To announce the reconciliation of Ptolemy and Cleopatra, Caesar had chosen the balcony of the Library of Alexandria, reasoning that the high buildings surrounding it would allow his voice to carry far. For protection from the mob, he had ordered that Titus place two hundred of his men around the Library and two hundred more to escort Caesar, the Pharaohs and their entourages to the site.
Now, as those royal assemblages made their way through the crowd, Titus worried that he had not stationed enough men to protect them. The citizens of Alexandria were rowdy and anxious. Their hate for Caesar seemed even stronger than their love for their young Pharaoh, and they booed the great General even as they applauded the royals who followed him.
Titus did not notice Wen until he was well inside the Library. He had not expected her to come, for she was only a slave and not an official advisor of the court, though he admitted that her function was more difficult to describe.
What was not difficult to describe was her loveliness. She wore a fitted white tunic, glorious in its simplicity, and her skin shone a rosy bronze amidst the dusty shelves. The paint upon her eyes had rendered them both larger and more exquisite than he remembered and her silken black hair had been arranged to fall around her cheeks in a feathery frame.
He wanted to speak with her—nay, he wanted to embrace her—but he knew he could do neither. He laboured in his official capacity once again and needed to remain aloof.
Still, he lingered at the back of Caesar’s entourage as they headed to the second-floor balcony, hoping to keep Wen in his sights. Titus did not see the fireball until it was falling towards Caesar’s head. The General had stepped out on to the balcony impulsively, with little protection, and Titus lunged in front of the burning missile with his shield, sending a cascade of sparks into the air.
‘Move back!’ he urged Caesar and his men. ‘Get off the balcony!’
A burning coal followed close behind and he batted it away with his arm. He searched for Wen, trying to make sure she was out of danger.
‘If we were in Rome, those would have only been melons,’ remarked Caesar with a wry grin.
Titus escorted Caesar back into the Library and spied Wen huddled between two shelves of scrolls. ‘Stay near me,’ he told her. ‘You and the Queen’s handmaids, I mean.’
And to think that earlier that morning, he had resisted Caesar’s suggestion to bring his shield. ‘How much worse can an Alexandrian mob be than a Roman one?’ Titus had asked.
‘You’ll see,’ Caesar had replied.
Now Titus watched in horror as a boat anchor was hurled over the balcony, followed by a rain of stones. ‘The stones are meant to fix the anchor in place,’ explained Caesar, his tone rich with admiration.
The anchor was being pulled from below and Titus watched in alarm as the anchor itself held fast. Imagining a stream of murderous scholars travelling up its taut chords, Titus ran to the edge of the balcony and severed it with his dagger. He was rewarded for his efforts with several more flying hot coals. He shot a glance at Caesar, who only continued to laugh.
He found Apollodorus standing near the Queen. ‘Is there a third-floor balcony?’ Titus asked.
‘No, but we can go to the roof,’ Apollodorus said.
‘Lead them there,’ Titus commanded, and the royal entourages of both Cleopatra and Ptolemy, along with Caesar and his military guard, fell in line behind Apollodorus and headed for the roof.
Meanwhile, Titus fetched several guards and placed them on the second-floor balcony. ‘Do not allow anyone to reach this balcony,’ he commanded.
He was hurrying to catch up to Caesar when he found Wen. She had fallen in line at the rear of the group and was doubled over in the stairwell, trying to catch her breath. Titus knew that he was supposed to be protecting Caesar, but he could not abide the idea of Wen suffering in fear. He watched her struggle upright and attempt to climb. With each step, she appeared to turn a darker shade of green.
‘Wen, are you well?’ Titus asked.
‘I fear high places,’ she mumbled, slowing her pace. ‘Please, just leave me. Do your duty.’
But he did not want to do his duty.
In the week since they had parted, he had found it maddeningly difficult to think of anything but Wen. He could not concentrate on his physical training, his correspondence, even his advice to Caesar. He had paced among the lavish furnishings of his chamber, past trays of food, shelves of scrolls, and mosaics more beautiful than anything in Rome, seeing none of them.
It was as if he had caught a fever—some terrible malaise that brought thirst and shivers and visions of an Egyptian woman with her toes buried in the sand. She had weakened him, the black-braided nymph.
He yearned for her body, but also for her mind, for she wielded it like a secret knife. How could she know so much about Roman history? Or political strategy? Or human nature? No simple slave could possibly have gleaned that kind of knowledge by tilting beer into cups. Nor could a mere child of a temple, if that was what she really was. She was brilliant in the way of a scholar.
But she was a woman. A woman! Women were not scholars. They were mothers and wives, maidservants and harlots. Besides, she was too desirable to be a scholar. Even now, he felt slightly unnerved as he followed behind her. The way her hips moved on her way up the stairs made it impossible to consider her a threat to anything but his self-control.
She was like a scroll whose text he thought he understood, but upon rereading could no longer decipher. How could he solve this difficult puzzle, he wondered, so that he might again sleep at night? How could he comprehend her mysterious hold on him so that he might be free of it?
They arrived on the stairwell landing, and she doubled over again.
‘Are you well, Wen?’ he asked.
‘Please go on,’ she said between breaths. ‘Your General needs you now.’
‘Caesar is capable of deflecting his own fireballs,’ Titus said and thought he saw the hint of a smile traverse her face. She pressed her back against the stairwell wall. ‘I shall accompany you back to the street,’ he insisted. ‘I will take you to a healer.’
‘No, no!’ she gasped. ‘I must rejoin the Queen!’ She lunged up the stairs. ‘I cannot fail her—’
In her rush up the stairs, she stumbled, and he watched her ankle twist beneath her.
‘Wen!’ he shouted. She rolled over, holding her ankle and cringing in pain. Titus bent to help her, but she held up her hand. ‘Please, just go away!’
‘You have injured yourself. I will take you to the healer. Come.’ He bent and grasped her by the wrists.
‘No!’ she shouted, wrenching herself free of him. She appeared to be on the verge of tears. She took a long, slow breath. ‘Apologies, but I do not like to be held by the wrists.’
‘You are injured. You must allow me to help you.’
‘Please just go,’ said Wen. ‘It does not matter. I do not matter.’
‘You matter to me,’ he whispered.
There was a loud thudding sound from the street, followed by a haunting chant. ‘Go home, Roman! Go home, Roman!’ sang the crowd.
‘Curses,’ he said. Caesar needed him, but Titus did not wish to leave her alone. She was injured and in pain.
‘Go!’ she urged.
Hating himself, he bounded up the stairs and arrived on the rooftop. There, Caesar was opening his arms out to the angry Alexandrians as if in a grand embrace. ‘I was told that the only thing the men of Alexandria love more than knowledge is justice,’ Caesar called.
The crowd flailed in a riot of energy and movement.
Titus took his place behind the purple-caped General and put on his helmet. He wondered if Wen was all right. He pictured her limping down the stairs, or collapsing in despair.
‘But what do Alexandrians love more than justice?’ Caesar asked the crowd. Receiving no response, he smiled.
‘Why, beer, of course!’
There was a smattering of laughter, followed by a flood of angry hisses. ‘Wise men of Alexandria,’ Caesar continued, ‘I have come to your fair city to present you with a gift.’
Upon hearing the word gift, the mob quieted.
She is probably down the stairs by now, Titus thought.
‘I was told that the men of Alexandria are the most intelligent men in the world,’ continued Caesar. ‘I was told that they invent great machines and cure diseases and build monuments that stretch to the heavens.’
There was an upwelling of cheers as Caesar motioned to the Lighthouse, then to the giant hilltop temple of Alexandria’s patron god. Finally, he turned and pointed to the building upon which they stood. The Great Library of Alexandria, the shining jewel of the modern world.
She is sitting down near one of the scroll shelves, Titus thought.
‘Now that I am here, wise men of Alexandria, I see that it is true what they say about you. Your rich, fair city reflects your union with the natural order. I believe that here in Egypt you have a name for that union. What do you call that?’
‘Ma’at!’ someone yelled.
‘Ma’at,’ echoed Caesar. Your city reflects your love of wisdom and of ma’at, of heavenly balance.’ With this last serving of flattery, a great hurrah rose up from the crowd.
She is collapsing in pain, he thought. She is all alone.
‘Well, then, wise men of Alexandria, I am sure it must pain your hearts to see that the ma’at of this great city has lately been lost, for the last wishes of your late Pharaoh have gone unfulfilled.’
There was a collective groan.
‘It pains me, as well,’ said Caesar. ‘To see a brother and sister at war with each other is a breach in the natural order. The Ptolemies are descended from Alexander the Great, after all. It is the will of the gods that the greatest bloodline in history reign over the greatest kingdom in the world.’
‘Let Ptolemy rule!’ cried someone.
‘Let Ptolemy rule indeed,’ repeated Caesar. ‘But he cannot rule alone. That is not the will of his father, nor of the gods themselves. Even in Rome, our consuls do not rule alone. There are always two. Thus the scales of justice remain balanced. It is the natural way of things. It is ma’at.’
Discussion pulsed through the crowd. She is sitting all alone in despair, he thought.
‘The ma’at must be restored,’ said Caesar.
* * *
She reached the bottom of the stairs and took a breath. Her ankle felt better, but she felt unsteady. She found a bench just below the high window and listened closely as Caesar continued his speech.
‘Wise men of Alexandria,’ he was saying, ‘do not think that I have come here to plunder, or that I wish to seize the greatest kingdom in the world for Rome. Egypt? Ha!’ Caesar laughed. ‘That would be like a dog trying to seize an elephant!’
There was strident laughter and more cheering, and Wen wondered if Caesar spoke truth. Did he really have no intention of conquest? Listen to what he is not saying, the High Priestess would have said. Read the actions behind his words.
‘No, wise men of Alexandria,’ continued Caesar, ‘I come here to set right what has been wrong, to honour the late Ptolemy’s wishes, to restore ma’at to this great land. This brings me to your gift. I give you your two divine sovereigns. Reconciled!’
As Wen listened to the storm of cheers, a realisation washed over her. That applause had been his intention all along—to stand before the Alexandrian crowd and receive their gratitude. He had given Alexandria back its warring monarchs—a great gift indeed. But the real power lay with the giver.
Caesar wants something, she thought. But what exactly? Egypt? The Queen?
‘He wants the world.’
Wen jumped as his deep, throaty voice settled over her, followed by a strange feeling of comfort.
Titus stepped out from behind a shelf.
‘Titus? You mean that he wishes to be King?’ Wen asked.
‘That is what I fear,’ said Titus.
‘Why would you fear such a thing? As commander of his legion, would you not also wish it?’
She watched the muscles of his jaw flex. ‘You have injured yourself,’ he said, glancing at her ankle. ‘What I wish is to come to your aid.’
He sat beside her on the bench, and the hairs rose up on her skin. ‘Should you not be with Caesar now?’
‘He has won the crowd. I am no longer needed.’
Wen gazed up at the window, wishing her heart would stop beating.
‘Come, let me see your ankle.’ Wen shook her head vigorously. She pulled her whole foot beneath her tunic. She could not allow him to touch her again. Strange things happened to her body when he did.
‘Why will you not allow me to help you?’
‘You are a commander and I am a slave. It is not your place to help me.’ She reminded herself of their last conversation: I fear that things will change between us. The words were proof of his indifference to her and she needed to remember them well.
Titus removed his helmet. ‘What if I were just a man?’
‘But you are not just a man. That is what you meant when you said that things would change between us. I see that now.’
‘That is not what I meant.’
‘For a man of your rank to even sit beside a woman such as me is an affront to the natural order. It is a violation of ma’at.’
‘Do you really believe that?’
‘I do not know what to believe.’
‘You can believe this.’
His lips found hers and suddenly he was kissing her right there, amidst the knowledge of the ages. His soft lips pressed against hers with the force of some strange propulsion. She stiffened with the shock of it, then found her surprise quickly convert into joy.
She kissed him back, drinking in his desire, swilling it, afraid that this was the last time she would ever taste a drop.
His odour alone seemed to alter her mind—so much salt and lavender and musk—like a potion that would either kill her or save her life.
She only hoped she smelled half as good, tasted half as rich, felt half as wonderful to him. She knew that she was just a slave and that they had no future. Still, none of it seemed to matter when her lips were locked with his.
‘Let us rejoice,’ said Caesar triumphantly. ‘And tomorrow, let us feast!’
But Wen was no longer listening.
Chapter Nine
Queen Cleopatra swept into the Reception Hall, her sandals snapping across the tiles like whips. ‘Who does Caesar think he is ordering a feast?’
Iras and Charmion followed closely behind her, along with a company of Roman guards. The Queen was almost to the base of her throne when she noticed Wen standing at its edge.
‘Where have you been, Wen?’
Wen collapsed in obeisance.
‘Apologies, my Queen, I could not ascend the Library stairs.’
‘Oh, rise by the goddess, Wen, we are far beyond that now.’
Wen jumped to her feet as Cleopatra sent a flurry of expletives echoing through the hall. ‘If Caesar thinks he can simply reconcile me with the brother who put a price on my head, he is gravely mistaken.’
Cleopatra arrived at the base of her throne and scratched her head. ‘And now this cursed feast!’ she exclaimed. ‘Who does Caesar think he is ordering a hundred cattle slaughtered by tomorrow evening?’ She paced back and forth between the marble sphinxes that guarded her throne, too distraught to ascend. ‘The audacity of it!’
Wen suspected that the Queen was not angered by Caesar’s announcement itself, but by the fact that she had not been the one to make it. ‘And free beer in the temples? That will require significant purchasing. Where does he think it all comes from, I wonder?’
‘I suspect Caesar w
ishes to placate the Alexandrians,’ Wen said without thinking, ‘for they are violent and prone to riots.’
Iras and Charmion looked at Wen in shock, for she had not been invited to speak.
But the Queen did not reproach her. ‘The people of Alexandria are indeed prone to riots!’ she exclaimed. ‘They are violent, dangerous agitators! By the gods, they may as well be Romans!’
At that, the four women broke down into something resembling the laughter of hyenas.
The Queen crossed to a nearby table and poured herself a goblet of wine. ‘The royal treasury will be empty by morning thanks to Caesar.’ She held up the goblet as if to make a toast.
‘Has that wine been tasted?’ Iras asked Charmion.
‘I believe so,’ said Iras, ‘but we should ask Apollodorus just to be—’
The Queen did not wait for Iras to finish. She drank down the goblet’s contents in a single gulp. ‘If I die now, at least I shall be remembered as the Queen who would not submit to Caesar’s extravagances.’
She took three more goblets from a shelf and poured wine into each. ‘There you are, my sisters,’ she said, motioning to the vessels. ‘If you dare. I assure you that we have nothing left to lose.’
Iras gave Charmion a glance and they both reached for their goblets. Then all three turned to look at Wen, who walked to the table and raised her goblet high.
Wen remembered that moment upon her tongue as much as she did in her memory, for it was the first time she had ever tasted wine.
‘Well done, ka sisters!’ exclaimed Cleopatra. ‘Now let us get to work, for we have only a single day to arrange a banquet for the history scrolls. Charmion, would you call my scribe? There are requisitions to be written.’ Charmion gave a bow and scuttled out of the chamber.
‘Iras, would you please find my Steward Hemut? I would like to see his expression when I tell him we have one day to arrange a royal banquet.’
‘Yes, Goddess,’ said Iras and she was soon rushing after Charmion.
In Thrall to the Enemy Commander Page 10