The Sacrilege

"Well, that's a pit premature, isn't it?" said Tusculus. "The procession's not until tomorrow."

"No," I said. "As giver of the games, he's entitled to the picta, worse luck. He just wants to get us used to seeing him wearing it. He intends to make it his full-time dress." There were a lot of boos from the anti-Pompeian faction, together with some of the ruder noises possible with the imaginative employment of lips and tongue. He did not deign to hear.

With Pompey's party I saw young Faustus Sulla, and they all took their places in the front row with Caesar, Crassus, Hortalus and the rest of the great men.

After a lengthy exchange of greetings, good wishes and insults, we all settled down to be bored into a state of deathlike stupefaction. As the chorus came out to begin their intolerable chanting, we surreptitiously rummaged through the contents of our togas. One of the few advantages of the great ceremonial toga is that it provides i

Of course, it was strictly forbidden to eat or drink during a performance, but who was going to bother us? All the important men were down in front, pretending to understand what was going on on the stage, where a troupe of men was mincing across the scaena, masked and dressed as women.

"Disgusting," I grumbled. "At least in the Italian mime, women's roles are still played by women."

"And none of those ridiculous masks, either," said a Senator. "Wigs and face paint are good enough. All a lot of Greek degeneracy, if you ask me."

"Everybody knows playgoing is bad for the public morals," I said. "Just ask Cato." I tossed a handful of parched nuts and peas into my mouth.

Caesar turned around and glared at the rear rows of Senators.

"Uh-oh," said an eques, "there's old Caesar, giving us the holy look."

"Good thing his wife must be above suspicion," said Tusculus. "Mine certainly isn't." We all tried not to laugh too loudly.

Some actors began screeching in horrid falsettos. One of them, Hecuba, I think, or perhaps it was Andromache, began to wail something about the gods and how they had made a fine old mess of Troy. I had to admit that the man had a fine command of feminine gestures. Every movement made his long gown sway gracefully.

Suddenly, I was absorbed in the performance and I took no note of my neighbor's rude comments. It was not that I had precipitously acquired an appreciation for Greek tragedy; rather, I felt that I stood on the verge of something. As the actor continued to intone I sca

I was overcome by a blinding revelation from the gods, forgetting, in the exultation of the moment, that the gods always mean trouble when they send you a revelation like that. I felt as if surrounded by a golden nimbus as I leapt to my feet, abruptly caught up in the Greek spirit of things.

"Eureka!" I shouted.

"Who do you think you are, Metellus?" hissed somebody. "Bloody Archimedes? Sit down or you'll be arrested!" I ignored everything but my own brilliance.

"They were all there!" I said, not quite shouting. "All dressed as women!"

Now the whole front row had turned around, staring at me. My father looked close to apoplexy. Nobody looked pleased. A praetor pointed toward me, and a crowd of lictors began to march up an aisle between the seats, the axes gleaming in their fasces. My exultation evaporated as swiftly as it had come upon me, and I realized with dread what a terrible blunder I had made. I stumbled into an aisle and began to dash toward a gap in the barely begun outer wall.

"Must be a case of the runs," I heard somebody say as I got clear of the bleachers. Amid hooting and clapping, I dashed out as fast as my toga would allow. I glanced back over my shoulder to see if any lictors were in pursuit, but they were not. It would have been beneath their dignity. I slowed to a fast walk. Not only was ru

A bit of my god-visited mood returned as I reentered the city, and the city itself was like something seen in a dream. It was all but deserted, with the whole populace packed into the two huge Circuses and the theaters. Adding to the dreamlike quality was the profusion of triumphal decorations, the heaps of flower petals that lay everywhere. The Forum was like a city of gods, populated by statues. I glanced up toward the Temple of Jupiter Capitolinus. Within its dimness, through the smoke of the incense burning to the god's honor, I could just descry the great statue of Jupiter, the one that was supposed to give us warning of plots against the state. I threw the god a salute. If I could manage it, Pompey would not sacrifice in that temple on the morrow.

My slave Cato gaped as I came in through my front gate.

"Senator! We'd not expected you until this afternoon! There's a lady here to see you, but we told her-"

"Where's Hermes?" I said, brushing past him. Then his words sunk in and I turned. "What lady?"

"A lady Julia, one of the Caesars. She insisted on waiting for you to return. She's in the atrium."

I entered the atrium and Julia was there indeed, rising from a chair with a look of unutterable relief.

"Decius! How glad I am to see you alive. You're in terrible danger!"

"I know that," I said. "But how did you find out so fast?"

"So fast? But I only learned late last night."

"This is all too confusing," I said. "Just a moment. I must speak with my slave."

"No, you must speak with me!" She grabbed both my arms with surprising strength and swung me around to face her. "Decius, Clodius came to see my uncle last night. He wants to kill you. He was raving like a madman!"

"Of course he was," I said. "He is a madman. What had Caius Julius to say to that?"

"He was terribly angry. He shouted that you were not to be killed for any reason whatsoever, but Clodius wouldn't listen. My uncle said: 'If I learn that you have the blood of Decius Metellus on your hands, I will solemnly pronounce the curse of Jove Optimus Maximus upon you before the whole Roman people.' "

This was a serious threat. It would mean that no Roman citizen anywhere in the world could so much as speak to him or give him any aid. No allied king could take him in. He would become a rootless wanderer among barbarians.

"And what did Clodius answer?"

"He laughed. He said: 'Jove need not concern himself. Charun will have him.' I don't know what he meant by that."

I felt as if I had fallen into the cold pool at the baths. "He means that he has set his Etruscan priests on me."

"I wish I could have stayed to hear more, but I'd had to tiptoe from my own quarters when I heard the shouting, and I might have been discovered at any moment. I couldn't leave the house until my uncle left for the theater, and I had no way of getting word to you earlier."

"I don't know how I can thank you," I said, my mind whirling. "But you dare not be seen with me. Just coming to my house put you at terrible risk." Further implications hit me. "They could be out there already. There's no place to hide in these deserted streets. You have to stay here until dark."

"Would they dare attack me?" she asked, all patrician haughtiness.

"Ordinarily, no," I answered her. "Clodius fears Caius Julius. But now his derangement has entered a particularly lurid stage, and he is liable to do anything. And the Etruscans are fanatics. Only Pompey can call them off, and he's not about to do that. Not after the theater this morning."

"What?"

She was not the only one with questions. Just then I was wondering why Caius Julius was so determined to keep me alive. It was a relief to know that there was someone who was not out for my blood, but I could think of no reason why in Caesar's case. Doubtless all would be made clear in time, when more pressing matters were settled.