Selene’s hand rose to cover her mouth in horror, even as Caesarion, Eurydice, Cleopatra, Antony, and Antyllus hurried out of other buildings in the complex, coming to meet the survivors of the equite patrol. I can’t tell which of them is Tiberius, Selene thought, going cold. Did he . . . did he die?
A warm hand landed on her shoulder as Antyllus found her, and the lead rider slid off his horse. Advanced, limping heavily, through the massed ranks of the infantry. And brought his hand to his chest to salute Caesarion and Eurydice. “Your assailants did not make it far from Alexandria, dominae,” he said, his voice so rusty, that it took Selene a long moment to recognize Tiberius’ tones. And as she did, relief rushed through her. “Report six priests of Thoth dead, including Tahut-Nefer, slain by my own hand.” Empty voice, empty words. No affect at all. He jerked a thumb back, as the infantry started unloading the dead bodies so that they could be seen and identified. “Report loss of fifteen men. One casualty died on the way here. Last sustained a cobra bite, as I did myself. He might lose his leg without your assistance, dominus.”
Stunned silence in the courtyard. “You were bitten, but you’re on your feet,” Caesarion said, his voice distant.
“Amulet that Alexander insisted that I buy a few years ago appears to have more potency than either of us thought, dominus.” No inflections.
“Fifteen men,” Antony said, striding forward. “You lost seventy-five percent of the patrol taking down six men? How the fuck did that happen?”
“Buried us alive under three feet of sand,” Tiberius returned colorlessly. “Blinded one man before that. Another was swarmed by about fifty scorpions and other creatures. Fire. Heating our weapons in our hands to red-hot.” He held up his right hand in explanation, pulling back the bandage on it, and Selene choked, seeing blackened skin there.
Caesarion and Eurydice had stepped apart to look at the bodies, and Antyllus joined them now, leaving Selene by herself. She couldn’t bear to follow him over to survey the corpses. She knew that in war, men died, but she’d never been even this close to such . . . messily dead bodies before. And knowing that Tiberius had personally slain half of them made her stomach turn queasily. The completely empty look in his eyes didn’t help matters.
Now Caesarion called over, “Yes, that’s Tahut-Nefer. Hard to recognize him without the expression of disapproving sanctimony, but that’s him. The wound in his belly is too big for a gladius, though.”
“What in Dis’ name did you hit him with, Ti?” Antyllus asked, spreading his hands. “A scythe? Half a ship’s mast?”
“A plow, dominus,” one of the other equites put in, when Tiberius seemed disinclined to reply. “He killed two of the other priests single-handed, chased the fat one down, fought off some sort of water-spirit, and then kicked the fat fuck straight onto an overturned farmer’s plow. Was glorious, sir. Only caught the show from a distance, since I was still dealing with the two remaining priests, and the man with me had lost the use of his damned leg, thanks to the cobra bite.” Chuckling among the men now. “Keep telling him he needs the cognomen of Agricola.”
Selene’s other hand crept up to cover the first now. “Permission to clean up, dominus?” Tiberius asked now blankly. “And then board the first ship heading north?”
“Clean up, yes, ship, no. I’ll heal the man with the cobra bite as soon as I can get to the barracks, since your bite doesn’t seem to be spreading. But you need to wait till tomorrow for your own healing.” Caesarion crossed to put a hand on Tiberius’ shoulder. “You’d be welcome to come with us to Thebes. It’s time we put an end to all this nonsense. And having Tahut’s head, and these others’ atop spears when we go there, will make that easier. Thank you.”
“With respect, dominus, Britannia is where I would prefer to go.”
“A good sea voyage with nothing to do but heal would probably be best for you right now, yes,” Caesarion agreed, his voice light, but his brows furrowed. “Go get cleaned up, all of you. Have the palace physicians look over your wounds. And you’re all staying here till I know you’re properly healed. Understood?”
“Yes, my lord,” Tiberius answered, along with the other men Turned away as smartly as he could, and his knee gave out—at which point, Antyllus leaped forward to help steady him, while Caesarion kept a tight grip on his shoulder, too.
“I’ve got him,” Antyllus told Caesarion. “Come on, Tiberius. You’ve won enough gloria for any two men for now.” He helped the younger man across the courtyard, passing by Selene. The gray eyes glanced in her direction momentarily.
And looked through her, as if she were as invisible as she’d always thought she was. As if she didn’t even exist. Selene recoiled, at least as much from the emptiness in those eyes, as from the blood and the dirt and everything else.
Februarius 15, 20 AC
A legion’s marching pace remained four miles an hour—five, if the men were instructed to hustle, but that wore on them, in the long run. And with over five hundred miles between Alexandria and Thebes, the math was remorseless—sixteen days, minimum, to reach Upper Egypt with all their forces. Or less than a week, if they all somehow crowded onto enough river craft—the river craft that Prefect Gallus had commandeered to send his own men south.
Chafing visibly at the delays, Caesarion had directed the Sixteenth to move out at dawn. As good as his word, he’d healed Tiberius, and given the young man leave to board a ship in the re-opened harbor. The early healing helped; infection had already set in all over Tiberius’ body, everywhere that the sand and dust had cut into his skin. As such, if Caesarion hadn’t stepped in, Tiberius would have been left with layers of pitted scars everywhere, but only a few had wound up being deep enough to leave visible marks on his face, arms, and legs.
Antyllus had made a point of clasping wrists with Tiberius before letting him walk up the quay for the ship. It faintly disturbed him that Tiberius didn’t look up at the great Lighthouse with awe. Didn’t turn his head to study the sprawling harbor and its forest of ship masts. Just looked straight ahead, towards the horizon, almost at all times. “It wasn’t your fault the men with you died,” Antyllus felt compelled to remind him as Tiberius started up the ramp of the ship that would take him to Ostia, and from there, he’d arrange transportation to northern Gaul.
“I know,” Tiberius said over his shoulder.
“It’s on the mage-priests, not on you. Don’t let my father’s words bother you.”
“They don’t.” A pause, and Tiberius, now on the deck of the ship, called back down, “Good hunting in Thebes.” And then vanished below deck.
Antyllus sighed and left, feeling ill-at-ease, somehow. He headed back to the palace, climbed the long stairs up to the headland, and a servant caught him and redirected him to Eurydice’s study, where it sounded like an argument was taking place behind the closed door. A tap, an “Enter!” from Caesarion, and Antyllus walked in, raising his eyebrows at finding Selene, her siblings, and Cleopatra already inside. Selene looked flushed and near tears, which didn’t bode well. “What’s the problem?” Antyllus asked warily, moving to take her hands in his.
“There you are,” Caesarion said in a tone of quiet relief. “I’ve been putting together Selene’s dowry for you. Father had the coin set aside for both her and Eurydice years ago.” A quirk of his lips as he added, “It was rather pleasant not to have to pay Eurydice’s. It might have bankrupted our war effort a few years ago. We’d still have fighting in Illyria, I’m sure, if I had.”
“Caesarion!” Eurydice gave her husband a look.
“It’s true,” he told her mildly. “I can give you the whole amount now, Antyllus, but if you’d rather not carry that much coin, I can give you half now, and a letter for you to carry to Rome, where Alexander will disburse the other half later.”
Antyllus moved over to the desk, drawing Selene with him. “There’s no rush. I know you’re good for it, and it’s quite common for the dowry to be paid out over three years anyway.” He shrugged. “How mu
ch coin are we talking, anyway?”
Dowries ranged from a token amount, sometimes paid by someone other than the family—in which case, they were expected to be repaid if the girl died—to quite large amounts, intended to allow for the maintenance of a wealthy household. A single skilled laborer made a denarius a day. As such, Caesarion shrugged as well. “Father set aside about twenty thousand denarii for her. Enough to cover household expenses for the first three years of marriage, assuming you have a relatively small staff. I can give that to you in solidi, but that’s still a lot of coin to carry.”
Antyllus grimaced. “I wasn’t planning on bringing a pack mule with me wherever I go just to carry her dowry. Just give me a letter for the full amount, and I’ll settle up with you or Alexander whenever we get home to Rome. It’s not as if I don’t have money of my own.” He glanced at Selene. “If you want to buy slaves or servants to help around the castra when we’re on campaign, I’ll make sure you have enough coin to do that, all right?”
Her eyes had gone wide, and she nodded now, silently. He had the distinct impression she’d never thought about these sorts of realities before. She’s so damned young in so many ways. Ah, well. We all grow up. Antyllus accepted a wrist-clasp from Caesarion on the matter, and watched out of the corner of his eye as the Imperator carefully began writing a letter in his own handwriting, to be marked with his personal seal, regarding the matter. “Was there anything else here that needed my attention?” Antyllus asked.
Selene nodded fervently, and then said, quickly, in a tumble of words, “Do you want a big Egyptian ceremony, with hundreds of people from Alexandria here, and a priestess of Isis, or do you want a quiet ceremony here in the palace, with a priestess of Juno, and just our family?”
“Selene!” Cleopatra remonstrated sharply. “If you’re going to ask the question, ask it honestly. Does he want a ceremony that will assist him in his later political career, especially if he does wish to be some sort of diplomat, a public face for Rome to foreign countries? Or does he want the marriage of a private citizen, one uninvolved in the public life of Rome?”
Eurydice delicately rubbed at her eyes, but didn’t intervene.
Antyllus frowned. Looked over at Caesarion, and asked, mildly, “Can I recuse myself from answering that one for about a year?”
Caesarion didn’t look up from the letter he was drafting. “It’s your problem, Antyllus. Happily, it’s not mine.”
Antyllus wanted to make a rude noise in the general direction of his friend, but their respective social ranks, and the presence of Cleopatra and Selene, if not Eurydice, precluded that. Instead, he looked down at Selene, and told her, gently and apologetically, “If it were just about me, as a private citizen, yes, I’d prefer to get married tomorrow. No fuss at all, and then you’d just join me as I head south to Thebes with your brother and sister. Or leave Alexandria for Syria and points beyond.”
“I did say you were free to go to Antioch in Syria, and from there north to Scythia, if you can’t find bows there,” Caesarion noted, still not looking up. “You need them. Go get them. I won’t be able to heal your chest till tomorrow, but that’s only applicable if you come with us. If you come with us, you won’t have time to go get the weapons you want. Not in time to join us right at the outset of the campaign season. Seven days by sea to Antioch from here. Forty to fifty days to get from Antioch to our camps in northern Gaul. And that’s not counting any travel northwest into Scythia, which could take up to a month, if not more, depending on how the tribes move around up there. That puts you in Gaul somewhere around Maius at best. I’m looking at two weeks down to Thebes, two weeks back, and then thirty-six days or so of hard travel with the Sixth, once I get them back from Gallus, up to northern Gaul. I’ll beat you by a month, unless Fortuna favors you, and you find hundreds of Scythian bows sitting in a market stall in Antioch.”
Antyllus frowned. “Every man needs an interesting scar or two,” he told Caesarion, turning his grimace into a smile. “This can be mine. You’re right. If my eyes are on arming my Cretans better, then I can’t afford to come with you to Thebes. That would add a month to starting off for Antioch. I’d reach Britannia by Iunius, at that point. Much as I’d like to go with you to Thebes to ensure that Tiberius doesn’t get all the glory.” The flippant words concealed real concern. I want to go with you. Gods only know what waits at Thebes, and the world is a better place with you and Eurydice in it. But . . . we have to keep our eyes on the target. And at the moment, the real target is chastising Britannia and their druids, firmly, for their meddling in Hispania.
Antyllus turned back toward Selene and Cleopatra. With his eyes on the mark on the horizon, it was easy to deal with both of them, really. “Selene, while your mother is substantially correct about my future career, what we really need at the moment is speed.” Which Caesarion understood, bless him. He gave me a way out. “We can set up a grand celebration when we get back to Rome. But if the intention is for us to get married before I leave for Syria . . . let’s find a priestess of Juno and be done with this.”
Cleopatra threw up her hands in exasperation. “Very well. But if you let your lives be dictated by the exigencies of a military campaign, if you don’t give your wife all the honor she’s due now, or take advantage of the political connections you can make with a large state wedding here, you’ll only have yourselves to blame when you look back and wonder what else you should have done.”
“Mother,” Eurydice said quietly.
“I’m done. I’ll fetch you a priestess of Juno, and they can be off on the evening tide. I’ll have the servants pack their belongings.” Cleopatra glided out of the room, a frown stark on her features.
“It’s all right,” Eurydice told Selene. “I’m honestly not sure if there’s anything you can do to please her at the moment, beyond giving in completely. And even that doesn’t please her, because then, you’d just be spineless.”
“I’m aware,” Selene said, her voice tight.
Antyllus shrugged and put a hand lightly on her shoulder. “By this time tomorrow? She won’t be your problem anymore, except when children are born. And since she’ll be living here in Egypt for however long my father’s here as governor, and my youngest sister will come here to live as well, until she’s old enough to marry Tiberius’ brother, Drusus? You won’t, very likely, see her again for years.” If ever, the back of his mind told him sharply. I should say good-bye to my father with some care. Even if I weren’t going off to war, he’s getting older, and he won’t be in Rome often after this. This could be the last time I see him. “Indestructible” or no, age always wins the battle, in the end. “You might want to say your farewells to her with that in mind,” was all he said out loud, however.
And thus, the Sixteenth Legion waited an hour or so longer to depart for Thebes, as Caesarion and Eurydice witnessed the wedding of Selene and Antyllus. Eurydice kissed her sister good-bye and wished her a safe journey to Antioch, and Caesarion gave Antyllus a quick, firm wrist-clasp. And then they rode off, Eurydice ahead of Caesarion on his horse for as much safety and speed as they could arrange. In the distance, even from the palace, Antyllus could see the legions marching out of town, along the roads they’d blockaded until today. His throat tightened a bit. I wish I were going with them. But . . . eyes on the mark. We’ll get where we’re going. Just by another path.
And he looked down at Selene, now his wife. Saw the look of shocked apprehension in her eyes as she started to realize exactly how much her life had changed inside of three days. Gave her hand a quick squeeze as they ate one last meal with his father and her mother. Bade them farewell—and Antyllus saw the moisture in Cleopatra’s eyes as she said goodbye to her youngest child by Caesar. And then they boarded a ship for Antioch, just in time to catch the evening tide.
The ship wasn’t a military vessel, so it had passenger cabins. Dark wood, with a smell of the pitch that sealed the boards of the ship, and old cookery. Selene had only one personal servant, Ranno, the o
lder woman who’d been her wet-nurse—but as Egyptian nobility, Ranno, like Nesa and Salatis, had asked permission to remain in Egypt and live with their families for the first time in years. “We’ll pick up a new servant or two for you in Antioch,” Antyllus promised lightly. “We’ll need to hire guides and guards anyway, as we’ll need to skirt Parthian territory to reach the Scythians and Sarmatians. Until then, I think I can help you fasten this and unfasten that. Though, fair warning. I haven’t a clue what to do with hair.” A very sober nod to go with that assertion, though his eyes twinkled. “Other than the taking down bit. That, I can manage.”
They had guards in the cabin beside theirs; long-term servants of Antony’s family who’d also helped carry their bags of clothing and chests of gear aboard. Selene sank down onto the edge of the bed, and acknowledged, deep in her heart, that she was terrified. She was leaving her entire family behind, venturing to an unknown city, followed, probably, by a completely foreign land filled with barbarians, with not one person around her that she could say that she really knew. She’d married this man hours ago, placing her hand in his before a priestess of Juno, and suddenly, he looked like a complete stranger. And neither Eurydice nor Caesarion had said one word, beyond congratulations, quick talk of the dowry, and wishes for a safe journey.
Selene closed her eyes, swallowing as she felt the rocking of the boat around her, and listened vaguely to the sound of Antyllus’ voice, talking with the guards outside their door. Oh, gods. This was a very bad idea. This was the worst idea in the history of bad ideas. He thinks that life is an adventure, something out of Homer. He wants to see the world. And taking a trip from the villa to the baths has been, to date, the most I could really manage without fear.
And added to all that, I’m quite sure he’s going to want to . . . do all the things Mother told us men like to do. Here, on this boat, with probably his men listening from outside the door, or the next cabin over. What had sounded vaguely interesting a few years ago, and had provoked delightful, vague fantasies about kissing for years, now seemed both quite imminent, and all too real. Eurydice did pull me aside to tell me that the first time wasn’t nearly as bad as Mother made it out to be, but oh, gods, why did I agree to any of this? Her breathing sped up. Her heart pounded. And she yipped as Antyllus’ hand fell on her shoulder.
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