Steven Saylor - The judgement of Caesar

I bowed my head. "What has this to do with Bethesda?" I whispered.

"We are all composed of four elements: fire, earth, air, and water. To perish in the Nile is to be absolved of the elements of earth and water, which join with the mud of the river. Your wife is all fire and air now. It doesn't matter that she wasn't mummified. If she drowned in the Nile, in emulation of Osiris, she passed from this world directly into the god's embrace. She received the gift of immortality. You should rejoice for her!"

I averted my gaze. "You speak of things about which I know very little. As I said, Roman religion is not as… conversant… with the afterworld as is the religion of Egypt."

"You may be ignorant of these matters, Gordianus, but clearly, your wife was not. She chose the time and the place and the manner of her going. How many mortals can hope for as much?"

"Unless they have access to Nemesis-in-a-bottle," I muttered under my breath, thinking of the vial Cornelia had given me.

The queen frowned. "What did you say?"

"Nothing, Your Majesty. A passing thought of no importance."

Cratipus came running. "Your Majesty! Other visitors are arriving."

"The guests I invited for the midday meal?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Tell Apollodorus to escort them to the little terrace that faces the city. Caesar likes to dine outside."

"Caesar?" I said. "I should leave now. If Merianis, or someone else, can escort me-"

"Leave? Nonsense! You'll stay, Gordianus, and take the meal with us. My cooks have prepared a poached octopus, and Caesar has promised to bring an amphora of Falernian wine-a rare treat! In recent years, good Italian wines have become as scarce as snowfalls in Egypt. I'm told that this amphora came from Pompey's private store, which Caesar seized when he overran the Great One's camp at Pharsalus."

"Your Majesty, I've no desire to drink a dead man's wine."

"Then I'll have an Egyptian beer decanted for you. Come, Merianis! Show Gordianus the way to the dining terrace."

We ascended a flight of marble steps to a flagstone terrace. A railing supported by squat columns overlooked a sheer drop to the water below. On either side, the terrace was flanked by tall palm trees and leafy plants. Behind us rose a windowless wall with a door that gave access to the interior. Dining couches had been set out in a semicircle facing the city, so that each had a view of the sunlit waterfront of Alexandria and its reflection in the harbor.

The queen sat back on the most opulent of the couches, which was strewn with purple cushions. She rested on one elbow and reclined so that one of her feet touched the ground. The pose showed off the lines of her figure; the linen gown clung to her heavy breasts and the sensuous curves of her hips, thighs, and calves. The jewels that adorned her sandals glinted in the dappled sunlight.

Merianis took up a position behind the couch to the queen's left and indicated that I should stand beside her.

A few moments later, Apollodorus appeared. He wore no more clothing than before, but he had ornamented himself with a silver pectoral for the occasion. The hammered metal accentuated the muscles of his bare chest. He made obeisance to the queen. "Your guest has arrived, Your Majesty."

Cleopatra nodded. "You may go, Apollodorus. I'll summon you if I need you."

As Apollodorus turned and disappeared down the steps, the bald pate of Caesar came into view, followed by Caesar's beaming face. He was wearing his consular toga. He mounted the final step and strode onto the terrace. His smile faded, but only a little, at the sight of me.

"The queen of Egypt welcomes the consul of Rome," said Cleopatra. "But where are the consul's lictors?"

"I left them down at the harbor." Caesar approached the queen, making no pretense of bowing. Clearly, in such a setting, there was no need for formality between them. They exchanged a lovers' gaze: relaxed, intimate, confident of reciprocity. She offered her hand; Caesar took it and gave her a lingering kiss, not upon the back of her hand but upon the palm.

Caesar glanced at me. "Do we have another guest?"

"It chanced that Gordianus was here; Merianis brought him, knowing I desired to meet him. Don't worry, there'll be enough octopus for us all. But will there be enough Falernian?"

"Of that, have no fear," said Caesar. A moment later, Meto arrived on the terrace. He was dressed in his finest military regalia, bearing an amphora in his arms as one might carry an infant. He grimaced when he saw me, but said nothing.

I observed the amphora. It was typical in shape, with little handles near the wide-mouthed top and a rounded bottom; it was designed not to stand upright but to be laid lengthwise alongside other amphorae for shipment and storage. The top was stopped with a cork sealed with red wax. Along the side several words had been etched in the clay in letters large enough to be read at a glance:

FALERNIAN OPEN ONLY IN THE PRESENCE OF GNAEUS POMPEY MAGNUS

"The wine comes from Pompey's private store," said Caesar. "When we overran his camp at Pharsalus, I found his pavilion abandoned but laid out as if for a great banquet-silver plates, great portions of roasted game, and this very amphora of Falernian wine sitting upright on a stand beside Pompey's dining couch, ready to be unsealed and opened and decanted into pitchers. He escaped at the very last moment, leaving his victory banquet untouched. Pompey must have brought this amphora from his own cellars in Rome, lugging it all over Greece and waiting for the proper occasion to drink from it. You can see his personal seal, the letters 'M-A-G-N-V-S,' impressed in the wax. His ring fits the impression exactly."

Caesar produced the ring King Ptolemy had presented to him, which he kept on a silver chain around his neck. While Meto held the amphora steady, Caesar, holding the ring between his fingers-superstitious about slipping Pompey's signet ring onto his own finger? — demonstrated how the seal had been impressed in the red wax, fitting the ring into the impression.

"Let's open it at once," suggested Cleopatra.

Meto sat on a couch and set the amphora upright into a clay stand on the floor between his knees. He produced a short knife, with which he carefully sliced away the sealing wax. He gently pulled out the cork stopper. Merianis brought a silver pitcher, but before Meto could fill the pitcher with wine, the queen lifted her hand.

"Stop! Before the first pitcher is filled, let Caesar receive the first taste from the amphora itself."

Caesar smiled. "A kind gesture, Your Majesty. But I think the first taste must go to my hostess, the queen of Egypt."

Cleopatra shook her head and smiled. Every exchange between them became a flirtation. "The queen declines. The queen insists that Pompey's conqueror should enjoy the first taste of Pompey's wine. And I know just the cup from which you should drink it! Merianis, fetch the cups of beaten gold I received on my nuptial day."

Merianis disappeared into the palace for a moment, then returned bearing two cups fashioned in the old Greek style-wide, shallow bowls with stout bases and handles, made not of painted clay but of gold.

Rising from her couch, Cleopatra took one of the cups from Merianis and displayed it to Caesar. "These cups were presented to me and my brother on the day of our royal marriage-a gift from the king of Parthia. Are they not beautiful?"

"Quite," said Caesar. "But is it proper that I should drink from one?" "It is proper if I say it is proper," said the queen. "My brother's lips shall never touch this cup, any more than his lips shall touch my own. There's only one man's lips I want upon this cup; only one man's lips I want to kiss my own." She put her face close to his, and for a moment I thought they would kiss; but at the last moment she drew back and flashed a teasing smile. Merianis laughed, and I recalled that she had done much the same thing to Apollodorus earlier. Which of the women was emulating the other? They both seemed impossibly young to me at that moment-not a goddess-queen and her priestess but two flirtatious girls. Whatever Caesar saw, he liked it; the vaguely stupid look on his face was that of a man so smitten he doesn't care who knows it. Meto, still sitting with the amphora between his knees, saw what I saw, and glowered.