Colleen McCullough - 6. The October Horse - A Novel of Caesar and Cleopatra

All of which made Alexandria unique, a stunning blend of physical beauty and ingenious functional engineering. But it was not perfect. It had its fair share of slums and crime, the wide streets in the poorer Gamma-Rhakotis and Epsilon Districts were piled high with rotting refuse and animal corpses, and once away from the two avenues there was a dearth of public fountains and communal latrines. And absolutely no bathhouses. There was also a local insanity. Birds! Ibises. Of two kinds, the white and the black, they were sacred. To kill one was unthinkable; if an ignorant foreigner did, he was dragged off to the agora to be torn into little pieces. Well aware of their sacrosanctity, the ibises exploited it shamelessly. At the time Caesar arrived they were in residence, for they fled the summer rains in far off Aethiopia. This meant that they could fly superbly, but once in Alexandria, they didn't. Instead, they stood around in literal thousands upon thousands all over those wonderful roads, crowding the main intersections so densely that they looked like an extra layer of paving. Their copious, rather liquid droppings fouled every inch of any surface whereon people walked, and for all its civic pride, Alexandria seemed to employ no one to wash the mounting excreta away. Probably when the birds flew back to Aethiopia the city engaged in a massive cleanup, but in the meantime ! Traffic weaved and wobbled; carts had to hire an extra man to walk ahead and push the creatures aside. Within the Royal Enclosure a small army of slaves gathered up the ibises tenderly, put them into cages and then casually emptied the cages into the streets outside. About the most one could say for them was that they gobbled up cockroaches, spiders, scorpions, beetles and snails, and picked through the scraps tossed out by fishmongers, butchers and pasty makers. Otherwise, thought Caesar, secretly grinning as his lictors cleared a path for him through the ibises, they are the biggest nuisances in all creation.

On the third day a lone "barge" arrived in the Great Harbor and was skillfully rowed to the Royal Harbor, a small enclosed area abutting on to Cape Lochias. Rufrius had sent word of its advent, so Caesar strolled to a vantage point from which he could see disembarkation perfectly, yet was not in close enough proximity to attract attention. The barge was a floating pleasure palace of enormous size, all gold and purple; a huge, temple-like cabin stood abaft the mast, complete with a pillared portico. A series of litters came down to the pier, each carried by six men matched for height and appearance; the King's litter was gilded, gem-encrusted, curtained with Tyrian purple and adorned with a plume of fluffy purple feathers on each corner of its faience-tiled roof. His majesty was carried on interlocked arms from the temple-cabin to the litter and inserted inside with exquisite care; a fair, pouting, pretty lad just on the cusp of puberty. After the King came a tall fellow with mouse-brown curls and a finely featured, handsome face; Potheinus the Lord High Chamberlain, Caesar decided, for he wore purple, a nice shade somewhere between Tyrian and the gaudy magenta of the Royal Guard, and a heavy gold necklace of peculiar design. Then came a slight, effeminate and elderly man in a purple slightly inferior to Potheinus's; his carmined lips and rouged cheeks sat garishly in a petulant face. Theodotus the tutor. Always good to see the opposition before they see you. Caesar hurried back to his paltry accommodation and waited for the royal summons. It came, but not for some time. Back to the audience chamber behind his lictors, to find the King seated not on the top throne but on the lower one. Interesting. His elder sister was absent, yet he did not feel qualified to occupy her chair. He wore the garb of Macedonian kings: Tyrian purple tunic, chlamys cloak, and a wide-brimmed Tyrian purple hat with the white ribbon of the diadem tied around its tall crown like a band. The audience was extremely formal and very short. The King spoke as if by rote with his eyes fixed on Theodotus, after which Caesar found himself dismissed without an opportunity to state his business. Potheinus followed him out. "A word in private, great Caesar?" "Caesar will do. My place or yours?" "Mine, I think. I must apologize," Potheinus went on in a oily voice as he walked beside Caesar and behind the lictors, "for the standard of your accommodation. A silly insult. That idiot Ganymedes should have put you in the guest palace." "Ganymedes, an idiot? I didn't think so," Caesar said. "He has ideas above his station." "Ah." Potheinus possessed his own palace among that profusion of buildings, situated on Cape Lochias itself and having a fine view not of the Great Harbor but of the sea. Had the Lord High Chamberlain wished it, he might have walked out his back door and down to a little cove wherein he could paddle his pampered feet. "Very nice," Caesar said, sitting in a backless chair. "May I offer you the wine of Samos or Chios?" "Neither, thank you." "Spring water, then? Herbal tea?" "No." Potheinus seated himself opposite, his inscrutable grey eyes on Caesar. He may not be a king, but he bears himself like one. The face is weathered yet still beautiful, and the eyes are unsettling. Dauntingly intelligent eyes, cooler even than mine. He rules his feelings absolutely, and he is politic. If necessary, he will sit here all day waiting for me to make the opening move. Which suits me. I don't mind moving first, it is my advantage. "What brings you to Alexandria, Caesar?" "Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus. I'm looking for him." Potheinus blinked, genuinely surprised. "Looking in person for a defeated enemy? Surely your legates could do that." "Surely they could, but I like to do my opponents honor, and there is no honor in a legate, Potheinus. Pompeius Magnus and I have been friends and colleagues these twenty-three years, and at one time he was my son-in-law. That we ended in choosing opposite sides in a civil war can't alter what we are to each other." Potheinus's face was losing color; he lifted his priceless goblet to his lips and drank as if his mouth had gone dry. "You may have been friends, but Pompeius Magnus is now your enemy." "Enemies come from alien cultures, Lord High Chamberlain, not from among the ranks of one's own people. Adversary is a better word a word allowing all the latitude things in common predicate. No, I don't pursue Pompeius Magnus as an avenger," Caesar said, not moving an inch, though somewhere inside him a cold lump was forming. "My policy," he went on levelly, "has been clemency, and my policy will continue to be clemency. I've come to find Pompeius Magnus myself so that I can extend my hand to him in true friendship. It would be a poor thing to enter a Senate containing none but sycophants." "I do not understand," Potheinus said, skin quite bleached. No, no, I cannot tell this man what we did in Pelusium! We mistook the matter, we have done the unforgivable. The fate of Pompeius Magnus will have to remain our secret. Theodotus! I must find an excuse to leave here and head him off! But it was not to be. Theodotus bustled in like a housewife, followed closely by two kilt-clad slaves bearing a big jar between them. They put it down and stood stiffly. All Theodotus's attention was fixed on Caesar, whom he eyed in obvious appreciation. "The great Gaius Julius Caesar!" he fluted. "Oh, what an honor! I am Theodotus, tutor to his royal majesty, and I bring you a gift, great Caesar." He tittered. "In fact, I bring you two gifts!" No answer from Caesar, who sat very straight, his right hand holding the ivory rod of his imperium just as it had all along, his left hand cuddling the folds of toga over his shoulder. The generous, slightly uptilted mouth, sensuous and humorous, had gone thin, and the eyes were two black-ringed pellets of ice. Blithely unaware, Theodotus stepped forward and held out his hand; Caesar laid the rod in his lap and extended his to take the seal ring. A lion's head, and around the outside of the mane the letters CN POMP MAG. He didn't look at it, just closed his fingers on it until they clenched it, white-knuckled. One of the servants lifted the jar's lid while the other put a hand inside, fiddled for a moment, then lifted out Pompey's head by its thatch of silver hair, gone dull from the natron, trickling steadily into the jar. The face looked very peaceful, lids lowered over those vivid blue eyes that used to gaze around the Senate so innocently, so much the eyes of the spoiled child he was. The snub nose, the thin small mouth, the dented chin, the round Gallic face. It was all there, all perfectly preserved, though the slightly freckled skin had gone grey and leathery. "Who did this?" Caesar asked of Potheinus. "Why, we did, of course!" Theodotus cried, and looked impish, delighted with himself. "As I said to Potheinus, dead men do not bite. We have removed your enemy, great Caesar. In fact, we have removed two of your enemies! The day after this one came, the great Lentulus Crus arrived, so we killed him too. Though we didn't think you'd want to see his head." Caesar rose without a word and strode to the door, opened it and snapped, "Fabius! Cornelius!" The two lictors entered immediately; only the rigorous training of years disciplined their reaction as they beheld the face of Pompey the Great, running natron. "A towel!" Caesar demanded of Theodotus, and took the head from the servant who held it. "Get me a towel! A purple one!" But it was Potheinus who moved, clicked his fingers at a bewildered slave. "You heard. A purple towel. At once." Finally realizing that the great Caesar was not pleased, Theodotus gaped at him in astonishment. "But, Caesar, we have eliminated your enemy!" he cried. "Dead men do not bite." Caesar spoke softly. "Keep your tongue between your teeth, you mincing pansy! What do you know of Rome or Romans? What kind of men are you, to do this?" He looked down at the dripping head, his eyes tearless. "Oh, Magnus, would that our destinies were reversed!" He turned to Potheinus. "Where is his body?" The damage was done; Potheinus decided to brazen it out. "I have no idea. It was left on the beach at Pelusium." "Then find it, you castrated freak, or I'll tear Alexandria down around your empty scrotum! No wonder this place festers, when creatures like you run things! You don't deserve to live, either of you nor does your puppet king! Tread softly, or count your days." "I would remind you, Caesar, that you are our guest and that you do not have sufficient troops with you to attack us." "I am not your guest, I am your sovereign. Rome's Vestal Virgins still hold the will of the last legitimate king of Egypt, Ptolemy XI, and I hold the will of the late King Ptolemy XII," Caesar said. "Therefore I will assume the reins of government until I have adjudicated in this present situation, and whatever I decide will be adhered to. Move my belongings to the guest palace, and bring my infantry ashore today. I want them in a good camp inside the city walls. Do you think I can't level Alexandria to the ground with what men I have? Think again!" The towel arrived, Tyrian purple. Fabius took it and spread it between his hands in a cradle. Caesar kissed Pompey's brow, then put the head in the towel and reverently wrapped it up. When Fabius went to take it, Caesar handed him the ivory rod of imperium instead. "No, I will carry him." At the door he turned. "I want a small pyre constructed in the grounds outside the guest palace. I want frankincense and myrrh to fuel it. And find the body!"