Cleopatra's Promise

by Talbot Mundy

  “Do you seek new conquests? You, who hate Rome as I hate Rome, and as Rome hates me—there is Syria to conquer—Parthia—India. Egypt or Rome will prevail in the end. But who shall lead the battleline of Egypt? Southward—forever southward, beyond the desert, aye, and beyond the mountains where they say the Nile begins—there are realms beyond realms awaiting conquest. Does your imagination feel no challenge?”

  At last he looked down at her.

  “Aye,” he answered. “In this pavilion you and Caesar used to speak of it. I have sat here listening.”

  “You are younger, stronger, healthier than Caesar was. And you are not, like Caesar, ham-strung by grudging loyalty to a Roman wife and Roman prejudices.''

  “No,” he answered. “I have other prejudices.”

  “And no wife.”

  “No. Nor a master! I am my ownman.”

  “Gyved by sentiment to two-score bawdy battle axe-men, whose hearts are in the brothels and their brains in the Ices of a jar of Cretan wine!”

  “They are my men. They arc comrades-in-arms. I have led them. They and I have fought, a main or two with death together. I will do your errand, Egypt.”

  “You are also a greater fool than Caesar knew how to be!” she answered. “Oh, that Caesar had had your strength, to shake off his assassins!”

  “Do you mean oh, that I had Caesar’s ambition?”

  “Yes, I mean it! Would you like to be King of Syria?”

  “Syria is not yours, Egypt.”

  “Not yet! But would you like to be King of Syria?”

  “No—nor king of anywhere.”

  “Go! You bore me. I will send you Alexis. He shall meet you at the barge. You know him?”

  “Yes. I know him.”

  “Mind—you are to trust him.”

  “May I trust you, to keep your promise?”

  “Keep your own promise. You will not need to remind me of mine.”

  CHAPTER V

  “ONE OF THESE DAYS YOU'LL BE A VALUABLE MAN”

  SUNSET was bathing the roofs of Alexandria, and the evening mist was rising on Mareotis, when the royal barge left Pleasure Island. Alexis, a very handsome fellow, with a comically aristrocratic Alexandrine manner of taking nothing seriously, snuggled himself in a woolen himation and kissed a parchment order on “any or all district treasurers.” It bore Cleopatra’s signature and seal.

  “No limit!” he remarked. “I bless my father and my mother, who conceived me as full of cupidity as a Rhakotis prostitute! There are compensations, even for having to leave Alexandria. Dreadful ordeal, but sublime opportunity! When I return I will buy me Arabian horses. Hitherto, mine has never been better than second chariot. It is simply a question of money. Buy the best horses. Bribe the other fellows’ charioteers. Watch me win next time!”

  “Better rob tombs like the queen,” Tros answered. “The queen keeps her eye on the treasury statements.”

  “On the tombs, too,” said Alexis. “Mining is a royal monopoly. She calls tombs mining! Did you notice that stuff on the table?”

  “Where is it from?”

  “Near the Great Pyramid.”

  Tros grinned, thinking of his Northmen.

  “Tros, you’re a very remarkable man. I have you to thank for this treasury order! If it weren’t for you, she would have sent two generals, each to keep an eye on the other. They would have been much more expensive than you and me. I would give ten per cent of my probable peculations to know what you said to the queen.”

  “You buy things twice over, do you?” Tros answered. “You heard every word of what I said to her.”

  “Well, since you have guessed so accurately, I admit it. I was behind the curtain. I saw you smash those Nubians. Gods! Look at them! I don’t know yet whether she meant them to kill you, or not, and I’ll bet they don’t know, either. Perhaps she doesn’t know. I think she left it to destiny, the way you or I would toss a coin or bet a fortune on a cockfight. She is like that—superstitious. What will you do with the Nubians?”

  “Oar-bank. I never yet knew a royal slave worth a drachma until he had learned what work is. They shall blister their hams and work the fat off. That duffer let go his scimitar at a mere touch.”

  “A pretty skilful touch, Tros!”

  “But a touch. He shall learn what it means to hang on to an oar, with the wind across the current and the ship rolling. It needs more than muscle. Will you take them to Esias for me and bid him keep them at heavy labor until I return from this business? Them and the rug. That is my rug, remember! I believe you will find Esias in his office at the east end of the city. You will find me near my trireme.”

  “I am supposed to keep you in sight.”

  “Can you swim? Very well. Go ashore in the barge and find Esias. Bring him to me. I am to trust you, she said. So ] will, until you give me reason not to. Let us understand each other.”

  “Oh, I understand you.”

  “Let me know when you don’t. On any successful expedition there is only one commander. There is only one way of returning home alive and not disgraced. That is by obeying the commander. I am he.”

  Alexis got up and bowed as impudently as he dared.

  “I salute you. Should I call you Caesar?”

  “You may call me friend if you will. I will judge you, by behavior.”

  Tros went forward and, pushing aside the lookout man, stood for several minutes with his hand on the high, carved, gilded stem. Suddenly he plunged overboard and was out of sight in a moment, lost to view in the mist that curled amid the rushes. He swam, as many strong men do, with prodigious waste of effort and it was several minutes before his hand caught the rail of a painted pleasure-boat and Conops hauled him overside.

  “Master, let me rub you dry with my shirt. This chill air—”

  “Give me food, you idiot! Do you think I can go since daybreak on an empty belly and wait to be bath-housed by a drunkard? Is there wine left?”

  “Aye, aye, master. I saved some from the Jews’ share. I said to the Jews, I said it’d need an artful eunuch, I said, to poison the lord captain. But if he comes to you parched from mistrusting palace wine, would you have him drink up Mareotis? Frogs and all, eh? Frogs, I said to ’em, said I, are against religion. Aren’t you Jews circumcised, I said, against the sin of eating frogs? So, shall he drink ’em? Here you are, master, good wine! Wine of Chios! Kept it cool, too. Here you are. Bread, cheese, olives—”

  “Where is Aristobolus?”

  One of the Jews removed a disordered sail. Aristobolus lay bound and gagged, under the thwarts. Tros ate ravenously.

  “Head for the cross-city canal. Row slowly. Enter the canal in darkness. Has Aristobolus talked?”

  “Aye, master. As soon as we’d ungagged him and he’d wetted his throat with some of our Chian, he began talking a streak. Never heard such wild talk as his, not even from our Northmen when they’re drunk and homesick for the Baltic women. Any word of our Northmen, master?”

  “Aye. When we get back, sort out all their battle-axes and armor from the store-room. Wrap them in a sail and have them ready.”

  “Trust you to make a landfall, fog or night-time!”

  “Carry on with your tale.”

  “Master, maybe one of our lads hit him a bit hefty. He talked wild. Soon as he saw it was me, and me your man, and us all laughing and acting foolish, and out o’ reach o’ land and all that, first he offered us money. So we took what he had, and it was little enough for a gentleman of his fine speech and manners. Then we fed him but he didn’t eat much; and I told him he’s your prisoner, and you not in the habit o’ treating prisoners the way a pirate treats ’em— pirate though he said you are. He loosed off a fathom o’ talk about your being a pirate, and the queen intending to have you crucified, because the Romans want it. And he said that if we love you, we should find you quick and let him tell you how to keep your soul inside your body,”

  “You remember his exact words?”

  “No, master. They wer
e too many. Twenty men couldn’t remember ’em. But he talked, like a hawse paying out in a tide-rip, how we’d better find you in a hurry. So I said you’re having your fun with a girl and it was worth a broken bone or two to interrupt you without reason why—”

  “You loose-tongued lecher!”

  “And I told him I lost my starboard eye. crack-peeping, to witness your secret interviews with kings and queens. I’m all that in your confidence. These lads confirmed it; they’ll make good sailors, time I’ve schooled ’em. One way and another, and what with threatening to drown him if he didn’t, he talked. Chronos! He talked of Herod of Jerusalem, and this queen’s father, and a lady by name of Boidion, and half the history of Egypt.

  “Seems that this queen’s father was a bit of what you’re fond of calling me. And he’d a gift for getting daughters, had King Ptolemy the Piper. Nearly all his get were daughters. The boys were sickly, but the girls were well loined, and good lookers, and any number of ’em. One she-child—one of his bastards —was by a Jewess, name of Esther I think he said, and they called the child Boidion.

  “That particular she-child is the spitting image, so said this man when he’d had his second cup of Chian, of that Princess Arsinoe who got us into all that trouble off Salamis— born within the same month, and so like her, said he, it was awkward.

  “But instead of poisoning her along with her mother, as would have been more usual, somebody whose job it was to clean up King Ptolemy’s leavings reported ’em dead and packed ’em off to Jerusalem, where the mother’s folks lived, and our lads here claim they knew the mother in Jerusalem.

  “They swear she was a high-priest’s daughter. I’ve schooled ’em with a rope’s end so they don’t lie to me worth mentioning. They claim they knew Boidion, too. They say she grew up to be a fine up-standing wench with saucy manners. And they agree she looks like Queen Arsinoe of Cyprus.”

  THE ten Jews nodded, one by one, solemnly, resting on their oars as Tros looked at them for confirmation of the story. “Well,” said Conops, “this here Aristobolus said, if I understood him right, that that swine of an Etruscan Tarquinius— only he called him a smart fellow—who was left in Cyprus in command of Queen Arsinoe’s body-guard, has killed Arsinoe— dagger, poison, bowstring, drowned, he didn’t say what— and crossed to Syria, and gone to Jerusalem, and found Boidion, and called her Arsinoe, and brought her to Egypt, and raised an army, and intends to march on Alexandria and make her Queen of Egypt.

  “I made him say it over and over, and I got it right. That’s his story. And he said that the thing for you to do is to join Boidion— he said near Memphis—because, said he, for two reasons. First, Queen Cleopatra has your name on her list of suspects for the torturer to examine. Second, knowing this Boidion isn’t Arsinoe, soon as you’ve helped to make her queen you’ll have the pick of whatever’s going, and if you’re so minded you can even marry her and make yourself viceroy, or you’ll tell what you know. There, master, he said plenty more, but that’s all I remember.”

  “Why did you gag him again?”

  “I had to take the sail off him, master. If I’d let him go on talking he’d have had me that mixed up I’d never have remembered half of what I do remember. And besides, there were two boats full o’ queen’s men, and I saw them search a boat or two, and they might have searched us. So I readied him up. We lashed the iron killick to his feet. We’d have dumped him if the queen’s men came close. No knowing what might have happened if they’d found him aboard of us, and us your men, in a boat that we’d have had to do some full gale lying to explain.”

  “One of these days,” said Tros, “you’ll be a valuable man.”

  That was high praise. Conops pondered it in silence, and Tros sat thinking until mist and darkness blended and suddenly the guard at the mouth of the cross-city canal challenged gruffly. Tros answered:

  “Junior Court Chamberlain Alexis’ boat, on the Queen’s business.”

  Some one stuck a torch into a fire-pot and whirled it until five guards stood revealed with the crimson firelight gleaming on polished armor.

  “Junior Court Chamberlain Alexis came ashore in the queen’s barge. Who are you?”

  “Ask him! Who tells the queen’s business to the first fool who asks?”

  “Come closer! Row in here to the wharf!”

  “At your own risk! Halt me at your peril! I’ve a prisoner for the dungeon.”

  “Oh. Well—he’ll have company! They’ve been packing them in! Pass!”

  CHAPTER VI

  THE FLY-BY-NIGHT FLOTILLA

  NIGHTMARE. The slums of Rhakotis by crimson torchlight. The great trireme, high on the ways, with her gilded serpent, draped in paulin, thrust between the roofs of storage sheds. There were men beneath her, examining the torn tin sheathing by the light of tow flares. A stream of Esias’ slaves, under the watchful eyes of two of Esias’ partners, carrying ashore the gear, ammunition and dunnage and Tros’ personnel possessions, to be locked out of reach of longshore thieves. Old Esias, with his hand on the master-shipwright’s shoulder, listening to Tros and nodding as he watched the secretary-slave jot down instructions.

  “Strip off all the tin, Esias. Test every nail in the hull. They’re mostly oak tree-nails, and tight, but some of them may have been shorn from the shock of collision; we hit those pirate hulls with our sails full o’ wind and a big sea running; we have had to work doubleshifts at the water-hoist, all the way from Tarsus. Have your shipwright test every inch of her timbers. If there’s anything soft, out with it; anything cracked, out with it. Replace with Lebanon cedar. There’s a lot of that tin too badly torn to be put back: have it melted down, and rebeaten. Watch it, though; it’s worth nearly its weight in silver.

  “Now then: I’ll be taking a hundred men. The remainder I’ll leave in your charge. Dribble out their back pay miserly. The half they’ve had already will be gone by morning. Dole out the balance fast enough to keep them from thieving themselves into trouble, but slowly enough to keep them standing by”

  “Lord Captain. I have the queen’s minister’s order not to repair your trireme,” said Esias. “I am already in trouble for having done your business. Selling your pearls to the queen for such a high price has aroused the anger of the treasury. They—he—”

  “So you told me already. Did he order you not to make ready to repair, at full speed, when you get the word? Do as I say, Esias!”

  “I will risk that. There was no order not to make ready. But a hundred— of your men— before morning? Even your lieutenant Ahiram carouses himself stupid.

  “Ahiram shall stand by the ship,” Tros answered. “He is useless on land.

  Now listen: my prisoner Aristobolus is in your rope-shed, under a guard of your freedmen. Hold him there until I come for him, but drop a word in his ear that I am perhaps more friendly to him than I seem. I need eight more boats—good ones, not too heavy. Set a cask in each boat, full of good drinking water. I need wine and provisions for one hundred and twenty men for ten days—sails and gear for each boat— tow-line—plenty of spare rope—blankets —the fools are afraid to sleep without their heads covered— fire-pots— throw in a bolt or two of bandage-linen, there’ll be broken heads to mend enough— cut firewood for a few days’ cooking—better put your slaves to work on that this minute— one hundred and fourteen horse-tail fly-switches— I want men fit to fight, not blown meat— and an open letter of credit from you to all your agents up the Nile.”

  “And all this before morning, Lord captain?”

  “Before midnight, Esias!”

  “Impossible!”

  “Esias, did I save your corn from the pirates? Did I sell it to the Romans for its full value? That, too, was impossible. But have you had your money for the corn?”

  “Lord Tros—”

  “May God guide your efforts, Esias!”

  “Lord Tros—a moment!”

  Esias, a bit feeble with age and shaken by excitement, took his arm and walked beside him.


  “This way! This way!”

  He led into the deepest shadow between piles of ship’s stores.

  “Take this! It came from Pelusium. Nay, I know not how my agent got it. There were two letters, one from Tarquinius, so openly delivered that the queen’s spies could not help but know about it; they came and took it; and this one, that my agent sent stitched in a saddle-girth. See—the seal is unbroken.”

  “Do you know from whom it is?”

  “Nay, nay. I guess. I do not wish to know. Tell none that I gave it to you.” Esias hesitated.

  “And?” Tros asked him. “There was speech on your lips, Esias.”

  “Beware of the Lord Alexis!”

  “Aye, I will well beware of him.” Esias hurried away. Tros climbed the ship’s side and entered his cabin that had already been stripped of nearly all its contents. The whale-oil lamp still burned. By its light he examined the letter. It was of folded parchment, soiled with horse-sweat, addressed in fine Greek characters to Tros of Samothrace. He felt a curious excitement. He smelt and felt the letter half a dozen times before he broke the wax, sealed with a thumbprint, and read it. It was written in Greek, in the same fine, educated hand.

  “Should you hear of my being in Egypt, doubt not. Should you hear of my dying in Egypt, doubt that, unless they say I died in armor. You will know whose armor. I am altogether weary of being a stake on the board in a game played by fools and swindlers. But again they throw the loaded dice. So it is I who must fight for myself, since there is none other for whom the fight is worth the effort, you not having deigned to—”

  Several words had been crossed out. Horse-sweat had made the correction illegible.

  “—So, if I am to die now, farewell and forget me. But if I live, you shall judge again.”

  There was no signature. But there could be no possible doubt in Tros’ mind of the writer’s name. Arsinoe had not returned the armor that she wore in the sea-fight off Salamis. Her reference to the armor was identification enough.