel could….

–Which risks may all this mean …for him?

–The same as any other campaign o siege….except court intrigues that, as far as I know, are always present there in the East. Of course, your husband already knows…something, maybe quite a lot about those courts…It all depends on how far he means to go…That almost divinized pomp we lack in Rome is… such an attractive temptation for any ambitious Roman who is confident of his charisma…

Hateful, hateful, hateful… What does he mean by that? Why should he want to bring me down? Quite predictable, however, of the type of man who worships whores like those from gens Claudia and clever though shameless shrews like Fulvia but considers discreet decent Roman women as plain beings to sneer at. Gods, if only all this I have been through could be useful to put this kind of fellows where they should be!

–I must leave you, Calpurnia , as I have thought of letting myself be seen in front of Bellona’s temple in order to quieten down the rabble, warn them that the fire was no fateful omen and make them feel protected under my authority, as well as assure them that Caesar is safe and sound. You know I will constantly take interest on you, Calpurnia… I’m aware there is no man at home to veil over you.

–Thanks, Marcus… Anyway, my father often pays a visit. You know that my husband decided so, that he wouldn’t go to fight Pompeius so that he could be close to me…

He scrutinized my face slowly.

–By the way, the head of Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus was almost ceremoniously offered by Egyptian Great Chamberlain to your husband. As you can imagine, he did not like it at all…. Take care, Calpurnia.