In Thrall to the Enemy Commander

by Greta Gilbert

  Caesar pulled the wig from his head and nodded. ‘Cleopatra told me last night, though I did not believe her. I should have known when General Achillas took leave of the banquet.’

  Caesar stared at the shiny wig in his hands. ‘Still, I am not yet convinced that he intends to attack, not while Ptolemy remains in my palace. I will send two messengers out to meet with Achillas and discover his intentions.’

  ‘Let me be one,’ Titus said. He had never feared war before, but he wished to do everything in his power to stop this one. There was simply too much to lose.

  Caesar studied Titus closely, then shook his head. ‘I cannot risk you. If Ptolemy’s army means to attack, then we will need to send for help as soon as possible, and Mithridates of Pergamon will not deal with some lowly officer. But let us not get ahead of ourselves.’

  That afternoon, Caesar chose two messengers to ride out to meet Ptolemy’s army. Two others would remain with him in Alexandria to begin preparations for war, while the rest would prepare to depart: two would sail to Judea to seek aid, two others to Rome, and Titus would be dispatched to Pergamon along with a companion to be chosen from the ranks.

  ‘But do not raise your sails yet, Commanders,’ Caesar warned. ‘Let us send our prayers to Mercury that our messengers will succeed. A happy Egypt is a happy Rome.’

  As always, Caesar was a marvel of efficiency and composure, and for once it appeared to be in the service of peace. It did not take Titus long to realise the reason: it was Cleopatra. He was doing it for the Queen.

  The messengers and other officers had departed Caesar’s company in high spirits, hopeful for a truce. As Titus moved to follow them, Caesar spoke. ‘Do not go just yet, Titus. Sit down.’

  Caesar motioned to a leopardskin couch.

  ‘You know that none of the Roman legions will come to our aid,’ he said casually, pouring Titus a goblet of wine. ‘Nor is it likely for anyone in Judea to send troops. If it comes to war, Mithridates of Pergamon is our only hope.’

  Titus nearly spit up his wine. ‘Apologies, General. I do not understand.’

  ‘There is no incentive for Roman soldiers to fight in a war of Egyptian succession—you know it as well as I. And I am not offering any pay.’

  ‘You are the leader of Rome’s army. To come to your aid is the honourable path.’

  ‘To a Roman soldier, the only honourable pursuit is pay or conquest of territory. I am offering neither.’

  ‘What about the provincial governors? Will the soldiers not do what they say?’

  ‘Yes, but only if they can see the benefit in it. In so many ways, a kingdom is better than a republic,’ Caesar mused, sending a chill to Titus’s core. ‘The soldiers serve the King and the King rewards them for their service. It is so much simpler.’

  But what if the King grows heartless and vain? What if he goes mad? thought Titus. He remembered his oath to Cicero and the other Senators.

  ‘If we can get out of here alive, Titus, I have been thinking of taking Queen Cleopatra to wife.’

  ‘General?’

  ‘Does it not seem fated? Rome and Egypt united? We would rule so very well together. All the peoples of the earth would come beneath our wings.’

  ‘And those who resisted?’

  ‘We would have the largest, most powerful army in the world. Resisters would easily be eliminated!’

  Titus’s heart hammered as he tried to conceal his horror. It was his worst nightmare coming to pass: the Roman Republic overcome by a vainglorious tyrant. Caesar was waiting for a response. ‘Your children would be beautiful,’ Titus managed.

  ‘Indeed they would,’ said Caesar. ‘And they would inherit the earth!’

  Caesar gazed out towards the Lighthouse, as if imagining his own statue atop it. ‘But let us not get ahead of ourselves. Gaining Mithridates’s aid will be essential,’ Caesar repeated. ‘Without him, I fear we shall not make it out of Alexandria alive. It is up to you to secure that aid, Titus. There is no man shrewder and more convincing than you.’

  Titus bowed to Caesar and took his leave. On his way to his chamber, he strained to comprehend what he had just heard. It was as if all his fears of Caesar’s ambition had manifested in a notion that would change the history of the world. I am thinking of taking Queen Cleopatra to wife.

  Titus scolded himself for not having seen it sooner. How impressed Caesar had been by the Queen’s intelligence. How fondly they had looked at each other as they sat together atop the throne. The Egyptian wig—by the gods! Queen Cleopatra had successfully seduced the most powerful man in the world and now the two would join forces.

  The consequences of such a union for Rome would be fatal. Caesar’s popularity was such that he could simply seize the Senate and fill it with his supporters, turning the sacred Republic into something resembling a Greek comedy.

  He returned to his chambers in a blur of dread. He was staring at his sandals when he heard a knock upon his chamber door.

  ‘What is it?’ he growled.

  ‘Commander Titus,’ began the guard. ‘Clodius Livinius Caepo begs an audience.’

  ‘Clodius?’ Titus swung the door wide open. Before him stood his young guard, his fine patrician toga covered in mud. ‘Well met, Clodius!’

  ‘Well met, Commander Titus.’

  Clodius touched his fist to his heart in the formal salute.

  Titus returned his salute, then seized his arm in a brotherly greeting. ‘My heart is glad to see you, Clodius.’ He motioned the young man into the chamber. ‘Please sit down and tell me how you fared in the Queen’s camp.’

  Clodius took a seat at the edge of the nearest couch. ‘Well enough, though I was quickly found out. Thankfully Mardion took me beneath his wing. He told me that I would not be punished as long as the Queen remained alive.’

  ‘My identity was also discovered,’ admitted Titus.

  ‘Indeed? Was it Apollodorus who found you out?’

  ‘Not quite. But you look famished. Let me get you some wine. When did you arrive?’ He filled a goblet and placed it into the young soldier’s hands.

  ‘Gratitude, Commander,’ Clodius said, draining his cup. ‘Apologies for my thirst, but I have ridden without stopping all through the night. I was dispatched by Mardion himself yesterday, when Ptolemy’s army abandoned Pelousion. I bring urgent news. General Achillas marches on Alexandria.’

  ‘I already know,’ he told the young soldier.

  ‘But how?’

  Titus smiled, thinking of Wen. ‘I was visited by a lovely bird in a windowless room.’

  ‘You speak in riddles, Commander.’

  ‘Apologies, Clodius. Your haste is appreciated, as will be your aid in the siege to come. I shall have the steward prepare you a room and deliver you a meal.’

  ‘Gratitude, Commander. But before I depart, there is one more thing.’

  Clodius reached into the sheath of his gladius and produced a small, sealed scroll. ‘I promised the messenger that I would give it to you myself.’

  Titus noticed the Senatorial seal. ‘Who gave you this?’

  ‘A believer in our cause,’ Clodius said, flashing Titus a sly grin. ‘Or do you think that you are the Boni’s only spy?’

  Titus reached for a chair to steady himself. ‘What?’

  Clodius bent his head to reveal the unmistakable B tattooed behind his ear. ‘I believe I wear the mask of spy much better than the mask of patrician senator’s son.’

  ‘Much better,’ said Titus, thoroughly impressed. ‘I am bested, Clodius.’

  Clodius smiled. ‘You have no idea how long I have been hoping to hear that, Commander,’ said Clodius. The young man bowed and took his leave.

  Titus collapsed on to his sofa, still reeling from the news. Clodius had been working for the Boni all along, just as Titus had been. He gently opened the scroll, instantly recognisin
g the sprawling script of Cicero, the leader of their cause.

  * * *

  Dear Watcher,

  We are grieved to learn that the great bull has decided to remain in the sparkling city. We assume that he enjoys the smell of the roses there and one rose in particular. It has become apparent that he may try to defend that rose, despite its lost cause, and then to unite with her to conquer the world.

  We are certain you will be asked to aid in that defence. In that case, we command you relinquish your duty. Abandon the bull. Seem as if you are going to seek aid for him, but do not do it. Let him die with his flower so that the wolf may live on.

  Yours in veritas,

  Whisperer.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The storm still raged when Queen Cleopatra returned from her meeting with Caesar. She marched into her living chamber and threw off her soaking diadem.

  ‘Ptolemy’s army draws closer to Alexandria,’ she announced. ‘In two days, the Royal Quarter will likely be under siege.’

  Apollodorus remained in the doorway, folding a dripping cloth. ‘Tea of anise to warm her bones,’ he called to Wen.

  Wen hurried to the far end of the living chamber and set about stoking the brazier, grateful for something to do.

  ‘Can you not force Ptolemy to call them off?’ Charmion protested, wrapping the Queen’s hair in a towel. ‘He lives in this very palace!’

  ‘It is Pothinus who truly rules, as you well know,’ said the Queen. ‘He conspires with General Achillas secretly. He will not rest until all of us are dead.’

  Wen set the water to boil, her head swirling. But I do not want to die, not when I have just begun to live.

  ‘Do you believe Caesar can defend us, Queen?’ asked Iras, wrapping a blanket around Cleopatra’s shoulders.

  ‘Yes, but he is terribly outnumbered. He has sent messengers to try to broker a peace.’

  ‘They will be crucified,’ said Iras. She led Cleopatra to the sofa and removed her sandals.

  ‘I fear it,’ said the Queen, shivering in her blanket.

  ‘And what then?’ asked Charmion, joining the Queen on the sofa.

  ‘Caesar says that he has dispatched officers, including Titus, to appeal for military aid from nearby kingdoms.’

  ‘Titus has gone?’ Wen asked. She pressed the pestle down hard atop the anise seeds, turning them to dust.

  ‘Not yet,’ Cleopatra clarified. ‘But he could leave as soon as tomorrow, depending on the success of the messengers.’

  Wen dipped a stick into a honey pot, trying to conceal her panic.

  ‘No honey for the tea, Wen,’ said the Queen. Wen halted in confusion. The Queen loved honey with her tea. ‘They will try to starve us out,’ the Queen explained. ‘We must start conserving now.’

  Wen streamed the honey back into the jar. It moved so maddeningly slowly, immune to the race of time.

  ‘Titus warned me that time was running out,’ Wen said suddenly, staring at the honey. ‘Now it appears that it finally has.’

  ‘Why did Titus say such a thing to you, Wen, about time running out?’ asked Charmion.

  ‘I think you know why, Charmion,’ said Iras.

  ‘I suppose I do,’ said Charmion, accepting her cup from Wen with a resigned smile. ‘You are a fortunate woman, Wen-Nefer of Alexandria, and I salute you.’

  ‘Forgive me, Mistress Charmion, but in what way fortunate?’ asked Wen.

  ‘You need not call me Mistress, Wen, especially now that you have bedded the most handsome Roman in all of Alexandria.’

  ‘Bedded? Do you refer to the carnal act?’

  Charmion burst into laughter, making Iras chuckle. Even the Queen smiled into her steaming vessel.

  Wen shook her head in mortification. ‘But we have not... I have never...’

  ‘You have never wandered the marshes with a man,’ finished Iras, glaring at Charmion.

  No, she had not. ‘It is not for a slave to even think of such things, Mistress Iras,’ she said.

  ‘Please, just call me Iras.’

  ‘You were with Titus the night of the banquet, were you not?’ asked Charmion. ‘I saw you leave the Hall of Delights together. And did you not spend all the next day together?’

  ‘Yes, but he did not touch me,’ Wen said. ‘Or at least, he stopped touching me when I asked him to.’

  Charmion nearly spit out her tea. ‘You stopped him?’

  ‘Clearly she is an innocent,’ Iras clipped. She turned to Wen. ‘Do you like Titus, Wen?’ she asked gently.

  ‘I do, Mistress—I mean, Iras. Very much.’

  ‘You must learn to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh before it is too late,’ said Charmion. ‘Or are you not a woman of Egypt?’

  ‘And why not let Titus be the one to teach you?’ said Iras. ‘He is certainly well made. Do you not agree?’

  Wen buried her nose in her drink, pretending to take a sip. She did not want the women to see how her cheeks flushed with the very thought. Of course she agreed. She had so often considered the idea of Titus’s strong, sheltering body that she could have sculpted it from clay. She finished her drink, then nodded meekly.

  ‘Wen, I forbid you to let Titus leave this city without wandering the marshes with him at least once. You must not be afraid to live your life! What is that saying in Latin?’

  ‘Carpe diem?’ said Wen.

  ‘You must do it for us,’ cried Charmion. ‘You must do it for your sisters—to cheer our hearts on this dark day.’

  Tears came unbidden to Wen’s eyes. She had never considered herself a sister to anyone. ‘I am humbled,’ she said. ‘I wish for nothing else.’

  ‘Then you must go to him before it is too late.’

  ‘But surely he is busy preparing for his journey. I fear his guards will refuse me.’

  ‘Do not fear, Wen,’ said Cleopatra, speaking at last. ‘I know a way.’

  * * *

  It was late when Titus heard the knock at his chamber door. Cicero’s letter lay on the table before him like evidence to a crime. He tossed it into a smouldering brazier and jumped to his feet.

  ‘Who calls so late?’ he asked. He scanned the room for the location of his gladius. It was propped just next to the doorway.

  ‘It is I, Apollodorus. I bring you a gift.’

  Titus trusted the Sicilian with his life. Still, he hesitated. ‘What is the nature of this gift you bring?’ he asked. He now stood squarely before the door, his gladius in hand.

  ‘The nature is...feminine,’ said the Sicilian.

  Feminine? Was the fool delivering flowers? Not likely. Titus assessed his preparedness for a fight. He wore no armour and the ponderous folds of his night toga would prevent him from making a fast escape. There was no helping it, however. As he opened the door, he held out his gladius, ready to strike.

  Standing there before him was the tall, shadowy figure of Apollodorus and before him, a figure clad in white, her eyes the only visible part of her. But he knew those eyes. He craved them. ‘Wen?’

  ‘It is I,’ she mumbled from beneath the cloth.

  ‘It is as if you have been rolled into a carpet,’ he said. The most desirable carpet he had ever seen.

  ‘I am here to see if you might unroll me.’

  He blinked, mistrusting his own ears. Unroll her? Did she have any idea of what she had just suggested? He searched her eyes. They danced in the torchlight, joyous and full of mischief.

  Still, he was so thrilled to see her that he instantly forgot about having spent most of the day trying to forget her.

  ‘Please come in. You are most welcome,’ he said, and she flounced into the chamber with a bold purpose. What purpose? he wondered hopefully.

  Just the thought of her presence in his bedchamber made his heart pound.

  He watched her eyes scan
the sprawling space, taking stock of everything. The balcony. The brazier. The wash basin.

  The bed.

  He was so taken by the activities of her eyes—the only visible part of her—that he forgot about her escort. It was Apollodorus’s disgruntled sigh that shook Titus from his trance.

  ‘Apologies, my friend,’ said Titus, turning to the stocky Sicilian. ‘You are also welcome, of course.’ Against all his instincts, Titus gestured for Apollodorus to enter.

  Thankfully, Apollodorus did not move. ‘I cannot stay,’ he said with blessed mercy, ‘but I am grateful for your welcome all the same.’

  Titus grinned with relief. ‘I hope to see you again soon, so that we may reminisce about our journey and how the gods favoured us that night.’

  But Apollodorus was not listening. He was gazing over Titus’s shoulder, watching wistfully as Wen crossed to the foot of Titus’s bed and took her seat. Apollodorus shook his head in wonder. ‘The gods continue to favour you, it seems,’ he whispered. ‘Lucky jackal.’

  Titus dropped his voice to barely a whisper. ‘I will try to be worthy of her.’

  ‘Do not merely try,’ Apollodorus said in clipped tones.

  Titus nodded gravely, then closed the door, pushing the bolt into its place. He stared at the thick metal for a long while afterwards, trying to arrange his thoughts. His hands had begun to sweat.

  I was wondering if you might unroll me. That is what she had said, which meant that she wanted him to help her out of her hetaira’s robe.

  Which meant she wanted him.

  Even if she had said nothing, the garment alone spoke volumes. Or perhaps more exactly, it asked a question, to which his answer was a resounding yes.

  Yes, yes, yes.

  His heart filled up to bursting, and he suppressed the urge to lift her into his arms. He wanted to tear off her robe and kiss every part of her, to make slow, torturous love to her until her whole body convulsed.

  But, no. No, no, no. He could not do that, because he was leaving that very night.

  The life seemed to drain from him as he crossed to where she sat. There were several sofas to choose from, yet she had chosen to sit on the low platform where he sat. Either she was too innocent to understand the meaning of such an action, or she had come to seduce him.