The Judgment of Caesar
Page 19
“When I arrived in Egypt, I was warmly welcomed by Your Majesty, King Ptolemy, and given generous accommodations. I myself have endured some small turmoil and strife of late, and to be admitted into this beautiful city and to be offered safe haven and a respite from my recent struggles were favors I shall not soon forget. I thank you, King Ptolemy. But even dearer to me are the hours that you and I have spent together since my arrival, and the birth between us of what I hope will be an enduring and ever-deepening friendship. In us, Rome and Egypt meet. It is good not only for ourselves but for our peoples that we should forge strong bonds of mutual respect and affection.”
Caesar inclined his head to the king, who stared back at him from his throne, his expression more rigid than ever. Caesar paused, apparently waiting for the king to make some gesture of acknowledgement. The moment stretched uncomfortably. Ptolemy’s expression remained unchanged, except for a slight tremor of his jaw. At last Caesar cleared his throat and continued.
“My growing friendship with Your Majesty has brought me great joy. But my visit has also been tinged with sorrow born of my dismay over the continuing discord within the royal family. As the playwright says, ‘When gods turn one against another, mortals turn brother on brother.’ As discord in heaven reverberates upon the earth, so discord in the palace of Alexandria causes distress throughout all of Egypt and even as far as Rome. Not only are the affairs of men disrupted, but the natural order is disarranged, as well. Old men, I am told, have never seen such a low inundation of the Nile as occurred this spring and summer; wise men, I am told, attribute this troubling phenomenon to the river’s distress over the discord between Egypt’s rightful rulers. Harmony and balance must be restored—as was the intention of your wise father, who provided that Egypt should be jointly ruled by a queen and a king, the elder son and elder daughter of his royal blood.
“To be sure, the late King Ptolemy did not leave affairs in Egypt on an entirely sound footing. The restoration of his throne came at no small price and incurred a considerable debt. Roman arms were called up; Roman blood was spilled. Those Roman troops still reside here in Egypt and now follow orders from an Egyptian commander. The very army that maintains order in Egypt was essentially a gift to the kingdom from the Senate and the People of Rome. Along with this military assistance, Roman gold and silver were lent to your father in considerable amounts, and many other resources were advanced to him upon account. The vast bulk of his financial debt to Rome, including his personal debt to me, remains unpaid. Given the strife and uncertainty that straddle the Nile, it seems impossible that this debt can be repaid until peace and order are restored to Egypt.
“The debt that Egypt owes to Rome casts a shadow upon our friendship; it would be disingenuous of me to deny it. Because of this shadow, there are those here in Egypt who fear that I may have come with more than reconciliation in mind. They fear, following the defeat of Pompey at Pharsalus, that the conqueror of Gaul may have come to Egypt with the intention of challenging the authority of its rightful rulers. Let me assure Your Majesties, here before the members of your royal court and before my own trusted officers, that I have no intention whatsoever of attempting to exert Roman authority over Egypt by force of arms. To do so not only would violate your trust in me, but would go against the express wishes of the Senate and the People of Rome, who desire only peaceful intercourse and friendly commerce between our peoples.
“I come not to bring war but to end war; not to overthrow the heirs of King Ptolemy, but to unite them; not to threaten Egypt, but to embrace her.”
Caesar turned toward Cleopatra. “To that end, I welcome back to the city of her ancestors Queen Cleopatra.” As he had done before to Ptolemy, Caesar bowed his head. Unlike her brother, the queen returned the gesture and flashed a faint, self-satisfied smile that reminded me of no one so much as Caesar himself.
“The queen has been absent from her capital for many days. Ceremonies and religious invocations that require her attendance have been neglected. Projects begun by her ministers have been set aside. The life of the city and the welfare of its people have suffered. She returned to the palace only last night, guided, so she tells me, by the ingenuity and persistent urgings of the goddess Isis herself. Today, the queen once again sits upon her throne. Her people rejoice, and so do I.
“What of the other siblings, Princess Arsinoë and the young Prince Ptolemy? For them, their father’s will made no specific provisions. But I have found them to be of truly regal stature, and I believe they should be granted a territory of their own. Therefore, I decree that the island of Cyprus, which for the last ten years has been a Roman province, shall henceforth return to Ptolemaic rule, and that Princess Arsinoë and the young Prince Ptolemy shall rule there jointly as king and queen. May theirs become a reflection of the harmonious reign of their siblings here in Egypt.
“Let it be thus: that the will of the late king is fulfilled, and his children shall rule together, and there shall be peace in Egypt; and the Senate and the People of Rome shall likewise rejoice, and shall recognize the joint authority of the king and queen—”
“No!” King Ptolemy shouted, his voice cracking. He jumped up from his throne, his arms stiff at his sides and his fists clenched. The inscrutable mask gave way to flashing eyes and twitching lips.
Pothinus rushed toward him and spoke through gritted teeth. “Your Majesty! Distasteful as these proceedings may be, we agreed beforehand—”
“You agreed! I said nothing.”
“You nodded whenever—”
“I nodded because I was too angry to speak, and too hurt to say what I was really thinking!”
“Your Majesty, please! If there are matters yet to be discussed, that should be done in private. Return to your throne and let me send these people away—”
“No, let them stay! Let them stand here and listen to this nonsense. Let them simper and blow kisses to my whore of a sister and her Roman lover, if that’s what they want. It’s I who’ll leave, so the rest of you can get on with this orgy of self-congratulation!”
Ptolemy strode forward, stumbling slightly as he stepped off the dais. The speechless crowd parted and made way for him. The Egyptian guards at the doorway fell back, genuflecting. He was like the prow of a ship, plowing through waves and wind, deflecting all before him.
Merianis grabbed my arm. “Come!” she whispered.
“Where? What are you thinking of, Merianis?”
“Come! Don’t you want to see whatever happens next?”
I looked over my shoulder as we hurried after the disappearing king. Pothinus was pale and grim. Caesar looked utterly at a loss, which was quite out of character. Cleopatra, who had not stirred from her throne and seemed to have no intention of doing so, wore a smile like that of the Sphinx.
“Hurry!” said Merianis, tugging at my arm. She was intent on following the king. His robes billowed behind him as he rushed through the hallways of the palace, never pausing until he came to the courtyard inside the gates. He shouted at the guards to open the gates. When they hesitated, he threatened to have them beheaded. The men rushed to the wheels, and the gates slowly opened.
The king ran into the street. Merianis and I followed, along with a great number of others from the palace.
Ptolemy strode down the wide Argeus. By appearing suddenly, dressed in his crown and robes of state but walking on foot and unattended by any formal retinue, he created a sensation. All who saw him stopped whatever they were doing. Some fell to their knees in awe. Some smiled and cheered. Some simply gawked. All joined in the growing throng that followed at his heels.
At length he arrived at the great intersection of the Argeus and the Canopic Way, where the tombs of his ancestors occupied each of the four corners. The building housing the body of Alexander was his destination. He strode past the sightseers standing in line to view the remains. The guards were taken aback by his sudden appearance, but quickly recovered themselves. They admitted the king but expelled all others, or e
lse I think Merianis would have followed right behind him, dragging me with her. Instead, we stepped into the great square, which was already crowded with people arriving from all directions.
A few moments later the king appeared on a balcony that projected from the upper story of the building. Even at a considerable distance, I could see the streaks of tears on his face.
“People of Egypt!” he shouted. His voice rang through the square. “My beloved people! The Romans have robbed me of my throne! Egypt has been conquered in a single night! We are all the slaves of Rome now!”
There was an uproar all around us. Cries of anger and despair rang in my ears, along with scattered catcalls and peals of laughter. Most in the crowd appeared to love the king, but there were some who despised him.
Ptolemy’s voice pierced the cacophony. “Here I stand in the building that houses our venerated Alexander, the greatest of all conquerors, the most beloved of all heroes, the demigod for whom our city is named, from whose authority the Ptolemies for centuries have traced the legitimacy of their divine rule. But now a man has come along who fancies himself greater than even Alexander. He thinks so little of us that he doesn’t arrive with a great navy supporting him, or a great army marching at his back; he intends to conquer us by trickery and deceit! I confess to you, my people, for a while he dazzled even me, and I gave to him a warmer welcome than he deserved. I allowed him into the royal palace; I shared food and drink with him; I listened to his vain boasting. But now my eyes are open! If the Roman has his way, he’ll throw Alexander’s body upon a dung heap, tear down this tomb, and put up a monument to himself! Perhaps he’ll even rename the city for himself, and you shall wake up to find yourselves living in Caesaropolis!”
The crowd responded with thunderous shouting. Ptolemy gazed grimly over the square, projecting an authority far beyond his years.
“People of Alexandria, as conniving as Caesar may be, he knows that you will never submit to a Roman who dares to sit openly upon the throne of Egypt—so he seeks to cast me from my throne and put a pretender in my place. Who might that be? What creature with a claim to the royal bloodline would be low enough to conspire with our enemy? I think you know her name! With shame, I call her my sister. For her previous attempts to seize the throne, we drove her out of the city and into the wilderness. Alas, that we didn’t cut the serpent in two, for now she’s come wriggling back, bloated with venom. To take my throne from me, she’ll stop at nothing! Yes, Cleopatra is back in the palace.”
At this announcement, there were scattered cheers among the crowd, for Cleopatra as well as Ptolemy had her adherents among the populace. Others booed, and fistfights and shouting matches broke out.
“The serpent has returned,” Ptolemy cried. “Last night she made herself a prostitute to Caesar. Today he’s giving her the payment due—the crown that should be mine and mine alone!”
“Then what is that cobra sprouting from your forehead?” shouted a wag in the crowd.
“This?” Ptolemy shouted back. “This meaningless toy, this worthless piece of scrap?” He lifted the uraeus crown from his head and cast it down with all his might. The metal rang against the stone balcony.
The crowd reacted with stunned silence, followed by a sudden surge of movement that lifted me off my feet. I looked around and saw Merianis disappear amid a sea of gaping, angry, frightened faces.
“Soldiers, coming from the palace!” someone shouted.
“Roman soldiers! They mean to kill the king!”
“We’ll kill them first! Kill every Roman in Alexandria!”
“Long live Cleopatra!”
“Long live Ptolemy! Death to Cleopatra!”
“Death to Caesar!”
“Death to all the Romans!”
Swords flashed. Stones flew through the air. Blood was spattered across paving stones. A women screamed in my ear. I tripped over a child, and someone helped me stagger back to my feet. I heard the sound of splashing, and realized I was next to the great fountain at the center of the square. Amid the cavorting dryads and gaping crocodiles, a dead body floated facedown, exuding a sickening pinkish murk. A pebble whizzed over my head—too fast to have been thrown by hand, it must have been cast from a slingshot—and struck the helmet of a Roman soldier nearby with a noise that made my ears ring. He furiously slashed his sword in the direction the shot had come from.
I ducked. As I did so, I happened to look over the soldier’s head, and saw that the balcony where Ptolemy had stood was now empty. What had become of the king?
And what would become of me? For all I knew, the riot would keep growing until the whole city was in chaos. I stretched to my full height, peering over the heads of those around me, trying to catch a glimpse of the palace. The whole length of the Argeus, from the fountain back to the gates, was packed with an angry mob. As I stood precariously balanced on tiptoes, a group of young men came running by, brandishing sticks. “Get out of the way, old man!” one of them shouted. “The Romans have carried off the king, and they mean to kill him!”
“We’ll kill them first!” another shouted.
They jostled me and spun me about and almost knocked me down.
A hand grabbed my shoulder, pulling me upright. It was too strong to be that of Merianis—a man’s grip. I tried to shake free and step away, but the grip tightened. I braced myself and turned to confront him.
“Rupa!” I cried. “How in Hades did you get here?”
CHAPTER XVIII
Rupa grunted in reply and pointed toward the building that housed the Tomb of Alexander.
I wrinkled my brow. “I don’t understand.”
He pointed more insistently, then grabbed my hand and pulled me in the direction in which he was pointing. His sheer size caused a path to open in the crowd; anyone foolish enough to stand in our way he brusquely pushed aside. By nature, Rupa was the gentlest of men, but when called upon, he knew how to wield the strength the gods had given him.
But even Rupa was no match for the gang of toughs who suddenly blocked our way. They appeared to be dockworkers, judging from the huge muscles that popped from their shoulders and arms, not to mention the briny smell that came off their ragged tunics. There were seven or eight of them, and they carried the tools of their trade: iron grappling hooks, lengths of heavy chain, nets made of rope, and barge poles as thick as a man’s forearm—lethal weapons in the hands of men like these.
“You, there!” their leader shouted, taking notice of Rupa on account of his size, then casting a disparaging glance at me. “Where did those Romans go, the ones who dared to come and carry off the king?”
“Right,” said another, “we’re on a Roman hunt! We mean to kill as many of those bastards as we can, and keep killing them until they get out of Egypt and head back to where they came from!”
Rupa looked at them blankly.
“What’s the matter, too good to talk to the likes of us?” The leader wound a chain around one fist, then pulled the remainder taut. “Or maybe you two actually like these Romans? Maybe you think it’s alright for Julius blowhard Caesar to screw the king’s sister and start bossing us all around?” He swung the chain through the air, making a whooshing sound.
“He’s mute,” I started to say, then realized that my accent would give me away. If these men were intent on killing Romans, I had no desire for them to begin with me. Even the smallest of them looked capable of tearing my head from my shoulders.
I grunted and poked Rupa to get his attention, then executed a series of signs, speaking to him in the vocabulary Rupa himself had developed using his hands and facial expressions in lieu of a voice. Careful, I said. These fellows are big!
I’m not afraid of them, Rupa insisted.
But I am! I gestured.
“What’s this?” said the leader, squinting at us suspiciously.
“I think they must be a pair of deaf-mutes,” said his friend. “I’ve got a cousin like that. Married a woman just like him. They talk with their hands.”
They ran on, in the direction of the palace.
Rupa gestured to me: I wasn’t afraid of them. Really!
“I can still call them back, if you like,” I muttered. “You big, lumbering—”
Rupa grabbed my hand and resumed pulling me toward the building that housed the Tomb of Alexander.
The armed guards who usually flanked the entrance had vanished in the melee, along with the line of sightseers waiting to get in. The huge bronze doors stood wide open.
We stepped inside. The lofty foyer, opulently decorated with multi-colored marble, was eerily quiet. Our steps echoed around the deserted chamber. The hubbub outside was reduced to a distant roar. A doorway to the left opened into a stairwell, presumably the means by which Ptolemy had ascended to the balcony to address the crowd.
Rupa pulled me through a different doorway and down a long hallway lined by pillars. We descended a flight of stairs, passed through a small antechamber hewn from solid alabaster, and then stepped into a subterranean vault. The air was cool, as in an underground cellar, and smelled of chrysanthemums. The long, narrow chamber was dimly lit by hanging lamps and dominated by a gilded statue at the far end. The windswept mane of hair, the serene countenance, and the beautifully molded shoulders and limbs made the identity of the statue unmistakable. Alexander stood naked before us in all his youthful glory, towering over an open sarcophagus in which lay the mummified corpse of the conqueror, draped in glittering robes from head to foot and crowned with a golden laurel wreath. Brought by the many sightseers and strewn about the base of the sarcophagus were bouquets of fresh flowers and wreaths of dried flowers—mandrakes and mallows, irises and poppies, larkspurs and lotus lilies.