Steven Saylor - The judgement of Caesar

A few moments later the king appeared on a balcony that projected from the upper story of the building. Even at a considerable distance, I could see the streaks of tears on his face.

"People of Egypt!" he shouted. His voice rang through the square. "My beloved people! The Romans have robbed me of my throne! Egypt has been conquered in a single night! We are all the slaves of Rome now!"

There was an uproar all around us. Cries of anger and despair rang in my ears, along with scattered catcalls and peals of laughter. Most in the crowd appeared to love the king, but there were some who despised him.

Ptolemy's voice pierced the cacophony. "Here I stand in the building that houses our venerated Alexander, the greatest of all conquerors, the most beloved of all heroes, the demigod for whom our city is named, from whose authority the Ptolemies for centuries have traced the legitimacy of their divine rule. But now a man has come along who fancies himself greater than even Alexander. He thinks so little of us that he doesn't arrive with a great navy supporting him, or a great army marching at his back; he intends to conquer us by trickery and deceit! I confess to you, my people, for a while he dazzled even me, and I gave to him a warmer welcome than he deserved. I allowed him into the royal palace; I shared food and drink with him; I listened to his vain boasting. But now my eyes are open! If the Roman has his way, he'll throw Alexander's body upon a dung heap, tear down this tomb, and put up a monument to himself! Perhaps he'll even rename the city for himself, and you shall wake up to find yourselves living in Caesaropolis!"

The crowd responded with thunderous shouting. Ptolemy gazed grimly over the square, projecting an authority far beyond his years.

"People of Alexandria, as conniving as Caesar may be, he knows that you will never submit to a Roman who dares to sit openly upon the throne of Egypt-so he seeks to cast me from my throne and put a pretender in my place. Who might that be? What creature with a claim to the royal bloodline would be low enough to conspire with our enemy? I think you know her name! With shame, I call her my sister. For her previous attempts to seize the throne, we drove her out of the city and into the wilderness. Alas, that we didn't cut the serpent in two, for now she's come wriggling back, bloated with venom. To take my throne from me, she'll stop at nothing! Yes, Cleopatra is back in the palace."

At this announcement, there were scattered cheers among the crowd, for Cleopatra as well as Ptolemy had her adherents among the populace. Others booed, and fistfights and shouting matches broke out.

"The serpent has returned," Ptolemy cried. "Last night she made herself a prostitute to Caesar. Today he's giving her the payment due-the crown that should be mine and mine alone!"

"Then what is that cobra sprouting from your forehead?" shouted a wag in the crowd.

"This?" Ptolemy shouted back. "This meaningless toy, this worthless piece of scrap?" He lifted the uraeus crown from his head and cast it down with all his might. The metal rang against the stone balcony.

The crowd reacted with stunned silence, followed by a sudden surge of movement that lifted me off my feet. I looked around and saw Merianis disappear amid a sea of gaping, angry, frightened faces.

"Soldiers, coming from the palace!" someone shouted.

"Roman soldiers! They mean to kill the king!"

"We'll kill them first! Kill every Roman in Alexandria!"

"Long live Cleopatra!"

"Long live Ptolemy! Death to Cleopatra!"

"Death to Caesar!"

"Death to all the Romans!"

Swords flashed. Stones flew through the air. Blood was spattered across paving stones. A women screamed in my ear. I tripped over a child, and someone helped me stagger back to my feet. I heard the sound of splashing, and realized I was next to the great fountain at the center of the square. Amid the cavorting dryads and gaping crocodiles, a dead body floated facedown, exuding a sickening pinkish murk. A pebble whizzed over my head-too fast to have been thrown by hand, it must have been cast from a slingshot-and struck the helmet of a Roman soldier nearby with a noise that made my ears ring. He furiously slashed his sword in the direction the shot had come from.

I ducked. As I did so, I happened to look over the soldier's head, and saw that the balcony where Ptolemy had stood was now empty. What had become of the king?

And what would become of me? For all I knew, the riot would keep growing until the whole city was in chaos. I stretched to my full height, peering over the heads of those around me, trying to catch a glimpse of the palace. The whole length of the Argeus, from the fountain back to the gates, was packed with an angry mob. As I stood precariously balanced on tiptoes, a group of young men came running by, brandishing sticks. "Get out of the way, old man!" one of them shouted. "The Romans have carried off the king, and they mean to kill him!"

"We'll kill them first!" another shouted.

They jostled me and spun me about and almost knocked me down.

A hand grabbed my shoulder, pulling me upright. It was too strong to be that of Merianis-a man's grip. I tried to shake free and step away, but the grip tightened. I braced myself and turned to confront him.

"Rupa!" I cried. "How in Hades did you get here?"

Rupa grunted in reply and pointed toward the building that housed the Tomb of Alexander.

I wrinkled my brow. "I don't understand."

He pointed more insistently, then grabbed my hand and pulled me in the direction in which he was pointing. His sheer size caused a path to open in the crowd; anyone foolish enough to stand in our way he brusquely pushed aside. By nature, Rupa was the gentlest of men, but when called upon, he knew how to wield the strength the gods had given him.

But even Rupa was no match for the gang of toughs who suddenly blocked our way. They appeared to be dockworkers, judging from the huge muscles that popped from their shoulders and arms, not to mention the briny smell that came off their ragged tunics. There were seven or eight of them, and they carried the tools of their trade: iron grappling hooks, lengths of heavy chain, nets made of rope, and barge poles as thick as a man's forearm-lethal weapons in the hands of men like these.

"You, there!" their leader shouted, taking notice of Rupa on account of his size, then casting a disparaging glance at me. "Where did those Romans go, the ones who dared to come and carry off the king?"

"Right," said another, "we're on a Roman hunt! We mean to kill as many of those bastards as we can, and keep killing them until they get out of Egypt and head back to where they came from!"

Rupa looked at them blankly.

"What's the matter, too good to talk to the likes of us?" The leader wound a chain around one fist, then pulled the remainder taut. "Or maybe you two actually like these Romans? Maybe you think it's alright for Julius blowhard Caesar to screw the king's sister and start bossing us all around?" He swung the chain through the air, making a whooshing sound.

"He's mute," I started to say, then realized that my accent would give me away. If these men were intent on killing Romans, I had no desire for them to begin with me. Even the smallest of them looked capable of tearing my head from my shoulders.

I grunted and poked Rupa to get his attention, then executed a series of signs, speaking to him in the vocabulary Rupa himself had developed using his hands and facial expressions in lieu of a voice. Careful, I said. These fellows are big!

I'm not afraid of them, Rupa insisted.

But I am! I gestured.

"What's this?" said the leader, squinting at us suspiciously.

"I think they must be a pair of deaf-mutes," said his friend. "I've got a cousin like that. Married a woman just like him. They talk with their hands."