Steven Saylor - The judgement of Caesar

"Looks a bit old for that."

"You never know with Romans. Treacherous, devious types. The older, the wilier."

The officer reappeared and gestured for me to follow. We wended our way through the crowd until we came to a pair of gilded doors. The doors opened. The officer stayed behind but gestured that I should enter. I stepped into a room in which every surface appeared to be covered with gold-golden urns atop golden tables, golden chairs with cushions of gold thread, walls of hammered gold, and a gold-painted ceiling from which hung golden lamps. Even the floor of dazzling white marble had veins of some glittering golden stuff running through it. Sculptures in low relief adorned the walls, depicting the exploits of the first Ptolemy, Alexander's general; these entablatures, though surely carved of stone, were heavily gilded, either painted with gold or covered with gold foil, so that the images shimmered with the reflected light of the golden lamps. Among them I saw the very scene I had read aloud to the boys earlier that day, in which Ptolemy witnessed the first encounter of Alexander and the horse Bucephalus.

It was a room without shadows, for every surface reflected the light. The air itself seemed golden, suffused with a mellow glow of no apparent origin. Carried upon the golden air was the music of a piper playing a familiar tune.

At the far end of the room, upon a gilded throne, sat Ptolemy, dressed in a pleated gown of white linen with a golden mantle over his shoulders. He must have previously attended some religious function in his role as the god Osiris, for he was wearing the atef crown, his young face looking very stern beneath the tall white cone with its plumes of ostrich feathers. Bodyguards stood behind the throne. Scribes sat cross-legged on the floor nearby. Before the throne stood Pothinus, with his arms crossed and his head tilted back, regarding my wonderment with amusement. I had stepped into a room designed to overawe the likes of me, and the room had done its job.

"Your dinner with Caesar was brief," he said.

"The evening was interrupted."

"Ah," said Pothinus. "An unexpected visitor?"

I looked at him sharply. Had everyone but me been expecting the queen's arrival? Then I realized he was referring to Meto, whom he knew I had wished to avoid.

"The man whom I once called my son did in fact make an appearance-"

Ptolemy spoke up. "I think it's sad, this estrangement between yourself and your son. I should give much to have my father back among the living. To look into his eyes again; to hear him laugh; to listen to him play the flute."

Considering that the king's father had killed his oldest sister, and that he himself was at war with his sister-wife, I was not in a mood to have young Ptolemy pass judgment on my familial relationships. But I kept my mouth shut and found myself studying Ptolemy's face, framed by the golden mantle and the atef crown. Having just met his sister, I was struck by the strong resemblance between them. Neither of them was strikingly beautiful in a way that would turn heads, yet both possessed a certain undeniable presence. I felt it more strongly from Cleopatra, but was that only because of my erotic inclinations? The image of her standing erect and shaking loose her hair to let it fall past her shoulders flashed in my mind…

Pothinus loudly cleared his throat. Apparently he had said something that I missed. "If Gordianus-called-Finder can return to the present moment…" he said, giving me a condescending look that put me squarely in my place: a befuddled Roman mortal agog in the king's golden room. I bristled.

"Pardon me. I was lost in thought, considering how the king does and does not resemble his sister Cleopatra."

For a moment this comment went over their heads, then simultaneously Pothinus gave a start, and the king lurched forward in his throne.

"What are you saying?" cried Ptolemy.

"The family resemblance is obvious-the nose, the eyes-yet there's a difference, and I can't quite put my finger on it."

"You've seen her? Cleopatra?" Pothinus's voice broke, as the voice of even a mature eunuch sometimes does. "Where? When?"

"Tonight, in Caesar's chambers."

Ptolemy slumped back in his throne and bit the end of one finger. One knee jerked up and down in agitation. "I told you she'd find a way in, Pothinus."

"Impossible, Your Majesty! Every entrance is guarded; every package is examined; every-"

"Obviously not! We left a way open, and she found it. She's like a snake, nosing its way along a wall until it finds the merest breach to slip through."

"Actually, she came by sea," I said. Was I acting rashly, putting the queen and perhaps even Caesar in danger by this revelation? Was I not doing exactly as Pothinus had intended, conveying intelligence back to the king? Perhaps, but the aggravation I was causing them gave me a great deal of pleasure, and I couldn't stop. "A fellow named Apollodorus rowed her across the harbor. The two of them found an unguarded landing somewhere along the waterfront and made their way to the Roman sector of the palace."

"As brazenly as that?" Ptolemy slapped the crown on his head, a gesture most unworthy of a god. "She and that stud-horse Sicilian went traipsing through the palace, right up to Caesar's door?"

Pothinus lowered his voice. "There are ways, as Your Majesty knows, of traversing the palace and its grounds without being seen. Some of those secret passages are very old; there may be some unknown even to me. Once your father, remodeling his private chambers, tore out a wall and came upon a network of tunnels that even he had never suspected-"

"Even so, Pothinus, you assured me that this would not happen!"

"Actually," I said, unable to resist, "the two of them didn't traipse anywhere. Apollodorus carried her."

"What?" Pothinus looked at me, confounded. "Carried her? In his arms?"

"Over his shoulder, mostly."

The king and his lord chamberlain looked at me as if I must be mad. One of the bodyguards snickered. The man next to him covered the noise by coughing.

"She was rolled up in a rug," I explained. "Apollodorus carried the rug over his shoulder. He told the Romans he had a gift for Caesar from the queen. I was there when Apollodorus was shown into Caesar's quarters. The rug was unrolled for Caesar's inspection. The queen appeared. Shortly thereafter, I took my leave."

"Who else was in the room?" Pothinus demanded.

I shrugged. "Meto. He left when I did. I'm not sure where Apollodorus went; maybe into one of those secret passages you were talking about."

The king curled his upper lip. "She's alone with him?"

"Even as we speak," I said.

Pothinus sighed. "She's like a wine stain on white linen. We'll never get rid of her."

"Best to burn the linen, then, if the stain won't come out." Ptolemy glowered darkly, then drew a shuddering breath and let out a bleating sound. He sniffled, holding back tears. He seemed very much like a boy at that moment, and like a boy who was not simply furious, but also heartbroken. Learning that his sister was alone with Caesar, Ptolemy wept bitter tears. I gazed at him, confounded.

"Cleopatra!" muttered Pothinus. "Relentless. Ruthless. She's trouble."

Meto had said the same thing.

The bodyguards who had shown me to the royal chamber escorted me back to my room. The hour was growing late. The passageways were empty; the palace was quiet. Long before the open doorway of my room came into view, I heard the high-pitched voices of Androcles and Mopsus, breathlessly assailing a visitor with questions.

"Did you kill anyone at Pharsalus?" said Androcles.

"Of course he did! But how many?" said Mopsus. "And did you kill anyone famous?"

"What I want to know," said Androcles, "is this: Were you there with Caesar when he went crashing into Pompey's tent and caught a glimpse of the Great One's backside disappearing out the rear flap? Is it true they were all set up for a banquet, with Greek slave boys strumming lyres and Pompey's best silver laid out?"