The judgement of Caesar

CHAPTER VIII

As night fell, the army reached a fortress somewhere to the east of Alexandria.

Vaguely I sensed that the wagon had come to a halt. I dozed, not from physical weariness but from a kind of mental stupor; only by descending into half-formed dreams could my mind escape from an intolerable reality compounded of tedium and dread, physical discomfort and numbing grief.

The shackles on my ankles were loosened. Something sharp poked me into alertness.

"Up, Roman!" The spy, assisted by a few soldiers, rousted us out of the wagon. My bones ached from being jostled all day over a particularly rutted stretch of road. My legs were weak from having been cramped for hours. I staggered like a cripple, with a spear at my back to keep me moving forward.

Great walls with huge ramparts of packed earth surrounded us. In the vast enclosure of the fortress, the army went about the business of unloading provisions and preparing for the night. The buildings within the fortress walls were mostly plain and utilitarian, but one stood out on account of its opulence. Magnificent columns painted in bright colors supported a roof of gleaming copper. It was to this building that the spy drove us.

With Rupa and the boys, I waited outside, ringed by soldiers, while the spy stepped within. He was gone for a considerable time. Above us, the desert sky was ablaze. The sinking sun illuminated crimson and saffron clouds that glowed like molten metal, then faded to the dull blue of cooling iron, then darkened into ever-deeper shades of blue fretted by silver stars. I had forgotten the awesome beauty of an Egyptian sunset, but the splendor of the dying day brought me only misery. Bethesda was not there to share it with me.

At length the spy returned, looking pleased with himself. "What a lucky day for you, Roman! You shall have the great honor of meeting Captain Achillas himself!"

The murderer? I very nearly said. It was hard to imagine how else the killing of Pompey could be characterized. Clearly, Achillas was a man from whom I could expect no mercy.

Serpent-headed lamps atop iron tripods lined a long hallway decorated with a riotous profusion of hieroglyphs. The spy led us into a high-ceilinged chamber decorated in a fashion more Greek than Egyptian, with geometric rugs underfoot and vast murals depicting battles painted on the walls. Scribes and other clerics scurried here and there across the large space. At the center of all this motion were two men of very different countenance, their heads close together as they engaged in a heated conversation.

I recognized Achillas at once, from having seen him on Pompey's galley. He was outfitted in the various regalia that marked him as Captain of the King's Guards, with a red horsetail plume adorning his pointed helmet. His tanned face looked very dark, and his brawny physique seemed positively bull-like next to the pale, slender figure who stood beside him. The slighter man had a long face and arresting green eyes. His yellow linen robes had a hem of gold embroidery, across his forehead he wore a band of solid gold, and a magnificent pectoral of gold filigree adorned his narrow chest. He was much too old to be King Ptolemy, yet he had the look of a man used to giving orders and being obeyed.

As we approached, the two of them looked our way and stopped conversing.

The spy bowed so low that his nose almost touched the ground. As a Roman, I was unused to seeing such displays of servility, which are part of the very fabric of Egyptian life, and indeed, of life in any state headed by an absolute ruler. "Your Excellencies," the spy hissed, keeping his eyes lowered, "here is the man I spoke of, the Roman spy whom I apprehended this morning near the abandoned shrine of Osiris, downriver from Naucratis."

The two men looked at me-though the term man was not entirely suited to the pale fellow, I thought, as I began to perceive that he was very likely a eunuch-another feature of court life in hereditary monarchies to which Romans are unaccustomed.

Achillas looked at me and scowled. "What did you say he calls himself?"

"Gordanius, Your Excellency."

"Gordianus," I corrected him. The steady tone of my voice surprised even me. Used to hearing their underlings speak in hushed, toadying voices, Achillas and his companion appeared taken aback to hear a captive speak up for himself while daring to look them in the eye.

The Captain of the King's Guards furrowed his brow. His companion stared at me without blinking.

"Gordianus," Achillas repeated, scowling. "The name means nothing to me."

"As I said, Excellency, he was seen on Pompey's galley, even while you yourself were departing with the so-called Great One on board the royal skiff."

"I didn't notice him. Gordianus? Gordianus? Does it mean anything to you, Pothinus?"

The eunuch pressed his fingertips together and pursed his lips. "Perhaps," he said, and clapped his hands. A scribe appeared at once, to whom Pothinus spoke in low tones while staring at me thoughtfully. The scribe disappeared through a curtained doorway.

"And these others?" said Achillas.

"The Roman's traveling companions. As you can see-"

"I wasn't talking to you," snapped the captain. The spy winced and groveled.

I cleared my throat. "The big fellow is called Rupa. Born mute, but not deaf. He was a strongman with a mime troupe in Alexandria before he came to Rome. Through an obligation to his late sister, I adopted him into my family. He's a free man and a Roman citizen now. The two slave boys are brothers. Even among the three of them, I'm not sure one could scrape up the wits to produce a passable spy."

"Master!" protested Mopsus and Androcles in a single high-pitched voice. Rupa wrinkled his brow, not quite following the train of my comment; his simpleness had the virtue of making him a hard man to insult.

Achillas grunted and suppressed a smile. The eunuch's face was impassive, and remained without expression when the scribe came hurrying back, bearing a scroll of papyrus. The scroll had been rolled to a specific passage, to which the scribe pointed as he handed it over to Pothinus.

" 'Gordianus, called the Finder,' " Pothinus read. "So you are in my book of names, after all. 'Roman, born during the consulship of Spurius Postumius Albinus and Marcus Minucius Rufus in the Year of Rome 643-that would make you, what, sixty-two years old? And looking every day of it, I must say! 'Wife: half-Egyptian, half-Jewish, called Bethesda, formerly his slave (acquired in Alexandria), mother to his daughter. Two sons, both adopted, one freeborn and called Eco, the other slave-born and called Meto-about whom, see addenda.' " Pothinus looked pointedly at the scribe, who lowered his head like a scolded dog and ran off to fetch another scroll. The eunuch was about to continue reading when, catching sight of someone behind me, he abruptly assumed a subservient posture, with his hands at his sides and his head bowed. Achillas did the same.

The piping of a flute accompanied the arrival of the young king. All activity in the large chamber ceased. The various scribes and officers stopped whatever they were doing, as if petrified by Medusa. Some hierarchy, unclear to me, apparently allowed some of them to remain standing while others dropped to their knees, and still others prostrated themselves entirely, falling flat on their faces with arms outstretched. If I was in doubt as to the procedure incumbent on me, the spy informed me of it.

"Drop down, you Roman dog! Down on your knees, with your face to the floor!" He punctuated this order with several pokes to my ribs.

I caught only a glimpse of the king, resplendent in robes of gold and silver and wearing the cobra-headed uraeus crown. With my hands tied behind me, it was not easy to drop to my knees and lower my face to the floor. The posture was humiliating. Behind me I heard Androcles whisper to his brother, "Look at the master with his backside stuck up in the air!" This was followed by a tiny yelp as the spy kicked Androcles to remind him that he had assumed the same vulnerable posture. The spy then dropped to his knees, just as the king and his retinue came striding by.

"Captain Achillas, and my Lord Chamberlain," said Ptolemy. A boy he might be, but his voice had already changed into that of a man, for it was lower than I expected.

"Your Majesty," the two said in unison.

"My loyal subjects may rise and go about their business," said Ptolemy.

Pothinus conveyed the order. At once the room was abuzz with movement, as if statues had abruptly sprung to life.

The spy stood. I began to do the same, but he gave me a kick and hissed, "Stay as you are!"

From my position I could see little, but I could hear everything. The piper continued to play, but lowered his volume. It was a curious tune, simple on first hearing but repeated in odd variations. Ptolemy's father had been dubbed Ptolemy Auletes, the Piper, on account of his love of the instrument. Was this one of the late king's compositions? For young Ptolemy to go about accompanied by this link to his father was the sort of device that Roman politicians used; in a struggle to the death with his sister Cleopatra, it behooved the young king to use any means possible to lay claim to his father's legacy.

"I thought you would be refreshing yourself in the royal quarters, Your Majesty, after the rigors of the day's journey," said Pothinus.

Ptolemy did not answer at once. He turned from Pothinus and stepped toward me, until I could sense his presence just above me, so close I could smell the perfumed leather of his sandals. "I'm told you've captured a Roman spy, Lord Chamberlain."

"Perhaps, Your Majesty. Perhaps not. I'm trying to delve to the bottom of the matter. Ah, here's one of my scribes now, with the additional information I called for."

I gathered that another scroll had been delivered. While Pothinus read, muttering to himself, the king remained standing over me. I kept my eyes on a horned beetle that happened to be traversing the patch of floor just in front of my nose.

"Well, Lord Chamberlain?" said the king. "What have you discovered?"

Pothinus cleared his throat. "The man is Gordianus, called the Finder. He's made a career of gathering evidence for advocates in the Roman courts. Thus it appears he's gained the confidence of any number of powerful Romans over the years: Cicero, Marc Antony-"

"And Pompey!" said the spy, standing behind me. There was a moment of awkward silence. The man had spoken out of turn, and I could imagine Pothinus glaring at him.

"Yes, Pompey," said the eunuch dryly. "But according to my sources, the two of them had a severe falling-out at the beginning of the war between Pompey and Caesar. Thus, it's quite unlikely that this Roman was a spy for Pompey, as his captor alleges. Quite the opposite, in all probability!"

"What do you mean, Lord Chamberlain?"

"The fellow has a son, Your Majesty, called Meto, who happens to be one of Caesar's closest confidants; as a matter of fact, the other soldiers refer to him as 'Caesar's tent-mate.' "

I groaned inwardly. Meto's exact relationship with his imperator had long been a puzzlement to me, and a vexation when others gossiped about it. Now it seemed that such speculation had reached even here, to Egypt!

Ptolemy was intrigued. " 'Caesar's tent-mate'? What exactly does that imply, Lord Chamberlain?"

The eunuch sniffed. "The Romans constantly spread vulgar sexual gossip about one another, Your Majesty. Politicians insult their rivals with charges of engaging in this or that demeaning act. Common citizens say anything they please about those who rule them. Soldiers make up riddles and ditties and even marching songs that boast of their commander's sexual conquests, or tease him about his more embarrassing proclivities."

"Tease him? His soldiers… tease… Caesar?"

"The Romans are not like us, Your Majesty. They're rather childish when it comes to sexual matters, and they respect neither one another nor the gods. Their primitive form of government, with every citizen at war with every other in a never-ending struggle for riches and power, has made them as impious as they are brutish."

"Caesar's soldiers are fantastically loyal. They fight to the death for him," said King Ptolemy quietly. "Isn't that what you've told me, Lord Chamberlain?"

"So our intelligence would indicate. There are many examples to prove the point, such as the soldier in the naval engagement at Massilia who continued to fight even after losing several limbs, and died shouting Caesar's name; and also-"

"Yet they feel free to make light of him. How can this be? I had thought his men must be so fiercely devoted to Caesar because they recognized some aspect of godhood in him and willingly subjugated themselves to his divinity; is he not said to be descended from the Roman goddess Venus? But a mortal does not make fun of a god; nor does a god permit his worshippers to ridicule him."

"As I said, Your Majesty, the Romans are an impious people, politically corrupt, sexually unsophisticated, and spiritually polluted. That is why we must take every precaution against them."

Ptolemy stepped even closer to me. The beetle under my nose scurried out of the way to make room for the toe of the king's sandal. His nails, I could not help but notice, were immaculately groomed. His feet smelled of rosewater.

"So, Lord Chamberlain, this man knows Caesar?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. And if he is a spy, rather than having been employed by Pompey, it seems more likely, in my judgment, that he was sent here by Caesar to spy upon Pompey and witness his arrival on our shores."

"Then we certainly gave him an eyeful!" said Achillas, abruptly entering the conversation.

"Rise to your knees, Roman," said Ptolemy.

I groaned and felt a stab of pain in my back from the effort of rising without using my hands. The king took a few steps back and looked down his nose at me. I dared to look back at him for a brief moment before lowering my eyes. His face was indeed that of a boy of fifteen. His Greek ancestry was evident in his blue eyes and fair skin. He was not particularly handsome, with a mouth too broad and a nose too large to satisfy Greek ideals of beauty, but his eyes flashed with intelligence, and the twist at the corner of his mouth hinted at an impish sense of humor.

"Gordianus-called-Finder is your name?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"The spy who captured you charges that you were in the employ of Pompey. True or false?"

"Not true, Your Majesty."

"My lord chamberlain suggests that you may be in Caesar's employ."

"Nor is that true, Your Majesty."

"But it is true that you know Caesar?"

"Yes, Your Majesty." I could see that he was intrigued by Caesar, and that it was my uncertain relationship with Caesar that made him curious about me. I cleared my throat. "If it would please Your Majesty, I might be able to tell him a thing or two about Caesar; provided I am allowed to keep my head, of course."

While not looking directly at him, I could see nonetheless that the corner of his mouth twisted into a crooked smile. The young king of Egypt was amused. "You there, spy. What are you called?"

The man gave a name of numerous syllables that was Egyptian, not Greek. Ptolemy evidently could not be bothered to pronounce it, for he continued to address the man by his profession.

"What caused you to think, spy, that this Roman was Pompey's man?"

The spy, in his reedy voice, proceeded to tell the tale of where and how he had first seen me, and of how he had come upon me again near the temple beside the Nile.

Ptolemy returned his gaze to me. "Well, Gordianus-called-Finder, what do you have to say for yourself?"

I repeated the tale of why I had come to Egypt and how I had fallen in with Pompey's fleet, ending with the disappearance of Bethesda the previous day and my capture that morning.

We had all been speaking Greek. Abruptly, Ptolemy spoke to me in Latin. His accent was odd but his grammar impeccable. "The spy strikes me as a bit of an idiot. What do you say to that, Gordianus-called-Finder?"

From the corner of my eye, I could see that the spy frowned, unable to follow the change of tongues. I answered in Latin. "Who am I to contradict the judgment of Your Majesty?"

"It would seem you are a man of considerable experience, Gordianus-called-Finder. Truly, what do you have to say about this spy? Speak candidly; I command it!"

I cleared my throat. "The man may or may not be an idiot, Your Majesty, but I do know for a fact that he's a thief."

"How so?"

"After I was bound, he rummaged through my traveling trunk, ostensibly to look for evidence to incriminate me. Finding nothing of the sort, he stole the few things of value for himself."

The corner of Ptolemy's mouth twisted in the opposite direction, producing a crooked frown. He fixed his gaze on the spy and resumed speaking in Greek. "What did you steal from this Roman?"

The spy's jaw dropped open and quivered. He was silent for a heartbeat too long. "Nothing, Your Majesty."

"Any spoils taken from an enemy are the property of the king, whose officers may dispense them only in accordance with the king's wishes. Are you not aware of that, spy?"

"Of course I am, Your Majesty. I would never think to… that is, I would never dream of taking anything from a prisoner, without first… without handing it over directly to-"

In Latin, Ptolemy said to me: "What did he steal from you, Gordianus-called-Finder?"

"Coins, Your Majesty."

"Roman sesterces?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"If the man has a few Roman coins on his person, or even a bag full of them, that would hardly constitute proof that he stole them from you."

"I suppose not, Your Majesty." "To make an unsubstantiated charge of such severity against an agent of the king is an offense worthy of death."

I tried to swallow, but my mouth was as dry as chalk. "There was something else he stole from my trunk."

"What?"

"A comb, Your Majesty. A beautiful thing made of silver and ebony. My wife insisted on bringing it with her… for sentimental reasons." My voice caught in my throat.

Ptolemy turned his gaze back to the spy. The man had followed none of our exchange in Latin, but even so he began to tremble and gnash his teeth.

"Captain!"

Achillas stepped forward. "Your Majesty?"

"Have your men strip the spy of his tunic and whatever else he's wearing. Turn out all the pockets and pouches and see what you find."

"At once, Your Majesty."

Soldiers converged. In the bat of an eyelash, the spy was stripped naked. He sputtered at the indignity and blushed crimson from head to foot. I averted my eyes, which chanced to fall on Pothinus. Did I imagine it, or was the eunuch discreetly taking a good look at the naked man's scrotum?

In the background, the piper continued to play. For a while I had ceased to notice his music, though he had never stopped playing the same song in endless variations.

"What did your men find, Captain?"

"Coins, Your Majesty. Bits of parchment. A perfumer's vial, made of alabaster. A few-"

"A comb?"

"Yes, Your Majesty." Achillas held it before the king, who looked down his nose at it but did not touch it.

"A comb made of silver and ebony," observed Ptolemy.

The spy, standing alone and naked, wrung his hands and trembled violently. There was a sound of splashing, and I saw that his bladder was emptying itself. He stood in a pool of his own urine, blushing furiously, biting his lips, and whimpering.

The piper continued to play. The tune changed to a brighter key and a quicker tempo.

"Have mercy on me, Your Majesty, I beg you!" blubbered the spy.

"Captain."

"Your Majesty?"

"Have this man executed at once."

Pothinus stepped forward. "Your Majesty, the man is a valuable agent. He possesses a great store of specialized knowledge. Please consider-"

"This man stole from the king. He lied to the king. You yourself witnessed the lie. Are you saying, Lord Chamberlain, that there is an argument to be made that he should not be executed?"

Pothinus lowered his eyes. "No, Your Majesty. The king's words humble me."

"Captain Achillas."

"Your Majesty?"

"Execute the man immediately, where he stands, so that all present may witness the swiftness of the king's justice."

Achillas strode forward. Soldiers seized the spy's arms, not merely to immobilize him but also to keep him upright; his legs had gone soft, and otherwise he would have collapsed to the floor. Achillas put his massive hands around the man's throat and proceeded to strangle him. Where the man's face had been red before, it now turned purple. His body convulsed. Weird sounds rose came from his mouth until a sickening crunch put a stop to his gurgling. With a snort of disgust, Achillas released him. The man's head flopped to one side, and his limp body crumpled to the floor.

The room fell silent except for the merry tune of the piper.

"Lord Chamberlain."

"Your Majesty?"

"See to it that the Roman and his companions are released from their bonds; that the items stolen from him are returned to his keeping; that he is given suitable quarters and made comfortable. Keep him close at hand, in case the king should wish to speak to him."

Pothinus bowed low. "It shall be as Your Majesty commands."

The same soldiers who had stripped and immobilized the spy now surrounded me and began to untie the cords around my wrists. Meanwhile, to a new and livelier tune from his piper, King Ptolemy made his exit from the room.

Thus I made the acquaintance of the Egyptian king and his advisers, and received my first taste of life in the royal court.