‘Or torches.’
‘Do not fear. I will keep you safe.’
Wen did not know how to respond. Gratitude did not seem sufficient. No one had ever vowed to keep her safe—not in all her adult life. She had never been worth keeping safe.
‘But why did you follow me?’ Titus asked in barely a whisper. Her ear was just inches from his lips.
‘You gave your sword to Apollodorus,’ whispered Wen. ‘You had no defence.’
‘And you thought you could help me?’
‘I did not think.’
‘No, you did not,’ he said. They lay in silence for many moments. ‘You could have been killed.’
‘So could you.’
‘Forgive me,’ Titus breathed.
‘There is nothing to forgive. You were trying to save the Queen.’
‘No, I mean... I was not referring to my recent actions, but rather...my former words.’
‘Your speech is like this labyrinth,’ she said with amusement.
‘What I mean to say is that I have underestimated the women of Egypt and you most of all.’
Was he mocking her? She knew how he felt about women and slaves. Or did she? It was difficult to think clearly. He was too close. The solid expanse of him filled her awareness. Then she felt it. It was a growing hardness against her thigh. The hardness of him. Reflexively, she jerked backwards.
‘I am very sorry about that,’ he said. ‘I am afraid I cannot help it.’
Her heart throbbed, though it was not entirely fear that moved her. ‘I promise not to touch you,’ he continued solemnly. He reached down and adjusted himself away from her.
‘Thank you,’ she said, exhaling. She could not believe this was the same man whom she had suspected of treachery.
‘It is I who should be asking forgiveness of you,’ she whispered.
‘You owe me no apology.’
‘I treated you without respect before the Queen. You did not deserve to be tricked in such a way. I beg your forgiveness, Titus Tillius Fortis,’ she whispered. ‘Will you grant it?’
‘You remembered my whole name,’ he muttered softly.
‘If we are to die this night, I must know that there is peace between us,’ she said.
‘I am sorry, but I cannot accept your apology, for you were not disrespectful. You were only...magnificent.’
She stiffened. ‘Do you mock me, Commander?’
‘Mock you? Is it so hard to believe that I admire you?’
‘I thought I was benea—’
But she could not finish, because a hand burst over Titus’s shoulder and grabbed her throat.
In a single motion, Titus unsheathed Wen’s kitchen knife and sliced it across the guard’s hand, producing a torrent of blood. He jumped to his feet. ‘Stay behind me, Wen,’ he commanded. ‘There are many.’
Torches. They had brought torches, just as she thought they would, and must have caught sight of Titus’s shape beneath the branches.
Now the guards rushed towards them. She saw Titus kick one in the gut, sending the man and his torch to the ground. A third guard lunged forward, brandishing a sword. Titus landed a hard blow to his jaw, knocking him backwards and relieving him of his weapon. Titus turned and thrust the kitchen knife into Wen’s grasp. ‘Defend yourself,’ he commanded.
He stepped towards the third guard, going on the offence. She could hear the clanking of their swords as she watched their shadowy movements just beyond the view of the flames of the fallen torch. Titus was landing thunderous blows, but he was not fighting to kill. ‘Stand down,’ he ordered. He sent their third attacker to the ground with a slice to the leg, then moved on to the fourth.
She was so entranced by Titus’s efforts that she did not see the fumbling movements of their second attacker lying at her feet. By the time she noticed him, he was standing before her, his grasping hands stretched outward.
Suddenly, she was no longer in the labyrinth, but on the roof of her master’s brewery. The man was walking, groping at her, speaking all the horrible things he planned to do to her. ‘You think someone will come to your rescue, girl? Well, you are mistaken, for you are nobody.’
Wen stepped backwards, searching for an escape route. But this time, there was no escape. There was no ledge to jump from. There was only an impenetrable hedge. She was trapped.
The man stepped closer, his eyes watching the blade of her knife. Titus’s words echoed in her head. Defend yourself. She realised that she was not trapped. She had a knife. She was Wen of Alexandria, Advisor to the Queen, and she had a knife! She did not need anyone to rescue her. She could rescue herself.
She lunged at him, slicing her knife across his arm and causing him to recoil. And in that half-second she lunged forward with all her strength and tackled him to the ground.
‘Do not even think of reaching for your weapon,’ she hissed in his ear. She held her blade to his neck. ‘Do you think I will not use this knife?’ she growled. Her hands were trembling.
‘Do not kill me, please,’ the man begged.
‘Stay still and I will not have to,’ she said. Time slowed as she listened to the fighting beyond her view. She could hear every blow, every groan of effort. ‘Still,’ she reminded the man, though her words were unnecessary. He was utterly frozen beneath the threat of her blade.
After many moments, she heard a loud grunt and the shuffling of footsteps. ‘Wen?’ Titus said somewhere beyond the flames’ reach. ‘Wen?’
‘Titus?’
‘By the gods,’ Titus gasped as he stepped back into the light. He paused for a moment as he beheld Wen holding the guard at knifepoint. He rushed to Wen’s side. ‘You have done well, Wen of Alexandria.’
He took the man by the throat. ‘You will lie down and stay put, do you hear me?’
The man gurgled his assent, and Titus turned to Wen. ‘Come now, we must find the Queen.’
He helped her past the attackers’ writhing, groaning figures. ‘Did you kill any of them?’ Wen asked.
‘Not a one,’ Titus replied. ‘They shall all have headaches tomorrow morning. Now come.’
Wen wanted to ask him why he did not kill the guards, but there was no time. He had taken her by the hand and was leading her out of the labyrinth at a fast run.
When they arrived beneath Athena’s torch, Wen heard a small gasp, then beheld a ghostly figure running towards her. ‘You brave, foolish woman,’ said the Queen, embracing her. ‘I feared I had lost you for ever.’
‘We have lost only time,’ said Wen.
‘She is right,’ said Titus. ‘We must part now, before more guards discover us.’ He turned to Wen. ‘Wen, give me your knife.’
Wen handed Titus the knife and he bent to her feet to sheath it. ‘Will I see you again?’ she whispered, fearing his answer.
‘You will,’ he said. ‘Though I fear that things will change between us.’ He pushed her knife back into its sheath and stood.
‘We must go now,’ said Apollodorus. The Queen stepped between the two strong men and linked her arms in theirs.
‘Yes, let us go,’ said the Queen to Titus. ‘Take me to your leader.’
Chapter Eight
Wen stared out of the western windows of the Temple of Isis, keeping watch. I fear that things will change between us, Titus had told her, and she turned the words over and over in her mind, trying to make sense of them.
Did he mean that when he returned to his duties, he would be obliged to treat her like a slave? Or was he suggesting that there would be more moments like the one they had shared in the deckhouse, when he had pressed his lips to hers? She did not even dare to hope.
Then, as the pale dawn began to illuminate the white buildings of the Royal Quarter, Wen spied an escort of twenty Roman soldiers.
For a moment, Wen’s heart leapt in the hopes that Titus w
as among them—he had come to rescue them, as she had secretly hoped he would. But she could not make out his face amongst the mail-clad, helmeted men, who all looked alike.
The entourage came to a halt at the entrance to the temple and demanded to speak with the Queen’s handmaids. Fearing a trap, Iras and Charmion hid in one of the inner sanctums while Wen went out to receive their leader.
‘We have come for Cleopatra’s women—to return them to their rightful place at the Queen’s side,’ the leader said.
‘I am one of those women,’ said Wen. ‘How can we be sure this is not a trap?’
‘The Queen told me to tell you that the carpet was a success. Does that mean anything to you?’
Soon they were walking amidst the entourage phalanx of soldiers, past dozens of Ptolemy’s guards.
Wen’s heart hammered in fear. Their mission, apparently, had succeeded, but they appeared to be in more danger than ever. The armoured men delivered them to the entrance of the Queen’s palace, where they hastened up the stairs to the Queen’s living chamber.
‘Oh, sisters, how glad I am to see your faces!’ Cleopatra exclaimed, embracing them each in turn. ‘I am happy to tell you that we are now under the protection of Julius Caesar.’
Wen was glad, though she also noticed what the Queen did not say: We are safe. I have been restored as Queen. Caesar does not intend to conquer Egypt.
‘Tell us everything!’ asked Charmion, taking a seat on the couch opposite the Queen.
‘What did you say to him?’ Iras asked, collapsing next to Charmion.
Wen stepped quietly to a servant’s position, standing at Cleopatra’s shoulder. ‘He did not recognise me,’ the Queen said, ‘so I asked him to guess who I was.’
‘You did not!’ gasped Charmion.
‘Indeed I did. I walked about the room and told him that I felt like an actor in a satyr play.’
‘And what did he say to that?’ asked Iras breathlessly.
‘He laughed at me,’ said the Queen. ‘He said that if that were the case, I should have been hiding a flight of doves beneath my skirts.’
‘Rome’s greatest general said that?’ asked Iras.
‘Hercule!’ exclaimed Charmion. ‘What then?’
‘I reached into my bag and pulled out my cobra bracelet.’
The Queen glanced up at Wen. ‘Then I walked around the room slowly,’ she continued, ‘letting him see me push the bracelet into place. I watched him notice its lapis eyes and study its carnelian-studded tongue.’
‘He is known as a collector of fine things,’ offered Iras.
‘What then?’ cried Charmion.
Cleopatra grinned. ‘He offered me a goblet of wine, which I accepted, though of course I did not drink.’
‘Very wise, Goddess,’ said Iras.
‘Then I reached into my bag and placed each of my rings upon my fingers, one by one.’
‘He must have guessed your identity then,’ said Charmion.
‘If he did, he said nothing. He only raised his goblet and asked me why I hesitated. “Only princesses and queens needed to worry about poison,” he said.’
‘And what did you say to that?’ asked Charmion.
‘I did not say anything at all,’ said the Queen. ‘I only gave a little smile with my eyes.’
‘Oh, but it must have been a moment!’ exclaimed Charmion, clapping her hands together.
‘I believe I caught him quite by surprise,’ the Queen laughed, ‘for his cheeks turned the very colour of the wine! Still, I was careful not to make too much of it. These Roman men have their pride, do they not?’ The Queen cast Wen another glance and smiled.
‘What then, Queen?’ asked Charmion.
‘He asked me if I was going to try to seduce him. I told him that I would never presume to such a thing. We spoke of the flood, the price of olive oil and other quotidian things. Soon we were both yawning.’
Cleopatra shook her head in amusement. That was all she ever said about her first meeting with General Caesar—a story that was sure to be embellished over time. There had been no instant attraction, no grand seduction—at least not the way the Queen told it.
Still, Wen sensed a small change in her. The anxiety that she had expressed on the dock had disappeared, though her circumstances had changed only a little. It was enough to give Wen reason to hope.
‘Come now,’ said the Queen. ‘Tell me about your journey to the Temple.’
As Charmion and Iras described their nervous trek to the Isis Temple, Wen ceased to listen. She stepped towards the window and glanced down at the group of Roman soldiers protecting the entrance to the Queen’s palace. It seemed to Wen that there were not enough of them.
Ptolemy had surely learned of his sister-wife’s arrival by now. He was probably only a few cubits away, in fact, occupying the main palace closest to the sea. If he sent enough of his guards, they could quickly overcome the Queen’s defences. What then?
‘Where is Apollodorus?’ asked Iras suddenly.
‘He is keeping watch just there,’ said Cleopatra, motioning to the balcony.
‘Apollodorus,’ called Iras. ‘Come inside for just a moment so that we may congratulate you.’
Apollodorus stepped inside and the two handmaids embraced him. ‘You are well met,’ said Charmion. ‘Thank you for protecting our Queen.’
‘It was an honour,’ said Apollodorus. ‘Though we are not out of danger yet.’
There was an angry shout from somewhere below, and Apollodorus dashed back out on to the balcony. ‘Who goes there?’ he called down.
‘By order of Ptolemy the Thirteenth, we demand entry!’ shouted a voice.
Ptolemy’s soldiers, Wen thought. They have come to kill the Queen.
The Queen rushed on to the balcony and stood behind Apollodorus.
‘You may not pass,’ one of the Roman guards was shouting, ‘by order of General Julius Caesar.’
Charmion and Iras rushed out on to the balcony and stood flanking the Queen. Wen tried to step out to join them, but she could not bring her feet to cross on to the high perch.
She knew that, at any moment, Ptolemy’s soldiers could come rushing up the stairs to the Queen’s living chamber and would likely slaughter them all.
She ran to the chamber door and bolted it shut, as if a single bolt could possibly hold off a battery of armed men. She searched the room for weapons, remembering the small knife she carried around her ankle.
Titus, she thought. If only he were here. If only he could help them.
Instead, she heard the soft slapping of what sounded like a hundred pairs of sandals on the courtyard below. ‘They have come!’ Charmion exclaimed. ‘Caesar’s soldiers have come! Two centuries of them at least!’
‘Look how Ptolemy’s guards retreat from them!’ cried Iras. ‘We are saved!’
‘Look, there!’ said Charmion suddenly. ‘It is Titus! Do you see the blue-crested helmet he wears? He commands them.’
Wen gasped, though she should not have been surprised. Titus had admitted that he commanded Caesar’s Sixth. She simply had never dreamed that she would see him do it.
But she wasn’t seeing him, not really, for she remained trembling just inside the balcony.
‘You need not fear, Wen,’ said the Queen. ‘The balcony is perfectly sound and you will be rewarded by the sight below it.’
Fighting her fear, Wen stepped out on to the balcony and craned her neck to get a glimpse of him. He was not difficult to find. He towered above the other soldiers, his blue-crested helmet fluttering in the breeze. A long red cape further distinguished him from his men. He wore it tossed over his shoulder, revealing the contours of his dark leather cuirass, which had been moulded to the muscles of his formidable chest.
He was every inch a commander, and Wen was awed by the sight of him.
&nb
sp; He is still Titus, she told herself. He is just a man. But he seemed more than just a man. He was a leader, a commander, a model of discipline, strength and no small measure of ambition.
The Roman soldiers whom she had served at the brew house had often spoken of the Cursus Honourum—the steps taken by a Roman patrician who aspired to rule.
First he received tutoring in the rhetorical arts, then distinguished himself as a military leader. Upon his return from conquest, he used his spoils to acquire both a wife and a clientele. Finally, through an elaborate system of choosing that the Romans called ‘elections’, the man acquired a series of ruling positions, culminating in the office of Roman consul.
Clearly, Titus had already completed the most difficult part of that path to glory—he had distinguished himself as a leader. It seemed clear that he aspired to much more. He had said it himself—he feared things would change between them and now Wen knew why. He did not care about her. He could not care about her. Not with a century to command, and a ladder of glory to climb back in Rome. What did she expect? She was just a slave, after all. She mattered not.
Wen saw Titus glance at the balcony and she dared to raise her hand in a wave. But he quickly looked away from her.
Of course he did. He was a Roman commander and she was an Egyptian slave.
‘Wen, why are you laughing?’ asked Charmion.
‘Because I am a fool.’
* * *
All week, he thought about that wave. It was so very small, so very exposed—like a leaf floating in the air.
He should have returned it. He should have given her that small reassurance. But he could not. He was a Roman commander and had been in full view of his troops. A commander did not wave at women on balconies. A Roman was the pillar of dignitas for his legion. As soon as that dignitas was lost, so was all discipline and order. And if all discipline and order was lost, then so would be the Queen’s life.
And Wen’s.
Neither of the women realised how fortunate they were. Instead of eliminating the Queen, Caesar had decided to reinstate her. For days he had been working to reconcile her with Ptolemy and the time had finally come for him to announce their truce. Caesar did not mean to conquer Egypt after all, or so it seemed, and Titus rested knowing the great General’s ambitions were in check.
In Thrall to the Enemy Commander Page 9
