‘Without you?’ Octavian said, knowing the answer. Julius nodded and Octavian sighed. ‘My place is at your right hand. If you say we must go on, I will be there, as I always have been.’
‘You are a good man, Octavian. If there are no sons to follow me, I would be proud to see you in my place.’ He chuckled. ‘Where else would you find an education like this one! I can teach you more politics here than you would find in a decade of Senate meetings. Think of the future, Octavian. Think of what you will accomplish when I am gone. This is Alexander’s city and it could be a prize for Rome. Who better than we to take his mantle?’
Octavian nodded slowly, and Julius clapped him on the arm.
‘How many are we facing, exactly?’ Domitius said, interrupting. Both men seemed to break free of some private communication.
‘Too many for the Tenth alone,’ Julius said. ‘We must wait for the Fourth to arrive. Even then, we might need Cleopatra’s army before we are done. Though they are so ringed about with informers that the courtiers will know if they begin to move. We need to wrench an advantage from the first moment, while they still think we are going to leave in peace. We have surprise. With the Fourth here in strength, we’ll strike where they don’t expect it.’
He grinned and Octavian responded, feeling the excitement despite his misgivings.
‘What do you have in mind?’ Octavian asked.
‘It is like a game of latrunculi,’ Julius said. ‘We must capture the king.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
In gloom, the legions waited, crammed into every corner of the Roman quarters. Julius himself had gone down to the docks to greet the soldiers of the Fourth as they sailed in. They had come expecting to pursue Pompey across a new continent, but instead found themselves part of a plot to kidnap a boy king. It may have been the return of warm nights, or simply the fact that Pompey was dead and they were free at last, but a rare mood of juvenile excitement had stolen amongst them. They nudged each other and smiled in the darkness. Caesar had triumphed over his enemies, and they had been there to see it happen.
Julius waited by the heavy doors, peering out at the moon. He heard a snort from a Roman mount and glanced at the source, watching shadows move. The horses had been well fed on grain, better than they had seen in weeks. The palace too was filled with stores, the first choice of cargoes from Cyprus, Greece, even Sicily. Roman gold had weight on the docks of Alexandria.
Despite the tension, Julius could not hide the fact that he was enjoying himself. Ciro, Brutus and Regulus had come across to Egypt. He had his generals around him once more and he felt gloriously alive.
At Julius’ side, Brutus could not share the lightness of the others. His broken arm had healed in the weeks of pursuit, but the muscles were still too weak to risk on such a venture. He yearned to go with them, for things to be as they had once been. There were times when he could forget everything that had happened and imagine they were back in Gaul or Spain, with trust and friendship binding them together. He could not miss the glances of dislike from the men to remind him of his new status. They did not allow him the luxury of any doubt on the subject. He sensed Octavian was watching him and stared at nothing until the feeling faded. It would change when his strength returned. He would make it change. Until then, he accepted that he would stay and barricade the palace ready for their return.
Facing the night, Julius did not see Cleopatra at first. She came silently into the packed entrance hall without announcement, weaving her way in and out of startled soldiers. Julius turned in time to see her smile as one of the men let out a low whistle and a ripple of laughter went through them. He was at a loss to say how she had done it, but she had found a new costume only slightly less revealing than the one she had worn on their first meeting. Her lithe movement was girlish, though her eyes were older. Her hair was held back by a bar of gold and her legs and bare stomach drew sidelong glances as she walked amongst them.
Julius found himself blushing as she approached him, knowing his soldiers were happily drawing their own conclusions for his sudden interest in Egypt. His generals had met her before, but they still stood rooted as she spun in place to face the men.
‘I have heard of Roman courage,’ she said, her voice soft. ‘And I have seen your honour in coming to my aid in this. You will learn the gratitude of a queen when I have my throne again.’
She bowed to the rough killers of Rome and in that moment they would have gone anywhere for her. They knew better than to cheer the beauty who came so humbly amongst them, but a low murmur of approval went through the palace, almost a growl.
‘It’s time,’ Julius said, looking strangely at the queen.
Her skin gleamed in the shadows and her eyes were bright with the moon as she turned to him. Before he could react, she took a step and kissed him lightly on the lips. He knew he was blushing again with embarrassment. She was less than half his age and he could practically feel the grins of the men as they exchanged glances.
He cleared his throat, trying to summon his dignity. ‘You have your orders, gentlemen. Remember that you must not engage the enemy unless you have to. We find the king and get straight back here before they can muster enough of a force to slow us. You’ll hear the retreat horn blown when Ptolemy is captured and when you do, get out as fast as you can. If you are separated, come here. Understood?’
A chorus of assenting murmurs answered him and he nodded, heaving open the door to the moonlit garden.
‘Then follow me, gentlemen,’ he said, responding at last to their bright eyes and smothered laughter with a grin. ‘Follow me.’
They drew their swords and rose to their feet, moving out into the darkness. It took a long time for the last of them to pass through from the furthest reaches of the palace. Only one cohort remained behind as Brutus closed the doors, plunging them all into a deeper dark. He turned to them and hesitated in the presence of the queen who stood like a scented statue, watching him.
‘Block the windows and entrances,’ he ordered, his voice sounding harsh after the echoing silence. ‘Use grain sacks and anything else you can lift – the heavier the better.’
The single cohort moved quickly into action, its six centurions snapping out orders until the last of them had work. The entrance hall emptied, leaving Brutus standing uncomfortably with the Egyptian queen.
Her voice came from the shadows. ‘The general in silver armour …’
His eyes adjusted to see the moon outline her bare shoulders in a faint glimmer. He shivered. ‘I am, mistress. Or should I call you goddess?’ He could feel her gaze like a weight.
‘August Majesty is one title, though I carry the goddess in me. Does the idea offend you, Roman?’
Brutus shrugged. ‘I have seen a lot of foreign lands. I’ve seen people who paint their skins blue. There isn’t much that can surprise me now.’
‘You must have been with Caesar for many years,’ she said.
He looked away, suddenly unnerved. Would Julius have spoken of him? ‘More than I care to tell you,’ he said.
‘How were you injured? In his service?’
He snorted to himself then, growing irritated with the stream of questions. ‘I was injured in battle, Majesty. I think you may have already heard the details.’
He raised his splinted arm, as if to have it inspected. In response, she came closer. She reached out and, despite himself, he shivered again at her cool touch. She wore a heavy ring of gold with a carved ruby. In the gloom it was as black as the night sky.
‘You are the one who betrayed him,’ she said in fascination. ‘Tell me, why did he let you live?’
He blinked at her bluntness. Here was a woman used to every question being answered, every whim met. She seemed unaware of the pain she was causing him. ‘He could not find a better general. I am a perfect scourge in the field, though not as you see me now.’
He spoke with sardonic amusement, but when she did not respond, he could not hold the expression. His features slowly dro
oped into blankness. ‘We were young together,’ he said. ‘I made a mistake and he forgave me.’ He was surprised at his own honesty. It was less painful to spin a tale.
‘I would have killed you,’ she muttered, biting her lower lip.
Brutus could only look at her, sensing she spoke the truth. He reminded himself that the queen had known absolute power from her youngest years. She was every bit as deadly as the black snakes of the Nile.
‘I could never forgive a betrayal, General. Your Caesar is either a great man or a fool. Which do you think it is?’
‘I think you and he have much in common. I do not answer to you, however, nor will I explain myself to you any longer.’
‘He has gone tonight to kidnap my husband, my brother and my king. He has seen only the edges of the army Egypt can field. Caesar may die in the striving, or my brother fall and be pierced with arrows. This is the great game, General. These are the stakes involved. Listen to the words when I say this to you. He let you live because he is blind to you. He does not know what goes on in your heart.’
She touched his neck with the palm of her hand, pressing. He thought she must bathe in lotus oil to have such an effect. He felt a tiny scratch, as if from a thorn. He might have jerked away, but his senses pressed in on him and he longed for a breath of cold air. He heard her speak through layers and layers of winding cloth, muffled.
‘I know you, General. I know every small sin, and every great one. I know your heart as Caesar never can. I know hatred. I know jealousy. I know you.’
Her hand dropped away and he staggered, still able to feel where her nails had pressed.
‘Be loyal now, General, or measure your life in beats. His fate is tied up in Egypt, in me. And my arm is long. I will not suffer another betrayal, nor even the shadow of one.’
He gaped at her intensity, stunned and bewildered. ‘Egyptian bitch, what have you done to me?’ he said, groggily.
‘I have saved your life, Roman,’ she said.
Her lips formed a smile then, but the eyes were cold and watchful. Without another word, she left him alone in the entrance hall, slumped against a pillar and shaking his head like a wounded animal.
The Canopic Way cut through the heart of Alexandria. The two legions with Julius jogged east along its length, their clattering sandals shattering the peace of the night. In the darkness, the main artery of the city was an eerie place. Temples to strange gods loomed over them and statues seemed ready to leap into life on every side. The flickering of night lamps cast shadows on the grim men who ran with drawn swords towards the palace quarter.
Julius kept pace with them, measuring his breaths as his legs and chest began to loosen. The feeling of excitement had not lessened. If anything, he had wound himself to an even tighter pitch of tension and he felt young as he counted the roads they passed. At the fifth, he gestured left and the snake of legionaries turned into the outskirts of the palace, following the same route he had taken with Porphiris three days before.
The royal palace was not a single building but a complex of many structures, set in sculpted gardens. The first gates were manned by nervous guards, long alerted by the crash of pounding feet. Soldiers of the Tenth stepped forward with heavy hammers and brought the barrier down in a few swift blows. The first blood of the evening was shed as the guards raised their weapons and were left to be trampled as the legions went on into the dark grounds.
The main building where Julius had met the boy king was lit at all points and gleamed in the night. Julius had no need to direct the men towards it. There were more guards there and they died bravely, but the Tenth had spread out into their fighting line and only an army could have held them.
Panic was spreading through the palace quarters and the resistance they met was sporadic and badly organised. Julius had the impression that a direct assault had never even been considered. The outer gates had been designed for artifice and beauty rather than solid defence and the defenders seemed to be in chaos, shouting and screaming at each other.
Armed soldiers began to spill from an unseen barracks, trying desperately to form before the Tenth reached them. They were slaughtered like cattle and lambs, their blood spilling down the steps to the main entrance. The doors of bronze that had been open for Julius’ first visit were now closed, and as he reached them he could hear bars thumping into place. He thanked his gods for Cleopatra’s knowledge and leapt over a stone wall at the side of the steps, calling for hammers as he ran to a lesser entrance.
The ringing blows sounded far in the dark. As if to answer them, an alarm bell began to ring somewhere near and Julius despatched a century to silence it.
The side door was solidly made and Julius was forced to control his impatience. He checked the edge of his sword, though he had yet to blood it. Then the tone of the impacts changed and the door fell. His Tenth roared into the breach and Julius heard screaming inside. He stayed close to the front, shouting orders and directing them as best he could. The palace looked very different from his previous visit by day, and it took a few moments to get his bearings.
‘Tenth with me!’ he shouted, racing through a hall.
He heard Octavian and Domitius panting at his back and allowed his pace to slow a little. It would do no good for him to run straight onto the swords of defenders around the king and the two generals were better able to clear the way.
Even as he had the thought, the black corridor seemed to fill with men and Julius saw Octavian and Domitius dart in with their swords swinging. The only light was from a lamp much further down and the combat was brief and terrifying, bodies struggling in shadows. The Roman armour held against the bronze blades of the palace guard and in only a few moments the first of the Tenth were stepping over the dead and rushing on.
‘Which way?’ Octavian said, spitting blood from a broken lip.
Julius wished for more light, but he could make out the white gleam of marble stairs he had ascended a lifetime before.
‘Up there!’ he said, pointing.
His breath was coming harshly and his sword had lost its shine with the stain of an unknown guard, but he ran with the others as they pounded up the steps. Cleopatra had told him where her brother slept and Julius took a turning away from the meeting hall into a corridor that was better lit than the rest of the labyrinth. Once more, he saw Octavian and Domitius take positions ahead and suddenly he was shouting for them to stop.
They had passed a door that seemed to be made of solid gold. Julius looked around for the men who carried hammers.
‘Here! He’s in here,’ Julius called. ‘Hammers to me!’ He threw his weight against the door, but felt no give in it.
‘If you’d stand back, sir,’ a burly soldier of the Tenth said at his shoulder.
Julius stepped clear as the man raised the iron head and began a pounding rhythm, quickly joined by two more. The corridor became the focus for the Roman force, with defensive stations taken up around it while the last obstacles were broken.
The gold was heavy but it dented under each blow and it was not long before one of the great oblong barriers sagged away on a broken hinge.
An arrow flew through the gap, ricocheting off the head of a hammer and slicing into a soldier’s cheek. With an oath, he yanked at it and three of the Tenth held him down while the arrow was snapped and the head removed with brutal efficiency. Shields were raised as the second door fell and two more of the whining shafts struck uselessly against them as the Tenth surged into the room.
The lamps were lit in the royal chambers and Julius was astonished to see two naked girls with bows inside. They cried out in terror as they tried to pull back one more shaft. Almost with contempt, the legionaries stepped forward and slapped the weapons out of their hands. The women struggled wildly as they were shoved away from the doorway they guarded.
The king’s bedroom was dark and Julius knew the first ones through would be silhouetted against the light. His soldiers hardly hesitated, trusting to speed to keep them safe. Th
ey leapt into the shadows, rolling and coming up ready to kill.
‘He’s here,’ one shouted back. ‘The king alone.’
As Julius crossed the outer chamber, he saw the wall was marked in lighter patches where the bows had been torn from their wires. Other weapons were held against the polished marble and Julius wondered if the boy Ptolemy collected them. The women were concubines rather than guards, Julius guessed, glancing at them. The king could clearly have his pick of the beauties of Alexandria.
Ptolemy’s bed was a huge construction that dominated the private rooms. The boy himself stood part dressed by its side and only the rumpled sheets showed where he had been sleeping. It was strange to see his face in the dim light after their first meeting and Julius was impressed at the courage of the slight figure standing with his bare chest heaving and a knife held too tightly in his fist.
‘Put that away,’ Julius said. ‘You will not be harmed.’
The boy recognised him then and took in a hiss of breath. The soldiers of the Tenth moved closer to the king and with a jerk he raised the blade to his own throat, glaring at Julius.
A legionary snapped out an arm and gripped the king’s wrist, making him cry out in pain and astonishment. The knife was thrown down with a clatter. Ptolemy began to shout for help and the man who held his wrist took careful aim and hit him on the point of his chin, heaving him onto his shoulder as the boy went limp.
‘Sound the signal horns. We have the king,’ Julius said, already turning away.
‘There’ll be more of them by now, waiting for us,’ Domitius said, gazing at the limp body of Ptolemy. The king’s head lolled as he was carried back down the corridor, his arms swinging.
The fighting began again with even greater ferocity as the legions tried to retrace their steps back to the gardens. The sight of the unconscious king stung the roaring Egyptians into greater efforts and three of the Fourth were wounded, slowing the retreat. Even so, the ceremonial guards were no match for the hardened soldiers of Rome and they fought their way through to the gardens, leaving a trail of dead behind.
The Emperor Series: Books 1-5 Page 164