And what did this token of favor from the dictator mean to me? I pondered this question as I examined the little piece of carved bone in my hand by the soft morning light in my vestibule. I was already dressed in a toga, with a simple breakfast of farina and stewed fruit in my belly. Menenia had just arrived with the twins. Bethesda insisted that the family set out early to claim our seats, even though I tried to explain to her that the whole point of possessing such a token was to allow us to show up whenever we wanted, since the seats were reserved for us. I think she wanted us to be seated early so that we might be conspicuously visible to the arriving throng, ensconced in our place of privilege.

With my family surrounding me, including Mopsus and Androcles ("We'll need them to fetch food and drinks," Bethesda had insisted), I set out, descending from the Palatine directly to the Forum, which was already more crowded than I would have expected at such an early hour. The stands with our seats were located near the end of the route, facing the foot of the Capitoline Hill and high enough to afford a panoramic view. Directly across from us were the most prestigious of the viewing stands, upon which curtained boxes with plush appointments had been erected for the comfort of important dignitaries. Those seats were still empty.

Beyond and between the dignitaries' boxes, I could clearly see the trail that led up the slope of the Capitoline to the Carcer. Later, if I cared to, I could probably watch Arsinoe and Ganymedes being led to the very door of the prison, behind which they would meet their deaths in the pit of the Tullianum.

While we waited for the procession to begin, I thought about what Caesar had said regarding his accident during the Gallic Triumph. If someone had deliberately severed the axle of his chariot, did the sabotage support Calpurnia's suspicions of a plot against Caesar? It was hard to see how; such an accident could hardly have been counted on to injure Caesar, much less kill him. Perhaps it had been devised merely to embarrass him, but by whom and for what reason? Renegade Gauls in the city might have wished to mar his victory over Vercingetorix, but how could they have obtained access to the sacred chariot? Caesar's veterans had felt free to tease him with lewd verses; might some of them have been so bold as to sever the axle to play a practical joke on him?

Had Caesar only imagined signs of tampering, and, if so, what did such imaginings indicate about his state of mind? Or was Caesar's speculation about sabotage a ruse? He had seemed to reveal this concern in a genuinely unguarded moment, but did such a man ever speak without premeditation? It might be that Caesar was disseminating this rumor of sabotage with the intent of dispelling any notion that the accident was an evil omen, the result of divine displeasure rather than human intervention.

"Husband!"

My thoughts were interrupted by Bethesda. Her voice was hushed, her tone excited.

"Husband, is that her?"

I blinked and looked about. While I had been staring abstractedly into empty space, the stands around me had filled up. Below us, every spot along the route was taken. The Forum was a sea of spectators bisected by the broad path left open for the triumph.

"Over there," Bethesda said insistently, "in the special seats. Is that really her?"

I gazed across the way. The boxes for dignitaries had also filled up. Amid the gaudily attired ambassadors and emissaries and visiting heads of states sat a lone female, resplendent in a purple gown and a golden diadem. The walls and high parapet of the box kept her from being seen by the crowd around and below her, but because our seats were directly across from the box, we had a clear view of her.

"Yes," I said. "That is Cleopatra."

The queen had arrived without fanfare. No one in the crowd seemed to be aware of her presence. Barred by Caesar from taking part in the triumph, she was merely another spectator amid the thousands present that day.

Bethesda squinted, tilted her head to one side, and frowned. "She's not as pretty as I had imagined."

I looked sidelong at my wife and smiled. "She's certainly no rival to you."

It was the right thing to say; Bethesda could not suppress a smile of triumph. And it was true. In her heyday, Bethesda had been much more beautiful than Cleopatra, and when I looked at Bethesda now, did I not still see the girl she had been?

A deafening cheer rang out. The procession had begun.

First came the senators and magistrates. Again I saw Cicero and Brutus strolling side by side, talking to each other and ignoring the crowd, as if nothing of importance was taking place.

The trumpeters followed. Their fanfare had a distinctly Egyptian flourish to it, and charged the air with anticipation. What wonders from the distant Nile would Caesar present to the people of Rome?

The spoils of Gaul had been vast and impressive, but the items from Egypt were of another order of magnificence. They were not booty, strictly speaking, since Caesar had not conquered the country; his role had been to end the civil war between the royal siblings and install one of them on the throne. Many of the items displayed that day were gifts from Queen Cleopatra to demonstrate her gratitude to Caesar and to the people of Rome for taking her side in the war with her siblings.

There was a towering black obelisk etched with hieroglyphs and decorated with gold bosses in the shape of lotus blossoms. There were bronze statues of various gods, including an incarnation of the Nile represented as an old man surrounded by river nymphs, with creatures of the deep entwined in his flowing beard. There was a grand procession of magnificent sphinxes, one after another, carved from granite and marble.

The wagons bearing these massive objects were pulled not by beasts but by exotic-looking slaves from the teeming markets of Alexandria. These slaves came from far-off lands whose very names excited wonder-Nubia, Arabia, Ethiopia-and the sight of their dark, gleaming bodies excited almost as much comment as the treasures they were pulling.

The crowd gasped with amazement at the appearance of the final sphinx. It was being pulled by the longest train of slaves, and at a distance appeared to loom far larger than the other sphinxes. This was a trick of the eye. It was not the sphinx but the slaves who were out of scale; these were the miniature people called Pygmies who were said to dwell in a land of dense forests near the source of the Nile. The incongruity of the sight appealed to the Roman sense of humor and prompted gales of laughter.

A replica of the sarcophagus of Alexander was presented, along with several statues of the conqueror. The founding of Alexandria had been his most enduring accomplishment, and his burial place was one of the principle shrines of the city.

There followed a visual catalog of the municipal achievements of Alexander's successors, the Ptolemies. A remarkably detailed model of Alexandria carved from ivory depicted the walls of the city, the great library and museum, the royal palace and the theater, the broad avenues decorated with ancient monuments, and the jetties embracing the great harbor. (Caesar had very nearly met his death in that harbor, when his ship was sunk in a naval engagement and he was forced to swim ashore).

A towering model of the Pharos lighthouse rolled by, complete with a fiery beacon at the summit. This was followed by a model of the gigantic Temple of Serapis and a statue of the god whom the Greek Ptolemies had established as the chief deity of Egypt; Serapis resembled bearded Zeus, or Jupiter, sitting on a throne and wielding a scepter, but on his head he wore a grain basket for a crown and at his feet crouched a three-headed dog meant to be Cerberus but rendered in a style more akin to the jackal-headed Egyptian god, Anubis.