The Triumph of Caesar Read Online Free PDF

rooftop apartment?" I said.
    "The only one. The tenant had it all to himself."
    Hieronymus had done well for himself, after all. The space and seclusion would have suited him, and the vista would have reminded him of his pampered days in Massilia. This was one of the tallest buildings in the Subura, and the view was virtually unimpeded in all directions. Beyond the Forum there was an excellent view of the Capitoline Hill with its crown of magnificent temples and monumental statues.
    I leaned forward, peered over the parapet, and felt a bit dizzy, gazing down at the tiny figures in the street below.
    "How well did you know him?" I said.
    "The tenant? Not at all. He kept to himself."
    We stepped back into the apartment. "Did he have visitors?"
    "Never. You speak of him in the past tense. Is the tenant—?"
    "You can go now, Agapios. Leave the key with me, so that I can lock the door as I leave. In fact, I'll keep the key."
    "But tenants always leave their key with me when they go out. I don't have another."
    "Good."
    "But the mistress—"
    "I have authority from Calpurnia. I showed you the seal."
    "So you did," said the slave, cocking an eyebrow. "All very mysterious!" He paused in the doorway and turned back. "You know, for a graybeard who can barely manage the stairs, you're not bad looking." He skipped lithely down the steps and vanished.
    I stood, confounded for a moment. It had been quite some time since a young slave of either gender had flirted with me. I blinked and caught my reflection in the polished square of copper hung on the wall beside the doorway. Hieronymus must have used it for checking his appearance before leaving his rooms. The full lips set into a frown, the knitted brow, the flattened nose (a boxer's nose, Bethesda called it) all projected a stern countenance. The silver-streaked hair and beard were kept short and neatly trimmed; that was my daughter, Diana's, doing. There was perhaps a certain gentleness about the eyes, a suggestion of the callow youth I once had been, a lifetime ago.
    I watched a trickle of sweat run down my forehead onto my nose. All the heat of the building rose to these rooms, which were baked by the sun as well. I grunted and wiped the sweat away, then shrugged at the figure in the mirror and set about exploring Hieronymus's lair.
    I walked from room to room and searched the usual places. I lifted the rugs. I checked the chairs for false bottoms and rapped on the legs to see if they might be hollow. I rummaged though the trunk that contained his clothing. There were a few cups and jars and other containers; they held only wine or olive oil for the lamps. I examined the narrow bed, the straw mattress, the coverlets and the cushions. He kept his valuables in a little box under the bed. I found some coins and a few trinkets, but not much else of value.
    Hieronymus had kept a small collection of books. The rolled-up scrolls were neatly inserted into a tall pigeonhole case against one wall. Most of the scrolls were identified by little tags with titles and volume numbers written on them: Eirenaios's History of Massilia, Fabius Pictor's History of Rome, the Epigrams of Appius Claudius the Blind, and so on. Perusing the bookcase from top to bottom, I came upon a whole row of scrolls that had come from my own library, including a rare copy of Manius Calpurnius's Life of King Numa . Cicero had given it to me many years ago. I couldn't remember ever lending it to Hieronymus. When he vacated my house, he must have borrowed it—if "borrow" was the correct word.
    Feeling a bit peeved, I pulled the scroll from its pigeonhole and unrolled it, wanting to check its condition. The scroll was intact, but several loose pieces of parchment had been rolled up inside it. I removed these extraneous pages and saw that they were covered with writing in Hieronymus's hand. I had only to scan a few lines to realize that I had found what appeared to be a private journal, kept hidden inside the scroll of Numa