Steven Saylor - The judgement of Caesar

The weather was mild. Palm trees swayed in a gentle breeze from the south. Farmers were at work in the fields, tending to irrigation ditches and repairing waterwheels to prepare for the annual inundation. Alexandria seemed far away; Rome, even farther.

This was the Egypt I remembered from my youth, the Egypt I had longed to revisit. I felt the sun on my face, breathed in the smells of the life-giving Nile, and felt transported back in time, as if all the intervening years had never happened. I was the youth I had been when I first arrived in Egypt, owning little, obliged to no one, but confident of the future, as only the young can be confident.

I came to a place where the foliage grew thick and tall between the road and the river. Though I could not see it, I knew the temple must lie somewhere within that dense greenery. I tethered my horse and stretched the stiff, sore legs of an old man not used to riding on horseback. Even that reminder of my body's frailty did not shake the illusion of having stepped back in time.

I passed through a curtain of hanging vines and found a pathway into the foliage. The play of sunlight and shadow confounded my sense of distance. The seclusion of the place cast a spell upon me. The pathway turned this way and that, and I began to think I was hopelessly lost. Then I stepped into a sunlit glade and saw the temple before me. Drag-onflies flitted across shafts of sunlight. Water splashed and gurgled in the spring-fed pool beside the temple.

I walked to the steps. I ascended to the porch and entered the sanctum of Osiris.

The smell of burning myrrh enveloped me. The chamber was dimly lit. A figure appeared in the gloom and moved closer until I saw the sere, weathered face of the priestess. I heard the sound of mewing, and looked down to see the black cat stroking itself against her bony ankles.

Was it the same woman I had seen in the market in Alexandria, or had memory played a trick on me?

"Priestess," I said. "I came here many months ago-last summer-with my wife. She was unwell. She sought your counsel. You told her to bathe in the Nile. Do you remember?"

The wisewoman hunched her shoulder against her ear and peered up at my face. "Oh, yes. I remember."

"And then-not long ago, I thought I saw you in a marketplace in Alexandria. Was it you I saw? Were you in the city?"

She looked at me for a long moment, then shook her head. "That's not the question you really want to ask. That's not what you came here to find out."

"No. You're right. I came for Bethesda. Is she here?"

"Your wife was very ill when you came here; more ill than you could know. Her body was weak, but it was her spirit that had grown sick. She was very close to death. There was little I could do, except commend her to the care of the river."

"And did the river heal her?"

"Go to the river. Find the place where you last saw her. Discover the truth for yourself."

Her words echoed those of Cleopatra. I shuddered, as I had shuddered in the queen's presence. I stepped onto the porch of the temple, needing to catch my breath. When I stepped back inside, the priestess had disappeared, and so had the cat. The little room was empty, except for a sputtering lamp and a censer of myrrh that released a final wisp of smoke.

I descended the steps, hopped over the spring-fed pool, and took the path that led to the river. I came to a fork in the path and hesitated, trying to remember which way to go. One way had led me to a tangled dead end, I recalled, where I had glimpsed the ashes of Cassandra clouding the flowing water; the other way had led me to the place where Bethesda disappeared. But which was which? Memory failed me, and I stood for a long moment, puzzled. The problem was simple, but my mind was so befuddled that I had to work it out like a child, step-by-step. Bethesda had entered the river downstream from Cassandra's ashes; with the river before me, running from right to left, the path to the left must lead downstream; so that was the way I must take.

The path led steadily downhill. Through the leaves I began to catch glimpses of sparkling sunlight on green water. At last I came to the river's edge. The place was secluded and silent, with a leafy canopy overhead and rushes all around. Bethesda was nowhere to be seen. I called her name. The shout rousted a covey of birds, who flapped and cawed and streamed skyward from the undergrowth.

I stripped off my tunic and loincloth. The angle of the sun was such that the whole of the river seemed to sparkle with dancing light. So many points of light were reflected from the river onto my nakedness that I felt as if I were clothed in a spangled gown of sunlight. The sparkles dazzled my eyes and warmed my flesh.

I strode into the river. The solid, sandy bottom quickly gave way to an oozing muck that sucked at my feet. The water rose to my chest, and with another step, to my chin. "Oh, Bethesda!" I whispered. Rushes swayed in the warm breeze. Sunlight glinted on the water. The placid face of the Nile gave no indication of concern for my fate, or the fate of any mortal; yet at the same time the river seemed to welcome me. Its warm darkness offered solace; its vastness offered an end to mortal vanity; its agelessness offered a doorway to eternity.

Another step, and the water rose above my head. I opened my eyes. The water was murky and green, but the surface above me was like a vast sheet of hammered silver. I opened my mouth to draw the Nile deep into my lungs. A burning fullness flowed into my chest. The silver canopy above me was extinguished. The murky water turned black.

I felt hands upon me. Out of the black murk a face appeared. Cassandra's face! No-the face of Bethesda, her features as soft and smooth as when I first met her in Alexandria. She put her mouth upon mine. Her kiss drew the Nile from my lungs and took my breath away…

I opened my eyes, blinking to expel drops of water from my lashes. I lay upon my back on a sandy riverbank. A canopy of leaves shivered overhead; they appeared to be made of silver. The sky beyond was an unearthly shade of purple shot with streaks of aquamarine and vermilion.

I felt the warmth of a body next to mine; someone lay beside me on the sand. She stirred and rose on one elbow to look down at me.

"Bethesda!" I whispered, and coughed a little. The taste of the Nile was on my tongue.

"Husband," she whispered, in a voice full of love and tenderness. She kissed me.

"Bethesda, where are we?"

She frowned. "Are you so confused, Husband, that you don't remember walking into the Nile?"

"Yes, but… are we alive-or dead?"

"Does it matter? We're together."

"Yes, but… are we immortal yet?"

She laughed. I had not heard her laugh that way, so carefree and relaxed, in a long time. "Don't be silly, Husband. Isn't the answer obvious?"

"Not entirely." The sky above me did not look like any sky I could remember. Or was that strange palette of colors simply a phenomenon caused by a meeting of sunlight, sea mist, and a nearby sandstorm? "Where have you been all this time, Bethesda?"

She smiled. "For now, let me ask the questions. Has my granddaughter been born yet?"

"Yes! Diana wrote me a letter-but how did you know it was a girl?"

She shrugged. "A lucky guess. I want to see her. We must get back to Rome, as soon as possible."

I smiled. "Then we are alive?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Can't the spirits of the dead go on journeys?" "I suppose." I cocked my head. "I've heard of haunted ships, but I never expected to haunt one myself! Ah, well. When we were young and poor, we found a way to get to Rome; and we shall find a way to get there now. We shall go together." I took her hand in mine. "Let us go home, Bethesda."

"Yes, Husband. Let us go home!"