Marching With Caesar-Antony and Cleopatra: Part II-Cleopatra

by Peake, R. W.

  “But this fat piece of excrement did not do as he was told! He wanted me for himself, he did not care about saving me for anything other than to grunt and sweat all over me. He is disgusting and I piss on him and his ancestors!”

  She turned back to face me. “Do with me what you will, Roman. It does not matter because I have been blessed by our priests and I will be waiting in the afterlife to serve Pharaoh whenever she chooses to come to join her subjects.”

  I had been toying with the idea of keeping Iras alive, bringing her back to camp to put her on display, despite knowing that she could do nothing more than serve as an embarrassment, the word of a slave counting for nothing against a queen. But that would have only been useful, however slightly, if she had been cooperative, which she clearly was not, and in fact, her proud admission of her deed was problematic. Under our law, the only way the confession of a slave is valid is after torture, and what I had done to her would not qualify. Oh, I could have turned Balbus loose and after he was through there would have been no question that she had been properly tortured, but suddenly it did not seem to have any value. As Iras sat there, I waved Scribonius over to a corner to get his thoughts.

  “I don’t see that bringing her back is going to serve any purpose, and in fact, might make an antagonist out of Antonius,” he pointed out. “Truly,” he continued, “it would be highly embarrassing for the queen to be confronted with proof that she tried to have a Primus Pilus murdered. But I also think that there's a significant chance that Antonius will be just as angry with you as Cleopatra will be. And not even Titus Pullus is strong enough to fight both Cleopatra and Antonius.”

  I looked over at the girl, rubbing my chin. Maybe you are getting soft, I thought, because even as clearly evil as this girl was, there is something about killing a beautiful woman that somehow seems wrong. I sighed, knowing Scribonius was right, so I clapped him on the shoulder, then returned to face Iras. Balbus was looking extremely disappointed, since neither of the subjects had required extensive use of his tools. Seeing this, I decided that I would at least let Balbus tell Deukalos what plans he had for his ball sac, even if I saw no point in carrying it out. If Deukalos had been a harder man, I had every intention of allowing Balbus to fulfill his dream, but alas, the merchant was as soft as mushy porridge in every way. He was sitting over in the corner quietly sobbing, and while Iras had tears streaming from her eyes, it was from the pain I had inflicted on her, and she still looked up at me defiantly, giving no sign that she would ask for mercy. It was probably because she realized that she would not receive it, and I imagine that her faith that she had a spot reserved in the curious version of the afterlife that these Egyptians have gave her the courage she needed. I could respect that, and in that moment I decided that I would kill her quickly, despite what she had done to Eumenis, who had suffered greatly. Her blood would avenge the murder of Eumenis; causing her suffering would not enhance the quality of the vengeance as I saw it.

  I leaned down, still careful to stay out of her spitting range, asking her, “You said that your priests have blessed you?”

  She swallowed hard, but nodded.

  “Do you have any words that you would like to say?”

  Iras looked surprised, and there was a flash that I thought might be gratitude in her eyes. She nodded.

  “Then say them now, girl,” I said grimly.

  While she was thusly occupied, I walked over to Balbus, pointing to Deukalos and telling him that he could amuse himself, to a point. He gave me a grin, and turned to walk over to the fat merchant, who began wailing in fear. Returning to the girl, drawing my dagger as I did so, I was interrupted by the sound of a clearing throat. I looked over to see Vellusius, Herennius, and Gaius standing together a short distance from the girl, all of them with a peculiar expression on their faces as they glanced at each other. There was a whispered argument, and I was beginning to get irritated, when Herennius and Gaius, apparently working in concert, shoved Vellusius forward.

  “Primus Pilus, me and the boys here were wondering, sir, seeing that we came along and are taking a risk ourselves,” he saw my face, prompting him to hasten to add, “not that we aren’t happy to do whatever you need us to do. It’s just that, it just strikes us as a shame that you’re about to do in that tasty bit there, and we were wondering . . .”

  His voice trailed off, but I now understood what they were asking, and I was assaulted by a wave of different emotions. A combination of amusement, revulsion, and the gods only know what else washed through me as I considered the request. Rape has never been to my tastes, but I was not blind or deaf to the fact that there were a fair number of men who found it appealing, remembering old Didius, one of the original tentmates of Vellusius, Scribonius and me. While I was not surprised at either Vellusius or Herennius, I was shocked to see Gaius clearly part of the plot, his face a mixture of guilt and interest in my answer.

  “Fine,” I snapped. “But make it quick.”

  They played odd man out to see who would go first, and Iras, realizing what was about to happen, began thrashing wildly, moaning with fear as the winner, Gaius as it turned out, approached.

  “Please, master,” she called to me, every trace of defiance and anger gone, “don’t let them defile me in this manner. Just kill me now, I beg you. Please!”

  Gaius stopped short, suddenly looking as if he wanted to be somewhere else, but Vellusius and Herennius, both of them old hands at this and accustomed to the begging hysteria of a woman about to be ravaged, just grinned, pushing him forward.

  “Go on, boy! She looks ready to give you a ride you won’t forget,” Herennius called out.

  I took a step forward to halt Gaius, both for Iras and for him, somehow knowing that it would relieve both of them, when Iras called out again, saying something that stopped me in my tracks.

  “The queen has another plan to strike at you! It’s probably happening as we speak!”

  Everyone froze in place, while I felt as if an invisible hand gripped my heart and squeezed it. I held up a hand to stop Gaius, but it was not needed.

  “What are you talking about?”

  My tone was low, but she could not mistake the menace in it, and she visibly flinched.

  “I heard her telling Apollodorus that if you discovered that Deukalos was involved, you would do as you have, and that it would be a good time to strike at your woman. She still wants to kill you, but she has learned that you love your woman and wants to hurt you any way you can!”

  I stood, mind reeling, trying to make sense of what the girl was saying, but it in fact did not make sense.

  “You’re saying that Cleopatra said this in your presence?” I asked, to which she nodded, and I was about to turn away to let Gaius resume what he and the others planned, sure that she was lying.

  “She wouldn't tell Apollodorus something like that in front of the person who's going to carry out her poisoning attempt, for the very reason that you're sitting here now. She wouldn't take that risk,” I said over my shoulder.

  “She would if she thought I was going to be dead,” she said quietly.

  I looked quickly to Scribonius, who gave me a grim nod.

  “That’s true,” Balbus spoke up from where he had stopped before doing whatever he had planned to do to Deukalos, who had momentarily stopped his constant moaning, as arrested by the words of the girl as the rest of us, it seemed. Gaius looked stricken, and for the space of several heartbeats, none of us moved before Scribonius’ voice broke the spell.

  “Who’s on guard at the apartment right now?” he asked Vellusius.

  “Kaeso, Cornelius, and Secundus,” Vellusius answered, which made me feel a bit better, since they were all hard-bitten veterans. The question answered, I called to the others.

  “We need to go, now.”

  I pointed to Iras, directing that she be rebound, gagged, and thrown back in the sack. “If you’re lying,” I warned her, “I'm going to let my whole Cohort have you. We won’t have to cut your t
hroat by the time we’re through.”

  She looked extremely frightened, but before the gag was stuffed in her mouth, she assured me that she was telling the truth, and suddenly I believed her. Turning to Balbus, I told him to finish Deukalos, not needing to tell him that it had to be done quickly. In a couple of strides, Balbus crossed to the fat merchant, who had resumed his moaning, and with a quick, practiced motion, cut the man’s throat. Blood sprayed from the gaping wound, but Balbus had done this often and jumped aside to avoid the splatter. In just a few moments after Iras had uttered the words, we left the farmhouse, and with the girl slung over Gaius’ shoulder, we were running back towards the city.

  We heard the fighting before we came within sight of the apartment, about two or three blocks away. All of us were panting for breath, while my legs were on fire, but I was powered by the fear that we would arrive too late, making me merciless with the others as well, though they needed no urging. Despite the late time of night, now just a couple thirds of a watch before dawn, people had been awakened by the noise, coming out of their homes to try and see what was happening in the gloom. Nearing the apartment, the crowds grew thicker, and we had to shove people aside, which I did without breaking stride. Ignoring the cries of alarm and pain as people of all ages and sizes were sent flying, we turned the corner onto the street where the apartment was located to a scene illuminated by torches that had apparently been brought by the assault force. There was a group of men, dressed in a motley assortment of castoff armor, most of it leather while some had mail shirts similar to ours, carrying a similar collection of weapons. A number of the attacking party were already on the ground, but there were still more than fifteen men left, and they were pressing the three Legionaries, who were standing shoulder to shoulder with their back to the doorway into the building to prevent any attempt to circle behind them. Taking this in and seeing that the men at the apartment were not in immediate danger of being overwhelmed, I snapped an order to Balbus, who took Herennius and Vellusius back to make a wide circle down the street, across an alley, then back up the street on the far side so that they could hit the attackers on the left flank. While we waited for Balbus to get into position, I ignored the people who understandably gave us a wide space, directing Gaius to wait, which he did not like one bit.

  “I need you to keep hold of what's in that sack,” I said patiently, despite not feeling that way.

  I gave a jerk of the head to indicate the people gathered a short distance away, most of them still dressed in their nightclothes, jaws agape at the battle taking place in front of them.

  “I don’t want any of these bastards making off with it while we’re taking care of that bunch.”

  He nodded, but said nothing, then I heard Balbus’ whistle. I turned to Scribonius as I drew my Gallic blade, taking comfort in the feel of the handle that had been worn to fit exactly the shape of my hand.

  “Let’s give 'em a surprise,” I said, catching Scribonius’ grin before we turned to rush into the melee.

  Our attack from both sides achieved just that, since these men were not of a high quality as soldiers. They had not posted men as a rearguard, apparently completely confident that any hope of rescue for the men guarding the apartment was so minimal that it did not warrant one. Intent on trying to force their way into the apartment, every man was facing the three Legionaries who, despite not having shields, were keeping the attackers at swords’ length simply by being better with their blades than their opponents. The shouts of the attacking force turned to cries of alarm as the men on either flanks found themselves under assault. I picked a swarthy, squat man in a leather cuirass armed with a sword that would have been useful from the back of a horse, but was worse than useless in a close-quarters fight. He whirled when I was just a couple of steps away, trying to bring his blade up and around. He was too slow and too late, the point of my finer Gallic sword punching through the leather cuirass as if were not there. I struck with such force that I made the tiro’s mistake of burying the blade too deeply, it lodging in the backbone of its victim, who was now hanging dead on the end of my sword. I tried to wrench the blade free, it finally coming out on the third attempt, giving the man next to him just enough time to take a swing at me with a club studded with spikes. He could have bashed my brains in, since none of us were wearing our helmets, but his aim was terrible, striking a glancing blow off my shoulder instead, just under the edge of my tunic, one of the spikes digging a bloody chunk of flesh out of my left arm. I roared with the pain, bashing the wielder of the club in the face with the pommel of my sword, the few teeth he had left splintering in his mouth while I was sprayed with blood. The man fell as if all the bones in his body had disintegrated instead of just his teeth, while I turned my attention to the next attacker in my line of vision.

  Scribonius was fighting a man who was surprisingly skilled, but I could see my friend was not hard pressed. Pushing forward, I noted that Balbus was making similar progress, his blade making short, economical thrusts that inevitably scored. My feet slipped a bit, and I realized that it was because the blood was flowing freely, the rich, coppery smell filling my nostrils, some of it my own. The attack had disintegrated; now men were just concerned with escaping with their lives, but there was no mercy to be had at our hands this night, all of us chopping the men down before they could escape. Almost as quickly as our counterattack had started it was over, with 25 men lying dead in the street, after we finished off the wounded of course, surrounded by gaping citizens of Ephesus who seemed rooted in their spot, clearly shocked by the sudden violence and brutal efficiency of what Roman Legionaries can do. Standing there, catching our breath and taking stock, I thought that the reaction was understandable, it being highly unlikely that any of these city dwellers had ever seen a Roman Legion in action.

  “Is that the best that bitch could send for us?”

  Kaeso spat on one of the corpses, evidently the leader and as a result the first to fall, a former gladiator from the look of his broken, battered face and scarred body, now marred by the gaping wound in his side from which blood still leaked, adding to the pool collecting on the paving stones about him. Kaeso was slightly wounded with a cut up his left arm, which normally would have been protected by his shield. Cornelius was unmarked, his sword bloodied to the hilt, while Secundus had a serious stab wound to his thigh. Fortunately, while bleeding freely, it was not spurting bright red, which would be a sign that the major vessel in the thigh was severed. Cornelius helped him bind up the wound and I asked Kaeso what happened.

  “The bastards came roaring up the street,” he reported, pointing down the avenue that led past one side of the apartment building. “Oh, it was a bit hot for a few moments, until Secundus came from the back. Cornelius was here right away.” He pointed to the overhanging wooden balcony that overhung the front of the doorway. “He dropped down on them from his spot on the roof, and they never knew what hit them.”

  I surveyed the bloody mess before me, then heard the cries of the city watch, which apparently had finally been roused out of their barracks, as they drew closer. Now that the fighting had stopped, they could not easily follow the sound, so I was sure they were now wandering about trying to find the site of this disturbance, undoubtedly cursing whoever dared to rouse them from their comfort. Without waiting for me to tell him, Scribonius directed Herennius and Vellusius to help him disperse the crowd, which not surprisingly, did not need any urging to flee back into their homes. I debated what to do; there would undoubtedly be some questions from the commander of the city guard, while it was possible that the Praetor would be roused to be told that a small battle had taken place in his city. I cocked an ear for the city guard, relieved to hear that their cries seemed to be receding as they wandered around the streets of the city. That gave us more time, but I could not take the chance of being found with the gory evidence at my feet. I called Balbus over, telling him what needed to be done. His face, spattered with blood that was not his, reflected his doubt, yet
he moved quickly and in moments we were all very busy, our work for the night not quite done.

  The dead men were dragged into the nearby alley, along with the various bits and pieces that had been separated from their bodies, but there was still a huge dark mass of blood and gore spattered on the paving stones. Directing Gaius, Vellusius, and Herennius to scrounge some buckets and go to the nearby public fountain, we tried to wash the blood away, while I kept my ears and eyes open for the sounds of the city watch. They had drawn nearer, the sound growing louder as they continued their search for the disturbance. After a few bucketfuls of water, it was clear that it would not be enough to disguise the signs of a fight completely, even with the darkness, the spot still clearly showing up black in the night. However, the gods were with us, because after more searching the city watch clearly gave up, their clomping feet and shouts receding back in the direction from which they had come. Once it was clear that the immediate danger was over, my thoughts turned back to what had brought us to that point, and what we should do about it. I had Iras, who was still alive, but would not be much longer, and I had the bodies of the men who were hired, probably by Apollodorus since I did not see Cleopatra dirtying her hands, to try and kill Miriam. I wondered how I could use these to send a message to Cleopatra. Turning to Scribonius, I gave him my idea, and I cannot say that he took it well.

  “Are you out of your mind?” is how I believe he put it, though I do not remember his exact words.

  “Why?”

  I know I sounded defensive, yet I had thought it was a good idea.