‘I think you are hardly entitled to stand the high ground there,’ snorted Potheinus, and Fronto was amazed when the general didn’t even look at him this time. Such insolence rarely went unpunished.
‘While we are involved in our own conflict, I can see the dreadful effect it is having on our people. War is not to be sought, but to be avoided where possible. A good general knows that. So I have to ask you, in the role of mediator which my position as consul and the accords between our nations allow, to lay down your arms. Stand down your forces and dismiss them.’
‘Never, I…’
‘I have made the same demand of your sister, and invited her here. With the armies disbanded, we could solve this under law, I am sure.’
‘I will never share the throne with that hag,’ Ptolemy spat.
‘The queen treats the king like a fool,’ Potheinus put in.
Fronto had to supress another chuckle. He was beginning to like this Cleopatra, even if he hadn’t yet met her.
‘You should take your cue from Rome,’ Caesar said quietly. ‘The republic is governed by the senate, but the senate elects two consuls each year, and we effectively run things, with our senatorial brethren. It is a rare year when the consuls are in full agreement on all matters, but we are still capable of administrating side by side. If we can do that, with new men in power each year, then you should be capable of the same, especially when you know you do not have to relinquish that power.’
Fronto thought there was a touch of wistfulness about that last comment, and his eyes narrowed.
‘Frankly,’ Caesar said with fresh energy, ‘I would be looking closer to home than Pelusium for your enemies.’
‘You are my enemy?’ whispered Ptolemy, clearly confused.
‘No, Majesty. I think certain members of your court may be unfairly attempting to influence you. Anyway, I say again, disband your forces and I will mediate a conclusion.’
For a long time Ptolemy said nothing, his brow working this way and that, deep in thought, with Potheinus making angry faces. Finally, he nodded. ‘I think you are correct. And I think that when you meet my sister you will see how impossible that is. I think you will realise that I can be the ruler who Rome would find favourable, while Cleopatra will lead you a merry dance. But she will not come. She will not trust me.’
‘She will come,’ replied Fronto suddenly.
* * *
Two hours later, in response to a summons, Fronto rapped on the general’s door. He was interested to note the increased number of praetorians in the complex and the fact that they were now in almost every corridor.
‘Come in.’
He did so, to find Caesar sitting on his bed, massaging his calf, boot off and foot in a bowl of steaming water.
‘Ah Fronto. Good. I have been making some enquiries and observing matters carefully throughout the day. Tell me what opinion you formed of Potheinus?’
‘I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could shit a trireme.’
‘Colourful. But accurate, too, I would say. I believe the eunuch has grown too fond of ruling the country when his king was still a boy. I do not think he intends to relinquish that power.’
‘You think he wants to be pharaoh himself?’
Caesar shook his head. ‘He cannot. The Aegyptians are very superstitious and extremely rigid about their rulers. Potheinus would never survive the year if he tried, and these people have some horrible ways of dealing with such things. You only have to look at what they do to their dead to realise what they can do to the living if they have a mind to. But as long as he has a dribbling young fool to talk through in a red, white and gold hat, the people will listen. Ptolemy is little more than Potheinus’ mouth as, I suspect, Achillas is his blade. The king might agree to disband his army, but I would be extremely surprised to see it actually happen. They will play for time. And Cleopatra might wish to come, but she is clearly no fool. Ptolemy has the navy and they control the coast. He has his army spread across the delta, and he has forces here. She cannot come to us without risking everything.’
‘What do we do, then?’
Caesar pursed his lips. ‘We bide our time. Twenty days. In twenty days, Calvinus can have two more legions here, and then we will have sufficient force to intervene properly. Until then we must be careful. And bear in mind the ways of such eastern courts. Be circumspect in everything you do, Marcus. Only eat food that you prepared yourself or your most trusted men did. Hire a taster, even. Watch for knives in the dark, snakes in the bed, a scorpion in your boot. We must all do so. It would be quite convenient for Ptolemy if we expired quietly.’
Fronto nodded, looking faintly uncomfortable. ‘Understood. I think there is something you need to know.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘It concerns the centurions who killed Pompey.’
‘Yes?’ Caesar’s expression was not the one of a man who sought revenge for an unjust killing. More a matter of intrigue.
‘I think you need to set them free.’
‘Fronto, they murdered a Roman citizen.’
Still a veneer of righteousness. No real feeling.
‘They solved a huge problem for you.’
Caesar gave him a warning look, but Fronto ignored it. ‘You know that’s true. And there’s no one here you need to impress. We both know that Pompey was always going to end up dead somehow. This was the best thing that could happen for you.’
‘They need a trial.’
‘Give them one, then. But a quiet and private one. And then acquit them and release them. You see, Septimius is one of Ptolemy’s Gabinian centurions, and it will be a good gesture to release him. Sooner or later the king will discover that you have him locked up. Better to let him go now.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘And the other centurion, for all his uniform, is one of the queen’s men.’
Caesar’s eyes narrowed. ‘You are sure?’
‘Most definitely. It seems that, despite what we see, it was Cleopatra who arranged the death.’
Caesar’s frown deepened. ‘I shall not ask how you know this, but you are quite certain?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then this other centurion. Perhaps he can get the queen to Alexandria?’
Fronto shrugged. ‘I suppose it’s possible. She’s clever, and he appears to be, too. He is…’ Fronto paused. He wasn’t sure this was something he should be revealing. With a deep breath, he said: ‘He’s Salvius Cursor’s brother.’
* * *
The next day was a strange one for Fronto. It began with a visit from the camp prefect of the Sixth Legion. The man appeared at Fronto’s door in the palace only an hour past sun-up, with a disapproving look under the wide wicker hat he had adopted to keep off the glare of the Aegyptian sun. Fronto was in his sleeping tunic, scratching, yawning and rubbing his eyes.
‘Sir.’
‘Prefect, what can I do for you?’
‘Could you procure replacement rations for us, sir?’
Fronto frowned. ‘Why?’
‘The grain the legions have received from the city granaries this morning is of the poorest quality. It is, more or less, the sweepings-up. Not fit for a beggar’s bread, let alone a soldier.’
‘I wonder why.’
‘If only we could set up a supply fleet, sir. Our own grain waits in Cyprus and beyond.’
Fronto nodded. It was a difficult job getting ships out of the harbour and north with the Etesian Winds against them, but there were ways to do it. Ships would have to transfer from the Great Harbour to the commercial one via the channels through the heptastadion mole, which would require royal consent and the aid of the port authorities on every occasion. It would probably cost them dearly, and the administration would make it all as difficult as possible, but if they got ships into the other harbour, the winds would be less troublesome. And there were not reefs there, either.
‘I will see what I can do about setting up a supply run to Cyprus and back. If we can get even half a dozen ship
s doing so, we can keep everyone fed well.’
‘Thank you sir, but in the meantime?’
‘Yes. It’s frankly bloody ridiculous that a country that provides more grain than half the republic put together cannot supply us with enough food to feed four thousand men. I will speak to the king’s sycophants about it. I will return to you shortly.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
Once the prefect had left, Fronto garbed himself in his best gear and then left his quarters. As he passed through the large dining room, he paused, brow furrowed. Slaves were collecting the gold, silver, copper and glass cups, bowls and platters from the room and replacing them with dull earthenware and wooden alternatives.
‘What’s this?’ he asked a slave, who turned a blank look on him.
A man in the corner in a court official’s costume, tapped a stilus on his list. ‘Your consul has bled us dry of wealth. To pay his avarice we must make sacrifices.’
Fronto stared. He had seen enough gold in the past few days to build a damned city out of it. He refused to believe that the king was so poor he needed to melt down his plates. This was petty prods from the regent, no doubt. Well Fronto would not rise to it. He preferred a good low-born soldier’s cup anyway, and Caesar was quite comfortable dealing with such fare.
He found the unpleasant Potheinus with a gaggle of other officials, doling out orders.
‘Potheinus?’
The man turned, his habitual sneer sliding into place at the sight of the Roman. ‘Ah, yes. One of the parasites in the consul’s army.’
Fronto forced himself to relax. Their situation would not be improved by punching the regent in the face. ‘I need to speak about the grain rations for the legions.’
‘I do not see what there is to speak about. We delivered exactly the agreed-upon number of sacks, and on time.’
‘But the quality is so poor even the rats are shunning it.’
The regent shrugged. ‘We agreed on a quantity, not a quality. The food does not belong to you and is being given to you against my better judgement. Your men will learn to like it, or they will starve, for there will be no other.’
Fronto took a calming breath.
‘Listen to me, you obsequious little turd, I want proper grain for my men, or I will take this up with the king himself.’
‘You do that,’ snapped Potheinus, and stalked off.
The rest of the morning was spent in an equally fruitless series of meetings with members of the king’s administration. No better grain would be forthcoming. The king refused to meet with a lesser, and when Fronto went through Caesar, the king was mysteriously too busy to meet a consul of Rome.
‘We’re going to have to secure our own supplies,’ he said to Caesar. And by sea. By land they would have to go past two armies, neither of which we can count on to be wholly allied and trustworthy.
Caesar nodded. ‘While we are here, we are largely at the mercy of Neptune. Our ships are our lifeline. While we are outnumbered they are our only chance of getting away and they are our sole possibility for supply runs. I take it you plan to pass the heptastadion and use the commercial harbour?’
‘Quite. It will take some work to get the agreement of everyone involved, and if you can somehow arrange a meeting with the king, we might be able to get more than replacement grain. He could clear us to use the passages between the harbours.’
Another irritating couple of hours followed dealing with various administrators from the ports and harbours.
The bad news came in the early afternoon. The king had sent two of his most noted ambassadors, Dioscorides and Serapion, to the army with orders for Achillas to stand his men down. The escort rider who returned was wild-eyed and horrified.
‘He had them put to death,’ Potheinus reported to Caesar and Fronto after he had personally dealt with the man. ‘Achillas has refused to stand down the army. He believes the king to be in danger and all of this to be some wicked Roman plot to cheat him into disbanding his army so that you can put Cleopatra on the throne. I can understand why he would think this,’ the eunuch sneered. ‘It sounds eminently plausible. I suspect something like this myself. Your twisted plots will fail, Roman.’
Once the man had gone, Caesar, Cassius, Galronus and Fronto sat at the table with guards keeping everyone else out of earshot.
‘Things are coming undone here,’ Caesar said. ‘There are more forces at work here than the two monarchs. Achillas and Potheinus are influential and they are changing the game. We are outnumbered and, with the winds keeping our fleet in the harbour, effectively trapped in Alexandria. I have no wish to fight another war here, gentlemen, but that very possibility is looming.’
Fronto nodded. ‘Send the centurion.’
‘What?’
‘Send the centurion. Cleopatra’s man. Thus far we have only one side of everything. All we hear is the king’s drivellings, the eunuch’s bile and the general’s refusal. I think we need the queen’s impression on all of this.’
Caesar nodded. ‘Then it’s time. Release the prisoners.’
Chapter 29
Cleopatra fretted and paced, which was irking her almost more than the reasons she was doing so. For her entire life she had presented a public face of confidence and pride, which was usually genuine. Even when her brother had raised troops and moved to oust her from her throne, and she knew she could not withstand them, she had taken the bit between the teeth, withdrew with self-assurance and style and gathered her own force in exile to return.
Yet now she paced nervously. The game was changing and she had cast her die, but she could not see the board at the moment. She had just over ten thousand men, hired mercenaries from the east, encamped near Pelusium, but her brother had twice that number between her and Alexandria, as well as the bulk of the navy patrolling the coast and the larger channels of the delta. She was effectively pinned and unable to move west without entering into a conflict with a considerably larger force and, while she was clever, she knew Achillas to be an excellent strategist and commander, for all his other faults. How long could she maintain a mercenary army without access to the royal vaults, which lay, of course, in Alexandria?
And Caesar was in Alexandria. She had no idea how he had reacted to Pompey’s death. She could guess of course, but there had been no confirmation. Ptolemy was in Alexandria, too. Of what were Ptolemy and Caesar speaking? She had to be there, to be involved, to play her side. She had received the summons from the consul this morning. A summons? The arrogance of the man, to summon a foreign country’s queen. Yet she knew his reasoning. He sought resolution at the earliest possible time in order to pursue his own war without leaving a festering ally/enemy behind him.
But she knew her brother. It mattered not that Caesar had invited her and that Ptolemy was with the man, still he would not issue orders to grant her passage. He would keep Cleopatra in Pelusium as long as possible while he secured the Romans’ support for his cause. And Rome was a patriarchal state. They would naturally side with Ptolemy through basic misogyny. Unless Cleopatra could put her case to the consul.
That was simply it. She had, she was sure, weakened Ptolemy’s standing with the head of Pompey, whether Caesar knew it was truly her doing or not. Had she not so weakened it, likely Caesar and Ptolemy would even now be drawing up pacts that placed him on the throne in return for exceptional concessions for Rome. But Caesar was not entirely sold on the king, else he would not be inviting her to seek a peaceful solution.
She had to get to Caesar, yet with an army in the way it seemed unlikely.
‘Show me the map again,’ she said, finally stopping her pacing and leaning over a chart of the entire delta region.
‘The sea is completely forbidden us,’ Apollodorus said in his strange, western accent. ‘Ptolemy’s navy is strong and our lookouts say that no matter where you stand, you cannot pass a quarter of an hour without seeing one of his ships. It would have to be by land. But the ships also cover all three main channels of the Nile, as well a
s smaller boats patrolling the narrower channels. He has garrisons at Buto, Sebennytus, Tanis, Bubastis, Athribis and Naukratis that we know about, and likely more besides. His patrols cover every road through the delta, his men guard every ferry landing and he has eyes behind every tree, Majesty.’
Cleopatra looked up at him disapprovingly. The details were important, his hyperbole wasn’t. Still, Apollodorus of Sicilia was one of the few clever military minds who had been with her since this entire conflict had begun, all the way to Syria and back, and remained staunchly loyal. Such loyalty bought a great deal of latitude with minor irritations.
‘Is it likely a small unit or skiff could make it across the delta? I presume not, from your description.’
Apollodorus shook his head. ‘I cannot see any likelihood of success, and failure would mean the end of it all.’
She nodded. ‘Travelling south, then? Past Memphis and crossing the Nile beyond the delta to come back to Alexandria along the far edge of the floodplain?’
He pursed his lips. ‘It would be a long journey. It stands a higher chance of success but still not one upon which I would wager. Your other brother remains in Memphis, and his loyalty is suspect at best. Passing through or by Memphis will put us within the grasp of his own forces, and he might well just sell us to his brother just to put you out of the way. And if we did pass Memphis, we would still have to pass Naukratis and any forces that Ptolemy has outside the city. No, it is not safe enough to try. Your brother may be a fool, but Achillas is not and he has every route to Alexandria sealed against us.’
Again, she began to pace. This was ridiculous.
‘How about launching a small assault against one of his garrisons and slipping past with the distraction?’
‘It would have to be done repeatedly with each garrison we passed. The chance of failure would rise considerably with each attempt. And there is every chance that committing to a small conflict would trigger a full scale fight that we know we cannot win.’
Marius' Mules XI: Tides of War Page 43
