by Peake, R. W.
She dropped her eyes, breaking her gaze from mine. I grabbed her by the chin so we reestablished eye contact, and I was pleased to see there was real fear there, with none of the defiance and as far as I could tell, no cunning or artifice.
“I'm going to listen to my lady, for now. But know this, Iras,” I used her name to let her know how serious I was, “if you betray us, or try to harm us in any way, even if you succeed, you've seen my friends. You know that they'll fulfill my wishes. I'll have you thrown to the men of not just my Cohort, but to my entire Legion, and I'll set aside part of my considerable fortune to hire physicians who will keep you alive long enough for every man in the 10th Legion to have their way with you. And some of them have, shall we say, peculiar tastes when it comes to how they treat women. After they're done, what's left of your body will be fed to the dogs that skulk around camp. Do you understand me?”
I waited for her answer. Finally, she nodded her head, but I was not quite through.
“And do you believe me?”
I could see her swallow hard, but she nodded again. I stood and pulled Miriam, beaming with happiness at getting her way, back to the other room.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” I told her. “But there are conditions to keeping her.”
I outlined what I expected, and she agreed readily enough, which did not make me feel particularly good, but I confess I was seduced by the thought of seeing Cleopatra’s face when she saw Iras for the first time as a member of my household, and I began to think of ways in which I could make that happen.
Scribonius, after his initial shock over what had transpired, rubbed his chin, then gave an approving nod. “I think Miriam would make a good Roman patrician,” was how he put it. “That's exactly the kind of devious behavior that the upper classes would approve of, and I have to say that I agree. More than seeing a pile of bodies on her doorstep, seeing Iras as part of your household will drive her apoplectic with rage.”
That sounded good to me; now I just had to figure out how to let Cleopatra see Iras in a way that let her know that she belonged to me. First, I had to let Cleopatra know that her attempt on my life had failed, since I imagined that she still did not know for sure, though she had to have her suspicions. After all, Deukalos had not come to tell her, through Apollodorus, that Iras was successful, and that he had disposed of her as he was paid to do. I suspected that she would send Apollodorus to the merchant’s house, where he would find the place in turmoil, despite the fact I had not done as Balbus suggested and put everyone in the house, slave and free, to the sword. I did not see the point in such slaughter, especially since I did not really hate Deukalos, and I certainly held no malice towards his slaves or family. I decided that I had pressing business at the Praetorium, hoping that I would find Cleopatra, or at the least Antonius present, thinking that he might find reason to comment to her that he had seen me. Looking back, I know that I was being extremely foolhardy in provoking the queen, and if I had better sense I would have not gone out of my way to antagonize her, instead just letting her find out in her own good time that I still lived. But a man cannot change his nature, and it had never been in my nature to hide from a fight, no matter who it was with. I imagine that this attitude can be attributed to the fact that I had always been the biggest, and usually the strongest in almost every contest of any sort in which I had been involved, making walking away from one an idea foreign to my thinking.
I arrived at the Praetorium to find Ahenobarbus berating one of the Tribunes for something, and the door to Antonius’ office closed, which usually indicated that he was present. I saw Spurius talking to another Tribune, and seeing that he was positioned directly across from the door, I made my way over to him. Waiting for the conversation to end, I asked Spurius a question about something completely inconsequential, and he gave me a quizzical look, but answered readily enough. Still, the door remained closed while I fished about for something else to talk about, with Spurius looking more and more confused, since he was not a man with whom I normally engaged in the kind of small talk that was taking place at that moment. I had almost exhausted my supply of queries about the best way to keep the men from getting seasick or things we could do to keep the men occupied while on board their transport, neither of which I actually had any interest in, when at long last the door opened and Canidius emerged. The door was not open long, but I had enough time to see Cleopatra seated on her couch reading a scroll, dressed in her ridiculous armor, which did not allow her to recline. She was clearly absorbed in what she was reading, but as people tend to do, she glanced up when Canidius exited. At first, I did not believe she saw me, or it did not register, then I saw her head freeze in mid-motion as she was returning to her examination of the scroll. Very slowly, she looked up, our eyes met, and I smiled and nodded, gratified to see the blood drain from her face just as the door swung shut.
“I don’t know what's wrong with her, but that bitch is on rampage,” I heard one of Diocles’ friends, a clerk from one of the other Legions that had recently been sent to the Praetorium to take the place of the men she had removed, told him.
This conversation was taking place a day or two after the queen had seen me at the Praetorium, with Diocles and his friend in the outer office while I sat at my desk in my private quarters.
“Really? No idea why? I mean, other than she’s a queen and can do that sort of thing without a reason?”
To one who did not know him, Diocles’ tone was casual, just one slave gossiping with another, but I could tell that he was avidly interested and was probing for my benefit, his voice getting slightly louder.
“None,” his friend replied, and obviously Diocles made some sort of face that showed his disappointment in not hearing some juicy bit of talk that would liven his day, with the other slave adding in a seeming afterthought, “although I know that whatever it was that set her off just happened in the last day or so. And she has been clawing the general to shreds about the least little thing. He’s at a loss, and you can tell that he just wants to get drunk, but she won’t let him touch a drop of the stuff. He looks absolutely miserable.”
Diocles gave a noncommittal grunt, while I smiled as I worked. It was perhaps two days after this that we were told that at long last, the fleet was finished, and we would begin the transfer to Greece within the next few days. To commemorate the event, Antonius announced that he would host a dinner for all the senior officers of the army. Primi Pili and Pili Priores would represent the rankers, while the Tribunes and Legates would be attending as well. Finally, this was the event that gave me the opportunity I was looking for.
“I'm going to bring a guest,” I told Scribonius that evening, after passing the word to the Pili Priores. He saw immediately where I was headed, and he grimaced at the thought of the turmoil that was likely to erupt because of it.
“Well, that will certainly let Cleopatra know that you’re not intimidated, which I suppose is what you're after,” he conceded. He glanced at my face, giving a sigh. “I don’t suppose there’s any way I can talk you out of this, is there?”
“Not really,” was my reply, then I went home to let Miriam know that she would have the opportunity to get dressed up.
Not surprisingly, Miriam was torn about the idea. On the one hand, like every woman, the thought of an excuse to buy a new dress and have her hair done in the Roman style, which I had insisted on, excited her. The prospect of coming face to face with Cleopatra, no matter what the physical distance, was not so appealing, her indecision easy to read on her face.
“Are you really sure this is a good idea, Titus Pullus?” she asked anxiously.
Whereas I had been confident in front of Scribonius, facing my woman and her doubts, suddenly I was not so sure.
“No,” I admitted. “But we’re going anyway.” I grinned at her. “Besides, you haven’t had an opportunity to show off your new slave while you shop for a dress.”
As I expected, this was just too powerful to resist, but she
gave me a mock scowl, putting her hands on her hips. “Shop for a dress? Titus Pullus, I cannot just buy a dress for something like this. I will have to have one made.”
“But the dinner is day after tomorrow,” I protested. “There's no way that a dress can be made in time.”
“Of course it can.” She smiled sweetly at me, which told me that I, or more accurately, my purse, was in real trouble. “It just costs more,” she finished, confirming my fear.
I opened my mouth to try putting an end to this idea, then shut it as I realized that I had been the instigator. Titus, old boot, you are just getting what you deserve, I thought, fishing in my purse to take out some denarii. The coins clinked heavily into her palm as I counted out what I thought should be enough, but when I stopped I was rewarded with a raised eyebrow that spoke more eloquently than any words could that I was being a silly man. A few more coins later, she closed her palm, her fingers barely wrapping around the stack, then turned to call to Iras that she was going shopping.
I had brought Agis with me, and I went to tell him that he needed to accompany the women wherever they went, something he was clearly not happy about, but I did not chastise him. My decision to spare Iras, after they learned that she was the instrument of Cleopatra, had not been well received by either Diocles or Agis, although after explaining it to him, Diocles understood. I did not feel disposed to explain anything to Agis, expecting him to accept whatever I decided without complaint, yet I was not so insensitive not to understand why he was unhappy, hence my somewhat lax attitude towards his displeasure. Leaving Miriam to her own preparations, I returned to camp to attend to the real business of making sure the men were ready to embark. We would be loading onto the transports the day after the dinner, beginning at first light, making our area a swarm of activity as men ran about, dodging between the piles of sacks containing our grain supply, barrels of pitch, and amphorae of olive oil and wine, each man with a specific task given by his Centurion. Even as many years as I had done this, it never ceased to amaze me how such a seemingly disorganized mass of confusion could suddenly result in the delivery of men to their ships, at exactly the moment they were supposed to be there, with exactly the gear they were supposed to have. Once on the sea, of course, it was in the hands of Neptune whether or not he delivered us to where we were supposed to be, but we would make sure that we did our jobs once we got there. To an untrained eye, I am sure that the sight of a Legion preparing to move looks remarkably unorganized, with every appearance that men are running in circles, but it is deceiving to believe so. The Centurions were striding about, bawling out orders and smacking laggards with the vitus. All in all, it was a normal day in the life of an army preparing to move.
The day of the dinner arrived, and I will admit that I had a case of nerves not dissimilar to those that I felt before going into battle. Shortly before the dinner, which was being held in the open space of the forum in order to accommodate the large numbers, I went and picked up Miriam. I had decided on one more surprise for Cleopatra, something I had kept to myself until this moment when I informed Miriam.
“Iras is going to be your attendant at the dinner.”
Miriam, looking even more beautiful than she had the night of the dinner with Uncle Tiberius, was standing framed in the doorway of our bedroom, and I had to admit that the dress, made of some filmy material that seemed to cling and drape her body at the same time, had been worth every sesterce. As I stood examining her, I saw that there was something subtly different that at first I could not identify, finally seeing that her face was made up, with special attention paid to her eyes. They were underlined with kohl, while somehow her lashes seemed to be even thicker than normal, and I recognized the style as being distinctly Egyptian, which I thought was a nice touch. She was oblivious to my admiration, focusing instead on the words that had just come out of my mouth, her own dropping open in shock.
“You cannot be serious,” she gasped. “Titus, I am nervous enough as it is. To have Iras come where Cleopatra can see her, that is too much! She will kill us, right there on the spot!”
“She can try,” I retorted, instantly regretting the words, knowing that they were not helping. I stepped forward, speaking soothingly while putting my hands on Miriam’s bare shoulders and feeling the tremors. “But she won't, my love. She can’t, not in a public setting like that. Not even Cleopatra would dare. Besides, remember that we're going to be with Scribonius and the rest of the Pili Priores. You don’t think that they'd let anything happen, do you?”
That seemed to settle her down, but she was still clearly nervous. To take her mind off the prospect of Cleopatra leaping across her couch to attack us, I asked her about her makeup.
She touched her face, replying absently, “It was Iras’ idea. She thought it would make me look more like a highborn lady.”
“It makes you look even lovelier, which I didn't think was possible.” I was trying to be kind, having learned that flattery will do more to soothe a woman than any other thing one can do.
I was pleased to see her blush, and it did seem to take her mind away from her fears of Cleopatra. I called Iras, who had been in the main room, telling her gruffly to make herself presentable because she was going with us to the dinner to attend to Miriam. If Miriam had been nervous, Iras was clearly petrified, without a trace of the fighting spirit I had seen just days earlier.
“Master, I beg you do not make me go,” she told me in Greek. “I cannot face the queen! If she sees me, she will kill me!”
“Didn't you just hear what I said?” I asked coldly. “She wouldn’t dare to try and attack us, let alone a slave like you, in such a public setting.”
“But she'll know that I’m alive,” she begged. “She won’t tolerate that insult to her pride! Please, reconsider!”
I knew that she was speaking sense, and in truth she was not saying anything I had not already heard from Scribonius when I had told him, but pride is not confined to the highly born, and I had perhaps more than my share of it, so I was unmoved by her pleas.
“Well, think of it this way,” I made a grim jest. “You were supposed to be dead already, so what does it matter?”
We left the apartment, with Iras following behind on clearly shaking knees and Agis tagging along just in case she decided to make a break for it. Making our way through the city, I enjoyed the admiring glances from the men as they stopped to watch us pass, and I was not blind to the women who did the same, which seemed to please Miriam immensely.
“We make a handsome couple, don’t you think?” I teased, causing Miriam to blush and give me a happy smile, but it was fleeting.
Arriving at the forum, we stopped to wait for the Pili Priores, and a few moments later, they came marching up in double file with Scribonius, as the ranking Centurion, leading the group. They crashed to a halt, saluted, then stood at intente while I inspected them, making sure that their tunics were freshly laundered and clean of stains, since this was not an affair where full uniforms were required. As I expected, there was nothing to find fault with, although they would have been more surprised if I did not wipe away a nonexistent speck of dust or straighten a perfectly aligned buckle.
I turned to Scribonius, who was eying the two women, and he murmured, “It’s not too late to send the girl home.”
“What, and miss the look on that bitch’s face?”
For perhaps the thousandth time since I had known Scribonius, he heaved another sigh that communicated more of his true feelings than any words could.
With a wave of his arm, he said, “Then by all means, Primus Pilus Pullus, lead the way. I must admit that I'm looking forward to seeing the show.”
I turned, beckoning to Miriam and Iras, who had been standing off to the side, and they approached nervously, Iras holding the hem of Miriam’s gown out of the dirt. As beautiful as Miriam was, Iras alone would have turned men’s heads as she passed, despite the fact I had wisely made her wear something drab, knowing that Miriam would not appreciate Iras
being dressed up. It was my one concession to making as much of an entrance as possible; my original intention had been to dress her almost as richly as Miriam, having her wear the gown that Miriam wore at Uncle Tiberius’ dinner, but I was quickly disabused of that notion by a visibly angry woman when I mentioned it. Instead, I had to content myself with having her dressed plainly and walking behind the two of us, with the Pili Priores following behind us, as we were ushered to a series of tables and benches. I was disappointed to see that we would not be dining in the style of the Roman upper classes on couches, but I supposed that finding so many couches and tables in the proper configuration must have been difficult, even in a city the size of Ephesus. Not to mention that more than a few of the Centurions had probably never been exposed to such finery and would not know what to do. Thinking about it, I had to admit that it was wise of Antonius to make such arrangements, since his relationship with the army was so tenuous that it could easily have been viewed as an attempt to embarrass the men who were guests at this dinner by putting them in an unfamiliar position, so to speak. It just meant that Miriam would not be as easy to spot seated among the men, but I was relieved to see that I had not been the only Centurion to bring a female companion. Taking our places, the air soon filled with the buzzing of conversation while we waited for Antonius and Cleopatra to appear.
My stomach was in knots, and I could see that Miriam was in much the same state, despite Scribonius trying to occupy her with conversation about the table settings and decorations, something I barely noticed. The other Pili Priores could sense my tension, and while none of them knew the details of all that had gone on, they undoubtedly knew enough to understand that something momentous might be occurring. Then, the bucina sounded the call that told us that the commanding general was present, all the Legionaries coming to intente at the first note. The open forum was quiet and still as we waited, then out of the corner of my eye, I saw the figures of Antonius and Cleopatra mount the raised platform where their table was placed. We were some distance away, which I suspected was by design on the part of Antonius, not wanting my big body in the line of sight of his queenly wife. Gauging the distance, I began to wonder if this was a futile exercise, thinking that we were too far away to be seen from their spot. The couple was dressed richly, in embroidered matching tunic and gown, obviously deciding that armor was not appropriate garb for such an event. Immediately after we were seated, Antonius made some remarks, completely forgettable, which I believe was due as much to my nerves as the quality of his speech. I am sure that it was up to his usual high standard; of all the orators I have heard, Antonius was second only to Caesar in his ability to communicate to the rankers in a way that did not make them feel stupid. He spoke for a few moments, not long enough for the diners to start fidgeting, then signaled to the slaves waiting in the back to bring forward the platters of crackling pork fresh from the spit, followed by others carrying boards piled with heaps of bread still steaming from the oven. Not far behind that were slaves carrying pots of chickpeas, lentils and a variety of vegetables. It was simple soldier’s fare, but there was plenty of wine, making the atmosphere convivial as men regaled each other with tales of past battles or wild nights spent on the town. Naturally, the talk was toned down in deference to the female guests present, at least at first. The more wine that flowed, however, men’s tongues loosened, soon enough making it sound like a normal night around the fire. I was barely paying attention, and I believe that it was due to Scribonius more than my presence that kept the Pili Priores at the table under control out of respect to Miriam.
