The Judgment of Caesar (17 page)

Caesar turned toward Cleopatra. “To that end, I welcome back to the city of her ancestors Queen Cleopatra.” As he had done before to Ptolemy, Caesar bowed his head. Unlike her brother, the queen returned the gesture and flashed a faint, self-satisfied smile that reminded me of no one so much as Caesar himself.

“The queen has been absent from her capital for many days. Ceremonies and religious invocations that require her attendance have been neglected. Projects begun by her ministers have been set aside. The life of the city and the welfare of its people have suffered. She returned to the palace only last night, guided, so she tells me, by the ingenuity and persistent urgings of the goddess Isis herself. Today, the queen once again sits upon her throne. Her people rejoice, and so do I.

“What of the other siblings, Princess Arsinoë and the young Prince Ptolemy? For them, their father’s will made no specific provisions. But I have found them to be of truly regal stature, and I believe they should be granted a territory of their own. Therefore, I decree that the island of Cyprus, which for the last ten years has been a Roman province, shall henceforth return to Ptolemaic rule, and that Princess Arsinoë and the young Prince Ptolemy shall rule there jointly as king and queen. May theirs become a reflection of the harmonious reign of their siblings here in Egypt.

“Let it be thus: that the will of the late king is fulfilled, and his children shall rule together, and there shall be peace in Egypt; and the Senate and the People of Rome shall likewise rejoice, and shall recognize the joint authority of the king and queen—”

“No!” King Ptolemy shouted, his voice cracking. He jumped up from his throne, his arms stiff at his sides and his fists clenched. The inscrutable mask gave way to flashing eyes and twitching lips.

Pothinus rushed toward him and spoke through gritted teeth. “Your Majesty! Distasteful as these proceedings may be, we agreed beforehand—”

“
You
agreed! I said nothing.”

“You nodded whenever—”

“I nodded because I was too angry to speak, and too hurt to say what I was really thinking!”

“Your Majesty, please! If there are matters yet to be discussed, that should be done in private. Return to your throne and let me send these people away—”

“No, let them stay! Let them stand here and listen to this nonsense. Let them simper and blow kisses to my whore of a sister and her Roman lover, if that’s what they want. It’s I who’ll leave, so the rest of you can get on with this orgy of self-congratulation!”

Ptolemy strode forward, stumbling slightly as he stepped off the dais. The speechless crowd parted and made way for him. The Egyptian guards at the doorway fell back, genuflecting. He was like the prow of a ship, plowing through waves and wind, deflecting all before him.

Merianis grabbed my arm. “Come!” she whispered.

“Where? What are you thinking of, Merianis?”

“Come! Don’t you want to see whatever happens next?”

I looked over my shoulder as we hurried after the disappearing king. Pothinus was pale and grim. Caesar looked utterly at a loss, which was quite out of character. Cleopatra, who had not stirred from her throne and seemed to have no intention of doing so, wore a smile like that of the Sphinx.

“Hurry!” said Merianis, tugging at my arm. She was intent on following the king. His robes billowed behind him as he rushed through the hallways of the palace, never pausing until he came to the courtyard inside the gates. He shouted at the guards to open the gates. When they hesitated, he threatened to have them beheaded. The men rushed to the wheels, and the gates slowly opened.

The king ran into the street. Merianis and I followed, along with a great number of others from the palace.

Ptolemy strode down the wide Argeus. By appearing suddenly, dressed in his crown and robes of state but walking on foot and unattended by any formal retinue, he created a sensation. All who saw him stopped whatever they were doing. Some fell to their knees in awe. Some smiled and cheered. Some simply gawked. All joined in the growing throng that followed at his heels.

At length he arrived at the great intersection of the Argeus and the Canopic Way, where the tombs of his ancestors occupied each of the four corners. The building housing the body of Alexander was his destination. He strode past the sightseers standing in line to view the remains. The guards were taken aback by his sudden appearance, but quickly recovered themselves. They admitted the king but expelled all others, or else I think Merianis would have followed right behind him, dragging me with her. Instead, we stepped into the great square, which was already crowded with people arriving from all directions.

A few moments later the king appeared on a balcony that projected from the upper story of the building. Even at a considerable distance, I could see the streaks of tears on his face.

“People of Egypt!” he shouted. His voice rang through the square. “My beloved people! The Romans have robbed me of my throne! Egypt has been conquered in a single night! We are all the slaves of Rome now!”

There was an uproar all around us. Cries of anger and despair rang in my ears, along with scattered catcalls and peals of laughter. Most in the crowd appeared to love the king, but there were some who despised him.

Ptolemy’s voice pierced the cacophony. “Here I stand in the building that houses our venerated Alexander, the greatest of all conquerors, the most beloved of all heroes, the demigod for whom our city is named, from whose authority the Ptolemies for centuries have traced the legitimacy of their divine rule. But now a man has come along who fancies himself greater than even Alexander. He thinks so little of us that he doesn’t arrive with a great navy supporting him, or a great army marching at his back; he intends to conquer us by trickery and deceit! I confess to you, my people, for a while he dazzled even me, and I gave to him a warmer welcome than he deserved. I allowed him into the royal palace; I shared food and drink with him; I listened to his vain boasting. But now my eyes are open! If the Roman has his way, he’ll throw Alexander’s body upon a dung heap, tear down this tomb, and put up a monument to himself! Perhaps he’ll even rename the city for himself, and you shall wake up to find yourselves living in Caesaropolis!”

The crowd responded with thunderous shouting. Ptolemy gazed grimly over the square, projecting an authority far beyond his years.

“People of Alexandria, as conniving as Caesar may be, he knows that you will never submit to a Roman who dares to sit openly upon the throne of Egypt—so he seeks to cast me from my throne and put a pretender in my place. Who might that be? What creature with a claim to the royal bloodline would be low enough to conspire with our enemy? I think you know her name! With shame, I call her my sister. For her previous attempts to seize the throne, we drove her out of the city and into the wilderness. Alas, that we didn’t cut the serpent in two, for now she’s come wriggling back, bloated with venom. To take my throne from me, she’ll stop at nothing! Yes, Cleopatra is back in the palace.”

At this announcement, there were scattered cheers among the crowd, for Cleopatra as well as Ptolemy had her adherents among the populace. Others booed, and fistfights and shouting matches broke out.

“The serpent has returned,” Ptolemy cried. “Last night she made herself a prostitute to Caesar. Today he’s giving her the payment due—the crown that should be mine and mine alone!”

“Then what is that cobra sprouting from your forehead?” shouted a wag in the crowd.

“This?” Ptolemy shouted back. “This meaningless toy, this worthless piece of scrap?” He lifted the uraeus crown from his head and cast it down with all his might. The metal rang against the stone balcony.

The crowd reacted with stunned silence, followed by a sudden surge of movement that lifted me off my feet. I looked around and saw Merianis disappear amid a sea of gaping, angry, frightened faces.

“Soldiers, coming from the palace!” someone shouted.

“Roman soldiers! They mean to kill the king!”

“We’ll kill them first! Kill every Roman in Alexandria!”

“Long live Cleopatra!”

“Long live Ptolemy! Death to Cleopatra!”

“Death to Caesar!”

“Death to all the Romans!”

Swords flashed. Stones flew through the air. Blood was spattered across paving stones. A women screamed in my ear. I tripped over a child, and someone helped me stagger back to my feet. I heard the sound of splashing, and realized I was next to the great fountain at the center of the square. Amid the cavorting dryads and gaping crocodiles, a dead body floated facedown, exuding a sickening pinkish murk. A pebble whizzed over my head—too fast to have been thrown by hand, it must have been cast from a slingshot—and struck the helmet of a Roman soldier nearby with a noise that made my ears ring. He furiously slashed his sword in the direction the shot had come from.

I ducked. As I did so, I happened to look over the soldier’s head, and saw that the balcony where Ptolemy had stood was now empty. What had become of the king?

And what would become of me? For all I knew, the riot would keep growing until the whole city was in chaos. I stretched to my full height, peering over the heads of those around me, trying to catch a glimpse of the palace. The whole length of the Argeus, from the fountain back to the gates, was packed with an angry mob. As I stood precariously balanced on tiptoes, a group of young men came running by, brandishing sticks. “Get out of the way, old man!” one of them shouted. “The Romans have carried off the king, and they mean to kill him!”

“We’ll kill them first!” another shouted.

They jostled me and spun me about and almost knocked me down.

A hand grabbed my shoulder, pulling me upright. It was too strong to be that of Merianis—a man’s grip. I tried to shake free and step away, but the grip tightened. I braced myself and turned to confront him.

“Rupa!” I cried. “How in Hades did you get here?”

CHAPTER XVIII

Rupa grunted in reply and pointed toward the building that housed the Tomb of Alexander.

I wrinkled my brow. “I don’t understand.”

He pointed more insistently, then grabbed my hand and pulled me in the direction in which he was pointing. His sheer size caused a path to open in the crowd; anyone foolish enough to stand in our way he brusquely pushed aside. By nature, Rupa was the gentlest of men, but when called upon, he knew how to wield the strength the gods had given him.

But even Rupa was no match for the gang of toughs who suddenly blocked our way. They appeared to be dockworkers, judging from the huge muscles that popped from their shoulders and arms, not to mention the briny smell that came off their ragged tunics. There were seven or eight of them, and they carried the tools of their trade: iron grappling hooks, lengths of heavy chain, nets made of rope, and barge poles as thick as a man’s forearm—lethal weapons in the hands of men like these.

“You, there!” their leader shouted, taking notice of Rupa on account of his size, then casting a disparaging glance at me. “Where did those Romans go, the ones who dared to come and carry off the king?”

“Right,” said another, “we’re on a Roman hunt! We mean to kill as many of those bastards as we can, and keep killing them until they get out of Egypt and head back to where they came from!”

Rupa looked at them blankly.

“What’s the matter, too good to talk to the likes of us?” The leader wound a chain around one fist, then pulled the remainder taut. “Or maybe you two actually like these Romans? Maybe you think it’s alright for Julius blowhard Caesar to screw the king’s sister and start bossing us all around?” He swung the chain through the air, making a whooshing sound.

“He’s mute,” I started to say, then realized that my accent would give me away. If these men were intent on killing Romans, I had no desire for them to begin with me. Even the smallest of them looked capable of tearing my head from my shoulders.

I grunted and poked Rupa to get his attention, then executed a series of signs, speaking to him in the vocabulary Rupa himself had developed using his hands and facial expressions in lieu of a voice.
Careful,
I said.
These fellows are big!

I’m not afraid of them,
Rupa insisted.

But I am!
I gestured.

“What’s this?” said the leader, squinting at us suspiciously.

“I think they must be a pair of deaf-mutes,” said his friend. “I’ve got a cousin like that. Married a woman just like him. They talk with their hands.”

The leader looked Rupa up and down, then sneered at me. “Ah, well, then. Leave them to it. Now let’s go kill some Romans!”

They ran on, in the direction of the palace.

Rupa gestured to me:
I wasn’t afraid of them. Really!

“I can still call them back, if you like,” I muttered. “You big, lumbering—”

Rupa grabbed my hand and resumed pulling me toward the building that housed the Tomb of Alexander.

The armed guards who usually flanked the entrance had vanished in the melee, along with the line of sightseers waiting to get in. The huge bronze doors stood wide open.

We stepped inside. The lofty foyer, opulently decorated with multi-colored marble, was eerily quiet. Our steps echoed around the deserted chamber. The hubbub outside was reduced to a distant roar. A doorway to the left opened into a stairwell, presumably the means by which Ptolemy had ascended to the balcony to address the crowd.

Rupa pulled me through a different doorway and down a long hallway lined by pillars. We descended a flight of stairs, passed through a small antechamber hewn from solid alabaster, and then stepped into a subterranean vault. The air was cool, as in an underground cellar, and smelled of chrysanthemums. The long, narrow chamber was dimly lit by hanging lamps and dominated by a gilded statue at the far end. The windswept mane of hair, the serene countenance, and the beautifully molded shoulders and limbs made the identity of the statue unmistakable. Alexander stood naked before us in all his youthful glory, towering over an open sarcophagus in which lay the mummified corpse of the conqueror, draped in glittering robes from head to foot and crowned with a golden laurel wreath. Brought by the many sightseers and strewn about the base of the sarcophagus were bouquets of fresh flowers and wreaths of dried flowers—mandrakes and mallows, irises and poppies, larkspurs and lotus lilies.

But Alexander’s was not the only dead body in the room.

The light was so dim, and the images at the far end of the room were so arresting, that I failed to see the obstacle at my feet. I stepped against it and tripped, and only Rupa’s strong hand and quick reflexes saved me from falling flat on my face. I staggered back and looked down at the body of an Egyptian soldier. He lay on his back, his open eyes staring at the ceiling and his fist still clutching his sword. If he had put up a fight, he had failed to wound his adversary, for there was no sign of blood on his blade. But of blood there was plenty; it formed a pool around him, flowing from a wound in his abdomen.

“Why have you brought me here, Rupa?”

He made no answer, but merely gestured for me to follow. We crossed the room and approached the golden chain that bisected it, beyond which sightseers were not permitted. From its perimeter, the sarcophagus was still several arm’s lengths away, but one could clearly see the familiar profile of Alexander and the play of the dim light upon the strands of golden hair tucked beneath the golden laurel wreath. The sight gave me a shiver, and I appreciated the patience of the multitudes who waited for hours to stand in that spot for a brief moment and gaze upon eternity.

Without hesitating, Rupa ducked under the chain and strode directly to the sarcophagus. I felt a pang of superstitious dread, then did likewise. There were no guards to stop us, and the watchful stare of the conqueror’s statue showed no signs of displeasure at our invasion of his sanctum.

I stood beside Rupa, and the two of us looked down at the face of Alexander the Great.

I frowned. At such close proximity, the sight of that mummified countenance was not as edifying as it had been when viewed from a few steps farther back. Some semblance of the original flesh remained, but the inner life that had given it beauty had long since fled. The skin was like worn papyrus stretched thin over the bony protrusions of the cheeks and the chin. Those responsible for admitting visitors to the tomb seemed to have gauged exactly how far back to place the golden chain so as to take full advantage of the flattering effects of soft lighting and distance.

“What do you think, Rupa? A bit the worse for wear, isn’t he?”

Rupa nodded. Then a youthful voice piped up: “But he’s not all that bad when you consider he’s three hundred years old!”

I gave a start. “What in Hades—?”

From the dark space between the sarcophagus and the statue beyond, a face popped into view, followed by another.

“Mopsus! Androcles! I might have known. But how—?”

“We came here through the tunnel, of course,” said Mopsus.

“What tunnel?”

“The secret tunnel that begins under the rose garden in the palace, runs past the turnoff to the great Library, and then takes you straight on to this place. It comes out just behind that statue. There’s a little panel you slide back, some steps to go up—if you’re as tall as Rupa, you have to bend a bit and duck your head when you climb out—and then you’re here, in Alexander’s tomb. It’s one of the first passages we discovered.”

“We?”
said Androcles. “
I
was the one who found this passage.”

“I said, it was one of the first passages
we
discovered, and we—sometimes you, sometimes me—have discovered quite a few such passages since
we
started exploring the palace,” Mopsus insisted.

“Yes, but I’m the one who found
this
passage. I found it with no help from you or anybody else, and then I was generous enough to share the knowledge with you. So, properly, you should say, ‘It’s one of the first passages Androcles discovered.’ Admit it!”

“I’ll admit no such thing. You’re just being stupid. Isn’t he, Master?”

I sighed. “So that’s what you’ve been up to, since we arrived at the palace? Snooping in every nook and corner, looking for trapdoors and sliding panels? You’re lucky you’re still alive!”

“But no one ever stopped us, Master,” said Androcles. “Everyone at the palace seems to like us. Some of the guards even give us bits of sweets when they see us.”

“Oh, yes!” said Mopsus. “Especially that guard who’s stationed in the garden with the long reflecting pool. Sweet Tooth, we call him, because he always has the best sweets, little honey dabs thickened with flour and flavored with rosewater and rolled in crushed almonds. Delicious!”

I imagined the two of them, smiling and laughing, the picture of innocence, charming their way past every checkpoint in the palace. In time the guards had no doubt grown so used to them that they allowed them to come and go as they pleased, even allowing them to bring along their hulking, but harmless, friend, Rupa.

I shook my head. “So you’ve been here before?”

“Oh, yes,” said Androcles. “We like to come after sunset, when the tomb is closed to visitors. They lock those doors to the foyer, and this room is completely empty.”

“And dark!” added Mopsus.

“Yes, you have to bring your own lamp. But it’s rather nice, being able to wander about and study the murals on the walls, and visit with Alexander the Great with no one else about. They put the lid on the sarcophagus at night, but Rupa is strong enough to lift it off. I think Alexander is in wonderful shape. I only hope that I’ll look like that when
I’m
three hundred years old. You can almost imagine that he might sit up and start talking!”

“For better or worse,” I said, “the high art of Egyptian embalming seems to have been lost in the centuries between Alexander’s day and ours. They’re no longer able to perform this kind of magic. Just as well. Can you imagine future generations lining up to have a look at Caesar’s perfectly preserved body? But I still don’t understand how you came to be here today. And where has everyone gone?”

“The three of us were in the palace,” said Androcles, “minding our own business—in the rose garden, as it so happened, watching Alexander the cat chase a butterfly—when one of the courtiers ran by, telling everyone that the king was on the balcony at the Tomb of Alexander, rousing the people against the Romans. Suddenly the rose garden was empty, and there we were, sitting on the very bench with the false bottom that lifts up to let you into the secret passage. We
had
to come see what was happening for ourselves, and this was the quickest way. When we came out of the tunnel, this room was empty, except for a single Egyptian guard; everyone had gone outside to listen to the king. We were hiding in the shadows behind one of those big pillars, trying to think of a way to slip past the guard, when suddenly there was a commotion from the foyer, and then the king himself came rushing in. We could tell it was the king, even though he wasn’t wearing his crown. I think he was heading for the secret tunnel. But there were Roman soldiers after him. The Egyptian guard tried to stand in their way. That’s him over there, lying in a pool of blood. For a moment we thought the Roman soldiers were going to kill the king as well, and I think the king thought so, too. You should have seen the look on his face!”

“And heard the curses he was shouting against his sister and Caesar!” added Mopsus.

“Anyway, the soldiers fell into a tortoise formation around the king—shields up all around and overhead, and spear points poking out—and went marching out, taking the king with them. Heading back to the palace, I suppose. We stayed out of sight and followed them as far as the foyer, and then who do you think we ran into?”

“Merianis,” I said.

“Exactly! And she told us that you’d been with her, but somehow you were separated, and with everything going on in the square, there was no telling what might happen to you. So we sent Rupa and Merianis to look for you, while Mopsus and I decided to stay right here, so as to be ready to take you straight back to the palace through the secret tunnel.”

“Actually,” said Mopsus, “we stayed here because Androcles was afraid to go out into the square. He said we might get trampled on, being so small, and it was better to send Rupa out looking for you, because Rupa is big enough to take care of himself.”

“I was
not
afraid,” insisted Androcles. “Staying here was just part of my plan, and now you can see how cleverly it all worked out.”

“Indeed,” I said. “But what happened to Merianis?”

I looked at Rupa, who shrugged.

“I suppose you lost her rather quickly in the crowd?”

He frowned and nodded.

“No need to look sheepish, Rupa. If finding me was her priority, Merianis would have been doing that instead of ducking into the foyer to see what was happening with Ptolemy and the Roman soldiers sent to fetch him. It was good of her to let you know that I might be in danger, but I’m not surprised she slipped off on her own instead of helping Rupa search for me. No doubt she’s eager to run ahead of that Roman tortoise and report back to her mistress about everything that took place here. Curious; Merianis must not know about this tunnel leading back to the palace, or else she’d have gone that way.” I frowned. “Merianis has been a good friend to us, boys—helpful, thoughtful, full of good humor—but we mustn’t forget that her true allegiance lies elsewhere.”