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LOVE CHASE Chapter 9 The afterglow from Mr. Shaw's conclusion racked me for hours. Tossing and turning, I slept little that evening reviewing his tragedy. I feared its impact would stifle my ability to analyze him properly or visualize him in the light he really stood in. I had become too engrossed and I really did not know why. The romantic tale carried a pleasant, sometimes provocative, plot but little else at surface level. I constantly fought to think of it in a professional manner. Once or twice I thought to refer Mr. Shaw to another doctor. But my heart wouldn't allow it. Besides, could he retell his tale as vividly as he did the first time? I was hooked and the intrigue demanded me to unravel this patient. It was then that the magical web Mr. Shaw spun snared me and directed my life to its strange destiny. Effortlessly, Martin Shaw drew my attention away from the underlying problems onto the characters and plot. His tale beguiled me so that instead of searching for his problems I got caught up in the story. I lost the ability to remain detached. I needed a break. Sometimes that happens to us head shrinks. Too many patients, case loads and troubles at one time. During this period, Shaws case began to push all others aside. I needed time to forget my career and Mr. Shaw; as impossible and untimely as that sounded, it was true. On the third evening after Mr. Shaw's extended appointment, Dennie and I tucked in for a good rest following a long plane flight to St. Maarten's Island. A windowless cab, driven by one of the locals who adored Latin music or possessed a radio stuck on full volume, had us from the terminal to Mullet Bay Resort in less than six minutes. We had never been to this resort before but, upon entering our one bedroom suite, looked forward to a pleasant weekend. Dennie sighted the island's heat as an excuse to strip down while she began unpacking our luggage. Knowing her, as I did, I summarized her strip was a tease. "How about some dessert before dinner." I crept up from behind her and caressed her charms. She, almost shyly, turned her blue eyes up at mine. "The plane ride excited me." I reached for simple excuses, as she giggled then turned fully into my embrace. We enjoyed an island meal from a restaurant that over looked the bay that gave the resort its name. The soft tropical breeze ushering in a dark azure sky romantically dispelled the worries of work and home so far away. The waiter; a slender young man with a French accent also added to the romantic glow. He, perhaps as part of his job, skillfully competed against me for Dennie's attention. She thought it all quite amusing. I, on the other hand, never cared for those who broke up my native language by demanding both my ears when they spoke. However, he pampered Dennie to no end, which caused her to feel younger and still attractive to those who lingered in their early twenties. It wasn't until the Frenchman twice offered her a finely made cigarette between courses that she began noticing I sat at the same table. One thing she hates is smoking, which suited me perfectly. So for the rest the time she sat near to me, her revealing white dress distracted me more than the sparkling wine. Mindlessly her fingers toyed with her pearl necklace and gracefully her matching pumps tampered against my chins as she held an amorous gaze exclusively for me. The waiter over-killed his hospitality as the meal went on. When he finally approached me with the check, I felt relieved to be going. He suggested one more after dinners drink to Dennie. She thrilled at his elegance and tender placing of his hand to her upper arm but she also understood her husband. Declining my un-offered drink, I signed the check to our room then we left. Acting like a teenager Dennie removed her pumps just as we stepped upon tropical grass. The restaurant fared an enjoyable stroll from our rooms and the tropical moonlit night invited walking. My wife took to the evening air. She seemed to prance across the grass. One arm swung, the other holding her pumps over her shoulder, her long legs twirled the long white dress. I became filled with the sight of her and said so. She tossed her head so her hair flung madly in the moonlight. These moments last forever. She words came out almost as a song. They really do, you know, Bob. I did not care to argue with her. Only a fool would at such a magical moment. Still she added, Remember the lily? Of course, I remembered her painting. .Its moments like this that open channels to our other life times. Other life times? You mean like reincarnation? It took all my strength to not laugh. Then she surprised me by singing an abrupt No. She paused her lovely prance to add, What if its not rebirth rather its like a spiral; were here all the time. She pranced back a step and declared, Its not a square its a fractal! I found it amusing for my artsy-craftsy wife to bring up mathematics, You mean like a Mandelbrot set fractal? I thought about it for all of one second then replied. Nope, dont think so. Ive always been a square. I like square. Changing the subject, I began talking about a well-earned sleep when Dennie playfully whipped me with her pump's straps. "No way, silly!" She giggled. "I want to gamble!" "Tomorrow night, honey," I almost begged, but she would not hear of it. We followed various signs that directed us to the resort's casino. Along the way a richer song than Dennies drifted to us over the soft Caribbean breeze. At first we thought it Caribbean in style until we came up on the source. There, for the entertainment of the tourists upon a small makeshift stage stood a choral of three young men and three girls. Youd expect steel drums on St. Maartin; however, this group had one conga drum. A tripod presented a poster naming the group The Afrikaans. Id say they required no drum. Their voices soared low as the men sang then high when the girls chimed in. The song had to be more chant than a catchy melody, still, The Afrikaans put on a wonderful show. Moving on we eventually found the casino. It had to be three stories high and seemed a block long though it actually was a shell of a building built around a single-minded room. Half the front consisted of glass revealing numerous one-armed bandits, two spinning roulette wheels and several tables crowded by people with various annoying accents, all this against a backdrop of a dark and endless jungle under a starry tropical sky. "Like dropping Caesar's Palace into the middle of the Amazon jungle," Dennie said, and took delight with the contrast. Dennie threw on her pumps and dragged me into the noisy place. Leaving me at the door in order to forge ahead and turn hard earned cash into worthless chips. I contented myself in lagging behind satisfied she did not ask me for any money; at least not then. I calculated she would ask within two hours time, at best. Denise was no skilled gambler but, then again, her skills were unpredictable. Strolling through the noisy casino, watching people from various nations pulling briskly down on their luck at one-armed bandits, I prided myself for not believing mere hope could overcome the technology of the casino business. I finally caught up with Dennie an hour later. Her attention riveted upon the deft hands of a Blackjack dealer. I just had to laugh in a huff. For she sat like a gangster's moll, her white dresses sleeve half off her arm, between two men. One fellow appeared to be a German tourist, sitting erect in a sharp looking suit which made me think of James Bondwith blonde hair. The other man reminded me of a character from an old Bogart movie. One of those fancy French cigarettes hung from his thick lips as if balanced there. His body filled out very well. He had a kind of certain sexiness to him, boldness. Naturally, his tanned and hairy chest poked out from his half opened shirt displaying gold baubles hanging from his neck. And he stood rather than sat with one foot to the table's brass footrest like a barfly: Humphrey Bogart with gold chains and his sculptured nose in my wife's cleavage. Dennie all the while ignored their roaming eyes. She sat high; playing with her necklace and studying every swift move the dealer made. Only when the dealers, a tall, lean native, asked a man about his choice of cards did she glance at them. Her eyes fluttered as she cornered the player's attention. The man, realizing he forgot all about the game and intimidated by the sudden boldness from the attractive lady, jolted half out of his seat. She may have been called flighty and artistically preoccupied from time to time, but she sure knew how to keep an opponent's mind off a game. "Having fun?" I wrecked Dennie's strategy and the men's fantasy as I poked my head aside hers. Before she could answer me, a bitter chill dashed up my spine. It tore through me then attached itself into my heart. The noisy clamor of slot machines vanished and so did the casino. Dennie and I remained isolated in time as chill turned into icy fear, a fear for myself and for my wife. It was no illusion. My sixth sense got triggered. Smoke! Fire! I grabbed both her arms and pulled her from the chair. Time stretched itself though I wrestled to pull her away against the nightmarish resistance of space and time. The casino came back to life as I reached for the German's drink and splashed it on Dennie's dress. "Didn't you morons see her dress was on fire?" I yelled as Dennie stood, holding her dress away from her body. The two men and I fussed with the remaining sparks. A waitress flew to our aid then, with a heavy Creole accent, ushered her into the ladies room. However, before Dennie left us, she pointed a finger at the Blackjack table. With a wink she instructed, "Guard those chips with your life, Bob." And she added, whispering into my ear along with a smile, "I had to work two sides of the table for that pile!" The two men stood feeling like utter fools. I could see their remorse contrasted against the muffled laughter from the dealer and others who must have figured out the situation for them. I glanced from one to the other. "She could have burned herself badly." I scolded the two in front of me. "Imagine if she didn't have her dress covering her leg...Then again, I suppose you did! Bastards!" Lying in each other's arms back in our room, Dennie cooed up to me. "You're not jealous about tonight?" She softly spoke into the nape of my neck. It tickled. "Why?" I joked. "Because you won some money for the first time that we've ever been to a casino?" "No, silly, those two guys." "They were fools though I could never blame a man for looking down your dress." I peeked under the thin sheet. "It's quite a sight, my dear!" "I love you, Bob." She drew her leg across my two. Squeezing me, she whispered, "And you're so lucky to have a girl like me!" I pretended insult while pushing her from me. "You little minx!" Then I pulled her close again. "You read minds also!" Dennie nudged and shifted closer about my body. A tender smile rested itself across her face. "You know me, my mind explores all the possibilities." She did not lie. Her whole life read like a road map toward artistic excellence. True, her half hearted, half intentional career drooped like an old, faded photograph. But in her way, she aspired toward a goal of life at its richest. To be the perfect wife, perfect person. Not to allow social taboos or limitations cramp her style. She worked her life to be well rounded, intense when it came to artwork at times, but not art for pure art's sake. It had to fit nicely or it became ignored. No less was her love for her man. A love manifested in such a way that demanded trust. Yet, I sensed, if a greater, more perfect love ever entered her life, she would be gone. She would not defraud me, this I believed. But she would ascend toward the better level of truth because it was her nature. I could not fault her for such an uncompromising belief. I just prayed a better man would never show. Dennie fell steeply into sleep while I tossed and turned. I had had a long day. The casino wore out my second wind after working a full day then flying in. A third wind, less energetic but far from sleepiness, over took me. It left me with my hands held behind my head and starring at the dark ceiling. As I tried to unwind my mind drifted off to Mr. Shaw, to identify some of his alter egos and obstacles. Suddenly Dennie sprang through the air from the bed. A scream tore from my soul as she landed feet flat and squatting on the floor. Quickly I found the light switch. I threw it on. Springing forward, I froze before the sight. Dennie crouched with her hands wide apart, fingers extended like a Sumo wrestler about to be besieged. She displayed such emotion that, in retrospect, I can imagine the dim air around her oozing forth a red color. Her eyes were wild and wide as she stared far beyond me. Her hair stood straight out. I remember thinking this was not my Denise. Mustering up enough courage, I moved on hands and knees toward her. The journey bore down on me as fearsome and incredible. Moments lingered while she peered at my body cautiously advancing on her. The very particles of air between us oozed with the strain of our stares. Immediately she halted me with a cry as her right hand dashed out at me. Her left drew up ready to come swiftly down. It would have certainly scratched my eyes out. Then with another unintelligible cry she paled and fainted cold to the floor. Wow! What kind of nightmare did she have? Dennie recalled nothing of the episode and went so far as to suggest we extend our short visit to the friendly Island. Thus allowing me time to relax an over worked imagination. In between her shrugging me off, I did ask questions about the incident. When she drew faint she uttered some strange words. All I did recall clearly was "Ur-uk." But she, beyond claiming no memory of the event, held on to the words as a thing to ridicule me. I grew extremely worried for her, watched her carefully and wondered whom to consult on such behavior. Naturally, I was the one to consult but psyching out my own wife didn't sit well with meor with her. For her sake I pretended not to bother with the incident. I believe she saw right through me, however. Mr. Shaw had his way with me again once I returned to work. I had been so distracted by Dennie's problemif that were its proper labeland with travel as well as other patients that I forgot about Mr. Shaw. Something a few days before, I would have never believed I could have done. So when Yvonne's blonde little head poked into my office to announce him, I realized Mr. Shaw got exactly what I neededa fresh start. He smiled like a jester upon the opening of this session. While I scurried for notes while mentally reviewing where we had left off. I sat astounded that he and his tale slipped my mind. I greeted him then offered him the chair he was already sitting in. Unconsciously I tipped my hand with, "So where were we?" I opened my notes hastily as he replied, "Sheba's grave." "Oh, yes," I blurted, remembering while falling deeply into the dramatic tale with Tanu challenging the fates. Still organizing my notes, my mind in Africa, I added very doctor-like, "And what does that mean to you?" Realizing only then how completely distracted I had been and how nutty I sounded. I paused to put myself together. He just smiled wider. "Relax yourself, Doctor Thomas." He motioned for my calmness. "There's no hurry for you. Everything will come to you in due time. Relax and I will continue my story." His words puzzled me. "There is more?" I fell directly under his spell again. "I thought the story ended. Surely Tanu can not get Sheba back." "Oh, no, death is the perfect ending to any tale. The promise of clearing the air for a new birth." His words paused me. Birth? Why did he choose that word? Why not the word tale or story? Unwittingly that pause drew me into full concentration, that particular word. I did not then realize the weight of the word. Martin Shaw saw he had my attention. Sitting comfortably back he began, "Some 6,000 years later our story opens in the Rome..." "Woo! Hold it!" I sprang forward. "Where are you taking me and your story to now?" "Rome," he looked at me as if I should have expected his new twist. "Marty," I closed in as best I could, "I haven't even gotten your message from Africa yet. Why are you now throwing me this left curve? Where do the two jibe? What the hell do they have in common?" "Did we not agree you listen and I pay?" "But I am a doctor. I want to help you. You do have a problem, you know." "Yes," he graciously stated. "And you are helping exactly as I wished. Please, doctor, open your imagination to Rome around 100 B.C." I did not know how to debate him so I sat back, gnarled my teeth, and envisioned Rome, circa 100 B.C. or so. He baffled me again by adding, "Not then exactly. My tale opens in 64 B.C., at the home of Caius Julius Caesar. Rome is not yet marble and Caesar is but the aedile, or commissioner of public works. However, Caesar is a minor character to my tale. Allow me to introduce our protagonists." "Surely," I replied. I once loved Roman history so hoped I could read better into this story. Especially if he popped up with names I knew. Which he certainly did! "Our first character is a man painted by history as a rebel, a villain. Lucius Catiline was a determined man. Like almost all Roman politicians, he flowed through the currents of office on a wave of ambition. The man stood like a god among the average Romans of his day. Tall, handsome with deep set eyes that would rival those of any eagle. Most Roman's admired Catiline as a man of action, the kind of man who had the interest of his people at heart. He loved Rome and all Romans. Truly, as history paints him, he was a shinning example of a man who held democracy above all things. But Rome was a republic not a democracy. "The only breath of democracy that stirred any air in Rome came from the Mob. This was the welfare recipient of the day. The outcasts, the sexual discarded, the homeless, those who lived off of Roman generosity. Just the same they were Romans allowed to claim rights and privileges non-Romans did without. Especially, they were allowed to vote. Catiline was the mob's hero. Not that he courted the mob. At first, he did not. But he stood for equality. This endeared him to those who honored democratic thought and enemy to those who placed themselves above it. Unfortunately, most Romans of any position hated Catiline as sure as they refused to see themselves on equal footing the mob. Our second character is a girl slave named Elena. A dark skinned beauty with shimmering black hair that curled and waved like water crashing against a rocky Mediterranean shore. Her eyes were Celeste blue in color a warmly soft and wide. They once saved her life from coastal pirates because her eye color so amazed the rowdy bunch. Elena hailed from Athens, Greece, where she studied the arts until Romans carried her off. She then became a slave in return for the safety of her family. "We must remember why Rome so cultured the world at that time and brought it a peace unknown before her. Rome made a statement to the world: No more fighting between yourselves. You will, under our rule, organize your lives; teach your children how to live in a civilized manner. You will all be protected from each other by having only one enemyRome. It worked, didn't it? Had Rome not grown so greedy and fat, it might still be working today. Anyway, Elena was dragged to the eternal city. There she came purchased by the house of another who is important to our story. "My next character is a worldly woman who divided her time between budgeting the family fortune, studying the occult sciences, and handling her husband. She is Terentia the wife of...." "Cicero!" I exclaimed. "And Cicero is your fourth character, right?" Mr. Shaw's history had better been straight this time around. I would never confess detail knowledge of Roman history. But I knew of Cicero. In fact no other Roman figure interested me more. Not even that despot Caesar. I studied his life and writings since my youth. I never tired of hearing new information concerning Cicero. Just his name struck in me images of classical Rome: of Cicero's on again off again relationship with Caius Julius Caesar. Of a political system so close to perfect that the humans at its helm could only have done as they didutterly destroy it. Cicero so often excited me, especially in my youth, that at times, I regretted being the modern product of an Irish lineage. Once again Mr. Shaw seduced me with magical ease. "Yes, Cicero and his wife. Not to forget another important characterCaesar." Mr. Shaw seemed pleased with my little knowledge of history. He continued, "At this time Cicero held the Consul of Rome. In fact, we open immediately after his being elected by the people. The general election, as it had been called. Only one other body, the senate, had to vote to make him Consul. That vote would come the following day. So, let me begin by presenting Caesar to you as he enters our tale right from the start. "Caesar was more than just a cunning statesman. Though he hailed from the working class he developed noble tastes, loved exquisite surroundings and insisted on the finest clothes. The man was born a pauper destined to rein as king. Yet he exulted an unearthly patience, especially during moments of stress. I would dare the suggestion that he knew fully well that one day he'd rule, all in due time. "Catiline knew little patience. Nothing moved fast enough for him, not himself or his State. He lived possessed with a yearning for expedience. Being a man of great passion he understood the plight of the down trodden. Catiline could sense the burden of the poor man, he who had to contend with both hunger and embarrassment all at once. Catiline felt for the invalid and those who grew poorer against their struggle to survive. These needy were his children and he loved them for his own lack of human romance. He demanded justice for them and harshly cleaved into those who stood in the way. "Two different men yet they were long time friends - good friends since infancy. They shared the same tutors. Chased girls together and bounced in and out of the same circles of rough necks. No less could it be said that Cicero claimed both their friendships for most of their younger lives. "Now things were different. Positions changed. Cicero studied law and lusted for a republic administrated by the business class. Caesar took of the reigns of empire and Catiline yearned for democracy. Three friends who allowed their individual visions to tease hate into their lives. The three demanded superlatives in a city known for its eternal strife. "I sometimes ask why when I glance back on it," Martin Shaw commented. I took note of this important remark. For he was looking back at a reality that didn't exist, save in a historical. As pointless as it was to analyze egos from the distant past, he did. And this rang a bell inside of me. It told me these stories of his did intimately relate to his real life. "The two I can only guess at," Shaw went on. "But Catiline's longings did not arise from a sense of democracy at first. The man was not self-righteous or vain enough to commandeer the ideology at its most unpopular time in history. Instead he only desired some sympathy and affection in his life. However, when it did not appear fast enough, he fixed his attention to the wants of his people. Less history would have been written had he been patient. "So there they were: the man who would be king and the king of all common men. They were worlds apart but needed each other to claim a just destiny. And between them lay Rome pushing and shoving each man into separate corners. "Now, doctor, picture yourself in a spacious, villa-like dwelling. The air is crisp. The month is October and we are in the home of Julius Caesar. He is with Lucius Catiline… Caesar, in his wonderfully gracious manner offered Catiline wine. True to Lucius' rough ways, he refused with a hint of a growl. Julius saluted him with his goblet. Lucius, my friend, you were unwise to run against Cicero. He has defeated you in the general elections and tomorrow the Senate will follow suit. Catiline appeared too angry to speak. Silently he followed Caesar from a marble walled parlor onto an airy terrace over looking the noisy streets of inner Rome. The Senate will compare Cicero's victory like Crassus' victory over Spartacus. A bit less bloody perhaps, he added with a dark chuckle. Catiline could not accept such a comparison. Even from a friend like Caesar. Spartacus was a rebel slave out to destroy Rome. Catiline was no rebel. His single purpose was to elevate Rome, to purge it of decadence, to renew it to its former days of glory. He placed his strong hands to the terrace wall and looked out upon Rome. Its cobbled streets, bright red brick buildings and finely decorated homes all stimulated his soul. This city shook with glory. Its hard working people built not only a city but also a world. They created a hub, a center to the universe where all men of industry and ideas could gather. Here they could exchange and cultivate anything in any fashion, all done under the umbrella of Pax Romana. Catiline always wondered what made Rome tick so well. Politically, Rome was not without upheaval. Past kings and Consuls, great ones such as Sulla, had done Rome well. But now things were different. A new class of people called the 'new class' - middle class - were entering politics. They altered the republic by using money to change the face of the hierarchy. This made the Republic lose its grip of reality. One cannot obey the law if the law can be bought. Rome is with me, Catiline affirmed into the cool and humid Roman air. The Mob is with Catiline. Julius sipped at his wine. He glanced at his distraught guest. With a heavily ringed finger he pointed down at Rome. The aristocracy and business classes are with Cicero. Catiline looked from the streets to Julius. A hopeful tone ran through his voice, Not all the aristocracy or businessmen... You are with me. With a wry smile from over his goblet Julius shrugged, I am not a businessman, and only my ancestors were kings. Moving from Catiline, he added, As it must be, my support remains discreet. He motioned Catiline back in-doors. As the big man stepped past him, Julius in a pleasing tone said, Surely you understand. Catiline didn't care. Only Caesar's silent vote mattered. He knew Julius to be a man of ambition, a person who played husband to every woman and a wife to every man. Catiline did not understand this sort of politics but, if it would help him to re-organize the state he loved, he'd use and respect his friend Julius. "You have other votes also, Lucius. Julius offered Catiline a comfortable chair. But not enough to be Consul. Catiline pondered a moment. As if forgetting the fact he lost the general election he spoke from his gut. Rome wants a new beginning. We must begin again. Sulla was a good ruler but none of his promises were kept after his death. Too many of those who were given land during his rule have lost it through default and now roam the streets. Many freed slaves now roam aimlessly as thieves causing fear to rise with every sunset. Many once productive farmers are homeless and also live in the dirty streets of Rome. Julius placed his empty goblet atop a finely crafted table. He strolled to Catiline's side. And so we have the Mob of Rome. The true voice of Rome, maybe. Hugging a pause, perhaps to hear Catiline's thoughts, Julius sat across from his friend. But that voice is not heard in the Senate. The Senate looks on the Mob as a collection of perverts and those who would live off the hard working tax payers. Catiline clenched both his rugged fists. Sincerity gripped him, as he looked hard on his friend, We must change that! Romans want to be free again. We desire to live like our fathers had. To have our own homes, families and property! He fell back into the chair with a sigh familiar to any political figure crying out to be heard. "Rome rules half the world, Julius. We bring to our city riches from places whose names we cannot even pronounce. Yet our own people are homeless. Those with homes are strangled by high interest payments to Roman banks...even foreign banks! The race who rules the world is being driven to poverty by their own devices! "Rome is no longer a mere city, my dear friend. Julius finished his wine. We must help the world cultivate itself. Look how much the Senate appropriated just to Gaul and Judea this year alone. And remember how others and I have lowered interest rates worldwide through our conquests. Slowly things are turning in your favor. "A slow turning, one that can be murdered in its youth on the Senate floor. Caesar grew weary of the conversation but acted as if there existed no conclusion. With a shrug he mentioned, I have given your cause many talents and I pledge you my vote. At this time, I can do nothing more. Catiline showed appreciation. Do not think I am ungrateful. My passion runs for my fellow Romans. At times, to see my state having become a brothel makes my blood boil like the sun. Excuse this evening's anger. "Surely I understand. Caesar petted Catiline's knee, adding, Rome did not hurry to be the brothel she is. Must we rush in a surgeon to now make her a virgin? Then pouring more wine he warned, You are pushing Cicero to move against you. The Senate's memory is still ringing fresh from your assassination attempts against the consulate two years ago. No less those crazy stories of you killing your own son to find favor with a mistress. Flushed with exasperation, tired of spending the last two years trying to calm the nasty rumor. I never made such attempts, Julius. You know that to be true, I have no mistress but Rome. And I loved my son. I miss him still. Such lies fuel that senate so full of fools and madmen! "I know. Julius sadly smiled as he offered his quest wine once more. Catiline took it as they shared a moment of silence to sip at the drink. Julius felt awed by the man's ability to carry such a burden. He knew that men of power needed to carry crimes and rumors of crimes subtitled to their good names. Such is the way for powerful men. Julius himself wore his fair share but his peers, out of fearful respect, overlooked these rumors in Caesar's case. Not so with Catiline. This man came hated by all his peers save Julius and a small handful of others. Still Catiline prodded forward always acclaiming his love for Rome and his desire to save it from those who would purchase it. And Julius thought this man could perhaps endure and achieve this end. If only his archenemy could be done away with. If only Cicero would move out of the way or die. However, such a twist of events would not come pleasing to Caesar. In his way, he loved Cicero and the consul's lofty ideas as much as he understood and valued Catiline. Cicero invented the entire rumor, Julius pacified him. "But...but the senate believes him. They believe the latest gossip also." Julius carefully watched Catiline for his reaction. "Have you heard it, I wonder?" Enraged, Catiline almost spilled his goblet as he shook. That I build an army to march on Rome, he roared. That is a creation of Cicero's sick mind. And this man desires to rule Rome! "Calm yourself, Lucius. Julius dashed to his side. Placing a kind, jeweled hand upon Catiline's big shoulders he counseled, Your fury will be the end of you. Catiline forced away his bitterness. Sitting back he looked over his long time friend who moved back to his own chair. Julius sat with a mask of total concern for his quest. Catiline tried to read into this disguise, if that was what it was. He wondered what ambitions this mountain of Rome had lurking in his heart. For Caesar never schemed or rallied for any goals of his own making. Forever he was a supporter, a man who befriended everyone and verbally or financially supported the goals of others. Kings and consuls flocked to him in this manner because his connections were the best in whole of Rome. In that method he dominated the senate and drew respect from all the voices of Rome. And by that method Rome lived always in the shadow of this very powerful man. Catiline forced lighter conversation and chose it for his departure. Cicero should create gossip about you, my friend. Julius questioned of what with his eyes. Of your many amours. Julius feigned insult. Mine? He came closer to Catiline and whispered, What gossip? They're all true, every one of them! Laughter broke their moods as Catiline moved to leave. Caesar stood and escorted him to the door. Wrapping a sleeveless arm about Catiline, Julius diplomatically closed the evening. Think on what we spoke of. Withdraw your bid for consul. He looked deep into Catiline's eyes. One day Rome will be ready for a new start. Then we shall seize the opportunity and re-build her. But Catiline had no patience for an endless wait. Pushing at the door he replied, The people are on the edge of revolution, Caesar. I, regardless of what the senators say, I long to avoid that event. Julius stayed him a moment. Rome has not been settled since Sulla died, he said. Revolution has become a way of life for Romans. Listen to the hearts of our people for they speak plainly. A final revolution is not far off and you are on the correct course in your thinking, my friend. Rome numbered her days when Cicero made his first speech in the senate. Remember? When he sent Pompey to Asia and aligned the poor against the rich. Lucius, just be patient. Rome will endure again to a golden age. "I pray to Jupiter you are right. Good day, Julius. As Catiline walked from the house of Caesar, Julius looked past him upon the streets of Rome. He sighed, speaking to himself, said, 'If not Jupiter, I will restore the golden age. That I promise you, Roma.'" |
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