In Thrall to the Enemy Commander

by Greta Gilbert

There, the Queen, Apollodorus and Titus would go on towards Caesar’s villa, and Wen, the handmaids and the rudder boys would make for the royal Temple of Isis for sanctuary.

  If Cleopatra’s meeting with Caesar was successful, the Queen would send for the women and the boys by the following afternoon. If the Queen did not send for them, then they were to assume that she had been killed or captured.

  In that case, they were to run for their lives. The Queen’s handmaids were considered extensions of the Queen’s ka on earth. They knew the Queen’s allies, along with her secrets. If the Queen were assassinated, they would be considered threats and would be hunted like gazelles.

  Now the Queen emerged from the deckhouse, and took Titus’s hand. There was only the light of the Lighthouse to see by and, as the Queen stepped towards his strong arms, she stumbled on the folds of her dress.

  ‘Do you see what I mean, Titus?’ she whispered with nervous gaiety. ‘I am a living carpet.’

  ‘I will fetch a fold clip,’ said Wen, stepping back aboard the boat and ducking into the deckhouse.

  She was bending over a chest and did not even hear Titus step beside her in the darkness.

  ‘Where is your knife?’

  She nearly jumped. ‘What?’

  ‘Your kitchen knife. The one you used to kill the fish.’

  ‘I do not know. I must have left it in one of the trunks.’

  He gave a half-smile. ‘No, it is here.’ He held out the small knife, its blade glinting in a shaft of moonlight.

  Wen jumped backwards in fear, searching the floor for something she might use as a weapon. She seized a small pillow, as if it might shield her from the blows she was certain would come.

  ‘Shhh,’ he said. He reached out for the pillow she held tightly in her grasp.

  ‘You may try to kill me,’ she said, ‘and you may succeed. But I warn you that I will scream and my voice will warn the others, and the only person you will succeed in killing is a worthless slave.’

  ‘Wen,’ he whispered. ‘I do not wish to kill you.’ He squeezed the pillow, pulling her towards him. ‘On the contrary.’

  He pulled her closer still, then put his lips on hers.

  Her body grew stiff with the surprise of his touch, but quickly relaxed beneath it. He was kissing her. Kissing her! What was she to do? She did not know how to tilt her head, or where to put her hands, or even when to breathe. But something about his lips felt exactly right.

  Just as soon as it had begun, it was over. He wrenched himself away and staggered backwards, pushing the knife handle into her palm. ‘Please, take it,’ he whispered, trying to gather his wits. ‘Forgive me.’

  ‘Gratitude,’ she muttered. She did not know why she was thanking him exactly. She did not remember quite where she was.

  ‘It was not my intention to frighten you,’ he said.

  ‘Frighten me?’ He had done more than frighten her. He had taken her mind and kneaded it into a soft, lumpy dough.

  ‘It was as if you were expecting me to attack,’ he said.

  ‘I was,’ Wen whispered. ‘And I feared for you.’

  ‘Feared for me?’

  ‘Yes, for I would have defended myself most ferociously and you would have ended up as food for the fishes.’

  He seemed to choke on something deep in his throat. ‘Gratitude, I shall remember that for the future.’

  ‘As well you should,’ said Wen. ‘As I have told you, I do not—that is, it is difficult for me to trust Roman men.’

  ‘We have that in common, then, for now I find it difficult to trust Egyptian women.’

  Wen could see very little in the shadowy deckhouse and she wondered if he smiled. She perceived him reaching beneath his chainmail. ‘None the less,’ he continued, ‘I made this for you.’ He pressed a leather object into her other hand.

  ‘What is this?’ Wen whispered.

  ‘Your weapon should be hidden from sight.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said in puzzlement.

  He gave an impatient sigh, then gently guided her arms together until the naked blade slid gently into the leather object.

  ‘Do you see? It’s a sheath.’

  ‘I’m sorry. You’re...helping me?’

  ‘I’m arming you.’

  ‘But when did you—?’

  ‘I began to fashion it for you after I watched you eviscerate my fish. I finished it later, after you eviscerated me.’

  She felt herself blush. She wished she could tell if he wore a frown or a grin.

  He touched her hands again, sending a shiver through her. He traced the length of her folded fingers to the sheath, taking hold of two long leather straps that had been dangling from either side of it. ‘These straps should be cross-tied around your lower leg and knotted inwardly, so that the sheath is concealed beneath your tunic.’

  ‘Ah,’ Wen said, but she could not concentrate on his words. Not when his fingers had just left a trail of fire on her hands. She continued to hold the sheathed knife in her grasp. ‘I am grateful,’ she managed finally. She was supposed to be doing something, though she could not think of what. The boat thudded against the dock.

  ‘Would you like me to show you how to tie on the sheath?’ he asked at last.

  ‘No, no, that will not be necessary,’ she said, her heart pounding. ‘We must join the others.’ She stepped around Titus and headed for the deckhouse door.

  ‘Wait,’ Titus said. ‘Are you not going to wear it?’

  Before she could answer, he was kneeling at her feet. He moved his hands up under the skirt of her tunic and felt for her leg.

  * * *

  His fingers skittered across her flesh. No man had ever touched her in such a way and as he worked she found herself wondering how such powerful hands could be so gentle.

  ‘To be undetectable, the sheath must hang on the inside of your leg. Do you see what I mean?’

  He lifted the hem of her tunic, then guided her hand to where he had tied the sheath to the inside of her lower leg. He did not remove his hand from the top of hers. It was so large and warm. She could not see his eyes, but it was as if she could feel them staring back at her across the darkness.

  ‘Yes,’ she said at last, though she had forgotten the question he had asked.

  ‘Knots,’ he muttered.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The, ah, knots. Can you find them? You might need to adjust them.’

  She realised that he had guided her hand to the knots that he had tied to secure the sheath. She bent lower as if to inspect them. She sensed that her face was on level with his. She breathed in his delicious scent.

  ‘If only we could untie this boat and float away from here together,’ he said huskily.

  Yes, she thought. If only we could.

  ‘Wen?’ a voice called. It was soft, barely audible, but Wen knew it well.

  ‘It is the Queen. She calls for me. I must go.’

  Wen stood and let down her skirt. ‘Gratitude,’ she said, ‘for the knife and sheath.’ She gave a deep bow, then climbed off the boat and disappeared down the dock.

  * * *

  He straightened his cuirass and took a breath. He needed to remember his mission. And what was that, exactly? Oh, yes, to escort Cleopatra safely to Caesar’s chambers. And then? To prevent Caesar from making himself a king. It was all very simple, really. He strapped on his gladius, and tightened the belt of his pugio. Ptolemy’s guards would be patrolling the Royal Quarter and he needed to be ready for them. But all he could think about was the softness of Wen’s lips.

  * * *

  When he finally stepped off the boat, the Queen and Wen were already halfway down the dock. He closed the distance between them in four long steps and was soon hovering in the shadows behind the two women, quiet as a thief.

  ‘The gods will have thei
r way tonight, as every night,’ Cleopatra was saying. ‘But if we are not meant to meet again, Wen, I wish to tell you that you have served me well. It is as if I have known you my whole life. Do you feel the same?’

  ‘I do, my Queen. I do,’ said Wen.

  ‘Remind me now of what I must do.’

  ‘You must make yourself into Egypt.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘First, you must become Alexandria. She is a woman of wit and education, a woman who recites poetry in one language and teases in another. A woman of the present and of the future.’

  ‘And the second woman?’

  ‘The second woman is Thebes. A woman of the past. Mysterious, beautiful, a woman of otherworldly power and inconceivable wealth.’

  ‘Wealth that Caesar is here to collect.’

  ‘But you will not allow him to collect it—not immediately. You must make him long for it first, then work hard to earn it. Therefore, put it on display. Give him a taste. Remember that you are worth more than he can even conceive. You are Queen of Egypt!’

  Titus smiled to himself. She was magnificent—not the Queen, but Wen. She was advisor, counsellor, coach and friend, all in one. Titus had never known any woman like her and feared he never would again.

  ‘Wen, I...I am afraid,’ said the Queen. ‘I do not want to die.’

  There was a long silence and Titus wondered what Wen could possibly say to console the Queen’s heart.

  ‘Forgive my boldness, Queen. I know that I am not permitted to address you directly, but I have a story for your ears that I believe will help you.’

  ‘I am listening,’ said the Queen.

  ‘It is about a woman I once knew. In her nineteenth summer something terrible happened that made her feel afraid. This woman was...a slave in the brew house where I toiled. One night, a fight arose and, in the chaos of it, a Gabiniani soldier grabbed her by the wrists and pulled her up the stairs on to the rooftop.’

  Titus heard Wen’s voice crack with emotion. ‘This woman, this...slave was accustomed to defending herself against drunkards. She knew where to kick and when to bite, and how to scream loud enough for her master to hear. She had made herself important to him, you see, and she was certain that he would not let anything happen to her.

  ‘That is why she screamed as loudly as she could and fought the Roman with all her strength as he ripped off her tunic and then her loincloth. Somehow, she got free of him. She ran to the far side of the roof. The side that looked out over the Serapic Way.’

  The Queen had stopped walking. She was gripping Wen’s arm. ‘The woman began to scream, but as I said, there was a fight in the brew house that night and nobody could hear her.

  ‘The man punched her in the stomach, then again in her face. She knew the man who beat her, for he often bragged about the men he had killed in battle. He spoke of killing women, too, as if he had enjoyed it.

  ‘In other words, my Queen, she feared that she would lose her life up there on that roof. That is why she jumped.’

  The Queen gasped.

  ‘There was an iron bar protruding from the roof and it tore down the side of her leg, slowing her fall. If it had not been for that iron bar, she probably would have fallen to her death. Instead, she fell into a clump of donkey droppings. She was naked, her leg was bleeding, and her ankle was badly broken, though nobody attempted to help her. Just before her world faded to black, she saw the man who had attacked her. He was standing with several other Romans, laughing at her shame.’

  Wen’s voice wavered. Titus could not see her face, but he imagined it covered in tears. She was not speaking of some unfortunate companion, he understood suddenly. She was speaking of herself.

  ‘It took a long time for my friend’s ankle to heal,’ Wen continued, ‘but when she was finally able to walk, she found it difficult to resume her duties. She could not eat. She could not sleep. She could no longer climb the small set of stairs that led to the roof. She could not look at the men she served, because each one of them reminded her of the man who had humiliated her and made her afraid. She no longer found any reward in life. She was lost.’

  ‘Oh, Wen,’ said the Queen.

  ‘But this story has a happy ending, my Queen,’ said Wen. ‘One day, my friend was staring at a table full of crumbs, when two Egyptian men came into the brew house. They were speaking to each other of the newly crowned Queen Cleopatra. They said that she had gone to Thebes to perform the last rites for the Buchis bull and had toured the countryside making gifts of grain. They said that she had fought with her brother’s advisors against raising taxes and had purchased wheat from abroad to avoid a famine. She had even learned the Egyptian tongue.’

  Wen turned to face the Queen. ‘Their voices were full of awe, Queen. They said that you were a queen for the people—not just the people of Alexandria, but all Egyptians. They marvelled that you had only seen eighteen summers, the same number that I—that my friend had seen. They called you Isis Incarnate, come to save the Land of Osiris from ruin.’

  Titus could see that the Queen was at the edge of tears.

  ‘My friend decided that if a woman of her own age could rule the greatest kingdom in the world, then she could endure whatever difficulties occurred in hers. She decided that she would not let her fear and shame destroy her. And it was because of you. You see, Queen Cleopatra, you had inspired her.’

  Titus caught a glimpse of Cleopatra’s eyes. They were glassy in the torchlight.

  ‘Wen?’ the Queen whispered.

  ‘Yes, Queen Cleopatra?’

  ‘I shall not be afraid.’

  Chapter Seven

  They sneaked into the Royal Quarter, as quiet as crocodiles, and followed the perimeter of its high wall. Nearing a complex of large buildings, they hurried around the small, columned palace where Cleopatra had resided before her exile. ‘It is there I shall return,’ Cleopatra vowed in a whisper.

  Titus kept the group moving and they rushed across the main promenade and soon stood in the bushes near the statue of Athena, her torchlight spilling on to the grassy glade and the small fountain in which she stood.

  Everyone was out of breath. Before they could even begin their goodbyes, Wen noticed that the rudder boys had disappeared. She looked out from the bushes and saw them running across the glade to Athena’s Fountain, seeking a drink.

  One of the rudder boys tripped and let out a loud yelp.

  ‘Look there,’ called a man’s voice from beyond the light. ‘Trespassers!’ Soon five of Ptolemy’s guards emerged from the shadows.

  Titus unsheathed his gladius and tossed it to Apollodorus.

  ‘You take the tall one,’ Titus told him, stepping from the bushes and drawing his own small pugio blade.

  ‘Two men cannot defeat five,’ cried the Queen. ‘Follow me now. That is an order.’

  The rudder boys dashed in terror back to the bushes and soon their group was sprinting across another green with five guards in pursuit.

  ‘They are gaining on us,’ said Charmion, stumbling on her tunic.

  ‘I know a way to escape them,’ cried the Queen. ‘Follow me!’ Soon they arrived before an opening in a tall black hedge.

  ‘It is the labyrinth,’ breathed Iras.

  ‘Take each other’s hands and follow me,’ commanded the Queen and she started to the left.

  But Titus did not follow. He turned and ran in the opposite direction, back towards the guards.

  ‘Oh, how I wish for a cup of beer!’ he sang loudly. ‘And one and two and three!’

  He is drawing them away from the Queen, Wen thought. He is going to his death.

  She wrenched her hand free of the Queen’s and followed his bellows, rushing past the entrance to the labyrinth just as the guards arrived. ‘Did you see that woman?’ one of them shouted. ‘Follow her!’

  She ran forward into the
blackness, trying to follow Titus’s croons. ‘For when I ask for a cup of beer,’ he sang, ‘the beer maid comes to me—’

  She hit a wall of dense bushes and fell to the ground. Recovering herself, she saw several shadowy figures coming towards her. She heard the hard swish of blades being pulled from their sheaths. ‘Titus!’ she shrieked. She groped with her arms, trying to find an opening in the hedge. These are the final moments of my life, she thought suddenly.

  Then she felt four fingers link with hers and heard a faint but unmistakable whisper, ‘Follow me. Hurry.’ She ran in the direction in which she was being pulled, first right, then left, then right again, until the hedge surrounded them on all sides.

  ‘A dead end,’ Titus whispered in defeat.

  ‘Do not say that.’

  They stood together for a long while, just listening. There was no sound at all, not even the snap of a twig.

  ‘Down here,’ Titus whispered at last. He was crouched at the base of the hedge. ‘There is a hollow in which we may hide.’

  Wen bent to his side, feeling along the ground until it gave way, and she felt a small hollow area, just big enough for a body.

  ‘Where will you hide?’ Wen asked. He appeared to be cutting off small branches from the adjacent hedge.

  ‘I will lie with you.’

  ‘But only one person can fit in the hollow.’

  ‘We will lie closely.’

  She lay down in the hollow facing outwards and he lay down beside her, arranging the cut branches atop his body in a thick layer. Of necessity, he was lying very close. She could feel his hard legs against hers. Her breasts pressed against his chest.

  This is what it is like, she thought. When a man and a woman lie together. It was something she had imagined often, never believing she would experience it herself. Yet here they were, like two halves of a whole. The only difference was that they lay not in a bed, but in a hollow in the ground. And they were not man and wife, but Roman and Egyptian. Commander and slave. Born enemies.

  ‘They are searching the labyrinth now,’ he whispered. His face was so very close to hers. His lips. ‘But they will not find us—not unless they have dogs.’