CHAPTER XXXIII

XXXIII

Yes… Even you had remembered it. That familiar, recognizable though ghostly

presence which, months before, had come to interrupt that almost sacred moment: the

Western Sun matching the Queenly Goddess of Fertility. This situation was more than

convenient for you: coming to visit me in the middle of the night and, then, vanishing in

the middle of the night. Otherwise, you would not have celebrated your triumphi

 

Therefore, you would pleasantly stay all the month that was needed for arranging the
four triumphi and the pending ludi in memory of your daughter Julia. Marcia and Portia

 

were aware of my mood, in spite of my efforts to conceal the intense heartbeat that

could almost be heard and that inner anxiety which, thanks to my endurance, wouldn’t

manifest themselves through tears.

–It’s said that, as soon as the triumphi and ludi have been held, he will immediately go

to Hispania in order to suffocate the last focus of Pompeius’ followers’ resistance….

How many more days are you going to stay with him, Calpurnia? Don’t you think you

should return to Herculaneum with your father after Caesar’s departure? We both

witnessed how suddenly radiant you looked there…You badly need to leave Rome

and all this intoxicated air…

I felt their eyes full of understanding and tenderness…conscious of my prostration. No

doubt, despite it all, I should return to anointing. However, besides all that was

quivering inside me, I knew, I could read that in their eyes, that something else was

being told around Palatine Hill and other less selected vici in Rome. Something that

 

your collaborators in Egyptian campaigns knew well and had hurriedly spread

around… As I came to know later on, you had splendidly welcomed the Egyptian

queen, his little brother-husband and that few-month-old babe who was with them. It

had to be your niece Atia, your foster-son’s mother, who updated me with the latest

news, since Marcia, Portia, Cornelia or the vestals were delicate enough as not to drop

it, knowing that I hadn’t seen you for over two years.

It happened during the second triumphus, while we were beholding chained princess

Arsinoe being driven onwards as part of the parade, which had already arrived at the

Forum. Like Vercingetorix himself the day before. I’ll never understand how in a single

 

morning so many inebriating, even intoxicating emotions could mixed up together,

aroused by that amount of varied feelings I had gathered for so many days and

months and my own feverish state, triggered by all that didn’t know but could guess

crystal-clear. I could hardly understand each thing Atia was prattling about…. We both

did share our bedazzlement at those treasures which were displayed at the beginning

of the parade. It was the first time I could appreciate all that astonishing amount of

gold Gallic people used to own and their goldsmiths and blacksmiths’ amazing skill,

almost beyond what is human…Perhaps this exhibition of lavishness had been

planned to dazzle the audience so that it might lessen the painful impression made by

that man, extremely wasted after so many years’ rotting inside the Lautumiae. A

 

devastation which had been carefully programmed in order that, while he was being
driven to his execution at Tulianum, his decrepitude would be obscenely, ruthlessly

 

exhibited. Maybe it might have been arranged so that the last vision of Celtic peoples’

leader should be a most degenerate, shameful one and, thus, he could be inflicted the

cruellest possible punishment for such a charismatic warrior. But it happened to be

useless. Beyond his corpse-like skinny appearance, his dry, thick colourless shock of

hair –almost waist-length –and parchment-like, deep-lined face, his strong personality

stood up above his prostration and fetters. No, I did not want to feel that choke in my

throat. He, like you, had moved thousands of wills. Mightn’t you have shared the same

fate? Like Crasus dying at the hands of Parthians, being satirized by a transvestite in a

sort of triumphal-like parody?...Gods…No… The spectre of that ambiguous Bithynian

king who was so related to you in your younger years seemed to hang over my

restlessness. The same that, once those white sacrifice-bound oxen had gone passed,

sped my heartbeat, blocking my breath and triggering a stream of cold sweat that

made me fear to collapse, maybe lifeless, and , consequently, destroy the first of your

great triumphi, which you had long been yearning for…. No, I decided to control my

pulse, feeling my blood beating inside my arms and chest at the same pace as the

slow trotting that was coming near through that solid, overwhelming clamour, that of

four crowned white horses driving a huge golden crown held by a slave, under which

revived Jupiter was manifesting himself through Venus’ descendant in front of Rome,

clad in royal purple, laurel-wreathed, brandishing the eagle-topped sceptre, hieratic,

crimson-chiselled. His cheekbones looked more sharpened than ever under that

remarkably worn-out parchment-like skin. That spectre-like blue-grey in his eyes

seemed blind, alien to everyone in that bountiful coming down onto earth. How could I

imagine myself as a worthy queen for a Divus Rex, being unable to perpetuate your

 

kin…. I know you didn´t see me. I simply stood beholding that king-god’s reincarnation,

almost with the same admiration as your nephew and so many faces spread among

the crowd. Jupiter…? May Jupiter have suddenly abandoned that limited human

nature in which he had deigned himself to march through Rome and, then, left an 

armless human being in front of a mass of drunken war veterans who denigrate their

general with howling and horselaugh? Why did I have to witness all that? Who could

have paid them for yelling out Nicomedes’ memory, that ambiguously-sexed monarch,

destroying your excessively glorious ascension … whereto? What brought it back to

my mind, the memory of that experience, vision, cursed dream? Perhaps it was the

effect of that force, drenched with destructive life, through which I once believed to

have inebriated that sacred serpent’s womb and that swollen virility filling it at that

moment. I held myself back in horrified repulsion. I knew it was me who was growing

undermined by all that.

A short while later, scared by the uproar, I saw how one of the chariot axes broke,

causing you to fall off, frightening half Rome. Just like when Sulla slid into the blood of

sacrificed oxen. There is no doubt that many of us felt somehow relieved when we

saw you climbing up Capitol stairs on your knees , as if, expiating your pride of feeling

like Jupiter, you could scare away the bad omen which that incident might have

inflicted on Rome. Meanwhile, that poor Gallic warrior who had once dared comparing

himself to New Alexander was purging it inside Tulianum .

 

As it was expected, you returned to your headquarters at Villa Publica, where you

would stay until the fourth triumphus. I sincerely welcomed it: having you on my lectus

that night would have felt infaustus, almost sacrilegious… since I considered myself

unworthy of a divus and that brutal, merciless despoiling you of your glory could make

me definitely impure? Perhaps this might be foretelling what would flog my inner being

the day after, during the celebration of the second triumphus, which was dedicated to

 Egypt. I remember that, under our Octavius’ sharp look, I was talking with Atia about

the possibility that part of Alexandrian library would come to Rome in order to be

included in that one which was planned to be founded here. I don’t know why I might

think it could also be part of the booty which was being displayed at the beginning of

the parade. Behind the effigy of the river Nile, the great fertilizer, dominated by Isis,

the fertile goddess, personified, like Gaul rivers the day before, by a marble-like,

virility-overflowing male figure, there came a large turtle-shell cage with Arsinoe, that

vexed Egyptian princess, the unforgiven enemy of the woman who, next to her childlike

husband and her baby-boy, was triumphantly watching the scene form a distant

point.

 –It is not fitful for them to come to this side of the Pomerium publicly. Nevertheless

 

the queen will be present at the inauguration of the temple that my uncle has erected

to worship Venus Genetrix in the Forum which he has planned at Campus Martius. It is

 

rumoured that the female Pharaoh’s solid gold statue has been laid next to the

goddess’ ….

 

Was Atia really aware how deeply could this inner trembling shatter my health, both

physically and mentally? Perhaps I even thought that it might be a sort of strategy to

get rid of me altogether. No, I can’t admit there could be any plot against me. Though

no doubt it would be awfully clever, should it be true.. Maybe, still shocked by the

impression caused by Vercingetorix the day before, I was not so moved by the vision

 

of that young woman, still beautiful, haughty and fresh in spite of her chains, as many

Romans, mainly plebeians, dumb-looking, shivering, blinking back tears.

–They cannot imagine seeing a queen in chains…. It is something that transcends

their understanding, no matter Roman reticence against monarchy.

I made an effort to sound as cold as posible.

 

– The queen of Egypt…. She must be absolutely delighted by this show. Hasn’t she

ever thought that even she….could find herself in this situation one fine day…?

 

Frozen cold pricked my skin pores. What might have brought this idea to my thoughts?

Atia seemed to share my trembling: she was gazing at me, suddenly grown pale.

Beyond my eyes, I could almost perceive it crystal-clear, Cleopatra in a cage, turned

 

Frozen cold pricked my skin pores. What might have brought this idea to my thoughts?

Atia seemed to share my trembling: she was gazing at me, suddenly grown pale.

Beyond my eyes, I could almost perceive it crystal-clear, Cleopatra in a cage, turned

into a circus beast, smothered under heavy chains, being paraded along Via Sacra,

 

arousing public despising instead of compassion…. Anyway, there must certainly be

more of an ardent wish than some true foretelling of something still to come, such a

violent yearning that I thought it could be generating a blast of force which, like the

previous day, might make him collapse, drag away that triumphant divinized charioteer

who was coming behind, evidently pleased with this sublime gift which was being

offered to that embodied fertile goddess.

 

“I also noticed that, Calpurnia” Kornel would confide later on. “I had the chance…I’d

rather say I sought for it…to be relatively near the Alexandrian Royal Family, so that t I

could study her face. It turned out to be deceiving, like all her presence, all of it

masked with gold, precious gems, silk and make-up…But, deep inside those black

henna tracks which counterfeited her eyes, I found some perfidious defying sparkle,

hiding what you felt. A small, insignificant being , almost invisible under those chains

which were her only companion in another parade like this, along Via Sacra, reaching

the Forum that one day will be built in your husband’s memory. I truly know that this is

the real pharaoh, the one who plots and schemes in order to avoid being destroyed

since she is aware that, unless she acts in a brutally menacing way, everyone will

notice she is the most vulnerable being of her species…”

 

On that occasion there was no uproar or humiliation, as it had sadly happened the day

before…Neither did we have to cope with them the two following days. It was during

the last one, dedicated to your African victory, when my attention stopped being

concentrated in the Egyptian queen, though I knew she was going to be present, as

usual. Who knows if I had previously guessed this day would be especially painful for

me since it would deeply affect my Marcia and Portia, apart from the fact that, as Atia

had told me, it was going to be more polemic than the previous triumphi, since no-one
would have ever before conceived the celebration of a victory over Romans. No doubt

that shock began to be clearly felt from the moment that Iuba, the little Mauritanian

 

prince, was exhibited as ruthlessly as any other illustrious prisoner. I saw many

women from the vici crying noisily. Then, there came the picture representing Scipio’s

 

suicide…. All Romans, both patricians and plebeians remained in deep silence, as a

token of profound respect for Pompeius’ father-in-law, the descendant of Hannibal’s

defeater and a lineage which was already glorious at the time when the Iulii were still

not renowned at all.

On an ivory carriage like the previous ones, there stood a huge painting with a being

who seemed to be human and whose remarkable nose and reddish hair I immediately

recognized in spite of not having seen him for so many years. He looked like a

ferocious beast, tearing his belly and enjoying the sight of his bloody entrails. Amidst

that nausea which invaded my body and those clouds blinding my eyes until a trail of

tears cleared them up, I heard shouting everywhere, everyone’s spontaneous

weeping….Wrath, anyway. Miraculously restrained but overflowing within those hurt

voices and increasing curses. My poor girls… Among the tears that were choking my

throat, some kind of strange happiness brightened me up. Most Romans were there at

that moment, feeling the same anger as my friends, who I could not make out in the 

audience.

–Marcius told me that, obviously, his daughter was not willing to come with him… and

Portia had the intention of staying with her in such a…. special day. –Atia let me know

while, once again, we witnessed the confrontation between those who cheerfully

acclaimed the Victorious Sun characterized as Jupiter Capitolinus, this time less

roaring than the previous days, and that growing, thunder-like protest against that

impudent display of the last genuine Roman’s fateful ending, as I was to be told about

by his daughter, lit up by her father’s memory and that brand-new widow, still an

ardent lover….

 

–We knew it…. Rome will worship Cato forever…and there will be great men who will

not envy your husband’s glory in one, two hundred years, Calpurnia, whereas my

father’s memory will still remain….No matter how vilified he might be by those who

surround Caesar. By the way, Brutus is writing some kind of amending memento in his

honour….

 

As you can imagine, I could not protest at all, though I was meant to support your

views. No, I couldn’t, my lord… This was quite ill-advised of you. How on earth were

you able to make such a serious mistake? Is your knowledge of Roman people so

scarce as not to realize that they still worship the values of old Republic, beyond the

extravagant customs of so many patricians and homines novi? This was what started
to make me feel uneasy, my husband. The fact of seeing so many crucial aspects that

you don´t take into account –maybe due to bad counselling or your own self-

bedazzlement –and also being aware that a good number of Romans no longer

supported you, as it had been clearly seen throughout these last celebrations.

–Can’t you see, Calpurnia? Like us, many families have been the victims of his

proscriptions and deprived of their patrimony. No matter how clement he may show

himself by forgiving Pompeius’ collaborators. These are no more than external

gestures to try to convince Romans of his alleged good will. The most serious thing is

how shamelessly those who have become rich thanks to proscriptions flaunt their

wasteful spending…Brutus has told me that Caesar, in order to avoid rumours, may

probably pass a lex sumptuaria so as to restrict luxury. No, I don’t think he might

 

succeed. Would your father be determined to support him, Marcia? What kind of

meaning would life have for Marcius Philippus if he should lead an austere existence?

Would abominable Antonius be willing to sacrifice himself for austerity’s sake? Not to

mention his dearest Clodii. Talking about showy spendthrifts...Cicero seems to have

the intention of … singing your husband’s glory? What does you father think about all

this, Calpurnia?

 

–Lucius Calpurnius Piso Caesoninus …All of us, including his daughter, know him

well. He is a skilful negotiator, able to speculate with anyone or anything he may have

at hand. Charming, learned ….but Lucius Calpurnius Piso, anyway.

 

This conversation was taking place in Cato’s just recovered domus, at the same time

as a huge mass of Roman vicini were struggling to grab as many as possible of those

endless delicacies which they would behold that evening for the first and last time in

their lives, the same kind of food and drink you could find on the tables of

indescribable Clodii and Marcius Philippus himself, apart from the variety of wines

from Campania, Greece and Hispania ,which had nothing in common with those you

can find in the taverns under the insulae or crossroad collegia. I had made an effort to

 join my friends on such a sad day before meeting you up at that private banquet which
you were offering in the Forum. It was going to be our first encounter before Rome’s

 

eyes…. No, that shining crimson on Jupiter Rex’s hands and face had vanished…This

was the same ivory-like hand, though that parchment-like shade caused by such a

long exposure to sunlight, the same strong right hand which had brandished your

sword… Once again I could behold that face, hardened and pale, on which your skin,

worn-out by so many years of war campaigns, kept clung to those harmonious

prominent bones. Your thinned lips turned into that smile which would brighten the

rictus of those deep tracks on both sides of your mouth…. 

“Nevertheless, why should we discard the idea of counting on a similar figure to

ancient kings in order to solve the issues that this new universal Rome has to face. We

can’t remain hopelessly anchored on those fears from three hundred years ago.”

 

“But, Philodemus… does he really acts thinking of Rome’s interests? My father is not

the only one who knows which kind of plans has been making for himself since his

early youth…. So do you, Cornelia… After returning from his years as a quaestor in

Hispania, he plotted a rebellion of Northern Italian cities against the Senate. As you

can see, this has nothing to do with what your father did. Apart from doing his best to

crush down anyone who might be an obstacle for him. Just remember Bibulus, my late

former husband. Not to mention those vexations he inflicted on my father….He,

Marcus Portius Cato, was the only one who had the courage of denouncing Caesar’s

legions’ massacres in Gaul. What else could be said about how he faked his sounding

defeats at the hands of Britons and Germans? I beg you excuses, Calpurnia, but this

is something that your father knows too well.”

 

Yes, Portia was undeniably right. Her words thundered inside me while your trancelike,

alarmingly commanding eyes were studying my face, perhaps reading each of the

words that your late antagonist’s daughter had been telling us that evening during one

of those dinners at Herculaneum. I could not avoid noticing that your hair had become

extremely scarce and fully grey except for some fair streaks…You realized I had felt

unable to find any coherent words. Then you just laid an intense, almost wet kiss on

my forehead while carefully holding my icy hand…I remember you were with your

cousin Lucius and my father. You must have perceived my relief at not having to deal

with Marcus Antonius. That evening I began being aware that you did not fully trust

him. Even now, both my father and I have no doubts on his taking part in the first part

of the plot…And I know… as does Kornel, too … that he is also marked with that living

force, terrible and alien to what’s human, with which both of you were anointed .

Yourself and… the Egyptian cobra…Kornel once explained me that the curses of

Gallic sorcerers, who you know so well, derive from that generating power which

springs up within the deepest part of your inner self and connects you to that endless

 

field of eerie living energy which lies in the bosom of the earth…No, I should pluck that

scene out of my memories. Otherwise, you could remember it right then. I’m sure you

remember the talk we had about that feast you were offering to Roman people and ,

on the other hand, about the urgent need of having your will written, which, like

everyone else’s, would be kept under the Vestals’ custody, whose High Priestess

would deliver only to my father in its due time. Why did Lucius Calpurnius Piso

suddenly tremble? No, he couldn’t have been engaged in the plot… Yes, perhaps he

might have been somehow influential on it…. I tried to keep an attitude that might look

proper of the highly magnanimous Victor’s wife, concealing those traces that so many

 

lonely, isolated years within Domus Publica had left on my public behaviour. The

reincarnated goddess from the East had possibly not been invited, perhaps due to

 

some rash of wise inspiration, on the grounds that a female Pharaoh, Ptah’s daughter,

could never be invited. It was she who must send for whomever she chose.

– Calpurnia, my little one….

These words were the only ones you repeatedly pronounced while your fingers were

slightly touching my face, once we were left alone inside the litter which was driving us

home along Via Sacra… between those two lines of walking bulks, the elephants that had been chosen as torch bearers to light up the road while the thankful crowd’s

clamouring was breaking that night’s silence. Perhaps all that bustling from outside

would not let you speak…It looked so weird, that flower wreath on your aged skin

despite the eerie sparkling of your grey-blue eyes…Maybe I would have preferred to

stay out there, watching that solemn, vibrating breath-taking sight of those twenty

elephants with their huge torches on top, setting fire to Rome’s black sky.
 

–I remember that elephant in Britannia…

Were you speaking to yourself? Some brief shivering ran across my body: yes,

perhaps you were able to perceive my thoughts ….

–Calpurnia, did I….? No, certainly not… How on earth could I have told you…? We

have hardly seen each other after our Gallic campaign! It was during our second

attempt in Britannia. We had managed to bring one of our elephants from the

Continent. Then we covered it with metal plates so that it could look like a cataphract,

with camouflaged soldiers on top, shooting all kinds of projectiles…

Your laughter sounded so loud and relaxed that it could even be heard from outside.

–Imagine the natives’ panicking! No doubt what a great discovery this was. We must

be grateful not only to Carthaginians but also to Macedonians themselves for it… It

made us Romans notice what an efficacious weapon they could ever be… Do you

know that when Pirro sent his elephants against Roman legions, these did not even

run away? Many of the corpses that remained lying on the battlefield had faces which

had been disfigured by horn impact.. Sorry, Calpurnia… I so often forget that I am no

longer in my campsite, dealing with my soldiers….

Your smile had suddenly become spontaneous, even shy….apologising. The old

shudder returned to my womb….

 

.... Where I welcomed you back a little while later, immediately after you had given your

formal but warm greeting to both the High Vestal and the small ones. It was hot that

night. Some warm damp air stream was coming from the shadowy peristylium, hanging

 

over our lying naked bodies

 

– You know, Calpurnia…? As soon as ludi are over, I‘ll return to Hispania…. I have

just remembered what I revealed to you about Sulla that night….

Why should I think you might be suspicious about how my pulse had suddenly sped

 

up?

–Could he still be alive?

I saw you smile in the shadows.

–I’ve just remembered that I forgot to tell you something then….Perhaps I did not do it

so as not to worry you…Are you upset, my little one? I feel your pulse accelerated…

Remember I told you about an acquaintance of mine and also Balbus’ who confided

me that secret with Sulla’s consent…Well, he dropped some words… I do not know

whether to consider them funny or enigmatic…On his last visit, Lucius Cornelius

himself had told him something about a hypothetical coupling of his seed and mine in

the future…And somebody would be born from it. Someone who, thanks to his

capacity to foretell, would avoid a most serious unfair murder which might affect

millions of people… What the hell would he mean by that? Could it be that, in the long

term, he would still be trying to keep some kind of supremacy over me? You can

imagine the effect this could have on a young quaestor, full of ambition and pride….

 

But he was never able to transform Rome as I have been doing it and I will in the

future. Neither did he want to establish a government structure that should be suitable

for a place which wasn’t a simple city anymore…. It’s really in Sulla’s line… His blood

 

blended with mine… Sometimes, Calpurnia, I think this all comes from some voracious

unsatisfied passion for my mother herself… Weren’t they enough for him, all his wives

and….that dancing queer who devoured his virility and health?...I’ve just

remembered… when he spoke about my seed and his, perhaps he referred to

Pompeia… How on earth could I have forgotten that….?

 

Your sincere thrilling guffaw dissipated the anxiety that was eating me up. For the first

time after so long I heard myself letting out some giggling which grew clearer and

more and more open as your rough but tender hands were exploring my breasts,

nipples, hips, legs….and your strong lips were gliding along my armpits and neck….        

                     

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XXXII

XXXII

Apart from the opinion that Lucius Licinius Luculus might have about enjoying meals

(Thanks, nevertheless, Lucius, for the cherries you brought into Rome and those

gardens of yours that you left to Roman citizens) my father’s dinner at Herculaneum

was not only unplebeian but also brimming with life and freshness due to that large

variety of fish and those carefully prepared, well-balanced sauces, roasts and

dressings. Not to mention the large variety of different fruits which had been preserved

in honey and spices inside the pantry throughout winter and autumn. I could not

remember such an amount of really delicious food in our Pompeian villa. No , I’m sure

that, with no need of thinking twice, both my friends and I would have renounced to our

daily life in Rome and decided to withdraw into this shelter, where not only the air but

also personal relationships were crystal-clearer, calmer, kindly... Here you could feel

yourself bursting with new life, yearning for a real existence and carrying about brand

new things.

–You are about to become quite a significant woman, Calpurnia...This should be

enough to satisfy this anxiety that so often springs through all your skin pores. Why

must you lead the same kind of living during the whole of your lifetime? The fact of

having been living isolated for the last twelve or thirteen years doesn’t mean that, after

your husband’s return, you may be bound to face quite a different lifestyle....

I noticed that Philodemus was trying to cheer me up. But... what should I do to change

that routine-dragged role which I had played for so long? Wouldn’t my long-time

acquaintances still be the same as before? How dramatically would it all change for

me? Obviously I was not expected to start up a group who wished to be devoted to

cultural life. Neither would you be so likely to trust me so deeply that I could afford

playing a crucial role in your political career. Nor would anybody else consider me

such a fascinating, useful woman as to handle me as a mediatrix with you.

 

–What kind of transcendent role could a barren wife play for....New Alexander?

My father and Philodemus gave me a startled smiled after those words that they had

never heard before in my voice and tried to convince me that you and I had had such a

scarce time to ...serenely know each other in a suitable climate that could enable your

seed to hold on to my womb fitfully. No doubt this could come true as soon as you

started spending more time in Rome. Calpurnius Piso, nevertheless, was looking at

me in a way that had nothing to do with his smile and that voice which had been

trained to sound calm.

 

 

Six days before Sextilis Kalendae, some kind of early but intense damp heat began

soaking Rome, triggering our painful pining for Herculaneum. Could it be because I

might be trying to hold on to my former life as an adolescent, to that time immediately

before our marriage? Previously, Antonius had been so unusually gentle as to inform

us well in advance. You had the intention of staying on the other side of the pomerium

until the day that your triumphus could be held. Therefore, it wouldn’t be an

unexpected arrival to which my body should get abruptly adapted. Portia and Marcia,

though, found it fitful to stay with me as they were aware of my mood, apart from some

kind of slight strange prostration, possibly due to the fact of having been urged to stop

my customary massaging. Besides, it would not be suitable that you might notice

anything unusual about me. This recovery of my usual everyday’s life was enhanced

by the joyful news that radiant Portia had just brought.

– Marcus.... Marcus Iunius Brutus....

She couldn’t speak. Assertive, energetic Portia was blocked by her visible trembling.

 

–He is going to marry me... He has bought it for me... The house of... Our house...

Her tears sprang out among her giggling, which she was trying to keep back.... Gods...

Portia, Portia, my Portia...Portia of ours...I think she did not notice that my own tears

were merging into hers. So badly did I need to feel their happiness as mine...

–I think, Calpurnia, that, as Cato’s widow, I must come back home. At least

temporarily. Besides, your husband will need you without anyone else around, you

know....

Poor Marcia! She was trying to raise my spirits up, too.

–Don’t worry: we will visit you as often as we used to, as long as your husband does

not try to take you up.

I tried to hide my quivering through irony while we tasted that hot sweet wine in which

calming herbs had been brewed and the honey pies we would usually eat at that time

of the evening, before remaining alone in my room, getting ready for sleep. I knew you

were fully aware of that ice running through my hands at that moment and of my

burning forehead, my choked stomach amidst that dusk-tinged silence coming from

the peristylium….

– My little Calpurnia, my wife....

I let your dry lips kiss my forehead.

–Have you been ill?

That voice which used to thunder in my head, dense, modulated, sounding, making my

belly vibrate... was now fading, whispering....

 

 

–No, of course…What else could be expected of a wife who is like a newly-wed bride

and, with no previous warning, must welcome an undercover husband who breaks into

Domus Publica , like a criminal, whereas he should be outside the pomerium? No

don’t worry...Antonius won´t know anything about this. Neither will anybody else in

Rome...

Your eyes, further than what’s purely human than ever, in an unconceivable

transparent shade of blue, within that net of deep wrinkles, became miraculously

brighter in your parchment-like face, now paler and thinner. But there wasn’t the

dazzling smile which could have blown away all those ghosts that had been taking

shape since that fateful night and that were now inevitably getting through my anxiety,

which I was striving to suppress as those tender solid hands seemed to deeply know

each muscle of my thighs, all those paths and curves of my hips, belly and breasts...

Just as if you had never really left this lectus during these thirteen years. No, it can’t be

true….How on earth would it be possible, that another woman could also possess this

outburst of life and virile force that is now flowing through my lower belly? I will never

forget the way my sleepy lips uninhibitedly caressed your eyelashes, those tracks on

your face, your nose, sharper than ever. I wonder why I did not notice your hair,

already fully grey and thinner, or your extremely thin body. I think you read my budding

restlessness while lying in silence, your arm around my surrendered body, your head

hidden on my neck. Would I have expected anything else? But, nevertheless, I didn’t

want this, to feel that old anguish, so similar to that sensation I felt at my wedding

night, when I blessed my father for having chosen you for me and I consciously

opened up my being to absolute rendition, expecting, yearning to feel it full of that life,

growing nourished with your seed... I wished you had only warmly, respectfully greeted

me and then gone away, inventing any excuse.... No, no...Gods.. Kornel.. No, despite

it all, I shouldn’t have given up my body anointing. Who knows...No, I should not have

stopped massaging myself.. Perhaps it could have even made you find me... exciting?

Even so seductive that you could have forgotten about ... that devilish snake?

 

–Calpurnia... why should you keep tormenting me like this...?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

XXXI

It was certainly that restlessness caused by that discovery of myself and also of those diverse unknown….faces -? – of which I had begun to be aware... This was what drove me to ask my father for it, one of these evenings he would come for dinner in Domus Publica with Marcia, Portia and Cornelia Sulla.

–Why do you think I had such a big villa built, my daughter, but to put up as many people I could lodge, including all of you? If you hadn’t been the first to suggest it, I would have felt urged to do so. You four need to forget about Rome for a few days. I also need it before your husband returns. You know what this will mean.... He has made plans for no less than four triumphi to celebrate....

He thought it fitful not to go on speaking. He knew that our guests were informed about how the things in Northern Africa were going on...

–Thanks a lot for your generosity, Lucius Calpurnius...However, both Portia and I think that our duty is to keep waiting for news about the development of events.

Marcia was growing paler and paler and more and more haggard each day, at the same pace as her lines on both sides of her mouth became deeper inside those thinning cheeks.

–Our mood is not the best one to visit such a fascinating place as your villa at Herculaneum.... I think we must go on supporting those who are still loyal to Cato and...join our thoughts to theirs...till they eventually put it to auction, the house which used to be ours...

Her voice faintly cracked. She took a deep breath while Portia was caressing her hair. My father remained in respectful silence, prudently looking askance at me, letting me guess what had been wandering about his heart for a long time...

The same thing which came out into light a scarce month later. Marcus Iunius Brutus himself, who had arrived in anticipation, communicated the news to Marcia and Portia. After learning it from him, that you would return in two months, I finally decided that I would take my poor friends to Herculaneum, no matter what it could take....

–.... I knew his pride wouldn’t surrender to Caesar...I must speak with the philosophers who used to go with him and live at home... about his last hours...

–Portia!!!

Some kind of steely ice went through my fibres: never before had sweet, prudent Marcia raised her voice so loud or lose her temper.... Yes in such a situation anything would be predictable...Cato’s widow sank her head between her thighs, refusing to find a shelter in none of us, pouring her pain before herself, unwilling to exhibit her mourning for that one she had loved devotedly, alien to herself, barrenly – Yes, I was not the only one- for so many years...Portia...Gods, no, Portia... Perhaps her mourning was that, with dry eyes, watching beyond us, alien to anything around her, maybe beholding that bodiless life which could be her own father right now, hovering over us... protecting them, both of his women? Could it be that she, like me, might be listening to an aching echo, sibyl-like, bond to her blood within herself?...Mother... should you be able to reach him, guide him... Enable him to enlighten and protect her the way he couldn’t when he was a fleshy limited being.. My poor girls... I drew Portia’s inert cheek to mine while I was caressing Marcia’s shaking locks, still weeping in silence on her lap. Whoever you may be... Marcus... Mother... Do not tear them apart from me...

–He will forgive all of them...Brutus himself and all those who fought for Pompeius, as long as that they accept ... his supremacy. You know, he has tried to convince them that the idea of Republic has become... obsolete in a world which has been different from that in which the last Tarquinius was defeated during these two hundred years.

Portia’s cold, isolated tears kept on falling...even in the morning when we set off for Herculaneum.

- .... Gods ... He even dared saying that your father had been a simple naïve apprentice by quitting dictatorship as soon as he found it unnecessary, Cornelia...

Cornelia Sulla’s skin had become not only extremely ivory-like but even ashy.

–No wonder ... Even you, Calpurnia, should take that into account, in spite of being his wife and, consequently, who, in the short time, will share his destiny.... who knows if that of Roman queen.... Are you aware of this historical role you may be about to play?

There was no irony in her words. Cornelia only seemed to be describing all that she meant. I got almost scared. Was this perhaps what I was bound to and I had been praying for to those higher forces who rule everyone’s life? What if, after all, all that I learnt that night about you... and that woman could be no more than a delusion which might have been somehow plotted by someone who would be interested in taking me away from you and, thus, undermining your interests? Yes, it had been wise of me to take the decision of going to Herculaneum and stay there until your arrival so that I might keep myself away from...

–Calpurnia... Are you listening?

I blinked.

– Yes, Cornelia, I am...

Yes, I think I should give up these massages that may be unbalancing my senses...

–I have the feeling that he wants to forget about my father’s role in his life, that everything he has obtained so far is due to the fact that Sulla decided to spare his life when he was in his early twenties. Therefore, from now on, all his doings would be led to wipe away Lucius Cornelius’ memory. One example of it could be the fact of confronting his great clemency and that widespread belief in Sulla’s ruthless tyranny, knowing that this will mean a large amount of popularity for him. I hope that it won`t mean any obstacle for... my business..

– Why, Cornelia? He really thinks Republic is outdated. I see no reason why a patrician should be forbidden to trade with the fruits of her own land..

Gods, Cornelia... Never before had I been so aware that she may be the luckiest one of all of us. All her children were still alive and she had repeatedly been able to build herself a life, apart from possessing her own financial resources and enjoying the privilege of not being submitted to a paterfamilias. What a contrast with these poor newly-widowed ones, with no offspring or house of their own, since deceased Bibulus’ house was said to be likewise confiscated by Antonius, showing no mercy upon Portia – could anyone expect anything else of him?- ... or even myself

The bright salty breeze of that sunny winter day, announcing that the coast was near, enlivened that life sprout beating inside ourselves during all the time we had been forced to live secluded inside that deep sickly damp valley among hills which was Rome, where it seemed that this chain of scheming, violence and unhealthy conditions of vici like Subura had been condensed during hundreds of years, generating some kind of smothering air, only relieved by the scent of the pine trees which invade our hills... Yes, no doubt Campania was another world: fertile, with those streams of flowing fresh air. Notwithstanding that damp, which, increased by winter cold, became more and more intense as we got nearer the cliff on which my father had erected his colossal-sized villa, which many considered an example of newly-rich homo novus‘ display of power and others , an attempt to set up a place of knowledge, very similar to those in Greece, due to that library to which not even Cicero’s could be compared. A large part of it was said to belong to eminent philosopher Philodemus, that Epicurean who was protected by my father and had his own rooms in the villa, near the chambers which sheltered the collection of papyri, devoting himself to its maintenance and organization as well as making them available to all those scholars who were interested in them.

–I wonder what a Stoic, daughter to one of the most illustrious followers of the masters from the Stoa, may think about being lodged in the same place as an Epicurean...

My father’s hearty irony made Portia smile for the first time in many days.

–Marcia’s father is a most dedicated Epicurean, Lucius Calpurnius. Do not forget that....

– How would I have forgotten him or his dinners, so to call them, my dear! Would he ever give that name to this simple meal we have here in the evening? No, here you won´t see those trays brimming with huge peacock feathers, date-stuffed larks or things like that. Excuse me, Marcia. This does not prevent me from considering your father one of those beings who bring something exquisite and charming to... that Roman sewer of ours...

He gave me a sad look. He also felt –no, he really knew – that a Roman king could not be interested in a barren queen... Calpurnia, Rome’s barren queen...

We all strolled around both peristylia, that one looking over the bay through its surrounding gallery of arcades, where peacocks and several kinds of birds and cats wandered around, and that sheltering this oversized swimming-pool in which even a naumachia had been held.. I understood why my father still kept wiry. Like you, he was able to swim in cold water, even in winter...My friend were startled by the size of the rooms, twice as large as any other villa in Pompeii or Cornelia Sulla’s at Cumae. The paintings covering their walls were huge frescoes representing life-sized scenes on groups of teachers and pupils at Athenian agora or the revival of the Garden of the Hesperides and Elysian fields. Eight cubicula, near the library, were decorated with allegories referred to the eight Muses. True, part of the villa seemed to aim at being a response to Athenian gymnasia. Gods...Why couldn’t I have been educated like Portia? There’s so much I have missed throughout my life....

In front of the exedra, Mount Vesuvius showed off its massive overwhelming bulk among the colours of sunset, like that day at Pompeii....

– Perhaps you would like to take a bath and change clothes before going to the triclinium ... You know, though we may have an Epicurean as our guest, Luculus would have considered our dinner... simply plebeian.