The Triumph of Caesar Read Online Free PDF Page A

was ludicrous. An alms collector for the troupe saw me laughing and quickly hurried over, extending a cup. I contributed a small coin.
    I moved on, looking for the street where Calpurnia had told me I would find Hieronymus's apartment.
    Years ago, when I lived in a ramshackle house on the Esquiline Hill above the Subura, I had walked through this neighborhood almost every day. I had known its meandering alleys like the veins on the back of my hand. Nowadays I visited the Subura less often, and much had changed over the years. The tall, crowded tenements, some of them soaring to six stories, were so cheaply constructed that they frequently collapsed and almost as frequently burned down. New buildings were quickly thrown up to take their place. Entire streets had become unrecognizable to me, and for a while I became lost.
    Then, in the blink of an eye, I found myself in front of the very building I was searching for. It was unmistakable. "Brandnew and six stories tall," Calpurnia had told me, "with a fresh yellow wash on the walls, a pubic fountain at the corner, and an eatery on the ground floor." She owned the building. A part of her arrangement with Hieronymus had been to supply him with free lodging.
    Calpurnia had told me I would find a slave posted in the tiny vestibule. He was there partly for the security of the tenants but also to make sure they didn't start cooking fires in their rooms or carry on any business that was too dangerous or too illegal. I encountered an unshaven young man so scruffily dressed that he might have been a beggar who had wandered in off the street, but the suspicious look he gave me was definitely that of a watchman.
    "You must be Agapios," I said. "My name is Gordianus. Your mistress sent me." For proof I showed him a bit of sealing wax into which Calpurnia had pressed her signet ring. For a symbol she used the profile of King Numa, with his flowing beard and priest's mantle. The Calpurnii could trace their descent from Calpus; he was one of the four sons of pious King Numa, who lived more than hundred years ago and was the founder of many religious rites and priesthoods.
    He bowed obsequiously. "What can I do for you, citizen?"
    "You can show me to the room where Hieronymus of Massilia lived."
    The young slave caught my use of the past tense and shot me a curious look, but he said nothing. He turned and motioned for me to follow him up the stairs.
    Usually the choicest apartments in such tenements are located in the middle floors, high enough to escape the noise and odors of the street but not so high that climbing the stairs becomes an onerous challenge, or jumping from a window in case of fire means certain death. I had expected to find Hieronymus's apartment on the second floor up, or perhaps the third, but the sprightly watchman bounded up one flight of stairs after another. I found myself huffing and puffing and called to him to slow down, but he had disappeared from sight.
    I followed at my own pace and eventually caught up with him on a landing. He was miming boredom by examining his cuticles.
    "Hieronymus lived all the way up here?" I said. "I should have thought—"
    "Not on this floor. One more flight up."
    "What!"
    "You have to take this final flight of steps, over here."
    Why had Hieronymus left my home for such a place? This tenement was not as squalid as some, but was it really an improvement on the comfortable quarters I had provided for him?
    The last flight of stairs delivered us not, as before, to a landing with dark hallways leading to numerous apartments but to a single door with an open skylight above. Under the bright sunshine, the watchman produced an iron key and opened the door.
    The room was sparsely furnished, but the rugs and chairs were of good quality. The space was brightly lit by unshuttered windows on either side. A doorway appeared to lead to another room. Another doorway opened onto a terrace that entirely encircled the apartment. I stepped outside.
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