Sands of Egypt

by S. J. A. Turney

  He had never before seen Caesar under the sway of anyone. Indeed, quite the opposite was the norm, and this was a worrying development.

  The faster they got Aegyptus under control and were out of here, the better.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Royal palace, Alexandria, January 17th 47 BC

  The arguments had raged once more, as they had repeatedly over the past half month. It was, to Fronto’s mind, a fitting simile for what was happening in the city: two great powers in conflict. One a royal court, be it Arsinoë and her general Ganymedes or Cleopatra and her Roman consul lover, the other a military command, be it Caesar facing Arsinoë or Cassius facing Cleopatra.

  In the rich rooms of the palace, the ebb and flow of angry politics forced everyone to side with one power or the other, even if there was no official rift, and arguments, opinions and recriminations fell from the air like arrow storms, defendants putting up verbal shield walls, while the artillery of over-confident design launched fresh assaults.

  And in the city the war had settled into a strangely stagnant toing and froing. Rome was content to retain mastery of the harbour, the palace acropolis and the island of Pharos, while the Aegyptians were happy to operate from the commercial harbour, to control the Heptastadion and the bulk of the city. Fighting continued, for this was war after all, but there were no grand plans or hard pushes for control. Skirmishes and occasional attacks of opportunity occurred, reminding everyone that they could not become too complacent.

  Fronto was a veteran of every kind of war, and he knew this type, knew what was coming, and that knowledge made him pensive and irritable as he lurked in the background of the strategic meetings, staunchly behind Cassius but keeping quiet and avoiding incurring fresh waves of accusations over the failure of the Heptastadion battle.

  He knew what would happen, if not precisely how or why. Rome was waiting for more reinforcements – the other legion from Syria or the army Mithridates had promised – and until they got them there would be little chance of putting an end to this. Rome had approaching ten thousand men now in Alexandria, and even that figure was dwarfed by the Aegyptian number. To launch a major offensive until further reinforcement would be to invite a repeat of the last disaster, and everyone knew it. So Rome sat and simmered. The enemy had to be waiting for something similar. They had the numbers, but without something special they could not hope to overcome the palace redoubt. So they too sat and simmered. Both sides waited, occasionally jostling and pushing. But they waited.

  At some point the wait would be over.

  If Caesar’s reinforcements arrived, they might be able to finally end this nightmare. If it was the enemy’s hope that manifested, then Rome’s ambitions in Aegyptus were over and Caesar would have no choice but to tuck his tail between his legs and run, which would likely be the end of him politically. Everything was at stake. And unless something happened, it seemed they might as well flip a coin to decide the future.

  Not an enviable state to be in.

  It was because of his disinterest in the latest arguments that Fronto happened to become aware of the visitor before the others. As Cassius harangued the queen and stopped just short of accusing Caesar of being her latest eunuch, Fronto had turned his back on the room and leaned on a wide flat windowsill, beneath a painting of a wide-winged blue bird and a collection of lotus flowers.

  His gaze took in the complex of the palace and the city beyond, separated by the massive defences of Cassius sizzling beneath the hot sun that continued to sear the land even in the heart of winter. And that was where he saw the emissary.

  He was clearly an ambassador, for the white-clad nobleman was accompanied by several slaves and a small bodyguard of veteran Ptolemaic cavalry, all under the careful accompaniment of two score men of the Thirty Seventh and a detachment of Caesar’s praetorians. They were moving along the wide street from the gate in the improvised walls to the palace itself, the figure of Salvius Cursor, currently assigned in place of Ingenuus as the praetorian officer, leading the way.

  ‘Stop bickering for a moment,’ Fronto snapped at the heated debate in the room behind him. ‘We’ve got company.’

  There must have been something in his tone of voice, since such insolence commonly earned him a dressing down from Caesar and spiteful comments from the queen, but on this occasion the room fell silent and all eyes turned to him.

  ‘It seems the enemy have sent a diplomat. He’s being escorted this way and will be here any time.’

  Caesar shared a glance with the queen. ‘I would respectfully ask that you retire from the room while I meet with this new arrival.’

  Cleopatra bridled. ‘This is my palace, Consul, my city and my country. Do not presume to…’

  Caesar held up a placating hand. ‘No disrespect, but this emissary is doubtless from your sister. If it is an address to yourself, then I will personally retire from the matter and send them to your throne room. But Rome is the power with whom she has locked horns in the city, and it should be Rome her ambassador meets. Your presence will be inflammatory and could make negotiation difficult.’

  Cleopatra narrowed her eyes. ‘Beware negotiating the future of my nation without me, Caesar.’

  ‘Please?’ It was polite, and said kindly, but there was a firmness to Caesar’s tone that they all knew. Still unhappy, but accepting it regardless, the queen gestured to her entourage and turned, striding from the room.

  ‘Need we negotiate with them anyway, Caesar?’ Hirtius ventured from his place a little behind the general’s shoulder. ‘We are in no urgent danger.’

  ‘I have no idea what an ambassador might be here to say,’ the general replied, ‘but in a situation like this, Aulus, it can only be a matter of import. As such I need to hear what they have to say, and I need to mull it over as a consul of Rome, and not an overseer of the Aegyptian throne.’

  He peered around the room. ‘It has not escaped my notice how divided this command has become. I am less than encouraged by it, but the healing of such rifts is a matter for another time. Now, I need solidarity in appearance at least. Gather and act like a unified council of war, for when our visitor leaves once more, I need him to report our strength and unity of purpose, not our division and rancour.’

  With a collection of nods the room shuffled and repositioned, the entire Roman command forming into a half circle behind the general, like some senate hearing. There they waited tense for a few moments more before the tell-tale noise of many booted feet echoed along the corridor outside the chamber.

  A rap at the door received a nod from Caesar, and the two praetorian guardsmen at the entrance pulled on the handles, opening the room up. For a moment, Fronto felt the pull of grief at the sight, and had to fight it down in the current circumstances. The loss of Ingenuus on the battlefield had been keenly felt by all those who had fought alongside him since those days in Gaul when they had faced the Helvetii. The officer’s body had not been recovered, which did little to improve the mood, and they had been forced to hold a strange ceremony, praying for peace in his afterlife. To see Salvius Cursor in his place was oddly fitting, but not overly comforting.

  Fronto shook it off. Time later for grief. Ingenuus was not the first good Roman to die in this damn war. Salvius Cursor marched into the room and bowed to the general as his men fanned out, and the native nobleman entered with a haughty step and no sign of deference.

  ‘Consul, this is Sarapas, who introduced himself at the gate as the ‘Voice of Aegyptus’.’

  Caesar cocked his head to one side. ‘Did he indeed? Well met, voice of Aegyptus. I am Gaius Julius Caesar, consul and dictator of Rome. Say your piece.’

  The Aegyptian’s kohl-rimmed eyes narrowed, and his fingers drummed on the golden cane upon which he leaned.

  ‘Roman, I come from Ganymedes, general of the armies of the Black Land.’

  ‘Not from the princess Arsinoë, then?’

  ‘Do not play games, Roman. You must know by now that this land is strong and w
ill not simply roll over and allow Rome to order the throne around. The general Ganymedes is moving his senet pieces into position and when the board is ready, Rome’s days here are numbered. We have the strength, the advantage, the popular support, and the gods on our side.’

  ‘Yet you are here in supplication,’ Caesar noted archly.

  ‘Not in supplication,’ the noble spat angrily. ‘There is a hatred endemic among the children of Ptolemy, and the queens and princesses of the line are the cause of all strife and trouble in our land.’

  Fronto blinked. Though his memories of the foolish and flamboyant young king who languished in rich solitude in the palace were hardly kind, he had been of little danger to Rome. Ongoing exposure to Cleopatra, though, had led Fronto to decide that she was a thousand layers of trouble all wrapped up in a pretty package, and her sister Arsinoë no better. The ambassador might be an arrogant arse, but the truth of that statement hit home in Fronto. From the look on Caesar’s face, it had struck him too.

  ‘General Ganymedes recognises that there must be a child of Ptolemy on the throne of the Black Land, but he also has an eye on the future. It is his opinion that while a daughter of the line claims the double crown there cannot be peace, and Rome will continue to war with us. With a king on the throne, especially one who owes his place to the consul, the ties between our nations could be reforged. Ptolemy the Thirteenth, Theos Philopator, was crowned as a true king, and remains so, popular with his people. It is General Ganymedes’ hope that you will see your way to releasing the king from your care back into the arms of his people. In return for the release of the king and the removal of his sister from the royal line, General Ganymedes will agree terms, stand down the army, and similarly remove the princess Arsinoë from the line. One king alone, with friendship to Rome. This is our offer, and I urge you to accept it, Roman.’

  Caesar’s face remained unreadable as he watched the man. Finally, he turned to the praetorian commander. ‘Salvius, please escort the mouth of Aegyptus here to the grand triclinium and offer refreshments to he and his men.’ To Sarapas: ‘Please wait in the triclinium while I discuss the matter. I shall have an answer for you shortly.’

  With a nod of the head, the Aegyptian turned on his heel and left, gold stick tapping the floor as the soldiers accompanied him. The door closed with a click, but Caesar said nothing until the sound of footsteps faded, then turned to the officers.

  ‘What do you make of such an offer?’

  Cassius was the first to chime in. ‘If you do not snap the man’s hand off accepting this offer, then everything we have been trying to achieve in Aegyptus has been a joke and a lie, Consul.’

  There was a tense silence. Fronto might agree with him, but there were more politic ways to put things.

  ‘If they can be trusted to hold to their side of the bargain,’ Hirtius put in. ‘The perfidious nature of the rulers of this land is becoming a theme for our time here.’

  There were several nods.

  ‘The fact remains,’ Cassius pointed out, ‘that we fight here to maintain a foothold purely to satisfy a woman to whom we owe nothing.’ Caesar gave him a cold look, but Cassius shrugged it off. ‘Caesar, I was your enemy, yet I joined you willingly, for I serve Rome and not the ego of any of its sons. As such, I will not honey-coat my words or tell you simply that which you wish to hear. I speak for the good of Rome and, though you may not currently realise it, also for the good of yourself.’

  Fronto could see the coldness in the air between the two men and, taking a deep breath, stepped forwards. ‘While you all know there is no love lost between the queen and myself, I wish her no harm. Caesar, there is an issue here that has not been mentioned. In addition to the release of the king, Ganymedes has also essentially demanded the death of his sisters.’

  ‘And that is a small price to pay for Rome,’ Cassius argued.

  ‘Perhaps. I dislike the queen and her influence, and she and I will never see eye to eye, but I cannot condone her death. Remember, we began all this from the strong legal standpoint of upholding their father’s wishes in his will, and attempting to secure the siblings together on the throne as had been intended. To instead favour one over the other has been niggling me all the time the queen sits on the council while her brother languishes in locked rooms, but to execute one of them and support the other is going a step too far. Rome does not have the right to kill foreign kings. To do so is to send a message to the world about the republic that we do not want to send. Besides which, from a practical viewpoint, there will still be sectors of society that support her. This, Caesar, is not a straightforward decision.’

  ‘If it ends the war and ties them to Rome, do away with her,’ Cassius insisted.

  Brutus now stepped into the fore once again.

  ‘Caesar, you termed this a “negotiation”. The point of a negotiation is to put forward possibilities and hammer out an agreement. Can we not take back to this Sarapas man a counter-proposal?’

  Caesar frowned. ‘You propose a compromise?’

  Brutus shrugged. ‘Offer to meet half way and see what transpires?’

  Fronto nodded now, stepping forwards again. ‘Offer to give them their king back, but refuse to remove the queen. They were made joint rulers. With his time in our care, Ptolemy might now be persuaded to see the value in shared power. And the queen will have to be pressed into accepting it. Then the only issue is their sister.’

  Hirtius stepped next to Fronto. ‘Princess Arsinoë is clearly an impediment to peace, and while Rome could not openly condone her removal, what the Aegyptians do to secure their own throne is none of our business.’

  Fronto gave him a disapproving look and opened his mouth to argue, even as Cassius, lip wrinkling with distaste, prepared to deny the whole thing, but neither managed to speak, for Caesar was there first.

  ‘It is a plan with merit. We cannot consult with the queen, clearly, and the task of persuading her as to the wisdom of this path I shall take on in due course. For now, I think the way forward has been made clear. Come.’

  Without further ado, Caesar marched from the room. At the doorway he paused and spoke to one of the praetorians, who scurried off at speed. With the Roman command in close pursuit, Caesar strode through the palace, making for the grand triclinium. As they travelled, Cassius hurried forwards to Caesar’s side. ‘I urge you, Consul, not to put the needs of the queen above those of Rome.’

  Caesar nodded. ‘I will do what I must, Cassius. Your loyalty to the republic has been noted and does you credit.’

  The officer dropped back once more to walk beside Fronto. ‘He will not relinquish her, you know? If he has to bring the entire republic down in order to fluff up the cushion on her throne, he will. I will follow him as long as to do so will not endanger Rome, but I am growing increasingly uncomfortable with his reliance upon that woman.’

  Fronto could only nod. It was a difficult situation, and at the heart of it he agreed with Cassius. Now, though, Rome needed unity, not division.

  Shortly thereafter they arrived at the triclinium, where Sarapas sat eating fruit, his slaves fawning around him, guards standing at the rear under the watchful gaze of legionaries. The Aegyptian rose with the aid of his gold cane and bowed his head.

  ‘You have reached a decision?’

  ‘I have.’

  There was a pause, then, during which Sarapas began to look confused and uncertain, until the sound of footsteps echoed from another door, and the figure of Ptolemy the Thirteenth, King of Aegyptus, emerged from another doorway, followed by his slaves and escorted by praetorians.

  ‘Sarapas, voice of Aegyptus and ambassador of Ganymedes, into your hands I deliver your king. Let there be an understanding of peace between us. The young princess in your camp is your own affair, though for our part, Rome requires that she be denied any true power in your state. In return for peace and a cessation of hostilities, I relinquish the king back to his people. I will not, however, harm the queen, who was granted an equal shar
e of rule by their father. Rome came here in the wake of Pompey’s flight and sought upon our arrival simply to support the wishes of the former pharaoh. Nothing has changed. We support the joint rule of Ptolemy and Cleopatra. Let that be the decision to stand and see the country at peace.’

  The young king stepped out uncertainly into the room. ‘Your words are calm and reasonable, Consul, but you reckon without my sister. I am the very soul of compromise,’ he added with a surprisingly straight face, ‘but Cleopatra will never deign to share the throne with me. I charge you with this, force her into acceptance and I will welcome Rome as friends of the house of Ptolemy. But I fear you fight an impossible fight there.’

  Caesar nodded slowly. ‘Ptolemy, King of Aegyptus, take the government of the country into your hands. Look to the welfare of your kingdom in the wake of this dreadful war. Settle them into fidelity with Rome. Go with the friendship of the republic.’

  Sarapas looked unsure as to whether he should leave, his conditions not entirely met and, clearly struggling with his internal debate, he finally bowed. He had secured the release of the king, after all.

  Fronto frowned as he caught an odd look pass across the Aegyptian’s face, and watched as the man shot a glance momentarily at his king. He saw a nervous flicker strike Ptolemy, and the young ruler stepped just a little closer to Caesar.

  ‘Come, my King,’ the ambassador said, and began to walk from the room, his slaves and guards gathering around him. The king, navigating the furnishings of the triclinium, contrived to pass close to Caesar, which had the general’s praetorians shuffling forward protectively, and as he came close he hissed, loudly enough to be heard only by the officers nearby.

  ‘Do not send me back, Caesar.’

  The consul frowned, and Ptolemy threw a worried look after the ambassador, who hadn’t yet turned or noticed the king’s delay.

  ‘It is no longer Achillas there who I wished to rejoin, but my sister’s creature Ganymedes. I will become but a puppet to them, and nothing will change, for my sister will continue to wish my death. Don’t release me.’