Caesarion nodded. “All right. Give it a try. And once you’ve secured her assent, we’ll take the Sixteenth south to Thebes. I think that it’s fairly evident that whoever controlled the demon that attacked us was fairly likely Tahut-Nefer, along with other conspirators. All current unrest is centered around Thebes, anyway. Settling the issue in Thebes may result in our finding our attackers.” He grimaced. There were too many suppositions, but he had to do something. “Dismissed, Mal. And thank you.”
As the prefect opened the door of the library, Caesarion could see Selene waiting outside with Antyllus, a shy smile on her face that dimmed when she made eye-contact with him. I have no patience for her today, he thought grimly. “Tell my sister and her suitor that they may enter,” Caesarion called after Malleolus, who stepped out of the young couple’s way, and, with a quick nod, left the room, closing the door behind him.
“Dominus,” Antyllus began, still clearly muzzy-headed from the blow to his head and whatever medication that the physicians had given him. “If we could have a moment—“
“Sit down before you fall down, Antyllus,” Caesarion said, looking at the reports on his table, his own head throbbing from its recent impact on the floor and subsequent impact on a pillar. And as Antyllus gratefully took a chair, Caesarion added tiredly, “I’m fully aware of why you’re here.”
Silence as the two of them looked at each other, wide-eyed. Caesarion knew that his tone lacked in family feeling, or even basic friendliness at the moment. He lifted his head, set his stylus aside, and went on now, tightly, “You’re here to inform me, Antyllus, that Selene has finally made her choice,” After a gods-be-damned month of dragging it out, he thought, forcing two men to halt the course of their lives for her convenience, “and has accepted your offer of marriage. Is this correct?”
Selene’s shy smile and quiet glow of joy died. Caesarion would have felt bad about that, but his entire body ached from the thrashing he’d taken from the bull-spirit, and he’d seen the emptiness in Tiberius’ eyes not an hour ago. He’d have been happy for his sister, if not for that.
Antyllus, who’d taken a chair at his command, now sat upright, as if stuck with a pin. Uncertainty in his voice now as he replied, “It is. I’d have thought you’d be happier about having the matter resolved, Caesarion.” No title for the moment; they were step-brothers, after all, and Antyllus was reaching out, on those grounds.
And Caesarion accepted that, for the moment. He leaned back in his chair, regarding both of them steadily. “Does the fact that the two of you are here together mean that Selene has already spoken with Tiberius?” If so, I can’t imagine that you’d both still look quite so happy.
An awkward glance between the two of them. “Ah, no,” Antyllus replied, his back still straight. “I considered it more proper to come to you first, since you’re her guardian.”
“So Selene couldn’t have gone and spoken with him while you were attending to the errand of speaking to me?”
Before either of them could reply, another knock at the door, and at Caesarion’s brusque, “Enter!” a centurion of the Sixteenth came in, another scroll in his hand. Approached Caesarion’s desk, and murmured, quietly, “We’ve managed to seal all the major roads that lead away from the city, dominus, but we need to push a secondary perimeter out to contain anyone leaving through the fields—“
“Do it. You don’t need my permission for that. That’s common sense.”
The centurion saluted and exited, and Caesarion turned his attention back to the happy couple. “So,” he said to Selene directly now, irritation in his voice. “You haven’t done the right thing and spoken to Tiberius, whom I last saw in his quarters, packing all of his belongings and asking that he be permitted to bunk with the Sixteenth?”
Selene’s face drained of color. “He . . . knows?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Caesarion wanted nothing more than to shake his sister at the moment. She has to pick today, of all days. While I’m dealing with an assassination attempt on my wife. “Yes,” he told her flatly. “The two of you might want to consider in the future, that kissing in public tends to be noticed, and that the infirmary, surrounded by physicians and wounded men, is not the place to court and woo.” He picked up his stylus. “Tiberius returned to pick up his gear, and got to watch the whole show. Not to mention any of the soldiers who happened to be there.”
The flush of shame that filled Selene’s face, on any other day, would have made Caesarion regret his tone, but today, he rather thought it was her due. The universe doesn’t come to a halt for you, just because you’re in love, he thought grimly. Gods know, it’s never slowed its pace for me or Eurydice. “You will note that in public, Eurydice and I have, at most, held hands, or she has taken my arm. In public, we have kissed exactly twice, both times to affirm our marriage. Public decorum is important, perhaps more so for us, since we know that most Romans are disgusted by the suggestion that our marriage is more than symbolic.” He tapped his stylus against his desk. “That being said, Selene, a little public decorum on your part would be appreciated until such time as you and Antyllus are married, and you’re no longer my responsibility, but his, and that of Antony, his father.”
He gave her a direct stare now, or tried. As usual, she’d focused her eyes on the floor. For the past four years—no, five—you have cringed away from me. Hidden. Looked at the floor every time I’ve addressed you. I’ve given you time and space, so that you could grasp the fact that I’m not an ogre. I’ve never reprimanded you for anything until today, but let Eurydice handle your education and corrections of your poor attitude towards her. Apparently, I should have been more of an ogre before now, so that you’d understand the difference between a reprimand for poor behavior, and cruelty. But what’s done is done.
She went from red to chalk-white at his assessment of her behavior. “Yes, Caesarion.”
Antyllus’ face had gone rigid. “My lord,” he said, his voice tight. “I’d like to point out, with due respect, that I was on poppy-blood at the time, and that our feelings were running high.”
“Ah, you were drugged. What an excellent time to make life-altering decisions,” Caesarion returned shortly, as another tap came at his door, and yet another centurion entered, this time barely waiting for his acknowledgement. He turned his head to listen to the quick report, and his eyebrows rose. “Six men on donkeys managed to cross the fields before the perimeter could be closed? Did you give chase?”
“We sent a patrol of equites after them, but they haven’t returned yet—“
“Inform me when you’ve caught them.”
The centurion glanced back over his shoulder at Antyllus and Selene, then at Caesarion, inquiringly. “No, I don’t mind being interrupted,” Caesarion told the man, interpreting the look. “Trying to capture the men who unleashed a demon in Alexandria, attempted to kill my wife, and did kill at least eight men, takes priority over everything else.”
A quick salute, and the centurion stepped back out of the room.
Clearly smarting from that last remark, Antyllus still waited until the door closed behind the centurion to lean forward and ask, with grim formality at first, “May I ask why, sir, why, when you have previously expressed approbation for my suit,” and from formal to familial and wry, in an instant, “you are being a royal ass about it at the moment?”
Caesarion stared at him, ignoring his sister completely for the moment. Then picked up from his desk the second brazier leg, and tossed it to Antyllus, who caught it deftly, a look of confusion spreading across his face. “Because,” Caesarion said evenly, “as I said previously, when I went to go give Tiberius his memento of the battle in which he struck a blow to that demon that would have felled any lesser creature—a battle in which he saved your life, and a battle in which you two fought side-by-side, like brothers . . . I found him packing his gear, and requesting that I let him go stay in the barracks of the Sixteenth until he can make his way to Britannia. Because he, wh
o lived in my house for three years, thought it would be less awkward for everyone to absent himself from my house now,” Caesarion ground on without mercy. “Because a little damned discretion on your part, poppy-blood or no, would have avoided the awkwardness altogether, and you could have told him about the decision like a man. And then it would have been settled with a wrist-clasp and maybe a drink shared between friends.”
Or my sister could have shown discretion, and then a little courage, by telling him, herself. Caesarion stared at Antyllus now. “I need the two of you able to work with each other. Able to save each others’ asses, as you’ve always done. And you have jeopardized that, because you couldn’t show a little self-control and maybe escort your would-be betrothed to another room for ten damned minutes.” He grimaced. “Not for the first time, either, since he’d previously witnessed you kissing in a semi-public place.” He turned away towards his parchments, staring at words that had stopped making sense an hour ago. “Make it right, Antyllus.”
Antyllus’ face had drained of color. “Yes, my lord.” No affect. No praenomen.
More kindly now, Caesarion added, not looking up from his reports, “I’ll see to your wound tomorrow, old friend. No sense in you wearing stitches for your wedding, but I’ve already used my healing today on Tiberius.” Now he flicked a glance at Selene, who remained chalk-white and very still. “I suggest that the two of you get married here in Egypt, and as quickly as possible. The temple of Isis will be closed for about a week, thanks to the disaster there today, but there are any number of other temples available. Picking an Egyptian temple would get you around the Parentalia restrictions as well.. You could even have the ceremony performed here in the palace, if you wish. I’m sure that Mother and Antony will be overjoyed to witness it.” That last, with a shrug.
Antyllus closed his eyes for a moment. “Are you sufficiently angry with me, Caesarion, that you won’t attend the ceremony, yourself?”
“Please don’t be angry,” Selene begged, her voice scarcely above a whisper.
“I’m not angry,” Caesarion told them, his voice empty. “I’m tired of the matter. Tired of the time taken over the issue. And irritated with you, Selene. You’ve kept two good men hanging for over a month, and then you make a choice today, while both of them are injured and drugged to the gills on poppy-blood. It’s a poor way to make a decision, but at least you finally made one. Gods be praised.” You could have chosen Tiberius, the man who saved Antyllus’ life. The man who helped get you to safety, and who helped hold off the monster while Antyllus finished getting you out the door. But you chose Antyllus’ charming smile over Tiberius’ darker moods. They’re both good men. Both loyal, trustworthy, and kind. Gods grant you peace with your choice.
As Selene flushed once again, another tap at the door, which Caesarion wearily acknowledged. And at this report, he brought his fist down on the desk, making everything on it jump. “How could a patrol of equites have lost sight of a group of men on donkeys? Go to Eurydice and see if she’s feeling up to sending out a hawk or two to try to track them down.” Caesarion scowled at the centurion, who kept his wince from showing anywhere but in his eyes. “In between recovering from the attack and throwing up all over the place, she might be able to do what twenty men on horseback couldn’t manage!” Caesarion rose to his feet, not giving the centurion parade-ground volume, but making his displeasure clear.
“Yes, dominus,” the centurion said hastily, and withdrew as rapidly as he could.
Caesarion, still standing, fixed the happy couple with his stare. “As I was saying,” he went on tightly, and with considerably less volume, “I’m not angry with you, Antyllus. On any other day, and if I’d found out any other way, I’d have been delighted.” He continued to direct his gaze towards Antyllus. “Fix the issue with Tiberius, and my objections disappear. Eurydice and I will attend your ceremony, assuming you conduct it before we ride south to deal with the revolt at Thebes. After that, I’m bound for Britannia within the damned month.” A shrug. “So make haste, if you want both of us to be available.” He paused. “When the harbor opens, you have my permission to depart for Syria to fetch your bows and bowyers, Antyllus. I encourage you to take your new wife with you.”
Antyllus wet his lips, clearly unsure of how to take that set of statements. “You don’t want me to go south with you to assist?”
Caesarion looked at the ceiling. “And take you away from your new wife’s arms?”
“I’ll do my duty. I always do—“ Antyllus’ voice was tight.
“It’s not necessary.” Caesarion picked up a scroll and squinted at the words there. “One man with a bow won’t make much of a difference.”
“With respect, I feel that I need to prove myself—“
Caesarion looked up from the scroll with as much patience as he could muster. “You’ve proven yourself every day since I’ve met you. You don’t need to prove anything further to me.”
Antyllus hesitated, his easy smiles nowhere in evidence. “Afterwards . . . am I to remain in Syria, dominus? Or to go to Britannia with you, once I’m done in Syria?”
Caesarion sighed, setting the scroll back down. “Do you even need to ask? How many times do I have to stress the importance of you being able to work with Tiberius? You’re slated to leave your Cretan auxiliaries and take over as legate of a full legion inside the year. Gods help me, you might even wind up as Tiberius’ commanding officer. I need you and your Cretans in Britannia. With your damned Scythian bows. Your men are waiting around without a leader in Gaul, so finish up your business in Syria quickly.” He shrugged. “Whether your wife accompanies you on the campaign in Britannia, will, of course, be between the two of you.”
And if the gods are kind, you’ll have the sense to leave her in Rome. Where she can’t make matters any worse than she already has. Caesarion exhaled, and tried to remember that his sister was fifteen. Gods damn it, Eurydice was fourteen when she took over running the house, meeting with ambassadors, assisting with reconnaissance, learning magic, reading dispatches from Egypt, and assisting with policy decisions. Then again, my beloved is an exception. Selene is . . . not.
Antyllus exhaled, looking deeply relieved. “Thank you, Caesarion.”
“Don’t thank me. Make it right. You may go now.” Caesarion paused. “Selene, congratulations on your impending marriage. I recommend that you inform Eurydice next, so that you will have someone to stand with you when you tell our mother that you’re acceding to her will in this matter. Mother’s delight can be a hard thing to bear.”
He seethed with things he wanted to say to his sister. Things he didn’t dare give voice, because he didn’t want her second-guessing her decision and dragging the two men through another round of vacillation. It wouldn’t be fair to any of them. But what he wanted to say was simple. You made a snap decision today, on the basis of a wound and a kiss. I hope it’s a good one, sister. Because you’re going to have to live with it.
______________
Eurydice heard the tap at her door, but was busy throwing up into a basin. Nesa answered it, and Selene rushed through, in tears, babbling a tumble of other uncharacteristic words, which fell into abrupt silence as Selene surely realized that Eurydice wasn’t particularly in a listening place. The older sister’s shoulders heaved, and, after a few more struggles, she finally managed to convince her stomach that there was nothing left to bring up besides bile. Nesa handed her a damp cloth with which to clean her mouth, making clucking noises of sympathy, and took the basin away to empty and clean it. “Selene,” Eurydice said, with a wan smile. “You looked wrung out after the attack. Are you feeling better?”
Selene stumbled over her own words in her haste, the story tumbling out in bits and pieces. Eurydice finally managed to put together that Antyllus, while in the infirmary, had kissed her, and renewed his suit, and that Selene had accepted, but that Tiberius had somehow seen, and that Caesarion was angry.
Eurydice found a chair. Poured herself a cup of tepid
water from a pitcher to wash the taste from her mouth. And let Nesa, on returning with a clean basin, place a damp rag on her forehead, all while listening to this uncharacteristic effusion of words from Selene. Finally, Eurydice said, simply, “Congratulations. I’m sure you’ll be very happy.” And after a pause without a reply from Selene, she added, “So, Caesarion suggested that I go with you to see Mother? Give me a moment to finish drinking my water, and I’ll do so.” My head’s still splitting from trying to control the hawks while not throwing up, but that’s another story. She snorted under her breath. “Be warned. If you thought she was difficult when you didn’t agree with her, she’s almost worse when you go along with her will.”
Selene stared at her, her mouth dropping open. “That’s . . . that’s all you have to say?” Her usually timorous sister looked almost angry. “Eurydice! Caesarion shouted at Antyllus for my telling him yes. That’s not right—“
“No,” Eurydice said patiently. “If I understood you correctly, he yelled at Antyllus for jeopardizing his working relationship with Tiberius, when Caesarion needs both of his finest young commanders in the field, and able to operate together without friction.” She regarded Selene, whose mouth fell open. Not without sympathy, Eurydice added, “Caesarion loves you, Selene. But in that moment, he probably didn’t give a damn about your feelings, because while you’re important to him, the military needs superseded the personal ones.” She paused. “Also, you’ve made it damned hard for him to talk to you. You never look at him, and give him every indication that you find him an object of mortal terror.”
Selene curled in on herself. And in a very small voice, she said, “I thought you’d take my side. You married Caesarion for love. In the face of every convention. When it could have brought Rome to another civil war.”
Eurydice’s heart ached for Selene, but another wave of nausea also gripped her. What do I say? “I don’t have a side,” Eurydice finally said. “I don’t even think there are sides in this. We’ll all be happy so long as you’re happy. But Antyllus should have waited until you were in private to renew his addresses, and that’s really that. So long as he makes it right with Tiberius, it’ll become a non-issue—oh, gods.” She lurched upright, and Nesa immediately brought her the basin again. After several wretched heaves, Eurydice asked her old nursemaid, wearily, “How long does this part usually last?”
Children of Tiber and Nile Page 23
