She paused, dipping her gaze to the place where she had wiped the knife. Titus watched an expression of horror spread across her face with the realisation that she had stained the fine garment.
She cast him a narrow-eyed glare then, as if she blamed him for the mistake. Then she hurled the knife into the sand in an adorable huff. He chuckled once more as she dashed to the ocean where she began a Herculean effort to scrub out the stain.
For the first time, he observed her naked legs. She had unknowingly lifted her skirt to above her knees, giving him a tantalising view of them and a dark suggestion of what lay just beyond. His desire stirred. He felt like Odysseus in the presence of Calypso. He could not take his eyes off her dripping legs. He wondered how they might feel wrapped about his middle.
He ran his fingers through his hair. He needed to find some occupation, lest his dignitas be lost on this very beach. The sun flashed off the knife where she had thrown it down and an idea came to him.
He walked up the beach to the place beneath a palm where he had laid his tunic. He settled himself in the palm’s shade, watching as Wen returned to the Queen’s tent. He found a small bone and had soon honed it well enough to serve as a needle with which to weave palm fibres. He became so absorbed in his task that he did not notice her until he spied her bare feet stepping beneath the shade in which he sat.
* * *
‘The Queen requests your presence once again,’ she announced with a sigh.
‘Well, that is a relief,’ he mocked. ‘I feared that you had come to sever my head!’
‘The Queen wishes to ask you a question.’
‘Let me guess, the Queen will ask me a question, then you will disembowel me and read the answer in the shape of my innards.’ It was all he could do to keep from laughing at his own cleverness.
She glanced at his naked chest with irritation. ‘You must be fully clothed to appear before the Queen of Egypt,’ she said, then turned and began walking away.
‘Come now,’ he called after her, fumbling into his tunic. He bounded to her side. ‘I was only teasing you, you know.’
‘Hmm. Like when you feigned sleep the other night? Were you only teasing then?’
‘I feigned nothing.’
‘Your breaths were uneven. You would not stop flexing your feet.’
‘You watched me, then? As I slept?’
‘Your stirring drew my attention.’
‘You are right that I could not sleep, for you and the Queen’s handmaids were gossiping like hens.’
‘How would you know we spoke gossip? You do not speak Greek. You could not have understood our words.’ There was a long pause and she took the opportunity to stride past him.
He caught up to her effortlessly and resolved to change the subject. ‘It is a lovely day, is it not?’ he asked. It was, in truth, a lovely day, though she said nothing in response. ‘The sun should not be so warm for Octobris. Do you not agree?’
‘I do not know what Octobris is,’ she clipped. ‘For me it is the first month of peret, the beginning of the season of planting and growth. And, no, I do not find it unseasonably warm.’
They walked together in silence, and she seemed satisfied that she had sufficiently frustrated him. Alas, she was mistaken.
‘Earlier I saw an eagle flying near the shore,’ he offered. ‘Did you not see it? It is yet another good omen.’
She glanced up at him, studying his features. ‘Why do you groom your brows?’ she asked.
‘What?’
‘Among the Roman Gabiniani whom I served, only officers trim their eyebrows. Infantry soldiers do not.’
‘Well, I am an exception then,’ he lied. He searched for words to fill the silence. ‘We shall see the Lighthouse tonight as we approach Alexandria. Did you know that there are giant copper mirrors at its apex? They send the fire’s light much farther than it would otherwise go alone.’
Wen gave him a curious look, but said nothing.
‘Well, I am glad the Queen wishes to consult with me about our journey,’ he offered.
‘She does not wish to consult with you. She wishes to ask you a question.’
‘Well, I am grateful to you for retrieving me.’
‘I was commanded to retrieve you.’
‘I am grateful none the less.’
She stopped suddenly and dug her feet into the sand. ‘Stop.’
‘Stop what?’
‘Stop trying to endear yourself to me so that I will not betray your ruse.’
‘That is not what I’m doing.’
‘So you admit that there is a ruse?’
‘I admit no such thing.’
‘Then why are you trying to befriend me? You are a Roman. Therefore, you will never be my friend.’
‘I do not wish to be your friend.’
‘And why is that, exactly?’
‘Because you are beneath me.’
* * *
The response was wholly expected, but it fell upon her like a blow. She felt weak and diminished. She wished that the sands in which she stood would simply swallow her up.
Still, she would not give him the satisfaction of witnessing her shame. ‘I think that is the first true thing that has escaped your lips, Roman,’ she said. She stepped from his path.
‘Apologies, I did not mean—’ he began.
‘There is no need to apologise. You spoke truth. Now please, stop bothering me. As you said, I am just a slave.’
She walked on.
‘I spoke without thinking,’ he called to her. ‘I did not mean to offend you.’
‘You spoke what was in your heart,’ she said without turning.
She was nearing the Queen’s tent, but he managed to catch up to her once again. He stopped her in her path. ‘Listen to me. You have nothing to fear from me. I do not mean you or your Queen any harm.’
He had positioned himself with the sun behind him so that she was able to stand in the shade produced by his shadow. She wondered if he had done so on purpose. His shoulders were slumped, as if he were trying to reduce his size.
She realised suddenly that she did not fear him. She did not trust him, but she did not fear him. On the contrary, standing there in his ample shadow gave her the strange sense of standing inside a cave.
‘Tell me the truth,’ she said at last. ‘Are you or are you not a soldier?’
He took a breath. ‘I am.’
‘In whose army?’
‘I serve Rome.’
‘Not General Caesar?’
He paused. ‘We both serve Rome.’
The Rome that is preparing to swallow Egypt whole? Her mouth had become dry. ‘What is your purpose here in truth?’
Clodius appeared to choose his words carefully. ‘My purpose is to serve the best interests of the Roman people. Now please, can we not be friends?’
Conquest, she thought. That is your purpose. Why can you not just say it? To conquer was the only thing Roman men wanted. It was the only thing they knew. Clodius and Caesar were of different rank, but they were cut from the same cloth. Whatever lay before them, they wished to bring it under their control—whether a fish, a woman, or the greatest kingdom on earth.
‘I am sorry, Clodius, but I do not make friends with Romans.’
* * *
He felt like a dog that had just been scolded. He ducked his head beneath the entrance to the Queen’s tent, having no idea that his punishment had only just begun.
‘Good Clodius!’ said the Queen as he stepped into the shadowy space. ‘Thank you for returning. I had forgotten the important question I had hoped to ask you.’
Wen translated the Queen’s greeting to Titus, and he gave a deep bow. ‘I am at your service, Queen Cleopatra,’ he said in Latin.
As his eyes adjusted to the low light, he saw Iras seated on th
e carpet beside the Queen, searching through a trunkful of clothing. On the other side, Charmion was carefully picking what appeared to be beetles’ shells from one of her pastes. The two women looked up from their tasks as Titus stepped forward. Iras raked her eyes up his legs. Charmion gave a polite nod and followed it with an unseemly moistening of her lips.
Women.
He had no choice but to endure their caprices. He bent to his knees at the base of the Queen’s stool in the required obeisance.
‘My handmaids are just preparing my disguise,’ explained the Queen, touching his shoulder. He rose and stood, but his head bumped against the low cloth ceiling, requiring Titus to crouch awkwardly beneath it. ‘It seems I shall appear before your great General in a cloak so voluminous, it may as well be a carpet.’
The Queen had spoken in Greek and he did his best to appear confused. Then he heard Wen’s voice from behind him.
‘I know you understood everything the Queen just said,’ Wen said in Latin, ‘and that you only pretend not to. So I will not bother to translate it. You should laugh at her jest now, though, as if I have just explained it to you.’
There was nothing he could do but follow Wen’s command. He gave a polite laugh, then bowed his head respectfully.
He realised suddenly that he was surrounded by them—one before him, one behind him, and two beside him—a quorum of fatuous maids who had already begun to play with him like a child’s doll.
The Queen unfurled a papyrus scroll before his eyes. ‘Forgive my crude markings, Clodius, but as you can see, I have made a rough sketch of the palace grounds. Please, study it for a moment.’
‘The Queen wants you to look at the map, but you understood that,’ Wen translated.
Titus stepped forward and stooped to get a good look at the drawing. ‘We will land at this dock here tonight,’ said the Queen, ‘then make our way past the main palace to the inner gardens and the Athena’s Fountain. There we will part. My women will take the boys to the royal Isis Temple up on the cliffs and you will lead me and Apollodorus to Caesar’s military pavilion. Can you show me where that is?’
Wen translated the Queen’s words, and Titus pointed just south of the main palace. Cleopatra nodded with satisfaction. ‘That is where I thought he would be. Can you get me past Caesar’s guards?’
Wen faithfully translated her words, though it irked him that she insisted on standing behind him.
‘My mission is to deliver you to Caesar, Queen Cleopatra,’ he responded in Latin. ‘I will fulfil it.’
Wen translated his words while Charmion made a small mark on the place Titus had indicated. ‘His confidence is reassuring, at least,’ Cleopatra muttered.
‘So is the size of his arms,’ returned Charmion, shamelessly regarding his limbs.
He struggled to keep his breaths even. He could not give any indication that he had understood their conversation, for it had taken place wholly in Greek. ‘I wonder if his mind is as strong as his body,’ said the Queen. ‘Let us put him to a test. Wen, please ask Clodius to name the Roman conquests of the last three hundred years.’
Wen translated the Queen’s question into Latin, giving him precious time to think. ‘There was the defeat of the Latin League just over three hundred years ago,’ he began. ‘That gave us the area around Rome. And the Samnite Wars that brought most of our golden peninsula. By the Third Punic War we had won Hispania and Northern Africa. Then came Macedonia, Greece, and Carthage and finally, with the defeat of Mithridates of Pontus, all the land from Pontus to Syria. And of course you know of Caesar’s recent conquest of Gaul.’ Needing no translation of the places and names, the Queen nodded thoughtfully. ‘Is that all, Clodius?’
Titus nodded with certainty.
‘The Roman says that is all,’ Wen told the Queen in Greek, ‘but the Roman is wrong.’
* * *
Wen stepped out from behind him and took her place beside the Queen. Her new position afforded her a clear view of his heaving chest, and the anger boiling beneath his placid gaze. She had refuted him in Greek, however, and so he could not respond without giving himself away.
‘How is he wrong, Wen?’ asked Cleopatra.
‘He has forgotten the war with King Pyrrhus of Epirus, in which the southern part of the Italic peninsula was taken. He has also omitted the First Punic War, in which Sicily, Sardinia and Corsica were acquired.’
‘I believe you are right, Wen,’ said the Queen.
Wen watched with satisfaction as Titus swallowed bitterness.
‘Can you believe it, Charmion?’ Iras said in Greek. ‘An Egyptian beer maid knows more about Roman history than an actual Roman soldier.’
‘It is a credit to Wen,’ said Charmion.
‘Or a discredit to Clodius,’ said Iras.
The Queen sat back in her chair. ‘I believe it was Plato who said that a man’s capacity for knowledge is inversely proportionate to his capacity for violence.’
Wen watched Titus cringe.
‘It is well that he cannot understand us,’ said Iras, rising to stand by the Queen’s side. ‘I think he would be quite offended by our assessment of his intellect.’
‘Perhaps he would,’ said the Queen. ‘But I am going to give him the opportunity to redeem himself.’ The Queen turned to Wen. ‘Please ask our fine Roman soldier why Rome wishes to conquer the world.’
‘You heard the Queen,’ Wen said. ‘Why does the Roman beast never sleep?’
Clodius cleared his voice. ‘It was Consul Marius who awoke the Roman beast, some hundred years ago,’ he began. ‘He instituted reforms to our military that changed the nature of Roman warfare. Before Marius, only landed citizens could serve in the Roman army and only for the duration of a conflict. They were paid not in money or land, but in gloria—honour and admiration.
‘But after Marius’s reforms, any Roman citizen—landed or landless—could serve in the army and soldiers were guaranteed pay in lands conquered. Since then, a Roman soldier’s livelihood has depended upon the lands he captures. Soldiering is a profession in Rome, like farming is in Egypt. That is why the Roman beast never sleeps, Queen Cleopatra. A Roman soldier must conquer, or die.’
As Wen concluded her translation, the Queen sat back in her throne. ‘I have never understood the Roman bloodlust better than I do at this moment,’ she said. ‘Clodius, you are redeemed.’
‘You heard what she said,’ said Wen in Latin, feigning uninterest, but she had heard the passion in his words. It was as if Clodius had been reading from a history of the Roman Republic penned by someone who wished to save it.
Clodius gave the Queen a deep, relieved bow.
‘Now what can you tell me about General Caesar?’
And there it is, Wen thought, the real reason Cleopatra wished to speak to him.
‘About his character, I mean,’ Cleopatra clarified. ‘I know that you are just a soldier, but surely there is talk about him in the ranks. What kind of man is he?’
Wen translated and Clodius seemed to choose his words carefully.
‘A Roman soldier never opines on his General’s character,’ he began. ‘But I can say this: the Senate is considering bestowing the title of Dictator upon Caesar for a second time.’ Wen noted a grave quality to his voice. ‘The Dictatorship would of course be a great honour for General Caesar.’
‘A Roman dictator is something like an Egyptian pharaoh, is he not?’ asked Cleopatra.
‘Yes, but only for a period of time and it must be a time of crisis,’ said Clodius.
‘What this Roman lacks in historical knowledge he seems to make up for in political expertise,’ observed Charmion. She dipped a small quill into a pestle of kohl paste and began to trace a path of black along the Queen’s eye.
‘It is strange for a soldier to know so much about the workings of his government,’ commented Iras, taking her place beside C
harmion.
‘He dons little clothing,’ said the Queen, ‘but I have it in my mind that our good Clodius is wearing a disguise.’
‘I am inclined to agree,’ said Iras. ‘He has far too many opinions for a soldier, and his manners are too refined.’
‘I wonder if he understands what we are saying right now,’ said the Queen.
* * *
Women.
Curses on them and the four representatives of their race who now stood before him. They were staring up at him as if trying to determine which limb would best flavour their soup.
But he was keen to women’s wiles. They could poke and prod him all they liked, they would not break his nerve. He kept his head bowed and his expression blank.
‘Wen, I have admired your skill in the art of debate,’ said Cleopatra. ‘Do you think you can discover the truth about this supposed soldier?’
‘I do, my Queen,’ said Wen.
‘Please, go ahead.’
Clodius steeled himself. He was no stranger to interrogations. He had performed them when necessary for Caesar and was always successful. The key to a good interrogation was to endear yourself to the person you probed, then use that feigned confidence to catch him off his guard. Titus almost pitied Wen, for she had no idea who she was dealing with.
‘Would you say that Caesar is merciful, Clodius?’ Wen asked in Latin.
‘Yes, I would say so. He often forgives his enemies, though not always.’
Wen sighed, as if she were settling in for a long conversation. She took a step in his direction. ‘Would you say that he is impulsive?’
‘I would not say that.’
‘Would you say he is excessive?’ She reached for her braid and began studying it.
‘No, not excessive.’
‘But he is ambitious, correct?’ She brushed her braid’s tail back and forth across her tunic, letting it graze her chest. ‘I will ask again, is Caesar ambitious?’
‘In Rome, ambition is considered a virtue.’ Now she was making small, sensuous circles with the braid, but she was a fool to believe she could divert his attention in such a way.
In Thrall to the Enemy Commander Page 6
