Hand of Isis (19 page)

“Diverted from what?” she mused. “That’s the real question. What is it that Caesar needs so badly that he’s still here?”

“The money,” I said.

She nodded. “It must be very bad. His legions must be on the verge of mutiny.”

“And the Senate has declared him a rebel,” I said. “Caesar stands or falls in Alexandria. If he loses control of his legions . . .”

“They’ll loot the city,” Cleopatra said. “Five thousand soldiers out for plunder in a city of half a million innocent people. We must avoid that at all costs. So we must help Caesar keep his legions.”

“Pothinus thinks he’ll sail away. That’s got to be the game that Theo is playing,” I said.

“It won’t work,” she said. “Not if he’s that desperate.”

“I know,” I said. I looked down at my wrist. Aurelianus. Agrippa. Caesar. I put my head upon her shoulder and closed my eyes against her. “What is it you need me to do?”

“Bring me Caesar,” she said.

I
T WAS NO EASY THING
to talk to Caesar, as we had already discovered. Any visit to the Queen would be done with dozens of witnesses, and every word of their conversation would be repeated and parsed by the entire court. Also, he was constantly surrounded by people. While it was doubtful that the huge Germans who formed his personal bodyguard understood Koine, there were soldiers around him at all times, reporting and meeting and dining and conferring. I wondered how he, like any ruler, managed to tend to his bodily functions in private!

For three days I tried to find a way to see him, without success. Theo’s emissaries had left the city to see General Achillas, but as yet we had had no reply. We remained Caesar’s guests.

Blessed Isis, I prayed, if You have a plan, then help me speak with Caesar!

The third night I could not sleep. I lay tossing and turning on the mat on the floor beside Agrippa’s bed, trying not to wake the Queen. At last I got up quietly and went out into the hall. I needed fresh air, if only for a few minutes.

Agrippa was standing with the guard on the side door, but he came to me when I neared. “Is there something that the Queen needs, Charmian?”

I thanked him for his courtesy, and replied that no, there was nothing. “It’s only that I can’t sleep,” I said. “Do you think I could walk in the garden for a few minutes? Or on the balcony?”

He hesitated, no doubt wondering what scheme I was trying.

“It’s only the balcony,” I said. “Tribune, it’s a three-story drop to the ground! And then I should be in a garden with a wall four times my height, with gates guarded by legionaries! How should I escape?”

He hesitated again, and then smiled. “I suppose it would be all right,” he said. “Just the balcony.” He let me out.

This villa, like so many, was built to catch the sea breezes. In better times, doubtless it was a lovely place to set out couches and little tables, and dine in the sea air, with the soft scents of the garden below. There were no couches or tables now, only a sentry at each end of the building, the cressets unlit, as they would interfere with their night vision over the shaded garden. Still, the waning moon was bright enough that it hardly mattered.

I walked out to the rail and took a deep breath, clear and cool, like drinking moonlight.

I was not alone. His hair was a loose cap of silver, and he stood by the rail as well, some little way away, looking out over the garden. From the other side of the villa we should have been able to see Pharos and the sea, but this side looked the other way, toward the Mareotic Canal with its long lines of barges, bringing the grain of the Black Land endlessly to the sea. It was Caesar.

“Who’s there?” he said sharply, one hand dropping to his waist, to a dagger I did not see. Romans have assassins too.

I stepped out into the bright moonlight, my open hands held well away from my sides. “It is only I, Imperator.” My white himation shone in the darkness. No assassin would wear such.

His hand stilled. “You are one of her handmaidens,” he said. “I’ve seen you. Charmian, is it?”

“It is,” I said, inclining my head. I wished he did not know my name. It was better to be anonymous, a shadow behind Cleopatra. But then, Caesar noticed such things. “I did not mean to disturb you.” I looked away. “It’s only that it’s so close in the villa, and I felt if I did not get some air I should scream.”

“That would hardly do,” he said with a strange half smile, the left side of his mouth pulling more than the right. “I expect it would alarm people.”

“It would,” I said.

He lifted my chin with one hand. “You have the look of her.” His hand was warm, and he turned my face as though it were some work of art.

“Ptolemy Auletes was eclectic in his tastes,” I said. “We were born the same year.”

“Her sister as well as her servant? Interesting.” The Roman raised one eyebrow. “You are loyal to her, then?”

“Would I tell you, Imperator, if I were not?” I asked. “Surely you cannot expect naïveté from someone who serves Cleopatra Philopater? If we were any of us naïve we should be long since dead.” His face was very near mine, and the moonlight made each wrinkle a deep gravure, but his eyes were bright as stars, light reflecting. It seemed that I had dreamed this once, or perhaps that I dreamed still, sleeping beside Cleopatra and wondering how I should speak with Caesar. It was that sense of dream that made me bold. “She is the living Isis, Her Hands on earth. You must put her on the throne of Egypt. It is what she was born to do.”

“No doubt it’s what she wishes,” Caesar said dryly, releasing my chin with the same unminding caress one would use for a cat. “Your mistress has many estimable qualities.”

“Does she fascinate you, Imperator?” I asked.

“As she means to?” He turned, one eyebrow rising again. “You can tell her yes, of course she does.” He looked out over the garden. Somewhere out there in the night, the river was flowing beneath the stars, the Nile rolling ever seaward, as it always had and always would. I said nothing, just waited for him to drink his fill of the night. “The pyramids are two thousand years old,” he said. “So they tell me. How old are your gods?”

“Do you care for gods, Imperator? I didn’t think Romans put much stock in such.” Certainly Gnaeus had not, and I had not known so many others closely. They seemed a supremely practical people.

“I am a priest of Jupiter,” he said lightly. “Or had you forgotten?”

“I did not know,” I said. “Perhaps there is some small flaw in our intelligence.” I came and stood beside him at the rail, looked sideways at his face. “Do you believe in pothos, like Alexander? Fata, leading you by the hand?”

“It’s a foolish man who scorns Fata,” he said. “I don’t think even my enemies have called me foolish.”

“No,” I said. “That’s not the thing they’ve named you.” Rebel, traitor, tyrant, a man with no regard for law, a man who would be king—all those things had been said and more. But no man had called him foolish, at least not in a very long time. But what did he believe? If anyone knew that, they did not speak of it.

Caesar looked vaguely amused. “And does Cleopatra wish a second Alexander to swoop down upon her enemies like a plunging falcon? To raise new temples in her honor? A royal wedding and a Caesarid dynasty?”

“You have named it, not I,” I said, but a shiver ran down my back.

He laughed, a pleasant enough sound. “She wishes to know these things. Why does she send you to ask me?”

I must gamble. The stakes were too high not to. “Because you will tell me,” I said, certainty in my voice.

“And why will I do that?”

“Because you have known me for a thousand years. I have died in your service. I have saved your life when your enemies sought you, and I have killed a man across your funeral bier.” I held his eyes, and in his face I saw it again, the funeral cortege making its way down a mountain road. “We carried you to Memphis in a coffin of gold and laid you among the sacred kings, beside the bulls of Serapis until your city was ready. You may not remember, waking, this side of the River, but I think that you do know. I think you know much more than you pretend.”

Caesar tilted his head to the side, his face unreadable. “Strange,” he said quietly. “You look Greek, with your fair hair.”

“I am all Egypt,” I said. “Egypt as she is now, Black Land and Red Land and Alexandria together. You have come home to your place, Imperator, and she greets you as a lover long absent and much missed. Do not scorn Fata, or the words of the gods.”

“Now you are the voice of a goddess, not a slave?”

“We are all more than we seem, Divine Julius, the Son of Venus,” I said. “Are you not descended from Venus through that Trojan tossed over sea and land by the enmity of Juno, until at last he came to Italian shores and took up his long destiny?”

He threw his head back and laughed, long thin throat exposed. “I should take this then as a caution against sparring with Cleopatra. If the handmaiden is so practiced in arms, I should beware your mistress!”

I inclined my head. “Perhaps you should. But you have not answered my question.”

“Nor will I. Now,” he said, and smiling walked away.

I waited until he was gone. He had answered. I knew what I had come to find out.

A
chillas killed one of the emissaries, and the other returned to Alexandria badly wounded, having been left for dead and saved by the intrepidness of his servants. Achillas, he said, was determined that Ptolemy was not in control in Alexandria, and he marched on the city to liberate Pharaoh and people both from the Romans. Unfortunately for Caesar, the city guards agreed. They let him into the city without a fight, and Caesar was besieged in the Palace Quarter.

In that day, the Palace Quarter, palaces, villas, and park, were surrounded by a wall with gates. There was also the small Royal Harbor, with the docks for our private ships just south of the Lochias Penin-sula, where Caesar had brought in his ships. It was not large, and to sail, one had to go through the main harbor and out around the breakwater and the island of Pharos, but it did still give him a way to leave.

Perhaps that is what a sensible man would have done. I do not know. I do know, however, that I did not like the smell in the air in the villa. The legionaries stood together when off duty in quiet knots, and there was little laughter or dicing. Only the Gaulish cavalry in their thin leather harness went about their business with calm gravity. The legionaries on our doors were replaced by Aurelianus and his men again, presumably because the infantry were needed on the walls, and there was little use for dismounted cavalry, but I thought also that it was because they were steadier. They spoke their own languages among themselves, and obeyed their own officers.

Fighting broke out near the docks. Achillas was pressing in, pushing the infantry back street by street and house by house. It was only a small area, mostly warehouses and inns, but my heart bled at the thought of fighting in our city. Meanwhile, we were trapped.

On the second day of the fighting, Caesar came to see the Queen.

He wore harness like his men, but it was gilded steel over leather, Medusa’s head embossed on the chest piece, with gilded greaves and the full infantry kit, save the helm. I thought that beneath the fine clothes his legs were rather skinny, and that was where he showed his age. He was, after all, nearly as old as Auletes.

Two German bodyguards accompanied him, huge blond men looking as though their muscles had been carved from stone.

Cleopatra rose from her chair. She did not incline her head, and neither did he. “So you have come to see me at last,” she said.

I busied myself pouring watered wine into cups, but of course Caesar did not take his, nor did the Queen.

“As you can guess, I’ve been busy,” he said.

Her gown was a shade between rose and purple, and brought color to her cheeks. “So I understand. Caesar, let me be sure we understand one another. You want money to pay your men. I want my city undamaged.”

“I thought you wanted to be sole ruler of Egypt,” Caesar said. One eyebrow rose.

“In order for you to get your money, I must be,” she said calmly. “You will not find that money in Alexandria, and you will not be able to raise it in taxes and payments from Upper Egypt while the country is in civil war. It is in your interest, now and in the future, to have Egypt as a firm ally at your back, a source of wealth and support. You will not get that from Ptolemy Theodorus, and you can get it from me.”

“What makes you think I cannot get it from Ptolemy?” he asked, his cloak over his arm as though he were a rhetoretician.

“From the men who killed Pompeius?” One of the Queen’s eyebrows rose in mirror of his. “Will you ever be certain, if you turn your back for one moment, that your will shall be done or promises kept? Do you plan to stay in Egypt and collect taxes yourself?”

“And you will pay promptly and without quibbling?”

Cleopatra nodded. “If the terms are reasonable. I will not beggar my country, not for your aid or anyone else’s. If I should, then I should be a poor ruler indeed.”

“And the price of this invaluable assistance?” Caesar smiled, as though now it were down to bargaining, and he was sure of getting what he wanted.

Her reply wiped the smile from his lips. “Put me on the throne of Egypt, where I shall rule jointly with the son you will get on me.”

“My dear lady, it isn’t that I’m not flattered by your proposal, but it is quite impossible,” he said. He paced toward the wine table, while the Germans exchanged looks behind his back. They might seem to be carved out of stone, but they understood some Koine, at least. I, for my part, nearly dropped the cup in the krater.

“In all my years of life, I have never sired a son. One child, and one alone, my daughter who is dead. . . .” Caesar turned and spread his hands. “Believe me, I have had many women with varying degrees of pleasure, but they do not quicken.”

“Perhaps you have never lain with a goddess,” Cleopatra said, seeming unperturbed.

“I have not,” he said. I looked for amusement on his face, but there was none. “But I will not have the child of some slave foisted off upon me as my get. If I would not take the son of Publius Clodius, I will take no lesser.”

“I have more dignity than that, I assure you. Do you think I would raise the son of a slave to the throne of the Ptolemies?” Cleopatra said icily. “Should you lie with me, we will get a son, a Horus for Egypt. Isis wills it.”

“And what does Cleopatra will?”

“That does not matter in the least.”

He looked at her and nodded shortly, as one swordsman will to another. “Perhaps you are a ruler after all.”

“I am Pharaoh,” she said, and there was Egypt in her cool eyes. “I am Isis.”

Caesar put his head to the side, and this time his smile was real. “I had thought the Ptolemies were Greek.”

“Egypt changes men who have their will with her,” she said. “Conquerors come, and go away changed.”

“Alexander did not,” he said.

“Alexander already knew who he was before he went to Siwah.” Cleopatra crossed the room in a whisper of soft silks, and took the wine cup from my hand. “Do you, Caesar?”

He laughed. “I’m Caesar,” he said.

“They say you visited the Soma,” she said.

“Don’t all travelers? It is, after all, Alexandria’s most famous sight.”

“They say you wept,” she said. “Why, Caesar?”

“Do not many men?” He met her eyes. “Are not many moved at the sight of such devotion, that friends should treat a corpse with such reverence, should kill across his bier?”

He did not look at me, but I sucked in a breath.

“Certainly of all the Companions Ptolemy at least was true,” she said.

“Loyalty is a rare thing in a ruler,” Caesar said. “Or in anyone.” He glanced behind at his bodyguards. “I take it where I find it, in whatever guise.”

“As do I,” she said.

His eyes shifted to me. “Then you are well served.”

“I know,” she said.

Caesar nodded. “I will consider your proposal, Gracious Queen.”

“I will await your response, Imperator,” she replied. And the interview was at an end. Caesar swept from the room, his Germans behind him.

A
FEW HOURS LATER
the doors opened to admit Dion, and I flung my arms around his neck. “Dion! How in the world did you get in?”

Dion grinned. “Aurelianus. They have orders not to let you out. Nobody said anything about not letting me in.”

Cleopatra rose up from the chair at the window. “What’s the news in the city?”

“Not good.” Dion bowed gracefully. “Most of the city is in Achillas’ hands, and it’s business as usual. But the neighborhoods along the harbor north of the Soma are still full of people. They slapped the cordon down so fast that people couldn’t get out. And that’s where the fighting is.”

The Queen looked grim. “Who’s winning?”

“Right now, Achillas. There’s still a corridor open from here to the harbor. They could still get to their ships. But there are Egyptian ships in the main harbor that answer to Achillas, and the batteries of ballistae on Pharos’ island. Caesar’s not going to get any supplies by sea.”

Cleopatra looked at me. “What if we’ve miscalculated?”

“Then we’re finished,” I said.

Dion looked from one of us to the other. “Miscalculated about what?”

It was Cleopatra’s to answer, so she did. “Telling Caesar that I would bear him a son to be Pharaoh of Egypt in return for his backing.”

Dion let out a long whistle through his teeth. “That’s interesting,” he managed.

“Caesar has no sons,” I said. “He never has. One daughter years ago, but no other children. Do you suppose he can’t do it?”

Dion grinned. “I think that’s unlikely. You should hear what his Gauls sing about him. ‘Lock up your wives, Romans! Here we come with our balding debaucher! He’ll take them fore and aft, and finish up in their mouths for good measure!’?”

Cleopatra burst out laughing. “Where in the world did you hear that?”

“Aurelianus,” Dion said. “And his friends call him Emrys.”

“Do you count yourself one of his friends now?” Cleopatra asked, smiling.

“Unfortunately not yet,” Dion said. “I’m pretty sure the Romans aren’t supposed to explore Greek vices. Though they say Caesar did. Some wit years ago called him ‘every man’s woman and every woman’s man.’?”

“I remember that,” Cleopatra said. “It was Curio, wasn’t it? When Caesar was such good friends with King Nicomedes of Bithynia.”

“I think so,” Dion said. “But that must have been twenty years ago.”

“More like thirty,” I said.

“Well, that sounds promising,” Cleopatra said dryly. “Romans aren’t supposed to do anything of the kind. They think that men lying with other men is wrong, and that it turns men into soft cowards.”

Dion raised an eyebrow. “What, like Alexander the Great? If you lie with men, you may only conquer most of the known world? If you don’t, you might do better?”

I shrugged. “Maybe Caesar slept with Nicomedes or maybe not. I don’t see how it matters.”

“It matters in what other Romans think of him,” Cleopatra said. “They don’t accept that normal men enjoy sex with both men and women.”

“I have no idea what Gauls think,” Dion said. “Anyone?”

Cleopatra laughed. “I think that’s your research project, Dion. Please report back to us on your conclusions!”

“Provided we’re all here to listen,” I said.

Dion put his arm around me. “Caesar will pull it off. You’ll see. He’s been in tighter spots, so Emrys tells me.”

W
E WOKE TO FIRE
. Smoke crept into the room, choking and acrid. I got to my feet and went to the window. The sky was pink, a strange, nacreous glow lighting all of the usual haze. There was more than usual; something enormous was afire.

I shook Cleopatra. “Wake up! You must get up! The city is burning!”

She wriggled and sat up, choking and coughing. Her eyes were wide.

I flung the door open.

The Roman sentry stood still, his sword at his side. The smoke was less in the corridor, where there were no windows.

“What is going on?” I demanded. “What is happening?”

It was only a moment before Aurelianus came running.

I leaned out into the corridor again, the smoke following me. “What is burning?” I yelled. “You must let us out. We will suffocate in our beds!”

“Caesar is burning the Egyptian fleet,” Aurelianus replied, his green eyes bloodshot. “There is a sortie out to do it. The wind is blowing this way, so we are getting the worst of the smoke.”

Cleopatra was at my elbow. “If the smoke is blowing this way, then the fire . . .”

“Some of the buildings along the harbor have caught,” Aurelianus said. “The warehouses along the main harbor just past the Gate of the Moon. Achillas is having to use his men to put the fire out.”

“Caesar doesn’t put out fires? Only start them?” Cleopatra asked tartly, and I knew she was thinking of her city, of the families whose homes and whose livelihoods were in those neighborhoods.

“Caesar can’t get to it, Lady,” Aurelianus said evenly. “That area is entirely held by Achillas.”

“Wonderful,” she said, and whatever else she might have said was lost in a fit of coughing.

“We can’t stay here,” I said. “The smoke is too thick. Aurelianus, ask Caesar if we can be moved somewhere else.”