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

Theodotus met Potheinus in the main palace, big with news. "Word from Achillas!" he said. "I thank Serapis for that! He says?" "That the couriers are dead, and that Cleopatra is still in her earth on Mount Casius. Achillas is sure she has no idea of Caesar's presence in Alexandria, though what she's going to make of Achillas's next action is anyone's guess. He's moving twenty thousand foot and ten thousand horse by ship from Pelusium even as I speak. The Etesian winds have begun to blow, so he should be here in two days." Theodotus chuckled gleefully. "Oh, what I would give to see Caesar's face when Achillas arrives! He says he'll use both harbors, but plans to make camp outside the Moon Gate." Not a very observant man, he looked at the grim-faced Potheinus in sudden bewilderment. "Aren't you pleased, Potheinus?" "Yes, yes, that's not what's bothering me!" Potheinus snapped. "I've just seen Caesar, who dunned the royal purse for the money Auletes refused to pay the Roman banker, Rabirius Postumus. The hide! The temerity! After all these years! And I can't ask the Interpreter to pay a private debt of the late king's!" "Oh, dear!" "Well," said Potheinus through his teeth, "I'll pay Caesar the money, but he'll rue the day he asked for it!"

"Trouble," said Rufrius to Caesar the next day, the eighth since they had arrived in Alexandria. "Of what kind?" "Did you collect Rabirius Postumus's debt?" "Yes." "Potheinus's agents are telling everybody that you've looted the royal treasury, melted down all the gold plate, and garnished the contents of the granaries for your troops." Caesar burst out laughing. "Things are beginning to come to a boil, Rufrius! My messenger has returned from Queen Cleopatra's camp no, I didn't use the much-vaunted Delta canals, I sent him at the gallop on horseback, a fresh mount every ten miles. No courier from Potheinus ever contacted her, of course. Killed, I imagine. The Queen has sent me a very amiable and informative letter, in which she tells me that Achillas and his army are packing up to return to Alexandria, where they intend to camp outside the city in the area of the Moon Gate." Rufrius looked eager. "We begin?" he asked. "Not until after I've moved into the main palace and taken charge of the King," said Caesar. "If Potheinus and Theodotus can use the poor lad as a tool, so can I. Let the cabal build its funeral pyre in ignorance two or three more days. But have my men absolutely ready to dash. When the time comes they have a great deal to do, and not much time to do it in." He stretched his arms luxuriously. "Ah, how good it is to have a foreign foe!"

On the tenth day of Caesar's stay in Alexandria, a small Nilus dhow slipped into the Great Harbor in the midst of Achillas's arriving fleet, and maneuvered its way between the clumsy transports unnoticed. It finally tied up at the jetty in the Royal Harbor, where a detachment of guards watched its advent closely to make sure no furtive swimmer left it. Only two men were in the dhow, both Egyptian priests barefoot, shaven-headed, clad in white linen dresses that fitted tightly under the nipples and flared gently to a hemline at midcalf. Both were mete-en-sa, ordinary priests not entitled to wear gold on their persons. "Here, where do you think you're going?" asked the corporal of the guards. The priest in the bow got out and stood with arms joined at the hands, palm to palm over his groin, a pose of subservience and humility. "We wish to see Caesar," he said in crooked Greek. "Why?" "We carry a gift to him from the U'eb." "The who?" "Sem of Ptah, Neb-notru, wer-kherep-hemw, Seker-cha'bau, Ptahmose, Cha'em-uese," chanted the priest in a singsong voice. "I am none the wiser, priest, and losing my patience." "We carry a gift for Caesar from the U'eb, the high priest of Ptah in Memphis. That was his full name I spoke." "What gift?" "Here," said the priest, stepping back into the boat with the corporal on his heels. A rush mat rolled into a flat cylinder lay in the bottom, a dowdy thing to a Macedonian Alexandrian, with its shabby colors and angular patterns. You could buy better in the meanest market of Rhakotis. Probably seething with vermin too. "You're going to give Caesar that?" "Yes, O royal personage." The corporal unsheathed his sword and poked it at the mat, but gingerly. "I wouldn't," said the priest softly. "Why not?" The priest caught the corporal's eyes and pinned them with his own, then did something with his head and neck that caused the man to back away, terrified. Suddenly he wasn't looking at an Egyptian priest, but at the head and hood of a cobra. "Ssssssss!" hissed the priest, and stuck out a forked tongue. The corporal leaped in one bound on to the jetty, face ashen. Swallowing, he found speech. "Doesn't Ptah like Caesar?" "Ptah created Serapis, as he did all the gods, but he finds Jupiter Optimus Maximus an affront to Egypt," said the priest. The corporal grinned; a lovely cash bonus from Lord Potheinus danced before his eyes. "Take your gift to Caesar," he said, "and may Ptah achieve his ends. Be careful!" "We will, O royal personage." The two priests bent, lifted the slightly floppy cylinder one at either end, and levered their burden neatly on to the jetty. "Where do we go?" asked the speaking priest. "Just follow that path through the rose garden, first palace on your left past the small obelisk." And off they trotted, the mat between them. A light thing. Now, thought the corporal, all I have to do is wait until I hear that our unwelcome guest has died of snakebite. Then I'm going to be rewarded.

That podgy gourmet Gaius Trebatius Testa came waddling in, frowning; it went without saying that he would choose to serve with Caesar in this civil war, despite the fact that his official patron was Marcus Tullius Cicero. Quite why he had elected to sail to Alexandria he didn't know, save that he was always in search of new taste treats. But Alexandria didn't have any. "Caesar," he said, "a rather peculiar object has arrived for you from Memphis, from the high priest of Ptah. Not a letter!" "How intriguing," said Caesar, looking up from his papers. "Is the object in good condition? It hasn't been tampered with?" "I doubt it ever was in good condition," Trebatius said with a moue of disapproval. "A dingy old mat. A rug it is not." "Have it brought in exactly as it arrived." "It will have to be your lictors, Caesar. The palace slaves took one look at its bearers and went paler than a German from the Cimbric Chersonnese." "Just send it in, Trebatius." Two junior lictors carried it between them, deposited it on the floor and gazed at Caesar in a rather minatory fashion. "Thank you. You may go." Manlius shifted uneasily. "Caesar, may we stay? This er thing arrived in the custody of two of the oddest fellows we've ever seen. The moment they got it inside the door, they bolted as if pursued by the Furies. Fabius and Cornelius wanted to open it, but Gaius Trebatius said no." "Excellent! Now push off, Manlius. Out, out!" Alone with the mat, the smiling Caesar toured it, then got down on his knees and peered into one end. "Can you breathe in there?" he asked. Someone spoke from the interior, but unintelligibly. Then he discovered that either end of the mat was plugged with a thin strip of extra rush to make the thickness uniform from end to end. How ingenious! He pulled the padding out, unrolled Ptah's gift very gently. No wonder she could hide in a mat. There was nothing to her. Where is all that big-boned Mithridatid blood? Caesar asked himself, going to a chair and sitting down to study her. Not five Roman feet tall, she would be lucky to weigh a talent and a half eighty pounds if she wore lead shoes. It was not his habit to waste his precious time speculating how unknown persons would look, even when said persons were of this one's status. Though he certainly hadn't expected a wispy little creature devoid of the slightest hint of majesty! Nor, he now discovered, amazed, did she care about her appearance, for she scrambled up like a monkey and never even looked around to see if there was a polished metal object she could use as a mirror. Oh, I like her! he thought. She reminds me of Mater the same brisk, no-nonsense air to her. However, his mother had been called the most beautiful woman in Rome, whereas no one would ever call Cleopatra beautiful by any standard. No breasts to speak of, nor any hips; just straight up and down, arms attached to stark shoulders like sticks, a long and skinny neck, and a head that reminded him of Cicero's too big for its body. Her face was downright ugly, for it bore a nose so large and hooked that it riveted all attention upon it. By comparison, the rest of her features were quite nice: a full but not too full mouth, good cheekbones, an oval face with a firm chin. Only the eyes were beautiful, very large and widely opened, dark lashes below dark brows, and having irises the same color as a lion's, golden yellow. Now where have I seen eyes that color? Among the offspring of Mithridates the Great, of course! Well, she is his granddaughter, but in no other way than the eyes is she a Mithridatid; they are big, tall people with Germanic noses and yellow hair. Her hair was pale brown and thin too, parted in rolled strips from forehead back to nape of neck like the rind on a melon, then screwed into a hard little knot. Lovely skin, a dark olive so transparent that the veins showed blue beneath it. She wore the white ribbon of the diadem tied behind her hairline; it was her only evidence of royalty, for her simple Greek dress was a drab fawn, and she wore no jewelry. She was inspecting him just as closely, and in surprise. "What do you see?" he asked solemnly. "Great beauty, Caesar, though I expected you to be dark." "There are fair Romans, medium Romans and dark Romans also many Romans with red or sandy hair and lots of freckles." "Hence your cognomina Albinus, Flavus, Rufus, Niger." Ah, the voice was wonderful! Low-pitched and so melodious that she seemed to sing rather than to speak. "You know Latin?" he asked, surprised in his turn. "No, I've had no opportunity to learn it," Cleopatra said. "I speak eight languages, but they're all eastern Greek, old Egyptian, demotic Egyptian, Hebrew, Aramaic. Arabic, Median and Persian." The feline eyes gleamed. "Perhaps you'll teach me Latin? I'm a very quick student." "I doubt I'll have the time, child, but if you like, I'll send you a tutor from Rome. How old are you?" "Twenty-one. I have sat on my throne for four years." "A fifth of a lifetime. You're a veteran. Sit down, do." "No, then I won't be able to see you properly. You're very tall," she said, prowling. "Yes, right up there with the Gauls and the Germans. Like Sulla, I could pass for one if I had to. What happened to your height? Your brothers and sister are tall." "Some of my shortness is inherited. My father's mother was a Nabataean princess, but she wasn't a full Arab. Her grandmother was the Parthian princess Rhodogune, another blood link to King Mithridates. They say the Parthians are short. However, my own mother blamed an illness I suffered as a babe. So I have always thought that Hippopotamus and Crocodile sucked my growth down their nostrils just as they do the river." Caesar's mouth twitched. "Just as they do the river?" "Yes, during the Cubits of Death. Nilus fails to rise when Taweret Hippopotamus and Sobek Crocodile suck the water down their nostrils. They do that when they're angry at Pharaoh," she said, absolutely seriously. "Since you're Pharaoh, why are they angry at you? Nilus has been in the Cubits of Death for two years, I understand." Her face became a study in indecision; she turned away, paced up and down, came back abruptly to standing directly in front of him, biting her lower lip. "The matter is extremely urgent," she said, "so I can see no point in striving to seduce you with woman's wiles. I had hoped you'd be an unattractive man you're old, after all and therefore amenable toward unbeautiful women like me. But I see that the tales are true, that you can have any woman you fancy despite your great age." His head had gone to one side, and the aloof cold eyes were warm, though they didn't contain any lust. They simply drank her in, while his mind reveled in her. She had distinguished herself in adverse situations the murder of the sons of Bibulus, the uprising in Alexandria, no doubt other crises as well. Yet she spoke as a virginal child. Of course she was a virgin. Clearly her brother/husband hadn't yet consummated their union, and she was a god on earth, she couldn't mate with mortal men. Hedged around with eunuchs, forbidden to be alone with an uncastrated man. Her situation is, as she said, extremely urgent, otherwise she would not be alone here with me, an uncastrated mortal man. "Go on," he said. "I have not fulfilled my duty as Pharaoh." "Which is?" "To be fruitful. To bear children. The first Inundation after I came to the throne was just inside the Cubits of Plenty because Nilus gave me the grace of time to prove my fruitfulness. Now, two Inundations later, I am still barren. Egypt is in famine and five days from now the priests of Isis at Philae will read the Elephantine Nilometer. The Inundation is due, the Etesian winds are blowing. But unless I am quickened, the summer rains will not fall in Aithiopai and Nilus will not inundate." "Summer rains, not melting winter snows," Caesar said. "Do you know the sources of Nilus?" Keep her talking, let me have time to absorb what she's saying. My "great age" indeed! "Librarians like Eratosthenes sent expeditions to discover Nilus's sources, but all they found were tributaries and Nilus himself. What they did find were the summer rains in Aithiopai. It is all written down, Caesar." "Yes, I hope to have the leisure to read some of the books of the museum before I leave. Continue, Pharaoh." "That's it," said Cleopatra, shrugging. "I need to mate with a god, and my brother doesn't want me. He wants Theodotus for his pleasure and Arsino for his wife." "Why should he want her?" "Her blood is purer than mine, she's his full sister. Their mother was a Ptolemy, mine was a Mithridatid." "I fail to see an answer to your dilemma, at least not before this coming inundation. I feel for you, my poor girl, but what I can do for you, I don't know. I'm not a god." Her face lit up. "But you are a God!" she cried. He blinked. "There's a statue in Ephesus says it, but that's just er flattery, as a friend of mine said. It's true that I am descended from two gods, but all I have are one or two drops of divine ichor, not a whole body full of it." "You are the God out of the West." "The god out of the west?" "You are Osiris returned from the Realm of the Dead to quicken Isis-Hathor-Mut and sire a son, Horus." "And you believe that?" "I don't believe it, Caesar, it is a fact!" "Then I have it right, you want to mate with me?" "Yes, yes! Why else would I be here? Be my husband, give me a son! Then Nilus will inundate." What a situation! But an amusing and interesting one. How far has Caesar gone, to arrive at a place where his seed can cause rains to fall, rivers to rise, whole countries to thrive? "It would be churlish," he said gravely, "to refuse, but haven't you left your run a little late? With only five days until the Nilometer is read, I can't guarantee to quicken you. Even if I do, it will be five or six nundinae before you know." "Amun-Ra will know, just as I, his daughter, will know. I am Nilus, Caesar! I am the living personification of the river. I am God on earth, and I have but one purpose to ensure that my people prosper, that Egypt remains great. If Nilus stays in the Cubits of Death another year, the famine will be joined by plague and locusts. Egypt will be no more." "I require a favor in return." "Quicken me, and it is yours." "Spoken like a banker! I want your complete co-operation in whatever I am called upon to do to Alexandria." Her brow wrinkled, she looked suspicious. "Do to Alexandria? A strange way to phrase it, Caesar." "Oh, a mind!" he said appreciatively. "I begin to hope for an intelligent son." "They say you have no son at all." Yes, I have a son, he thought. A beautiful little boy somewhere in Gaul whom Litaviccus stole from me when he murdered his mother. But I don't know what happened to him, and I never will know. "True," he said coolly. "But having no son of one's body is of no importance to a Roman. We are at legal liberty to adopt a son, someone who shares our blood a nephew or a cousin. During our lifetimes, or by testament after our deaths. Any son that you and I might have, Pharaoh, will not be a Roman because you are not a Roman. Therefore he cannot inherit either my name or my worldly goods." Caesar looked stern. "Don't hope for Roman sons our laws don't work that way. I can go through a form of marriage with you if you wish, but the marriage won't be binding in Roman law. I already have a Roman wife." "Who has no child at all, though you've been married long." "I'm never home." He grinned, relaxed and looked at her with a brow raised. "I think it's time I moved to contain your older brother, my dear. By nightfall we'll be living in the big palace, and then we'll do something about quickening you." He got up and went to the door. "Faberius! Trebatius!" he called. His secretary and his personal legate entered to stand with jaws dropped. "This is Queen Cleopatra. Now that she's arrived, things begin to happen. Summon Rufrius at once, and start packing." And off he went, his staff in his wake, leaving Cleopatra to stand alone in the room. She had fallen in love at once, for that was her nature; reconciled to espousing an old man even uglier than she was herself, to find instead someone who did indeed look the God he was filled her with joy, with feeling, with true love. Tach'a had cast the lotus petals upon the water in Hathor 's bowl and told her that tonight or tomorrow night were the fertile ones in her cycle, that she would conceive if she looked on Caesar and found him worthy of love. Well, she had looked and found a dream, the God out of the West. As tall and splendid and beautiful as Osiris; even the lines graven upon his face were fitting, for they said that he had suffered much, just as Osiris had suffered. Her lip quivered, she blinked at sudden tears. She loved, but Caesar did not, and she doubted that he ever would. Not for reasons grounded in lack of beauty or feminine charms; more that there was a gulf between them of age, experience, culture.