Over the past of couple weeks, what with my developing plans for consulship and my new hope for the future, I'd resolved to finally get myself and my affairs into shape. I'd made an investment in a new business venture of Casca's that seemed likely to pay off. A bit of money was coming in already, and it felt good to have a couple of coins rattling together in my purse.

I was even inspired to somewhat update my wardrobe-- nothing ostentatious, but my new clothes were well-cut and suited me better than the prudishly plain garments I'd been wearing all these years. I'd been bold enough to try a bit of color. The tunic I was wearing was a rich dark red, which did startling things to offset my pale skin when I looked at myself in the mirror. The effect was almost unsettling, and yet, as I stared incredulously at my own image, I found myself smiling. I didn't look half bad, really, and almost... half good.

Catullus came to see me around noon. I received him in my garden, which was in a better state than it had been in years. When the slave ushered him in, he stood still for a few seconds and stared around in utter disorientation. His eyes rested first on the neatly trimmed hedges, then on the freshly weeded flowerbeds, and finally on me. There they stayed. I put my head to the side and enjoyed his regard.

"Sweet Jupiter," he almost choked. "What change is this?"

I laughed. "Well, I decided that if I was going to espouse the philosophy of the garden, I might as well keep my own in decent order."

"I wasn't talking about the garden," He murmured, stepping a little closer to me.

I looked him right in the eye. "Then what?" I asked, cool and flippant, even though my heart was beating.

His gaze was intent as he reached out to touch my face. "I meant the philosopher," he said.

Even though I'd seen it a long time coming, I was shocked by the contact. A kind of reflexive anger at his 'impropriety' welled up in me, and I pulled away.

"I'm no philosopher," I said, a bit harshly. "I'm a gods damned politician." I didn't add, 'and you'd do well to remember it.'

The tone of threat was, of course, misplaced, and it bewildered him. "I'm sorry," he said with bile nearly equal to mine, "I forgot that all you senators have got sticks firmly lodged up your asses."

I glanced up at him swiftly. His anger and disappointment were palpable, and I knew I'd mishandled him badly. It was my plan, after all, to lead him on. I understood how this passionate poet worked. He would become fascinated with an object of inspiration. I was his muse now, and as such, he'd follow wherever I chose to lead. But I must not let it get any farther than that. Anyone who has read Catullus' poetry knows of the bitter disillusionment he has with every one of his lovers-- from the immortalized Lesbia to the golden-eyed lad Juventius, and right down to his favorite whores. His love was far too apt to turn to hate.

You see, he and I had some things in common.

Accordingly, I made myself relax, allowed my body to go loose and inviting again. "I'm sorry, Catullus," I murmured. "A man like me has to be so careful. This rudeness gets to be reflexive... I am sorry."

His face stayed impassive, but something went softer behind his eyes. "Of course," he said neutrally. I could tell by his voice that he was doing his best not to forgive me with all his heart.

I tried a smile. "Do you have any poetry for me, then?"

For some reason, he flushed. "Well, yes, I do-- after a fashion." He shuffled his feet for a moment, and added, "For you. Not for Rome."

I was my turn to feel my face redden. "For me?" I exclaimed, takenaback. "What could you possibly write of me?"

Catullus' gaze was even and intent. "Plenty, Cassius. After all, you're an unsung hero. It's not much," He waved off my protestations of gratitude in embarassment. "A minor thing, in rough draft. Less of a tribute than you deserve. But there'll be time for epics someday, eh?"

Under the branches of an orange tree, he assumed an orator's pose and began his recitation.

"What tales Apollo could of Carrhae tell!--
That fateful battle of the east, when under
Parthian darts and the sun god's arrows Crassus fell.
What mighty armies would have torn asunder,
If not beside the great man one small shadow stood,
Keen eyes unblinded by the glint of gold."

As he spoke, I found tears forming in my eyes as I relived the hellish battle of Carrhae and recalled the moment of my retreat. An awful thing, to have one's great moment be a retreat, but it was mine, and I was proud of it, for all the little credit I got. Uncanny, how vividly Catullus' words recalled the scorching sun and white-hot glare of the desert sand, and most poignantly, my sense of my place in it all! "One small shadow... eyes unblinded." By the time he had finished, I was weeping openly, ashamed of my lack of self control but ignorant of how to stop.

"My friend-- my friend," was all I could gasp, fiercely gripping his hand and anointing it with my tears. Surprised but not the least bit awkward, he put his arms around me, for all the world like a brother, and held me close. It felt good to be embraced, and that made me cry harder out of sheer contentment. Yet as the long, perfect moments passed, I began to grow frightened. He was so close-- too close. And his grip was too tight to break.

"Catullus..." I whispered, looking up at him through tear-stained eyes.

He covered my mouth with his and whatever protest I might have made was lost.

****************************************************************

Hours later, when he'd finally left, I lay in a kind of exhausted stupor, reading and rereading the scrap of parchment with the poem on it over and over. The meeting has not been productive as such, but I couldn't really find it within myself to complain. I had made him promise before he went that he'd work on the epic, and he'd rattled off a perfect opening line that he said had come to him sometime... in the middle of all that. Thinking of it, I smiled in spite of myself.

But I had to worry. I had lost control of the situation. I realized I could not tame the poet. Worse yet, I feared he'd begun to master me.