Steven Saylor - The judgement of Caesar

Merianis wiped it away.

"Is it Zoe you cry for?"

"No. Her death was a holy death. She earned the gratitude of Isis and the gift of eternal life. I envy her."

"Do you, Merianis?

I think perhaps you've done as much, if not more, for the queen."

"What do you mean?"

"You're very loyal to her. Is there nothing you would refuse to do for her?"

"I would die for the queen!"

But would you kill for her? I thought. Or help to send an innocent man-my son-to his death? "When Zoe was dying in the queen's arms, Cleopatra called you to her side. You spoke in whispers. What was said?"

"You go too far, Gordianus! You have no business to inquire about words spoken privately between the queen and myself."

"She was telling you something, or asking something of you. I saw the way you looked at Meto. Then you went to fetch Apollodorus. What did the queen say to you, Merianis?"

"To repeat words spoken in confidence by the queen would be to commit sacrilege. Even your great Caesar can't compel me to do that!"

"Caesar isn't asking you. I am."

Merianis shook her head. "If I could save your son, Gordianus-" "Then something was said, something you can't reveal-something that might save Meto."

Merianis sighed, then drew back her shoulders and turned to face me. If some struggle had taken place within her, it was over now. Her expression was serene and opaque, as unreadable as that of the Sphinx. "The ways of the gods are sometimes obscure to us mortals, Gordianus, but the righteous submit to their will and learn not to question. Don't ask me again what the queen said to me in that moment."

"Please, Merianis-"

"I understand that you wish to speak to Apollodorus as well. Follow me."

She led me across the terrace and down a series of steps to a shaded spot near the water. Apollodorus was sitting on a stone bench, leaning against the trunk of a palm tree and whittling a small piece of drift-wood. He looked up at me sullenly and flicked his wrist. The knife looked very sharp.

I turned to say farewell to Merianis, but she had already vanished.

I looked at the piece of driftwood. It was small enough to fit comfortably in the palm of his hand. The sea had worn it into a curious shape suggestive of a lion's head. With his knife, Apollodorus was enhancing the semblance.

"You're a very clever fellow," I said.

He grunted.

"Should we speak Greek?"

"I speak Latin perfectly well," he said, looking up at me darkly.

His accent was atrocious, but I made no comment. "You come from Sicily, I understand."

"Born there. Egypt suits me better."

"How did you come to join the queen's household?"

He shrugged. "Long story. We've been through a lot, the queen and I."

"She certainly puts great trust in you. I have to say, your relationship strikes me as… rather ambiguous."

He bridled. "What does that mean?"

"You're not like Zoe, a slave. Nor are you like Merianis; you don't have-how to put it? — the demeanor of a priest. You're not a military man, like Cratipus; and you're not a court eunuch."

"I certainly am not!" To prove it, he produced a discreet movement that drew my attention to his loincloth, which was draped over his person in such a way as to demonstrate convincingly the difference between himself and a eunuch.

"I'll be candid, Apollodorus. Once, when I was in his presence, the king suggested that your relationship to his sister is not entirely proper."

"Did he? I understand people say the same thing about your son and Caesar." He flashed a nasty grin and whittled another slice from the driftwood.

"She certainly indulges you."

"How so?"

"Here you sit, idling away the afternoon, with no apparent duties-"

"You don't know what you're talking about! When the queen needs me, I'm always there; have been since she was a girl. Good times or bad-and let me tell you, the last year or so has been about as bad as it gets. There were days out there in the desert, with Ptolemy's army on our heels, when even the most stouthearted were ready to give up hope. But never me! I set an example for the others, and if any man needed a kick in the behind, I gave it to him. No, I'm not a priest; but I know what I believe in."

"You believe in the queen?"

"Why not? A man's got to believe in something. The queen's twice as brave as any man I've ever met and three times as smart. She's got the spark, if you know what I mean. So far, I've come across nothing better in this world, and that includes your precious Caesar."

"And King Ptolemy?"

Apollodorus spat on the ground. "He's as useless as that eunuch who leads him around by the balls. What about you? Isn't there something you believe in?"

"I believe my son never put poison in Caesar's cup."

Apollodorus stiffened. He looked at the driftwood in his hand, then tossed it to me. I made an awkward catch to the cackle of his laughter.

"What do you think?" he said.

I turned it about in my hand. He had given the lion a fierce demeanor, with a roaring mouth and exaggerated fangs.

"Been making such things since I was a boy in Syracuse. Used to scrape a living by selling them as souvenirs to wealthy Romans who came to check on their Sicilian estates. And now I look after the queen of Egypt. Imagine that!"

"You're a clever fellow; nimble with your fingers. Did you also learn to do conjuring tricks when you were a boy in Syracuse?"

"What do you mean?"

"Those boys on the waterfront in Syracuse who accost visitors to sell them trinkets-sometimes their nimble fingers go where they shouldn't. A Sicilian urchin stole my coin purse once, and right after I'd been paid handsomely for a bit of work. That purse was heavy, bulky-yet he lifted it so skillfully, I never felt a thing."

Apollodorus shrugged. "There's a trick to it."

I nodded. "And a trick to doing the opposite, as well?"

"What do you mean?"

"Nimble fingers can snatch a purse without the owner feeling a thing. Nimble fingers can plant such a thing upon a man as well-and the victim is never the wiser."

Apollodorus stood and shook the mane of hair from his face. He stepped closer, looming over me, until I felt his breath on my forehead. The smell was sweet, as if he had been chewing cloves.

"I think I've had enough of your questions."

"Come, now. Did the queen not tell you to be candid with me, at Caesar's behest?"

"I'll walk you up the steps. Find Caesar's men and tell them to row you back."

"I thought you might do that."

"I'll see you drown, first." He bumped against me, hard enough to make me trip on the first step. As I ascended, I felt his warm breath on the back of my neck.

He escorted me as far as the terrace, then headed back.

"Apollodorus!" I said.

"Yes?" Some paces from me, he turned back, scowling.

"I'm not offended that you should display the fullness of your loincloth to me in such a brazen fashion, but I'm not especially impressed, either. It's a pity you feel compelled to augment that which nature gave you."

"What are you babbling about?" He beetled his brow and looked down between his legs, where his scanty loincloth sagged and bulged in an impossibly exaggerated fashion. "What in Hades? I never-"

He reached into the pouch and drew out the carved lion's head, then glared at me darkly, baring his teeth.

I flourished my fingers. "Over the years, I've picked up a few conjurer's tricks myself. If I could place that object in such an intimate location, without your awareness, then I think it entirely possible that the alabaster vial was planted upon Meto's person by someone who was here on this terrace, in plain sight of everyone present and without Meto's knowledge. The only question is: Was that conjurer you, Apollodorus? Or was it someone else? And what was that person playing at?"