by Jo Graham
In that day, the Palace Quarter, palaces, villas, and park, were surrounded by a wall with gates. There was also the small Royal Harbor, with the docks for our private ships just south of the Lochias Penin-sula, where Caesar had brought in his ships. It was not large, and to sail, one had to go through the main harbor and out around the breakwater and the island of Pharos, but it did still give him a way to leave.
Perhaps that is what a sensible man would have done. I do not know. I do know, however, that I did not like the smell in the air in the villa. The legionaries stood together when off duty in quiet knots, and there was little laughter or dicing. Only the Gaulish cavalry in their thin leather harness went about their business with calm gravity. The legionaries on our doors were replaced by Aurelianus and his men again, presumably because the infantry were needed on the walls, and there was little use for dismounted cavalry, but I thought also that it was because they were steadier. They spoke their own languages among themselves, and obeyed their own officers.
Fighting broke out near the docks. Achillas was pressing in, pushing the infantry back street by street and house by house. It was only a small area, mostly warehouses and inns, but my heart bled at the thought of fighting in our city. Meanwhile, we were trapped.
On the second day of the fighting, Caesar came to see the Queen.
He wore harness like his men, but it was gilded steel over leather, Medusa’s head embossed on the chest piece, with gilded greaves and the full infantry kit, save the helm. I thought that beneath the fine clothes his legs were rather skinny, and that was where he showed his age. He was, after all, nearly as old as Auletes.
Two German bodyguards accompanied him, huge blond men looking as though their muscles had been carved from stone.
Cleopatra rose from her chair. She did not incline her head, and neither did he. “So you have come to see me at last,” she said.
I busied myself pouring watered wine into cups, but of course Caesar did not take his, nor did the Queen.
“As you can guess, I’ve been busy,” he said.
Her gown was a shade between rose and purple, and brought color to her cheeks. “So I understand. Caesar, let me be sure we understand one another. You want money to pay your men. I want my city undamaged.”
“I thought you wanted to be sole ruler of Egypt,” Caesar said. One eyebrow rose.
“In order for you to get your money, I must be,” she said calmly. “You will not find that money in Alexandria, and you will not be able to raise it in taxes and payments from Upper Egypt while the country is in civil war. It is in your interest, now and in the future, to have Egypt as a firm ally at your back, a source of wealth and support. You will not get that from Ptolemy Theodorus, and you can get it from me.”
“What makes you think I cannot get it from Ptolemy?” he asked, his cloak over his arm as though he were a rhetoretician.
“From the men who killed Pompeius?” One of the Queen’s eyebrows rose in mirror of his. “Will you ever be certain, if you turn your back for one moment, that your will shall be done or promises kept? Do you plan to stay in Egypt and collect taxes yourself?”
“And you will pay promptly and without quibbling?”
Cleopatra nodded. “If the terms are reasonable. I will not beggar my country, not for your aid or anyone else’s. If I should, then I should be a poor ruler indeed.”
“And the price of this invaluable assistance?” Caesar smiled, as though now it were down to bargaining, and he was sure of getting what he wanted.
Her reply wiped the smile from his lips. “Put me on the throne of Egypt, where I shall rule jointly with the son you will get on me.”
“My dear lady, it isn’t that I’m not flattered by your proposal, but it is quite impossible,” he said. He paced toward the wine table, while the Germans exchanged looks behind his back. They might seem to be carved out of stone, but they understood some Koine, at least. I, for my part, nearly dropped the cup in the krater.
“In all my years of life, I have never sired a son. One child, and one alone, my daughter who is dead. . . .” Caesar turned and spread his hands. “Believe me, I have had many women with varying degrees of pleasure, but they do not quicken.”
“Perhaps you have never lain with a goddess,” Cleopatra said, seeming unperturbed.
“I have not,” he said. I looked for amusement on his face, but there was none. “But I will not have the child of some slave foisted off upon me as my get. If I would not take the son of Publius Clodius, I will take no lesser.”
“I have more dignity than that, I assure you. Do you think I would raise the son of a slave to the throne of the Ptolemies?” Cleopatra said icily. “Should you lie with me, we will get a son, a Horus for Egypt. Isis wills it.”
“And what does Cleopatra will?”
“That does not matter in the least.”
He looked at her and nodded shortly, as one swordsman will to another. “Perhaps you are a ruler after all.”
“I am Pharaoh,” she said, and there was Egypt in her cool eyes. “I am Isis.”
Caesar put his head to the side, and this time his smile was real. “I had thought the Ptolemies were Greek.”
“Egypt changes men who have their will with her,” she said. “Conquerors come, and go away changed.”
“Alexander did not,” he said.
“Alexander already knew who he was before he went to Siwah.” Cleopatra crossed the room in a whisper of soft silks, and took the wine cup from my hand. “Do you, Caesar?”
He laughed. “I’m Caesar,” he said.
“They say you visited the Soma,” she said.
“Don’t all travelers? It is, after all, Alexandria’s most famous sight.”
“They say you wept,” she said. “Why, Caesar?”
“Do not many men?” He met her eyes. “Are not many moved at the sight of such devotion, that friends should treat a corpse with such reverence, should kill across his bier?”
He did not look at me, but I sucked in a breath.
“Certainly of all the Companions Ptolemy at least was true,” she said.
“Loyalty is a rare thing in a ruler,” Caesar said. “Or in anyone.” He glanced behind at his bodyguards. “I take it where I find it, in whatever guise.”
“As do I,” she said.
His eyes shifted to me. “Then you are well served.”
“I know,” she said.
Caesar nodded. “I will consider your proposal, Gracious Queen.”
“I will await your response, Imperator,” she replied. And the interview was at an end. Caesar swept from the room, his Germans behind him.
A FEW HOURS LATER the doors opened to admit Dion, and I flung my arms around his neck. “Dion! How in the world did you get in?”
Dion grinned. “Aurelianus. They have orders not to let you out. Nobody said anything about not letting me in.”
Cleopatra rose up from the chair at the window. “What’s the news in the city?”
“Not good.” Dion bowed gracefully. “Most of the city is in Achillas’ hands, and it’s business as usual. But the neighborhoods along the harbor north of the Soma are still full of people. They slapped the cordon down so fast that people couldn’t get out. And that’s where the fighting is.”
The Queen looked grim. “Who’s winning?”
“Right now, Achillas. There’s still a corridor open from here to the harbor. They could still get to their ships. But there are Egyptian ships in the main harbor that answer to Achillas, and the batteries of ballistae on Pharos’ island. Caesar’s not going to get any supplies by sea.”
Cleopatra looked at me. “What if we’ve miscalculated?”
“Then we’re finished,” I said.
Dion looked from one of us to the other. “Miscalculated about what?”
It was Cleopatra’s to answer, so she did. “Telling Caesar that I would bear him a son to be Pharaoh of Egypt in return for his backing.”
Dion let out a long whistle through
his teeth. “That’s interesting,” he managed.
“Caesar has no sons,” I said. “He never has. One daughter years ago, but no other children. Do you suppose he can’t do it?”
Dion grinned. “I think that’s unlikely. You should hear what his Gauls sing about him. ‘Lock up your wives, Romans! Here we come with our balding debaucher! He’ll take them fore and aft, and finish up in their mouths for good measure!’?”
Cleopatra burst out laughing. “Where in the world did you hear that?”
“Aurelianus,” Dion said. “And his friends call him Emrys.”
“Do you count yourself one of his friends now?” Cleopatra asked, smiling.
“Unfortunately not yet,” Dion said. “I’m pretty sure the Romans aren’t supposed to explore Greek vices. Though they say Caesar did. Some wit years ago called him ‘every man’s woman and every woman’s man.’?”
“I remember that,” Cleopatra said. “It was Curio, wasn’t it? When Caesar was such good friends with King Nicomedes of Bithynia.”
“I think so,” Dion said. “But that must have been twenty years ago.”
“More like thirty,” I said.
“Well, that sounds promising,” Cleopatra said dryly. “Romans aren’t supposed to do anything of the kind. They think that men lying with other men is wrong, and that it turns men into soft cowards.”
Dion raised an eyebrow. “What, like Alexander the Great? If you lie with men, you may only conquer most of the known world? If you don’t, you might do better?”
I shrugged. “Maybe Caesar slept with Nicomedes or maybe not. I don’t see how it matters.”
“It matters in what other Romans think of him,” Cleopatra said. “They don’t accept that normal men enjoy sex with both men and women.”
“I have no idea what Gauls think,” Dion said. “Anyone?”
Cleopatra laughed. “I think that’s your research project, Dion. Please report back to us on your conclusions!”
“Provided we’re all here to listen,” I said.
Dion put his arm around me. “Caesar will pull it off. You’ll see. He’s been in tighter spots, so Emrys tells me.”
WE WOKE TO FIRE. Smoke crept into the room, choking and acrid. I got to my feet and went to the window. The sky was pink, a strange, nacreous glow lighting all of the usual haze. There was more than usual; something enormous was afire.
I shook Cleopatra. “Wake up! You must get up! The city is burning!”
She wriggled and sat up, choking and coughing. Her eyes were wide.
I flung the door open.
The Roman sentry stood still, his sword at his side. The smoke was less in the corridor, where there were no windows.
“What is going on?” I demanded. “What is happening?”
It was only a moment before Aurelianus came running.
I leaned out into the corridor again, the smoke following me. “What is burning?” I yelled. “You must let us out. We will suffocate in our beds!”
“Caesar is burning the Egyptian fleet,” Aurelianus replied, his green eyes bloodshot. “There is a sortie out to do it. The wind is blowing this way, so we are getting the worst of the smoke.”
Cleopatra was at my elbow. “If the smoke is blowing this way, then the fire . . .”
“Some of the buildings along the harbor have caught,” Aurelianus said. “The warehouses along the main harbor just past the Gate of the Moon. Achillas is having to use his men to put the fire out.”
“Caesar doesn’t put out fires? Only start them?” Cleopatra asked tartly, and I knew she was thinking of her city, of the families whose homes and whose livelihoods were in those neighborhoods.
“Caesar can’t get to it, Lady,” Aurelianus said evenly. “That area is entirely held by Achillas.”
“Wonderful,” she said, and whatever else she might have said was lost in a fit of coughing.
“We can’t stay here,” I said. “The smoke is too thick. Aurelianus, ask Caesar if we can be moved somewhere else.”
“Caesar isn’t here,” he said. “He’s out with the sortie at the Gate of the Moon.” The smoke was so thick that he began coughing as well.
“Surely he does not mean to kill the Royal Family from smoke inhalation,” I said.
Aurelianus opened his mouth, then shut it again. He turned to the guard. “Escort the Queen and her handmaiden out into the park. I will inform General Pollio that we are moving, and that the other members of the Royal Family should be moved because of the smoke.” He strode off smartly.
The guard stepped aside. “Come,” he said.
With my himation held to my nose and mouth, we followed him down, through the garden and out into the park. Perhaps it was that the trees broke up the smoke, or that we were a little farther, but the air was cleaner. We sat by the fountain made of the sarcophagus of Nectanebo and wet our himations in the clear running water. Breathing through the damp fabric was much easier. After a few minutes, some of the other guards joined us, escorting Ptolemy Theodorus with Pothinas. Since we hardly had anything to say to one another, we said nothing. Above, the sky roiled with clouds, their undersides glowing from the fire. In the city there must be shouting, desperate people running. Somewhere, in the chaos, Agrippa drew the first blood of his life in some courtyard, while at the Gate of the Moon Caesar watched to be sure the gate held.
Here, among the tombs, all was serene. This must be, I thought light-headedly, what it is like to be already dead.
Another decurion came hurrying up to Aurelianus. “Where is the Princess Arsinoe?” he asked.
Aurelianus spread his hands. “I don’t know. She’s never been in the care of my turma. Is she still in the villa?”
“She’s not in her rooms,” the other decurion said. “Perhaps she was moved somewhere else because of the smoke.” He started back to the villa again.
I looked at Cleopatra and she looked at me. Perhaps Arsinoe had taken advantage of the opening we had not. Whatever her flaws, cowardice was not one of them.
We waited in the gardens until dawn came, a flawed dawn with a pall of smoke hanging over the city. All in all, several hundred buildings had burned, mostly warehouses and shops near the harbor, as well as the massive drydocks that served the fleet. Those would have to be rebuilt at no small expense.
“Caesar will understand if I deduct the cost of my drydocks from the money I have promised him,” Cleopatra said grimly. “If he is to burn our docks, he will pay for us to replace them.”
One building that had burned was irreplaceable. The Library had not been, since the second Ptolemy’s time, housed under one roof. Four buildings clustered together, and then about them, among the halls and lecture theaters of the Museum, there were three more buildings, including the Ascalepium, the great medical library with its teaching facilities and dissection rooms. It was one of these satellite buildings that had burned, the one containing part of natural sciences and eastern literature and thought. Original manuscripts of Aristotle had been housed in that building. So had books from the Sind and other parts of India, including an incredibly beautiful scroll in Sanskrit about a hero named Arjuna.
I wept when I heard it, as much as I wept for the city and her people. These things were as precious as any human life, as impossible to duplicate.
Cleopatra was furious and white-lipped. When Caesar came to us in the morning to tell us that we might move back into our rooms in the palace rather than the villa, she told him in no uncertain terms that his carelessness was criminal.
“What am I now, a god, that I might command the winds?” he asked. “Sparks blew and the roof caught. I regret that it happened but I could hardly prevent it.”
“Surely Caesar can tell which way the wind is blowing,” Cleopatra said tartly. “If you burn our treasures, you will get little money. I expect that Caesar will pay for the dockyard, and for the reconstruction of the Library building, at least, since our men, priests, and scholars labored all night to put the fire out. I understand that one
elderly master carried water with a bucket until dawn, at which time he sat down upon the stones, laid his hand upon his breast, and died in the ashes of his beloved library.”
“My men have died too, all night long,” Caesar said. “It is the price. You are old enough to know that.”
“I am old enough to know that my duty is to guard my people,” she said. “And to guard our precious treasures, our way of life, and our gods.”
“Surely your gods can guard themselves,” Caesar said.
“Our gods work through us, Imperator. Is that not the way of it in Rome?”
“It is indeed,” Caesar said, and laughed. “I will reduce the amount you owe me by the cost of the dockyard. It is certainly true that we will need it in the future.”
Cleopatra raised one eyebrow. “Then you have agreed to my proposal?”
“In theory,” he said, and took a step closer. They did not touch, merely stood too closely together for casual conversation. “Though I will not fault you if you do not bear a son. I prefer to demand the possible.”
“Should we all get out of this alive,” she said.
“That’s the trick, isn’t it?”
“Always,” she said. She did not step back nor turn. She would not until he did.
I do not know who would have moved first, had Agrippa not come up behind. “Imperator,” he said, “Princess Arsinoe and her tutor, Ganymede, are gone. They escaped in the confusion.”
Caesar sighed. “I suppose that is not too much damage.”
Never underestimate a Ptolemaic princess, I thought. Arsinoe was as clever as the rest of us, and she would play her own hand.
She did, of course. Before the day had ended, she was with Achillas, who proclaimed that he served at the pleasure of Queen Arsinoe and Pharaoh Ptolemy Theodorus, a legitimate enough cause. It made Caesar’s position infinitely worse.