The Gods of war

CHAPTER 28

The warriors of Alexandria wore no armor or helmets. Against the fury of the Egyptian sun, metal became too hot to bear against the skin and marching any distance would be impossible.

Julius had chosen the coolest moment of the day to attack. The sun was barely a glimmer on the horizon and the Roman legions could use their advantage. The doors to the palace were pulled open and the Tenth and Fourth came out at full speed, shields held high.

They surged through the gardens and those who had been in the extraordinarii roared in anger at the piled corpses of their mounts, already dark with flies. To see the best bloodlines of the legion lying sprawled with blackened tongues was enough to make them wild with hatred and disgust.

The centurions and optios were hard-pressed to hold their men from racing forward. The front ranks threw spears with grunts of effort, smashing the Egyptians as they tried to meet the sudden threat. Then the shield wall reached the enemy and the killing ranks slammed into them, fighting on all sides.

The Roman armor was crucial to the impetus. Where Ptolemy's army struck, they were met with a ring of metal. The veteran legionaries used their helmets to butt, their greaves to break shins, their swords to cut limbs from the enemy. They had been confined while Ptolemy's men jeered and sent their missiles. Now the chance had come to repay every insult.

"Regulus! Open the line!" Julius shouted to his general.

He saw the Fourth legion slow their headlong advance into the midst of the Egyptians and the attack widened, bringing more and more swords to bear. Julius looked back at the palace and saw they were still coming out. He marched forward as his men cleared the way, and when Ptolemy's forces tried to counterattack, Julius brought his shield up against arrows and stalked on, intent on the progress of his legions.

Near Regulus, a man went down with an arrow in the thigh and staggered back to his feet. He tried to go on, but the wound was gushing and Julius saw the man's optio grab him and send him back through the lines.

As the sun rose, its heat seemed to seek out the Roman armor and they sweated and began to gasp. The palace grounds were behind and the Roman line was hampered by the narrow streets. Still they cut and killed and walked over the dead.

To Julius's astonishment, he saw the citizens too had come out with daylight. Thousands of Egyptians shouted and wailed, filling the roads around the struggling armies. Many of them carried weapons and Julius began to consider a retreat back to the palace. His Tenth and Fourth were smashing Ptolemy's warriors, but the odds were still overwhelming.

On the right, toward the docks, Julius heard warning horns sounding. One of his extraordinarii scouts ran over, so spattered with blood that his eyes and teeth seemed unnaturally white.

"The harbor cohort is back, sir."

Julius wiped stinging sweat from his eyes. "Any sign of those sent after them?"

"No, sir."

Julius wondered what had become of the men Ptolemy had sent to kill the Roman cohort at the docks. If the king had understood who led them, perhaps he would have ordered many more to the harbor.

"If you can reach them, tell Brutus to hit the flank," Julius ordered. "If they see Ptolemy, they are to kill him."

The scout saluted and vanished back into the press.

Julius found himself panting. How long had it been since they had come out and hammered into the waiting army? The sun had cleared the horizon, but he could not tell for certain. Step by step, his legions moved forward and among the bronze bodies of the Egyptians were men he knew and had fought with for years. He gritted his teeth and moved on.

Brutus cursed his weak right arm as his smoke-blackened cohort came racing along the street. He could hear the sound of battle and for the first time in his life he did not welcome it or feel the excitement that usually drew him in. The ambush they had set for the Egyptians at the harbor had shown him his weakness. Still, the Roman veterans had crushed the enemy force as if it were an exercise. In a dark, narrow street off the docks, they had fallen on the Egyptians like wolves on lambs, cutting them to pieces.

Brutus held his sword awkwardly, feeling the weight of the heavy gladius pull at his weak shoulder. Domitius glanced at him as the tumult of heaving lines came into view. He saw the frustration in Brutus's face and understood.

"Take this," Domitius shouted, tossing a dagger.

Brutus caught it in his left hand. He would rather have had a shield, or his silver armor, but at least he would be able to strike. His first blow in the ambush had turned in his hand, achieving nothing more than a scratch down a bare chest. He should have been killed then, but Ciro had hacked the man's wrist and Brutus had been saved.

As they neared the king's army, they formed into a rank six across, with Ciro in the center. Ptolemy's flank men turned to face them and all six picked their targets, calling their choices to each other.

They hit the Egyptian soldiers at almost full speed against raised shields. Ciro's bulk knocked his man flat, but the edges held and the charge faltered. It was Ciro who broke the hole for them to follow, swinging his gladius like an iron bar and using his free fist to club men down. Whether he hit with the flat or the edge, the man's strength was enormous and he towered over the enemy. Brutus followed him into the press, stabbing his dagger and using his gladius only to block. Even then, the shock of blows seemed to bite at him and he wondered if his bones would stand it for long.

Brutus stumbled over a fallen shield and, with a pang of regret, threw down the sword he had won in Rome to pick it up. He moved to Ciro's right side, protecting him. Domitius appeared on his own right with another shield and the Roman line moved farther into the claustrophobic heart of the battle.

It was a far cry from the open plain of Pharsalus. Brutus could see men climb gates and statues, still hacking with their swords at those who pressed them. Arrows flew without being aimed, and against the screaming, the Egyptians chanted in their alien language, their voices low and frightening.

It did not help them. Without armor, they were being hammered and the return of the port cohort sent a shudder through their ranks. The chanting changed into a low moan of fear that wailed and echoed through the swelling crowds at their backs. Brutus saw two of the extraordinarii defending well, before both were downed by clubs and daggers from the people of Alexandria. He ducked under a thrown spear, knocking it aside with his shield.

Somewhere nearby, Brutus could hear the tramp of feet and he groaned. He had seen enough of the Roman lines to know that Julius had committed them all.

"Enemy reinforcements coming," he shouted to Domitius.

Strange horns blared to confirm his suspicions and Brutus took a numbing impact against the shield that made him cry out. His mind flashed back to the final moments of Pharsalus and he stabbed his dagger in a wild frenzy, cleansing his rage with every death.

"There's the boy," Domitius roared, pointing.

They all saw the slight figure of Ptolemy, shining in the risen sun as he sat a horse, surrounded by his courtiers. The royal party watched the battle with an aloofness that enraged the Romans. The men with Brutus forgot their weariness to push forward once more, struggling to reach the one they had seen betray them. There was hardly a man who had not exchanged a few words with the boy king in his month of imprisonment. To have him turn on them, on Caesar, after the first bonds of friendship was enough to draw the Roman killers like moths.

Ptolemy's gold mask turned jerkily as he watched the deaths of his followers. Panek stood by him, giving orders without a sign of fear. Brutus saw messengers bow to the courtier and run to where the horns had sounded. If the reinforcements were large, he knew there was a chance none of them would survive the morning.

Ciro searched the ground as they struggled forward, then dipped to come up with a Roman spear, its length crusted in blood and dust. He took a sight on Ptolemy and cast it with a growl, sending it high. Brutus did not see it land, though when the ranks parted again, the king remained. Panek was gone from his side and Brutus did not know if he still lived. Another blow crashed against his shield arm and he yelled in pain. It felt too heavy to raise in his defense and three times Domitius saved him from a bronze blade.

Ciro cast again and again as he found spears to throw, and then Brutus saw Ptolemy's courtiers scuttling out of range. He heard a howl of frustration from the legion lines ahead of them and, without warning, his weary cohort reached the armored Roman flank. They had cut their way through and now both forces seemed to gain fresh strength from the contact. The Fourth were off on the wing, holding the new arrivals, but the Tenth were free to push for the king.

Missiles began to come from the crowd in greater and greater numbers. Curds of cattle dung were harmless enough, but the stones and tiles were a constant danger and distracted more than one legionary long enough to be killed.

Brutus strode through the fighting square of the Tenth to Julius, panting in reaction. They let him pass with little more than a glance.

Julius saw him and smiled at his battered appearance. "They can't hold us," he shouted above the crash of battle. "I think the king's down."

"What about the reinforcements?" Brutus answered, yelling into Julius's ear.

As he spoke they both felt a shift in the movement of men and Julius turned to see the Fourth legion being pushed back. They did not run. Every man there had been saved by the honor of the Tenth against Pompey and they would not give way. For the lines to buckle, Julius knew the reinforcements must be large.

"Tenth! Cohorts one to four! Saw into the Fourth! Move to support! One to Four!"

Julius kept roaring the orders until the cohorts heard him and began to move. The whole left wing was being compressed and Julius shook his head.

"I could use a horse, if the bastards hadn't slaughtered them," he said bitterly. "I can't see what's happening."

As he turned to face Brutus he caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye and froze. "What are you doing?" Julius whispered.

Brutus jerked around to see. Cleopatra had walked out behind the legions and both men watched in amazement as she climbed onto the base of a statue to Isis, swinging herself up with neat agility until she stood at the feet of the goddess, looking down on the armies.

"Get her off there before the archers see her!" Julius shouted, pointing.

She had a horn in her hand, and before he could wonder what she intended she raised it to her lips and blew.

The note was deep and low, going on and on until she had no more breath. By the end of it, heads were turning in her direction and Julius was terrified she would be torn from her perch by a cloud of shafts.

"You will stop!" she cried. "In the name of Cleopatra, your queen. I am returned to you and you will stand back!"

Julius saw Roman hands reaching up, imploring her to come down. She ignored them, calling again. Her voice reached the lines of Egyptian soldiers and the reaction was like a shock of cold water. They pointed to her and their eyes went wide with awe. They had not known of her return to the city. Julius saw their swords begin to lower and the Tenth immediately launched themselves forward, killing indiscriminately.

"Sound the halt," Julius snapped to his cornicens. "Quickly!"

Roman horns wailed their echo to Cleopatra and an eerie silence fell over the bloody streets.

"I am returned to you, my people. These men are my allies. You will stop the killing now."

Her voice seemed louder than it had before, without the clash of arms to drown it. Ptolemy's army seemed dazed by her appearance and Julius wondered if she had chosen the statue of Isis deliberately, or whether it was simply the closest. He was surrounded by gasping, bloody men and his mind was blank.

"I wonder what she-" Julius began, then the people of Alexandria lost their stunned expressions and dropped to their knees.

Julius looked around in astonishment as Ptolemy's soldiers knelt with them, pressing their heads to the ground. The Roman legionaries stood stunned, looking to Julius for orders.

"Tenth and Fourth, kneel!" Julius bellowed instinctively.

His men glanced at each other, but they did as they were ordered, though their swords were ready. Ciro, Regulus, and Domitius went down onto one knee. Brutus followed as Julius's eyes fell on him, and then only Julius and Octavian were still on their feet.

"Don't ask me," Octavian said softly.

Julius looked him in the eye and waited. Octavian grimaced and knelt.

Against the foreground of thousands of bowed heads, one other group still stood on the far side of the battleground. The courtiers of the king held their heads high, watching the development in sick horror. Julius saw one of them kick out at a soldier, clearly demanding the fight go on. The man flinched, but did not rise. To Julius's eye, they looked like a pack of painted vultures. He relished the fear he saw in their gleaming faces.

"Where is my brother, Ptolemy? Where is my king?" Cleopatra called to them.

Julius saw her leap lightly down and stride long-legged through the gashed flesh and kneeling men. She walked proudly and as she passed Julius she beckoned to him.

"Where is my brother?" she demanded again.

Her voice struck at the courtiers like a blow and they seemed to wilt as she approached, as if her presence was more than they could bear. They parted as Cleopatra walked into their midst. Julius followed closely, his glare daring them to raise a hand against her.

Ptolemy lay pale and bloodless on a cloak of dusty gold cloth. His limbs had been placed with dignity, his right hand high on his chest where it almost covered a gaping wound. His mask had been smashed and lay in the dirt at his feet. Julius looked at the childish features as Cleopatra reached down to touch her brother, and felt a pang of regret at the sight of the small gladius at his waist. As he watched, Cleopatra leaned forward to kiss her brother's lips, before sitting back. Her eyes were wide with pain, but there were no tears.

As Cleopatra sat in silence, Julius looked around for Panek, knowing he would not be far away. He narrowed his eyes as he saw dark robes he knew. Panek was sitting in the dust, his breathing slow and loud. Julius took two quick steps as his anger rekindled, but the eyes that turned at the sound were dull and the chest was torn and bloody. Panek was dying and Julius had no more words for him.

At his back, Cleopatra rose to her feet. Not a sound came from the crowd and the breeze could be heard.

"The king is dead," she said, her voice echoing across them. "Carry my brother to his palace, my people. Know that you lay hands on a god when you do."

Her voice cracked then and she hesitated. Julius touched her lightly on the shoulder, but she did not seem to feel it.

"I who am Isis, am returned to you. My own blood has been shed this day, a death caused not by the men of Rome, but by the betrayal of my court. Rise and mourn, my people. Tear your clothes and rub ash into your skin. Honor your god with grief and tears."

The small body of Ptolemy was lifted into the air, his cloak hanging beneath him.

For a long time, Cleopatra could not drag her eyes from the body of her brother. Then she turned to face the courtiers.

"Was it not your task to keep my brother alive?" she murmured, reaching up to the throat of the nearest. He struggled not to flinch from the touch of her painted nails, and it was somehow obscene as she caressed the length of his jaw.

"Caesar, I would have you bind these men for punishment. They will serve my brother in his tomb."

The courtiers prostrated themselves at last, stunned with fear and misery. Julius signaled to Domitius to bring ropes. A tenuous drift of smoke reached them as the courtiers were trussed. Cleopatra's head jerked up as she smelled the hot and heavy air. She rounded on Julius in sudden fury.

"What have you done to my city?" she asked.

It was Brutus who answered. "You know we fired ships in the port. The flames may have reached the dock buildings."

"And you let them burn?" she snapped, facing him.

Brutus looked back calmly. "We were under attack," he said with a shrug.

Cleopatra was speechless for a moment. She turned cold eyes on Julius. "Your men must stop it before it spreads."

Julius frowned at her tone and she seemed to sense the irritation that was building in him.

"Please, Julius," she said, more gently.

He nodded and signaled to his generals to attend him. "I will do what I can," he said, troubled by her flashing changes of mood. She had lost a brother and regained her throne, he thought. Much could be forgiven on such a day.

Cleopatra did not leave until royal guards had brought a shaded platform for her, lifting it onto their shoulders as she lay back. Their faces were proud, Julius saw, as they bore their queen to her palace.

"Have trenches dug for the dead, Octavian," Julius ordered, watching her departure. "Before they spoil in the heat. The Fourth had better make their way to the docks to see to this fire."

As he spoke a cold cinder floated above his head, riding the breeze. He watched as it settled, still dazed by events. The boy king who had clung to his arm was dead. The battle was won.

He did not know if they would have achieved victory without the queen's intervention. The veteran legions were growing old and could not have fought on for long against the rising sun. Perhaps Cleopatra's slave would have brought reinforcements, or perhaps Julius would have bled his life out on Egyptian sand.

In her absence, he felt an ache start in him. He could smell her scent over the bitter taste of burnt air. He had known her as a woman. To see her as a queen had disturbed and enthralled him, from the moment the crowd and soldiers had knelt in the dirt at her word. He looked after the procession heading for the palace and wondered how the citizens of Rome would react if he brought her home.

"We are free to leave," Octavian said. "To Rome, Julius."

Julius looked at him and he smiled. He could not imagine leaving Cleopatra behind. "I have fought for more years than I can remember," he said. "Rome will wait a little longer, for me."