Ave, Caesarion (The Rise of Caesarion's Rome Book 1)

by Deborah Davitt

  “What does preference have to do with anything?” Livia snapped at her son. “You will do what you’re told—”

  “I’d offer Drusus,” Agrippa put in, diplomatically, indicating the nine-year-old fidgeting beside his brother, “but he’s already contracted to, ah—” He paused, giving Antony a surprisingly apologetic look.

  “One of my daughters. Antonia Minor.” Antony smiled faintly. “And I have no intention of dissolving that betrothal at this point in time.”

  “So that leaves us with few options,” Agrippa replied heavily. “Eurydice or Selene to marry Tiberius, perhaps.”

  “Not Eurydice,” Caesarion said firmly. “I would consider Selene, but Eurydice has too much value to me.”

  Livia and Agrippa both frowned. “I don’t understand—”

  “Eurydice, do you wish to marry this young man?” Caesarion asked his sister, baldly. Giving her the opportunity to speak.

  She shook her head silently. “Nor do I think that he would wish it, either,” she replied softly. “And not just because he has a previous contract with another.”

  To Dis with this. It’s time for a status report anyway. Let them accuse us of witchcraft if they dare; I am born of Mars, and for all I know, my sister’s powers might be those of Minerva or Isis. And perhaps these people need to fear us a little more. “Sister, please tell me what the Second Legion is doing at this time.”

  Eurydice’s head came up, and carefully, shyly, she pulled back her palla, showing hawk-gold eyes, to the gasps of the others in the tent. Livia and Agrippa both immediately made gestures to avert evil. “Milling around, mostly,” she informed Caesarion. “They don’t know whether or not to begin building a fortified camp, so they’re mostly pitching tents. And it looks like they’re trying to negotiate with the gate guards to get to our, ah, camp followers. I’m sure they need laundry done or . . . something.” She flushed a little, and not for the first time, Caesarion wondered exactly how many things his sister had seen through the eyes of her birds.

  “Any word from Lepidus?”

  She frowned, tipping her head to the side, much as a bird might do, herself. “He has two legionnaires waving a banner on the far side of the harbor. I’ll send my hawk over to pick up a message from him.”

  “Anything else I should be aware of, my dear?”

  “Your engineers are jumping up and down and clapping each other on the shoulders. I think the hole in the wall might be big enough.” Her head tilted again. “But when I circle over the city, it looks like the defenders are breaking down houses and shoving the rubble close to the breach.”

  Antony lifted his head. “They’ll fill it in if we wait too long. Treacherous footing, too, and lots of positions for archers and slingers to hide, if they do it right.” He snorted. “Which they probably will.”

  Caesarion reached behind Alexander to touch his sister’s shoulder. “Have your hawk take the message from Lepidus, then rest and eat something.” Genuine affection in his voice now, and he turned back to regard Agrippa steadily. “Such a strategic asset as she is, I would never allow to fall into the hands of another house. You couldn’t persuade me to part with her for all the lands that Alexander the Great once held.” All the solid, practical, pragmatic reasons that overlay the sharp no! at the back of his mind. “Now, I do see a way out of this thorny tangle, but I’d require the consent of the two parties involved.” He turned towards Alexander now, raising his eyebrows. “You’re of age, brother. You have no current betrothals. And while Octavian died in payment for the life he took from you, I think it would be a very just and valuable thing, if you could see it in your heart to take his daughter as your wife, and ensure that she never wants for anything.”

  Alexander had just taken a sip of watered wine, and nearly choked on it, an assault on his fragile young dignitas. Clearing his throat hastily, he darted a glance at Octavia, four years his junior, and replied, only a little unsteadily, “Brother, you traded Octavian’s life for mine, and the gods assented to the bargain.” He rubbed at his chest uncertainly; the bright red tunic he wore hid the scar over his heart. “I’m . . . not sure that his daughter can ever look at me, and not see her father’s death in my eyes.” He darted Caesarion a look, and muttered in Egyptian, “How does this not ensure some sort of Hellene tragedy playing out in my house, then?”

  “Truthfully? You’re almost of an age, and you’re handsome enough. And your eyes aren’t red, and you’re not the one who passed the sentence.” Caesarion gave his brother’s arm a squeeze now, and returned his gaze to Octavia. “Do you like this idea, my lady? Can you look on my brother with a smile?”

  Octavia’s eyes flickered between him, Livia, and Agrippa, clearly shaken by this unprecedented amount of adult attention. She licked her lips, and blurted out, “If I say yes, may I come to live with the Julii? And if I do, would it be possible for me to meet my mother—Scribonia? I have half-brothers and half-sisters from her first two marriages whom I have never been allowed to meet, even though they were children of former consuls. I would . . . very much like to see them, and my mother.”

  The cold rage that flickered through Livia’s eyes was gone so quickly that Caesarion wondered if he’d actually seen it. And before he could speak, his mother replied, “Why, of course you should come into my son’s household, my dear! I myself will be remarrying soon, but for so long as I am chatelaine, I would treat you as one of my own daughters.” Sweetness, grace, and gentility in her voice as she went on, “Why, who wouldn’t permit a child to know her own family?” A little shock and faint horror there at the mere suggestion. Twisting the knife in Livia’s side as all of her assets were taken from her in the name of healing the breach. “In fact, as your brother will be joining my son’s staff, and you’d be coming to live with us, it might be for the benefit of young Drusus if he came along with all of his siblings,” Cleopatra added, as if the thought had only just occurred to her. “Caesarion, you and Agrippa can discuss the particulars, as I’m sure that as a man of honor, he’ll wish to remain the guardian of his friend’s children until such time as they are grown and wed.”

  Caesarion bit down, hard, on the urge to smile. Agrippa looked poleaxed. “I’d thought that one of your sisters would be returning to my household today,” he admitted, his tone slightly chagrinned. “I certainly can’t turn over custody of all three of Octavian’s children to you at the same time—”

  “I forbid this,” Livia hissed. “You won’t take all three of my children from me at once, you Egyptian witch—”

  Caesarion held up a finger, and the Praetorians had just taken two steps towards Livia, when a hawk burst through the flaps of the tent. Eurydice flung up her hand, and the raptor landed lightly on her forearm, treading back and forth along the length of it, great claws working, but not drawing blood. Her eyes went dark as she managed to focus on the creature, and she chided it softly, “Hold still, you big silly thing,” as she tried to take the scroll tied to one of its legs. “A message from Lepidus, brother,” she added, handing it over as if this were all just a matter of course.

  Livia, Agrippa, Octavia, and young Drusus had hit the floor, spilling wine over the table. Tiberius had remained in his seat as if frozen there, his eyes wide. Caesarion spared them hardly a glance as he glanced over the lines written on the parchment scrap. “We’ll table this for later,” he said, tersely. “Antony, get the men ready. Lepidus has breached the walls on the other side of the harbor. We’re ready for our two-pronged attack. Get the bridges ready.” He grinned, suddenly feeling the weight of the siege slide off his shoulders. “No more waiting. We’ll start the assault after sundown.”

  Antony slammed a fist down on the table, making the glasses roll around, even as servants scrambled to catch them. “About time,” he replied, his tone just as exultant. “A siege is like courting a woman. If you’re persistent and patient, eventually, you get to lift the skirts and see what she’s been hiding all this time.” The way that his eyes drifted towards Cleopat
ra suggested that this was a metaphor dear to Antony’s heart. “Shall be done, my lord!”

  And now we need to take enough of Agrippa’s men with us, and leave enough of ours behind that he can’t take our camp behind our backs. Not that he seems anything but a man of honor. But still . . . it pays to be cautious. As Malleolus continually reminds me.

  ____________________

  Ramirus Modius Malleolus had expected nothing less of his young Imperator. “I’ll be with the first sally group over the bridge, protecting the engineers as they assemble it,” Caesarion told Antony and the rest of his commanders as they prepared for the evening’s attack. Heady company, this, for a mere centurion of the Tenth, but Caesarion had more or less appointed him as his personal guard at this point. But surrounded by legates like Antony and Agrippa, legendary names from the old days of the Civil War, the half-Gallic man found a tent post to lean against, and tried his best to turn invisible.

  Malleolus heard Antony clear his throat gently. “Yes?” Caesarion asked, turning to give the older man a red-eyed stare.

  “Generally speaking, we give the first assault on the walls to hard cases and those who need to redeem themselves or win their names,” Antony said bluntly. “It’s not the place for you. Dominus.”

  Praise the gods. Someone of higher rank than I am decided to sing the same song that I’ve been chorusing these past three months. Malleolus didn’t change expressions, however. He watched as Caesarion’s lips opened to argue. And then the young man paused and stared at Antony, a disconcertingly direct glance. “And do I not have something to prove?” Caesarion finally asked, startling Malleolus as he buckled on another piece of his armor. “Do I not have to prove my courage, my leadership, my fitness to rule, in every way? Has the Senate not sent us a gracious new allotment of troops, stripping Cisalpine Gaul of its defenses, because they don’t believe in my abilities?” Temper there, flaring for a moment. Malleolus almost welcomed seeing it; sometimes Caesarion was a little too controlled for his age.

  Almost welcomed it, but not quite. Because when the lad got a notion stuck up his arse, he was a damned pain to deal with—and about as inclined to move as a mountain.

  Agrippa himself stirred at those words. “I did not bring the men because the Senate doubted you,” he averred, holding his hands up. “I brought them because conventional wisdom recommends three to one odds in taking a city. Four to one, if you can manage it.”

  Of course, we have only Agrippa’s word for this, Malleolus thought cynically. But Caesarion knows this already. That’s why he sent half of the Second Legion to block the road leading away from Brundisium. And of the rest, half will enter the city with us, and half will remain here in camp, under the watchful eyes of the Third.

  “The fact remains that if we lose you, we’ve lost the war,” Antony pressed. “Legates do not lead the charge, my lord. They use their minds to fight, and direct the battle from where they can see what transpires.”

  Caesarion’s lips quirked. “If I should die, the cause is not lost. You have my brother as my heir.” A glance at Agrippa, who looked momentarily taken aback. “And, damn it all, every legate out there earned his place. By fighting for a decade or more to win the chance to lead men.” He glanced over the rest of the men in the command tent. “You can’t tell me it doesn’t grate on them—and rightly so!—to have a man as young as I am, as inexperienced, giving them orders. They need confidence in me. Just as much as the men need confidence in my leadership. So yes, I will be leading the first sally past the walls. I’ll put my life in the hazard alongside the rest of the men. And I’ll tell you true—walking out over that bridge, as it rocks and bucks underfoot like a horse with a burr under the saddle? May be the bravest thing any of us do tonight.” His half-mocking, half-rueful delivery made most of the men laugh, and Malleolus could sense an easing among those present. Caesarion’s charm has worked again. Venus smiles on him. Let’s hope that Fortuna does tonight, too, else I’ll be fishing him out of the harbor and pressing the water out of his lungs.

  With most of the men out of the tent, Caesarion paused and gripped Antony by the shoulder. “My mother has agreed to sit with you, and she and the servants will attend my sister. She’s found an owl.” A quick, light smile. “She’ll be watching me every step of the way. I’ll try to relay instructions through her, but as you know, she can’t hear through the birds. Just see.”

  “Damned nuisance. But she’s useful, I’ll give her that. Especially now that she’s mostly gotten over the vomiting at the sight of blood.” Antony grunted and spread out the maps on the table, before giving Caesarion a look like he’d found an errant recruit in his tent. “What are you still doing here, my lord? If you don’t hop to it, they’ll lead that breach all on their own, and you’ll miss the whole thing.”

  “Fortune favor you, too,” Caesarion snorted, and gestured for Malleolus to follow him out of the tent.

  “You tolerate a great deal from him, my lord,” Malleolus offered, quietly, as they took up their places at the edge of the harbor, with the thud, swish, thud, chunk of the ballistae still pounding away, just for now at a different section of the walls.

  “Do I not tolerate a great deal from you, Mal?” Caesarion asked mildly.

  Malleolus felt his tongue cleave to the roof of his mouth. “Yes, my lord,” he admitted quietly.

  “In his case, he’s practiced war since before I was born. He’s due to marry my mother shortly as well, which will make him family, gods help me.” That last, in so soft a voice that no one standing more than two feet away could have heard it. “And Antony is at his finest when he’s allowed his head. I’ll rein him in if there’s a need. And if he ever oversteps too far, I’ll have his nose before he realizes where he’s placed it.” Caesarion turned and gave Malleolus an empty, level stare. “But for now, and perhaps for many years to come, he’s necessary.”

  Malleolus inclined his head, staggered by Caesarion’s trust in him, to confide so much. “Yes, my lord,” he replied at length. “We all . . . serve in our own way.” The soldier’s platitude tasted like ashes in his mouth.

  “So we do, Mal. So we do.”

  Before anything else could be done, there were sacrifices to be made. Caesarion, as god-born of Mars, was already the high priest of Mars, and he’d inherited his father’s position as Pontifex Maximus as well, though he’d made some noises about passing that off to someone else, down the line. But every commander in the Empire knew how to present sacrifices to Mars on the eve of battle—and on the evening after one, too. And for Mars, god of war and soldiers, and Caesarion’s personal father among the gods, nothing but a brace of bulls would do on such an occasion.

  With a red hood over his head—a symbolic garment common to all who stood to make sacrifices to Rome’s gods—a swift blow from a hammer stunned each of the bulls in turn, and then Caesarion slit their throats swiftly and mercifully, allowing their blood to flow out onto the earth. As both animals foundered to the ground, he turned, raising his hands and forearms, wet with their blood, and a knife nearly black with it, to the westering sun. “For you, Mars Pater, I offer this sacrifice. I sanctify this ground with the bloods of the bulls, but by morning, this land will be made sacred with the blood of men. With the blood of brothers and fathers, uncles and nephews. Let no man who dies here, die in vain. Let those who do, find glory in the Elysian fields. Let their lives enrich and ennoble all of us. Let them, and their memory, make each of us stronger. More loyal and loving towards one another. And for each man of ours who dies, let at least two of the enemy die in recompense.” Still holding his hands out to the blazing sunset, Caesarion lowered his head.

  And then the men all ate of the roasted bull, and what was given to the gods as their portions was burnt to ashes. Many of the men came and dabbled their hands in the pool of blood where the bulls had died; Malleolus was one of them. He’d never taken a wound in any battle at Caesarion’s side, since the young man had begun conducting the sacrifices. A little of Mar
s’ favor wouldn’t go amiss. But the half-Gallic centurion also muttered a soft-voiced prayer, in a language he’d only ever heard his mother speak: “Taranis on high, and Cariociecus, war-god of my mother’s people. Look after me today, though I’m far from the lands and people you usually care for. And if you don’t think it’s foolish . . . look after yon whelp as well. He has gods enough of his own, but I’m thinking he might need a few more, before it’s all done.” He nodded in Caesarion’s direction, hoping his mother’s gods wouldn’t find this prayer to be total effrontery.

  ____________________

  Caesarion took a deep breath, staring out at the black waters of the nighttime harbor. Beside them, dozens of plank bridges, assembled neatly over the past months, lay in piles. The first, the engineers anchored into the earth with metal stakes, driven deep with heavy hammers. And then the painstaking work of floating the next piece out. Guiding it with poles. Engineers kneeling to tie one bridge to the next with ropes. And the next. Caesarion, along with the rest of the light advance party, stepped out onto the gently-rocking planks. Slippery with seawater. Unsteady. And, like any other raft ever built, when one man took a step, it threw everyone else on the same raft off-balance. “Keep in step,” Caesarion muttered, suppressing the urge to swear. The dark water yawned to his right like a chasm, and the closest torches were behind him, on the shore. They couldn’t afford to illuminate the work too much, lest they draw fire too soon.

  Like all the rest of these men, I can drown, he thought, and put his left boot down on the wood ahead of his right one. I wasn’t joking earlier. This is the truest test of my courage. This is how I know what I am made of. Pick up your foot, and put it down again, just . . . as . . . the others . . . are . . . shit, who fucked the rhythm? He had to wave his arms for a moment to regain his balance. Could feel the others all doing the same, except the engineers, out ahead of them, trying to guide the next piece of bridge into place.

  A third of the way across. Halfway. Then the hiss of arrows through the air, landing in the water. “Archers!” Caesarion rapped out, getting his shield in front of him and half-slipping, half-dancing, made his way forward, standing between one of the engineers and the archers on the walls. “Keep at it!” he called. Stealth was no longer an option, nor surprise, but they could hope that they were close enough that the garrison inside the walls couldn’t respond quickly. And on the other side of the harbor, Lepidus is doing the same thing, he thought. Divide your attention, defenders. Or let one of us come straight through the walls.