The people rose against him immediately, set the mob loose. His secret tunnel enabled Auletes to escape into exile by sailing away, but he left penniless. Which was of scant concern to the Alexandrians, who replaced him with his eldest daughter, Berenice, and her mother, Cleopatra Tryphaena. The situation in the palace was now reversed; it was Auletes’s second wife and second family who had to take a back seat to the pair of Mithridatid queens.
And little Cleopatra was recalled from Memphis. A terrible blow! How she had wept for Tach’a, for Cha’em, for that idyllic life of love and scholarship beside the wide blue snake of Nilus! The palace in Alexandria was worse than ever; now eleven years old, Cleopatra was still in the nursery, which she shared with two biting, scratching, brawling little Ptolemies. Arsinoë was the worse, forever telling her that she was not “good enough”—too little Ptolemaic blood, and grandchild of a rascally old king who might have terrorized Anatolia for forty years, but still ended a broken man. Broken by Rome.
Cleopatra Tryphaena died a year after assuming the throne, so Berenice decided to marry. Something Rome didn’t want. Crassus and Pompey were still plotting for annexation, aided and abetted by the governors of Cilicia and Syria. Wherever Berenice tried to find a husband, Rome was there before her to warn the fellow off. Finally she turned to her Mithridatid relatives, and among them found that elusive husband, one Archelaus. Caring nothing for Rome, he made the journey to Alexandria and married Queen Berenice. For a few short, sweet days they were happy; then Aulus Gabinius, the governor of Syria, invaded Egypt.
Ptolemy Auletes hadn’t frittered away his time in exile, he had gone to the moneylenders (including Rabirius Postumus) and offered any governor of an eastern province ten thousand talents of silver to win back his kingdom. Gabinius agreed and marched for Pelusium with Auletes in his train. Another interesting man marched with Gabinius too: his commander of horse, a twenty-seven-year-old Roman noble named Marcus Antonius.
But Cleopatra had never set eyes on Mark Antony; the moment that Gabinius breached the Egyptian border, Berenice sent her little sister to Cha’em and Tach’a in Memphis. King Archelaus called up the Egyptian army intending to fight, but neither he nor Berenice was aware that Alexandria didn’t approve of the Queen’s marriage to yet another Mithridatid. The Alexandrian element in the army mutinied and killed Archelaus, which marked the end of Egyptian resistance. Gabinius entered Alexandria and put Ptolemy Auletes back on the throne; Auletes murdered his daughter Berenice before Gabinius had even quit the city.
Cleopatra had just turned fourteen, Arsinoë was eight, one little boy was six, and the other barely three. The scales had tipped; the second wife and the second family of Auletes were back on top again. Understanding that were Cleopatra to be sent home, she would be murdered, Cha’em and Tach’a kept her in Memphis until her father died from his vices. The Alexandrians hadn’t wanted her on the throne, but the high priest of Ptah was the present holder of an office over three thousand years old, and he understood what to do. Namely, to anoint Cleopatra as Pharaoh before she left Memphis. If she returned to Alexandria as Pharaoh, no one would dare touch her, even a Potheinus or a Theodotus. Or an Arsinoë. For Pharaoh held the key to the treasure vaults, an unlimited supply of money, and Pharaoh was God in Egypt of Nilus, where Alexandria’s food came from.
The chief source of the royal income was not Alexandria, but Egypt of the river. There, where sovereigns had existed for who knew how many thousands of years, everything belonged to Pharaoh. The land, the crops, the beasts and fowls of the field and farmyard, the honeybees, the taxes, duties and fares. Only the production of linen, in the province of the priests, did Pharaoh share; the priests received one-third of the income this finest linen in the world generated. Nowhere save in Egypt was linen woven so tenuously that it was sheer as faintly clouded glass, nowhere save in Egypt could it be pleated or dyed such magical colors, nowhere save in Egypt was it so brilliantly white. One other source of income was as unique as it was lucrative: Egypt produced paper from the papyrus plant that grew everywhere in the Delta, and Pharaoh owned the paper too.
Therefore Pharaoh’s income amounted to over twelve thousand talents of gold a year, divided into two purses, the privy and the public. Six thousand talents in each. Out of the public purse Pharaoh paid his district governors, his bureaucrats, his police, his water police, his army, his navy, his factory workers, his farmers and peasants. Even when Nilus failed to inundate, that public income was sufficient to buy in grain from foreign lands. The privy purse belonged outright to Pharaoh and could not be touched for any but Pharaoh’s personal needs and desires. In it were lumped the country’s production of gold, gemstones, porphyry, ebony, ivory, spices and pearls. The fleets that sailed to the Horn of Africa for most of these belonged to—Pharaoh.
Little wonder then that Ptolemies like Auletes, denied the title of Pharaoh, lusted after it. For Alexandria was an entity entirely separate from Egypt; while the King and Queen took a goodly share of its profits in taxes, they did not own it or its assets, be they ships or glass-works or companies of merchants. Nor did they have title to the land on which it stood. Alexandria had been founded by Alexander the Great, who fancied himself a Greek, but was Macedonian through and through. The Interpreter, Recorder and Accountant collected all Alexandrian public income, and used much of it to feather their own nests, working through a system of privileges and perquisites that included the palace.
Veterans of Assyrian, Kushite and Persian dynasties before the arrival of Alexander the Great’s marshal Ptolemy, the priests of Ptah in Memphis had come to an accommodation with Ptolemy and paid him Egypt’s public purse on the condition that sufficient was spent on Egypt of Nilus to keep its people and temples thriving. If the Ptolemy were also Pharaoh, then he took the private income too. Except that it did not leave the treasury vaults in Memphis unless Pharaoh came in person to remove what he needed. Thus when Cleopatra had fled Alexandria, she didn’t emulate her father by sailing out of the Great Harbor penniless; she went to Memphis and obtained the money to hire an army of mercenaries.
“Oh,” said Cleopatra, freed from the last of her regalia, “it weighs me down so!”
“It may wear you down, Daughter of Amun-Ra, but it buoyed you up in Caesar’s eyes,” Cha’em said, tenderly smoothing her hair. “In Greek guise you’re disappointing—Tyrian purple ill serves Pharaoh. When all this is over and your throne is assured, you must robe yourself as Pharaoh even in Alexandria.”
“Did I, the Alexandrians would tear me to pieces. You know how they loathe Egypt.”
“The answer to Rome lies with Pharaoh, not with Alexandria,” Cha’em said a little sharply. “Your first duty is to secure Egypt’s autonomy once and for all, no matter how many Ptolemies left Egypt to Rome in their wills. Through Caesar you can do that, and Alexandria ought to be grateful. What is this city, except a parasite feeding off Egypt and Pharaoh?”
“Perhaps,” Cleopatra said thoughtfully, “all that is about to change, Cha’em. I know you’ve just arrived by boat, but walk down Royal Avenue and see what Caesar’s done to the city. He’s wrecked it, and I suspect that what he’s done so far is only the beginning. The Alexandrians are devastated, but in a very angry way. They’ll fight Caesar until they can’t fight anymore, yet I know they can’t win. When the day comes that tames them, things will change forever. I’ve read the commentaries Caesar wrote of his war in Gaul—very detached, very unemotional. But since I’ve met him, I understand them far better. Caesar gives latitude and will continue to give latitude, but if he is constantly rebuffed, he changes. Mercy and understanding no longer exist, he will go to any lengths to kill all opposition. No one of his kind has ever warred with the Alexandrians.” The strange eyes stared at Cha’em with some of Caesar’s detachment. “When he is pushed to it, Caesar breaks spirits as well as backbones.”
Tach’a shivered. “Poor Alexandria!”
Her husband said nothing, too intent upon his welling joy. Were Alexandria utter
ly crushed, it would be to the advantage of Egypt—power would return to Memphis. Those years Cleopatra had spent in the temple of Ptah were paying off; witnessing Alexandria humbled and ravaged would not cause her any anguish.
“No word yet from Elephantine?” Pharaoh asked.
“It is too early, Daughter of Amun-Ra, but we have come to be with you when the news arrives, as is our duty,” Cha’em said. “You cannot come to Memphis at the moment, we know.”
“True,” Cleopatra said, and sighed. “Oh, how much I miss Ptah, Memphis and you!”
“But Caesar has married you,” Tach’a said, clasping her dear girl’s hands. “You are quickened, I can tell.”
“Yes, I am quickened with a son, I know it.”
The two priests of Ptah exchanged a glance, well satisfied.
* * *
Yes, I am quickened with a boy, but Caesar does not love me. I loved him the moment I set eyes upon him—so tall, so fair, so godlike. That I hadn’t expected, that he would look Osiris. Old and young at once, father and husband. Filled with power, majesty. But I am a duty to him, something he can do with his earthly life that leads him in a new direction. In the past he has loved. When he isn’t aware that I watch him, his pain shows. So they must be gone, the women he loved. I know his daughter died in childbirth. I will not die in childbirth, the rulers of Egypt never do. Though he fears for me, mistaking my exterior for inner frailty. What there is of me is tested metal. I will live to be very old, as is fitting for Amun-Ra’s Daughter. Caesar’s son out of my body will be an old man before he can rule with his wife rather than his mother. He too will live to be very old, but he will not be the only child. Next I must have Caesar’s daughter, so that our son can marry his full sister. After that, more sons and more daughters, all married to each other, all fertile.
They will found a new dynasty, the House of Ptolemy Caesar. The son I am carrying will build temples up and down the river, we will both be Pharaoh. See to the choosing of the Buchis Bull, the Apis Bull, be at the Elephantine Nilometer every year to read the Inundation. Egypt is going to enjoy the Cubits of Plenty for generations upon generations; while ever the House of Ptolemy Caesar exists, Egypt will know no want. But more than that. The Land of the Two Ladies, of the Sedge and Bee, will regain all its past glories and all its past territories—Syria, Cilicia, Cos, Chios, Cyprus and Cyrenaica. In this child lies Egypt’s destiny, in his brothers and sisters a wealth of talent and genius.
So when, five days later, Cha’em told Cleopatra that Nilus was going to rise twenty-eight feet into the Cubits of Plenty, she wasn’t at all surprised. Twenty-eight feet was the perfect Inundation, just as hers was the perfect child. The son of two Gods, Osiris and Isis: Horus, Haroeris.
3
The war in Alexandria raged on into November, but was confined to the west side of Royal Avenue. The Jews and Metics proved doughty allies, marshaled soldiers of their own and turned all their small metal shops and foundries into armaments factories. A serious matter for the Alexandrians of Macedonian and Greek ancestry, for in other days they had welcomed the sequestration of nasty, smelly activities like metalworking to the east end, where all the skilled metalworkers lived anyway. Grinding his teeth in anguish, the Interpreter was forced to spend some of the city’s funds on the importation of weapons of war from Syria, and do what he could to encourage anyone on the western side with any metal skills to start forging swords and daggers.
Achillas attacked across that no-man’s-land time and time again, to no effect; Caesar’s soldiers repulsed the sallies with the ease of veterans bolstered by their growing hatred of Alexandrians.
Arsinoë and Ganymedes escaped Caesar’s palace net early in November and arrived in the western city, where the girl donned cuirass, helmet and greaves, waved a sword and produced a spate of stirring oratory. Thus capturing everyone’s attention for long enough to let Ganymedes enter Achillas’s camp, where the canny eunuch murdered Achillas at once. A survivor, the Interpreter promptly made Arsinoë queen and promoted Ganymedes to the general’s tent. A wise decision; Ganymedes was made for the job.
The new general walked down to the bridge across Canopic Avenue, ordered the oxen to be harnessed to the capstans controlling the sluice gates, and shut off the water supply to Delta and Epsilon Districts. Though Beta District and the Royal Enclosure were spared, Royal Avenue was not. Then, using an ingenious combination of human treadmills and the good old Archimedes’ screw, he pumped salt water from the Cibotus into the pipes, sat back and waited.
It took two days of steadily more brackish water for the Romans, Jews and Metics to realize what was happening; then they panicked. Caesar was obliged to deal with the frenzy in person, which he did by lifting the paving in the middle of Royal Avenue and digging a deep hole. As soon as it filled up with fresh water, the crisis was over; soon paving was being lifted in every Delta and Epsilon street and enough wells appeared to resemble the efforts of an army of moles. Capped by an admiration for Caesar that raised him to the status of a demigod.
“We’re sitting on limestone,” Caesar explained to Simeon and Cibyrus, “which always contains layers of fresh water because it’s soft enough for underground streams to erode. After all, we’re not very far from the world’s biggest river.”
While waiting to see what effect salt water would have on Caesar, Ganymedes concentrated on artillery fire, lobbing flaming missiles into Royal Avenue as fast as his men could load their ballistas and catapults. But Caesar had a secret weapon: men specially trained to fire small engines called scorpions. These shot short, pointed wooden bolts the artificers made by the dozens from templates guaranteed to produce uniform flights. The flat roofs of Royal Avenue made excellent platforms for scorpions; Caesar ranged them behind wooden beams right down the length of Royal Avenue’s western mansions. The ballista operators were exposed targets; a good scorpion man could plug his target in chest or side every time he fired a bolt. Ganymedes was forced to shield his men behind iron screens, which spoiled their aim.
Just after the middle of November the long-awaited Roman fleet arrived, though no one in Alexandria knew it; the winds were blowing so hard that the ships were driven miles to the west of the city. A skiff stole into the Great Harbor and made for the Royal Harbor when its crew spotted the General’s scarlet flag flying from the main palace pediment. It bore messages from the legate in charge of the fleet, and a letter from Gnaeus Domitius Calvinus. Though the messages said that the fleet was desperate for water, Caesar sat down first to read Calvinus’s note.
I am very sorry that it isn’t possible to send you the Thirty-eighth Legion as well as the Thirty-seventh, but recent events in Pontus render that impossible. Pharnaces has landed at Amisus, and I am off with Sestius and the Thirty-eighth to see what I can do. The situation is very grim, Caesar. Though as yet I’ve only heard of the awful destruction, reports say that Pharnaces has upward of a hundred thousand men, all Skythians—formidable foes, if one can believe the memoranda of Pompeius Magnus.
What I am able to do for you is to send you my entire fleet of warships, as it seems unlikely that they will be needed in the campaign against the King of Cimmeria, who has brought no navy with him. The best of my bunch are the ten Rhodian triremes—fast, maneuverable and bronze-beaked. They come under the command of a man you know well—Euphranor, the best admiral this side of Gnaeus Pompeius. The other ten warships are Pontic quinqueremes, very big and strong, though not speedy. I have also tricked out twenty transports as war vessels—rigged their bows with oaken beaks and added extra oar banks. I have no idea why I have a feeling that you’re in need of a war fleet, but I do all the same. Of course, since you’re now going to Africa Province, I dare-say you’ll run into Gnaeus Pompeius and his fleets soon enough. The latest news on that front is that the Republicans are definitely gathering there for another try. It is terrible to hear what the Egyptians did to Pompeius Magnus.
The Thirty-seventh comes with plenty of good artillery, and I thought you might
be in need of provisions, as we hear that Egypt is in famine. I’ve loaded up forty merchantmen with wheat, chick-pea, oil, bacon, and some very nice dried beans, perfect for bean-and-dumpling soup. There are some barrels of salt pork for the soup.
I’ve also commissioned Mithridates of Pergamum to round up at least another legion of troops for you—thank you for the imperium maius, it enabled me to waive the stipulations of our treaty. Just when he’ll turn up in Alexandria is in the lap of the gods, but he’s a good fellow, so I’m sure he’ll be hurrying. He’ll be marching, not sailing, by the way. We are too short of transports. If he misses you, he can commandeer transports in Alexandria to follow you to Africa Province.
My next letter will be from Pontus. By the by, I left Marcus Brutus governing Cilicia—under strict orders to concentrate on troop recruitment and training rather than on debt collection.
“I think,” said Caesar to Rufrius as he burned this missive, “that we’ll pull a little wool over Ganymedes’s eyes. Let’s load every empty water barrel we can find aboard our transports, and take a little sea voyage to the west. We’ll create as much fuss as we can—who knows? Ganymedes might gain the impression that his saltwater trick has worked, and Caesar is quitting the city with all his men except the cavalry, whom he has callously abandoned to their fate.”
At first this was exactly what Ganymedes thought, but a detachment of his cavalry, scouting west of the city, stumbled upon a party of Caesar’s legionaries wandering on the shore. They seemed nice, if naive, Romans; captured, they told the squadron leader that Caesar hadn’t sailed away, he was just getting fresh water at the spring. Too eager to get back to Ganymedes and tell him this news, the horsemen galloped off, leaving their erstwhile prisoners to return to Caesar.
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