The Judgment of Caesar Page 10

  “Are you Gordianus-called-Finder?” He spoke Egyptian, but so slowly and distinctly that even I could follow.

  “I am.”

  “Come with me.”

  “Is there trouble?”

  “His Majesty ordered me to fetch you.”

  “And the others in my party?”

  “They stay behind. You come with me.”

  Rupa helped me descend from the wagon. I spoke in his ear. “While I’m gone, take care of the boys. Don’t let them get into trouble. They think they’re smarter than you, but you’re the strong one. Don’t be afraid to show them who’s boss. Do you understand?”

  He looked at me uncertainly, but nodded.

  I called to the boys. When they came to the back of the wagon and bent toward me, I grabbed each one by the nearest ear and pulled them close. “You will not, repeat not, get into trouble while I’m gone. You’ll do as Rupa tells you.”

  “Tells us?” said Mopsus. “But Rupa can’t speak—” His words ended in a squeal as I gave his ear a twist.

  “You know what I mean. When I return, if I find that you’ve disobeyed me, I shall twist this ear until it comes off. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Master!” cried Mopsus.

  “And you, Androcles?”

  His brother, thinking it judicious to keep his mouth shut, simply nodded. I released them both. With a firm grip on my arm, the soldier hurried me off.

  “When will you be back?” called Mopsus, rubbing his ear.

  “Soon, I’m sure,” I called back, though I was not sure of anything.

  Threading our way through ranks of marching infantry, the soldier led me across the road and down a ramp set into the embankment of the canal, where the royal barge had pulled alongside a landing spot. The boatmen were taking advantage of the stop to lean against their poles and rest for a moment. As soon as I stepped aboard, the crew leader called out for them to resume their work. The boatmen at the front of the barge on either side raised their poles and brought them down. The barge slowly began to move.

  Pothinus peered out from beneath the canopy and gestured for me to follow. Steps led down to the royal accommodations, which were actually below the level of the water; the sunken, shaded area was deliciously cool. The saffron-colored canopy softened the glaring sunlight; sumptuous carpets underfoot softened my steps. Here and there, courtiers stood in little groups. Many wore the nemes, a pleated linen head-cloth such as that worn by the Sphinx, with various colors and patterns to denote their rank, while others wore ceremonial wigs upon their presumably shaved heads. They stood aside to let me pass, until at the center of the barge, I saw King Ptolemy seated on his throne. Two other chairs, hardly less opulent, faced his; both were chased with silver inlaid with bits of ebony and ivory, and their broad seats were strewn with plump cushions. In one chair sat Pothinus. The other was empty.

  “Sit,” said Pothinus.

  I sat, and realized that Ptolemy’s throne was raised on a dais. The platform was low, but sufficient to force me to tilt my chin up if I dared to look at him. If I lowered my eyes, they naturally came to rest upon a large, covered clay jar next to one of the king’s feet. It occurred to me that the jar was just the right size to contain a man’s head.

  “Did you sleep well, Gordianus-called-Finder?”

  “Quite well, Your Majesty.”

  “The accommodations were adequate?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “Good. Are you hungry?”

  “Perhaps, Your Majesty.”

  “Then you and Pothinus must partake of some food. I myself am never hungry at midday. Lord Chamberlain, call for food.”

  Small tables were brought, and atop them were set silver trays heaped with delicacies—green and black olives stuffed with peppers and nut-paste, fish cakes sprinkled with poppy seeds, millet cakes sweetened with honey and soaked in pomegranate wine.

  Despite the lavish spread, I had some trouble mustering my appetite, for I kept imagining what must be inside the clay jar at the king’s feet. While Pothinus and I ate, the king’s piper played a tune. The man sat at a little distance behind Ptolemy, cross-legged on the floor. The tune was different from the one he had played the night before.

  Ptolemy seemed to read my thoughts. “Do you like the music?”

  “Very much,” I said, which seemed the safe answer. “May I ask who composed the tune?”

  “My father.”

  I nodded. It was as I had thought; Ptolemy went about accompanied by his father’s music to reinforce his link to the Piper and thus his legitimacy as the late king’s successor. But then he said something that prompted me to reconsider my cynical interpretation of his motives.

  “My father possessed a remarkable talent for music. With his playing he could make a man laugh one moment and weep the next. There was a sort of magic in his fingers and lips. This fellow who plays my father’s tunes captures the notes, but not always the spirit, of my father’s compositions. Still, to hear his music reminds me of my father in a way that nothing else can. Consider: The monuments that men leave behind, even the greatest men, reach out to only one of the five senses, our sight. We look at the image on a coin, or gaze upon a statue, or read the words that were written; we see, and we remember. But what about the way a man laughed, or sang, and the sound of his voice? No art can capture those aspects of a man for posterity; once a man is dead, his voice, his song, and his laughter die with him, gone forever, and our memory of them grows less and less exact as time passes. I was lucky, then, that my father made music, and that others, even if not with his precise skill, can reproduce that music. I cannot ever again hear the sound of my father speaking my name, but I can hear the tunes he composed, and so feel his presence persist among the living.”

  I dared to lift my eyes to gaze into those of Ptolemy, but the king was staring into the middle distance. It seemed strange to hear such a young man utter sentiments so bittersweet; but Ptolemy was not, after all, an ordinary young man. He was the descendant of a long line of kings and queens stretching back to the right-hand man of Alexander the Great; he had been raised to think of himself as semidivine and the possessor of a unique destiny. Had he ever played with the boyish, careless abandon of Mopsus and Androcles? It seemed unlikely. I had interpreted the presence of his attendant piper as a purely political device, a calculated ploy; in Rome, such would have been the case, but gazing upon Ptolemy through jaded Roman eyes, I had missed something. Could it be that Ptolemy was both more mortal and more kingly than I had thought?

  “The bond between father and son is a very special thing,” I said quietly, and my thoughts took a dark turn.

  Again, Ptolemy seemed to read my mind. “You have two sons, I understand. The one called Eco, who lives in Rome, and the other, called Meto, who travels with Caesar; but the one called Meto you no longer call your son.”

  “That is correct, Your Majesty.”

  “You had a falling-out?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. In Massilia—”

  For the first time I heard him laugh, though not with joy. “You needn’t explain, Gordianus-called-Finder. I’ve had my share of fallings-out with family members. If my latest military excursion had been successful, I’d be coming back to Alexandria with two heads to show the people, not just one!”

  Across from me, Pothinus pursed his lips, but if he thought the king spoke carelessly, he said nothing.

  The king continued. “Tell me, Gordianus-called-Finder, what do they say about Egypt, where you come from? What do the citizens of Rome make of our little domestic squabble?”

  This opened treacherous ground. I answered carefully. “Your father was well-known in Rome, of course, since for a period of time he resided there.” (In fact, the Piper had been driven out of Egypt by rioting mobs and lived for a while in exile in Rome, while his eldest daughter, Berenice, seized the opportunity to take over the government in his absence.)

  “I was very young then,” said the king. “Too young to accompa
ny my father. What did the Romans make of him?”

  “While he lived there, your father was well-liked. His . . . generosity . . . wasmuch spoken of.” (Passing out money and promises of money, the Piper had petitioned the Roman Senate for military assistance to restore him to the throne; in essence, he had ransomed the future wealth of his country to Roman senators and bankers.) “For many months, Your Majesty, Roman politics revolved around ‘the Egyptian Question.’ ” (The question: Put the Piper back on the throne as a Roman puppet, or take over the country outright and make it a Roman province?) “It was a delicate issue, endlessly debated.” (Caesar and Pompey staged a titanic struggle over who should get the command, but to choose either man threatened to upset the precarious balance of power in Rome; the Senate finally picked a relative nonentity, Aulus Gabinius, to pacify Egypt.) “The people of Rome rejoiced when your father was rightfully restored to his throne.” (Gabinius, with the aid of a dashing young cavalry commander named Marc Antony, routed the forces of Berenice. Back in power, the Piper as his first act executed his rebellious daughter; his second act was to raise taxes, so as to start paying the vast sum in bribes he had promised to Roman senators and bankers. Egypt was impoverished, and the Egyptian people groaned under the burden, but the sizable Roman garrison left behind by Gabinius assured that the Piper would remain in power.)

  I cleared my throat. “The sudden death of your father two years ago caused grief and consternation in Rome.” (The senators and bankers worried that chaos would overtake Egypt and that further payments from whomever succeeded the Piper would dry up; there were vicious recriminations from those who had argued for annexing Egypt outright while the pickings were easy.)

  The king nodded thoughtfully. “And what is the attitude of the citizens of Rome regarding affairs in Egypt since the death of my father?”

  The ground became even more treacherous. “To be candid, Your Majesty, since the death of your father, my knowledge, and, I suspect, the knowledge of most Romans regarding events in Egypt, are rather hazy. In the last few years, our own ‘domestic squabbles’ have occupied all our attention. Not a great deal of thought is given to affairs in Egypt, at least not by common citizens.”

  “But what was said about my father’s will, at the time of his death?”

  “A man’s will is a sacred thing to a Roman. Whatever dispensation your father decreed would be respected.” (In fact, there had been a great deal of disappointment that the Piper had not bequeathed the governance of Egypt to the Roman Senate; other monarchs, close to death, massively in debt to Rome, and wishing to spare their countries from inevitable war and conquest, had done exactly that. But the Piper had chosen to leave Egypt to his eldest remaining daughter, Cleopatra, and her younger brother, Ptolemy, to be ruled jointly by the two of them. Presumably, brother and sister had married one another, as was the custom with coreigning siblings in the Ptolemy family. Incest was abhorrent to Romans and looked upon as yet another decadent symptom of monarchy, along with court eunuchs, ostentatious pageantry, and capricious executions.)

  The king shifted uneasily on his throne and frowned. “My father left Egypt to me—and to my sister Cleopatra. Did you know that, Gordianus-called-Finder?”

  “That was my understanding, yes.”

  “My father dreamed of peace in the family and prosperity for Egypt. But in the world of flesh, even the dreams of a god do not always find fulfillment. The Fates have decreed this to be a time of civil war all across the earth. So it is with Rome. So it is with Egypt. So it is, I take it, even within your own family, Gordianus-called-Finder.”

  I bowed my head. “You speak again of my son.”

  “Meto, the tent-mate of Caesar,” he said, watching me closely. I bit my lip. “Ah, does that have something to do with your estrangement? Has the eagle taken your son perhaps too much under his wing?”

  I sighed. “I find it strange that Your Majesty should show so much interest in the family affairs of a common Roman citizen.”

  “I am interested in all things having to do with Caesar,” he said. The gleam in his eyes was partly that of a curious fifteen-year-old boy, and partly that of a calculating politician.

  “For many a Roman,” I said, speaking slowly and quietly, “the choice between Caesar and Pompey was not an easy one. Cicero searched frantically for a third way, but found none and finally sided with Pompey—to his regret. Marcus Caelius leaped to Caesar’s side, then grew dissatisfied and betrayed him. Milo escaped from exile in Massilia and sought to raise an army of his own—”

  “And you have known all these men?” Ptolemy sat forward. “These heroes and adventurers and madmen of whom we hear only echoes here in Egypt?”

  I nodded. “Most of them I have known better than I cared to, certainly better than was good for me.”

  “And you know Caesar as well?”

  “Yes.”

  “And is he not the greatest of them, the nearest to godhood?”

  “I know him as a man, not a god.”

  “A man of great power.”

  “Yes.”

  “Yet you begrudge the favoritism he shows your son?”

  “The matter is complicated, Your Majesty.” I almost smiled as I said this, considering that the person to whom I spoke was married to a sister he loathed and that another of his sisters had been executed by their father. I glanced at the clay jar at Ptolemy’s feet. I felt slightly queasy. “If Caesar comes to Egypt,” I said, “will you have him beheaded, as you did Pompey?”

  The king exchanged a look with Pothinus, who clearly disapproved of this turn in the conversation. “Your Majesty,” he said, intending to change the subject; but the king spoke over him, obliging Pothinus to fall silent.

  “He was remarkably easy to kill, wasn’t he—Pompey, I mean? The gods deserted him at Pharsalus. By the time he was ready to step ashore here in Egypt, there was not a shred of divinity still clinging to his wretched person. The gods had stripped him of their armor, and when the blades descended, the only resistance they met was feeble flesh. He thought to stride ashore, to remind me of the debts my father owed him, and take command of Egypt, as if our treasury, granaries, and arms were his for the taking. It was not to be. ‘Put an end to the so-called Great One before his feet can touch Egyptian soil!’—were those not your exact words, Pothinus? You even quoted that favorite epigram of my tutor Theodotus: ‘Dead men don’t bite.’ I thought long and hard upon this question; in dreams I sought the counsel of Osiris and Serapis. The gods agreed with Pothinus. Had I given succor to Pompey, the same curse that fell upon him would have fallen upon Egypt.

  “Caesar may be another matter. I think the gods are still with Caesar. His divinity must grow stronger with every conquest. Will he come to Egypt, Gordianus-called-Finder, seeking our grain and our gold as Pompey did?”

  “Perhaps, Your Majesty.”

  “And if he comes, will he be as easy to kill as Pompey was?”

  I made no answer. Ptolemy turned to the eunuch.

  “What do you think, Lord Chamberlain?”

  “I think, Your Majesty,” said Pothinus, casting a shrewd glance at the king, “that you promised audiences with certain of your subjects today, here on the royal barge. Perhaps your conversation with this Roman could be postponed while you tend to more-official business.”

  Ptolemy sighed. “Who comes to me today?” “Several delegations are here to report on the status of the annual inundation in the regions of the Upper Nile; we have reports from Ombos, Hemonthis, Latopolis, and elsewhere. The news they bring is not good, I fear. There is also a party of merchants from Clysma, on the gulf of the Red Sea, who wish to petition for tax relief; a fire destroyed several warehouses and piers last year, and they need money to rebuild. I’ve read their reports and petitions, but only you can grant the dispensations they request.”

  “Must I meet these people now, Lord Chamberlain?”

  “All these groups have come a very long way, Your Majesty; and I think it would be best to disp
ose of these matters before we reach Alexandria, where Your Majesty is likely to be greeted by a great many pressing needs that have developed in your absence.”

  The king closed his eyes. “Very well, Lord Chamberlain.”

  Pothinus stood. “I shall call for the barge to stop at the next landing, and find a suitable escort to take the Roman back to his—”

  “No, let Gordianus-called-Finder stay.”

  “But, Your Majesty—”

  “Let him stay where he is.” Ptolemy gave him a severe look.

  “As Your Majesty commands.”

  I had thought, in such a hot climate, that all business would cease in the hours just after midday, but such was not the case. While I sat and struggled not to doze—snoring during a royal audience would surely be frowned on—a succession of envoys was admitted to the king’s presence. What impressed me most was Ptolemy’s facility with languages and dialects. All the envoys spoke some Greek, but many exhausted their vocabulary after a few ritual greetings, whereupon the king began to converse with perfect fluency in whatever tongue best suited his subjects. All the while, the piper played in the background.

  At last the final envoy made obeisance and departed from the king’s presence. Pothinus showed the man out. On his way back, he was approached by a messenger, who whispered something in his ear. The message appeared to be quite long and complicated. Hearing it, the eunuch appeared at first alarmed, then amused. At last he hurried to Ptolemy’s side.

  “Your Majesty! You shall soon have a chance to gaze upon the master of Rome with your own eyes. Your advance guards have reached Alexandria. They send back news: Caesar’s ships are in the harbor.”

  Ptolemy drew a sharp breath. “In the harbor? Does Caesar, like Pompey, await my coming before he steps onto Egyptian soil?”

  Pothinus flashed a smile. “Actually, Your Majesty, Caesar arrived some days ago. I am told that he set foot on a public pier and attempted to take a stroll through one of the markets. It seems he wished to awe the people, for he arrived with all the trappings of a Roman consul. He wore his toga with a purple stripe, and twelve armed men called lictors marched before him bearing fasces.”