‘In your opinion, is Caesar ambitious?’
‘Yes.’
‘But I thought that a Roman soldier never opines about his General’s character?’ He rolled his eyes. She is going about it all wrong, he thought smugly. She should not be putting me on the offensive.
‘What is your true mission?’
‘To serve Caesar.’
She stepped closer. Now she stood just inches from his chest. He felt the nearness of her and the warmth of her breath on his skin. She took the tip of her braid and traced it across his naked chest, making his heart thump unexpectedly.
‘You told me before that you served the Roman people,’ she said.
‘What?’
Curse the gods—she was having an effect on him. He could feel the unmistakable swelling beneath his loincloth.
He took a long breath. ‘I serve Caesar, who serves the Roman people.’
She spoke softly, as if it were just the two of them alone together. ‘Do you view Queen Cleopatra as the rightful ruler of Egypt?’
‘I do.’
‘Does Caesar?’
‘I... I do not know.’
Wen glanced back at the other women, giving Titus a view of the long, taut sinew of her neck. It stretched to the base of her delicate ear, where the sharp angle of her jaw descended to a small, rounded chin. Just above that chin, those beautiful, shapely lips stretched into an irresistible frown.
Nothing had changed. He still wanted to kiss them.
She turned to him in that instant, and the black coals of her eyes smouldered. ‘Titus?’ she asked.
‘Yes?’
The Queen gasped.
He had revealed himself. He had responded to his own name.
‘Titus Tillius Fortis, son of the Roman Senator Lucius Tillius Cimber and legate commander of Caesar’s Sixth Legion?’
It was too late to deny it now. To do so would only bring him dishonour. ‘That is I.’
The Queen gasped. Her two handmaids stared incredulously at Titus, mouths agape, while Wen appeared to study the floor.
It was not his most important secret, but it was a secret none the less and the four little hens had pecked it from him. The Queen and her handmaids began to chatter in excitement, while Wen continued staring at the ground, her shoulders slumped. He recognised the posture, for he had assumed it himself quite often. He could not remember how many times he had done things he did not wish to do in the course of carrying out Caesar’s orders. He was certain that she had not meant to steal his dignitas.
Though she must have harboured some small measure of pride. She had used the power of her loveliness to weaken him—had set him afire like a candle, then simply harvested the soft wax.
He had never met any woman like her.
And had never wanted any woman more.
Chapter Five
She watched his shoulders in the milky moonlight. They moved like twin machines, their small gears of muscle flexing with each subtlety of stroke. He was so finely made. It was difficult to discover a part of him that was not taut muscle or ropy sinew or hardened bone.
His heart, perhaps.
Though surely she would never know. If he had wished for her friendship once, she was certain that he did not wish it any more.
After his confession inside the Queen’s tent, he had bowed, then returned to his place beneath the palm’s shade. He had politely declined to join them for dinner that evening, though there had been plenty of the fish he had caught. Instead, he had huddled beneath his palm and seemed consumed with some busywork involving a needle and thread.
Regret had sneaked up on her like the stars. Though the Queen had seemed pleased with their discovery of Titus’s ruse, it had not given Wen the satisfaction she had hoped it would. It was one thing to coax a confession, it was another to lead them into a trap.
And it had been something of a needless trap, after all. According to the Queen, it was common for high-born messengers to create false identities. ‘I should have suspected it,’ she had told Wen after his exit. ‘Disguise is a common way for men of rank to protect themselves against murderous kings.’
Now Wen paced the deck, traversing his field of vision. She wanted to catch his attention so that she might attempt to apologise. She crossed her arms and sighed, standing in full view of the oar bench. She made a fuss of her braid. Not once did he look up from his strokes.
She studied his mighty arms, remembering how he had embraced her outside the Queen’s war-council tent. How oddly safe she had felt in that moment, how unexpectedly content. And he had been so earnest in their conversation that afternoon that she had almost believed he was speaking truth. I did not mean to offend you, he had said, and when she had stopped in the sand to confront him, he had angled his body in such a way as to shade her from the sun.
It occurred to her that the gesture had also resulted in a kind of embrace: an embrace of shadows.
Why had she been so very unkind to him? Why had she insisted on pointing out his errors, stripping him of both his dignitas and his disguise? Why?
But she already knew the answer. Even now, his words twisted in her stomach like knives. You are nothing but a lowly slave. You are beneath me. They revealed what was truly in his heart and he could never take them back.
She stopped her pacing and gazed out across the sea. Just above the western horizon an unfamiliar star on the horizon had appeared. It seemed to be growing in size, flickering like a torch’s flame.
‘Apollodorus, do you see that unusual star?’ she asked over her shoulder. ‘It is just above the horizon there.’
‘That is no star, my dear,’ said Apollodorus. ‘It is the Pharos.’
Wen gasped. ‘The Lighthouse?’
‘We shall head for its flame and thus we shall not be lost,’ said Apollodorus.
Tears pooled in Wen’s eyes. ‘It is more beautiful than I remember.’ The grand structure was still many stades away from them, but its three sections made dark profiles against the night and its bright flame beckoned.
‘When did you see it last?’ asked Apollodorus.
‘When I was a small child,’ Wen said. ‘I beheld it from the city’s Eastern Harbour.’
‘And how did you find yourself there?’
‘That is a long story, I am afraid.’
‘A long story?’ Apollodorus said, brightening. He patted the bench between him and Titus. ‘Would you not come and tell it in my ear? A distraction would be most welcome on this unnerving night.’
She stared at the open seat and felt her heart beat a little faster. She knew that she could not politely refuse such a request. She also knew that sitting behind Apollodorus would put her exactly half an arm’s length away from Titus. She took a deep breath and settled herself between the two rowers.
‘I first beheld the Lighthouse the night after I was taken by the slavers,’ she began.
She could feel Titus’s breath on her neck.
‘How came you to be captured by slavers?’ asked Apollodorus. ‘Tell all that you remember.’
‘I remember sitting inside a row boat piloted by a bearded man with eyes the colour of coins. I will never forget those eyes, though my memory of the rest of him has grown cloudy.’
‘What then?’ asked Apollodorus.
‘It was the middle of the night when he and his men took us from the temple. They explained that our mothers were being sent to meet Osiris, by order of Pharaoh Ptolemy the Twelfth.’
‘Ptolemy’s purges,’ mused Apollodorus. ‘I remember them well. Cleopatra’s father returned from Rome to discover his daughter Berenice sitting on his throne.’
‘So he slaughtered Berenice and everyone she knew,’ finished Titus.
Wen shivered at the sound of Titus’s voice and seized the opportunity to catch his gaze. When she turned, his dark ey
es smouldered in the moonlight, though in anger or interest she could not tell.
‘Please, continue,’ he urged.
‘When the bearded man told us that our mothers were gone, one of the smaller girls explained that we did not have mothers, that we were children of the gods. But the man only patted her head and told her that we were going somewhere wonderful.’
‘Slavers are wretched men,’ said Apollodorus. Titus was still gazing into her eyes. It took all of her will to turn away from him and return to her story.
‘The thought of adventure cheered our hearts,’ she continued, ‘and we floated down the river in a wonderstruck silence—a caravan of innocents who believed themselves bound for some fantastic place. The man smiled beneath his beard and told us to sleep. He fed us salted bread and a cloudy liquid that was not milk.’
‘By the gods,’ whispered Apollodorus.
‘The children ate and drank without question, but I only pretended to drink. I did not trust the man, though I could not guess his purpose. I did not even know what a slave was, then. Labourers would often come to the temple to perform tasks, but they toiled out of love, not obligation.’
Apollodorus sighed and it occurred to Wen that the loyal Sicilian had much in common with those labourers of love.
‘We floated downriver beneath a waxing moon,’ Wen continued, ‘and I remember searching the passing landscape for signs from the High Priestess. I believed that she would not enter the Underworld without first telling me goodbye. I searched and searched for her, but there were only the endless grape plantations, their ancient vines hanging like corpses in the terrible moonlight.’
Wen turned to glance at the moon behind her and became aware of Titus’s eyes on her face. She wondered if he was fixing a curse upon her head, or perhaps fantasising about wringing her neck. Still, she did not wish to turn away from him.
‘Well, go on,’ prodded Apollodorus.
‘I asked the bearded man why Pharaoh ordered the priestesses killed, but he did not answer. “Please, Uncle,” I begged him. “My heart will not rest. I must know why.”
‘He held out a small blue bottle. “If you will drink all of this, I will tell you, little calf,” he said. When I had finished the contents of the bottle, he reduced his voice to a whisper. “The High Priestess of Hathor loved Pharaoh’s usurper.”
“What is a ‘usurper’? I asked, feeling my lids grow heavier.
“Shush,” he said.
“Where are we going?” As my world faded to black, I remember hearing a single word: “Alexandria”.’
‘Alexandria...’ echoed Apollodorus.
‘I had never visited Alexandria,’ explained Wen, ‘though the Hathor Temple was not far from the city and the High Priestess went there constantly. She said that it was the most glorious city in all the world, a city with theatres and libraries, parks and promenades, and a lighthouse to rival the pyramids themselves.’
‘I believe she spoke truth,’ whispered Titus.
Surprised to hear Titus’s deep voice once again, Wen turned to see him heaving away from her, his legs flexing in the moonlight. But it was not moonlight, she realised at length, for the moon had been eclipsed by the Pharos, whose eternal flame grew ever closer, illuminating everything.
She could see Titus so clearly now—and she studied his legs—from their sinuous mounds to their bulging flanks, to the dark flecks of fortune that peppered them.
When he came forward in his stroke, he wore an amused grin. ‘Do I have something on my legs?’
Mortified, she went on the defence. ‘And I suppose you have seen much of the world, Commander Titus? To be able to say that Alexandria is its most glorious city?’
‘Much more than you have, I would guess,’ he said. She let the insult burn her cheeks. She supposed that she had earned it.
‘I have seen a good deal of the world myself and would have to agree,’ said Apollodorus. ‘But please, go on with your story.’
Wen faced forward and continued. ‘When I finally awoke from my milky slumber, it was nightfall once again and we had entered a canal, its still waters choked with reeds. It became difficult to breathe. Instead of a glorious city, I saw endless rows of mud-brick buildings, and smelled the grim reek of their waste. I felt my spirit sinking into the canal’s murky depths.’
‘The Rhakotis Canal,’ Apollodorus said, shaking his head. ‘The late Ptolemy never had it dredged.’
‘I thought that perhaps we were entering the Underworld ourselves, for I had no idea that the Rhakotis Canal opened out into the Eastern Harbour. And when all at once that great expanse of water spread out before us I gasped. There it was, right before my eyes—its eternal flame a-flicker. The Lighthouse.’
Titus’s rowing ceased.
‘I remember staring in wonder at the towering edifice,’ she continued, ‘just as we are doing now. I marvelled at its converging shapes—first a rectangle, then an octagon—’
‘Then a cylindrical spire held up by columns,’ said Titus, ‘and topped by a statue—’
‘Of Zeus,’ they said as one.
Wen paused. She turned to Titus and gazed at his arms, wishing suddenly that they were around her. ‘The Lighthouse was my sign,’ she told him. ‘It was the High Priestess, signalling to me, telling me to be brave, and that she would shine her light on me always.’
Now Apollodorus had also stopped rowing and all was quiet. The ship was moving through the gates of the Great Harbour, pulled by its own momentum, and they passed beneath the foot of the Lighthouse in hallowed silence.
Wen faced forward once again. But she could feel Titus’s breath on her neck—small, rapid exhales that seemed to move in time with her beating heart.
Chapter Six
Wen could feel the danger increasing with each heave of the oars.
In the deckhouse, the handmaids were letting the braziers burn themselves out and there was just enough light to observe the Queen beneath her ghostly disguise.
‘You do not think that I will be recognised?’ she was asking Iras in a whisper, her words muffled further by the fabric of her robe.
‘No, my Goddess,’ Iras reassured her. ‘It would be impossible.’
The Queen pulled the fabric away from her mouth. ‘Not even my eyes?’
‘They are not your eyes,’ said Charmion, ‘for they are shaded with red and only lightly kohled. You do not look like yourself.’
‘That is a comfort,’ the Queen said, though she seemed far from comforted. ‘Still, I wonder if Ptolemy’s guards will stop us.’
‘If they do then Apollodorus and Clodius will speak to them,’ said Iras.
‘You mean Apollodorus and Titus,’ Charmion corrected, sliding Wen a look.
‘What if the guard dogs find me?’ asked Cleopatra.
‘If they do they will only wag their tails,’ said Iras, ‘for they are all fond of you.’
And so the conversation went. The Queen fussed and fretted while Iras and Charmion did their best to calm her nerves. To Wen’s ears, it was like a song in which each woman took a verse, though none dared recite the chorus: that the Queen could very likely be sneaking into a trap.
A death trap.
Wen prayed that it would not be so, though she held little faith in prayer. In her life she had learned that the gods were fickle and often unkind. It was better to expect the worst from them and to prepare one’s defences accordingly.
The more defences the better.
An army if possible.
The boat swayed as it touched against the dock, and the four women reached out to steady each other. It occurred to Wen then that they were the Queen’s army. Their strange, unlikely group represented her troops—her only protection against the forces of fate. And soon they would be diminished, for only Titus and Apollodorus would be accompanying the Queen into her next battle.
/> ‘It is time to disembark,’ Titus called to them in his excellent Greek.
The discovery of Titus’s true identity had buoyed the Queen’s spirits. She seemed to believe that if she and her attendants could push and prod a Roman commander into a confession, there was hope of influencing the other Roman commander the Queen would soon face. ‘And you were the reason he spoke, Wen,’ the Queen lauded. ‘You unmasked him.’
Unmasked. It sounded horrible—like some violent ritual practiced by merciless priests. Wen did not feel deserving of the Queen’s praise. She had been similarly pushed and prodded in her life and it had never felt good.
Now Wen pulled back the deckhouse curtain to discover Titus’s outstretched hand. It was a gesture of courtesy that she did not deserve.
‘Allow me to help you,’ he said softly, though he did not meet her gaze. And why should he? She had told him that she did not wish to be his friend. Then she had deceived him into revealing something he did not wish to reveal. It was a wonder he was still willing to help her at all.
Guiltily, she took his hand.
She stepped out on to the dock, squinting for a better view. The moon was setting and the palace complex was hardly visible in the diminishing light. The only thing Wen could plainly distinguish was the shoreline promenade—a wide tile path illuminated by the light of dying torches. It snaked along the shoreline for many cubits before branching off into a lavish canopy of roses. The entrance to the Royal Quarter, thought Wen.
The High Priestess had once told her that the Royal Quarter of Alexandria was as grand as its Lighthouse. Surrounded by a high, protective wall, every ruler since Alexander had added to the complex, resulting in a network of interlocking palaces, theatres, temples, fountains, labyrinths, menageries, baths and gardens without end: a paradise on earth.
Soon Wen would be crossing into that storeyed landscape, for it had been decided that they would make their way on to the royal grounds as a group, parting when they reached Athena’s Fountain.
In Thrall to the Enemy Commander Page 7