I said nothing, but he turned and saw the puzzlement on my face.
"Cleopatra," he explained. "The king's sister. South of the village of Casium, at the outermost eastern frontier, we very nearly had her."
"There was a battle?" I said, striving to show polite interest.
"More precisely, there was not a battle," said Pothinus. "Had we been able to confront her in a decisive engagement, that would have been the end of Cleopatra and her ragtag band of bandits and mercenaries. The king's army is bigger, better trained, better equipped-and far more cumbersome. Rather like matching a Nile river-horse against a sparrow; the beast would have no trouble crushing the bird, provided he could catch it first. Time and again they eluded us. We were in the middle of engineering a trap in the hills not far from Casium when word came that Pompey and his fleet had just arrived off the coast."
"You could have crushed Cleopatra first, then met with Pompey."
"That was what Achillas advised. But the risk seemed too great. What if Cleopatra eluded us once again-and it was to her that Pompey made his overture? Then we would have had Cleopatra and Pompey on one side of us, and Caesar on the other. Not a pretty place to be. Better to deal with each threat, one at a time."
"Starting with the one most readily disposed of?" I suggested. What an easy target poor Pompey had turned out to be!
"We considered the threat posed by Pompey, and, as you might say, decided to head him off." Pothinus smiled and looked pleased with himself. It might have been Achillas who struck the blow, but I gathered that Pothinus was the author of the scheme, and not averse to taking credit for it.
"The king himself approved of that decision?"
"Nothing is done in the king's name that does not have the king's approval."
"That sounds rather formulaic."
"But it is true. Don't let the king's youth mislead you. He's very much the son of his father, the culmination of thirteen generations of rulers. I am his voice. Achillas is his sword-hand. But the king possesses a will of his own."
"Is his sister the same?"
"She, too, is the child of her father. If anything, being a few years older, she's even more sure of herself than her brother."
And even less susceptible to the influence of advisers like Pothinus, I thought. Was that why the eunuch had sided with one over the other?
"And so," I said, "having disposed of Pompey…" "We hoped to return at once to the problem of Cleopatra. But the ships that gave chase to Pompey's fleet returned with fresh intelligence about Caesar. He was said to be anchored off the island of Rhodes, planning to come to Alexandria as soon as possible. Once again it seemed prudent to turn our attention to the 'Roman Problem,' and postpone until a later time our dealings with the king's sister."
"Will Caesar then be dealt with as was Pompey?" I felt a quiver of dread, imagining Caesar's head in a basket next to that of the Great One. What would happen to Meto if such a thing came to pass? I cursed myself for wondering. Meto had chosen to live by guile and bloodshed, and his fate had nothing to do with me.
"Caesar presents a more complex challenge," said Pothinus, "requiring a more subtle response."
"Because he arrives in the wake of his triumph at Pharsalus?" "Clearly, the gods love him," acknowledged Pothinus. "But isn't Ptolemy a god?" "The will of the king concerning Caesar shall be made manifest in the fullness of time. First, we shall see what awaits us in the harbor." Pothinus looked at me shrewdly. "They say, Gordianus-called-Finder, that the gods granted you the gift of compelling outspokenness and forthrightness in those you meet. Strangers confide in you. Men like Caesar and Pompey unburden themselves to you. Even the king does not seem immune to this power of compelling candid speech. Even I appear to be susceptible to it!"
"'They say…'" I quoted back to him. "It's all in your dossier. The king's intelligence is quite extensive. His eyes and ears are everywhere."
"Even in Rome?"
"Especially in Rome. Thus your reputation precedes you. The king himself spent an hour last night perusing your dossier and asking questions about you."
"I suppose I should feel flattered."
"Or lucky to still be alive. Ah, but we've arrived at the gates of the royal residence. Time for more formalities, I fear, and an end to our conversation."
Gates opened, and the procession entered the complex of royal residences along the waterfront. It was said that each successive ruler in the line of Ptolemies had felt obliged to add to the royal habitations; thus, over the centuries, the complex had become the most sumptuous concentration of wealth and luxury in the world-a city within the city, with its own temples, courtyards, living quarters, and gardens, honeycombed with hidden chambers and secret passages.
The gates shut behind us. We were in a narrow courtyard surrounded by high walls. The litters were set upon blocks. Pothinus stepped out and attended the king, who emerged from his litter to the greetings of fawning courtiers. For the moment I seemed to have been forgotten, and I sat back against the cushions of the litter, bemused by the twists of fate that had brought me to such a curious place. I felt a prick of anxiety, wondering what had become of Rupa and the boys, and then a sudden overwhelming homesickness for Rome. What was my daughter Diana, pregnant with her second child, doing at that moment? And her son, little Aulus, and her hulking lamb of a husband, Davus? How I missed them! How I wished I was there with them, and with Bethesda, and that the two of us had never left Rome!
Somewhere in the background of my thoughts, I heard the music of Ptolemy's piper echo between the narrow walls and recede into the distance. The courtyard, which had been thronged with attendants, was now almost deserted. I blinked and turned to see a young woman standing beside the litter, staring at me.
Her skin had the hue and luster of polished ebony. Her hair had been styled to take advantage of its natural coarseness so that it formed a circular nimbus around her face, like a floating frame made of black smoke that trailed into wisps along the edges. Her eyes were an unexpected green, a shade I had never seen in a Nubian before, but her high cheekbones and full lips were emblematic of the beauty of Nubian women.
She gave me a demure smile and lowered her eyes. "My name is Merianis," she said, speaking Latin. "If you care to step from the litter, I'll show you to your room."
"I have a room in the palace?"
"You do. Shall I take you there now?"
I took a deep breath and stepped from the litter. "Show me the way."
I followed her through a succession of passages, courtyards, and gardens. We drew closer to the harbor; every now and again through an opening in the walls, I spied a glimpse of sails and the sparkle of sunlight on water, and occasionally, above the rooftops, I saw the Pharos lighthouse looming in the distance. We ascended several flights of steps, then strode down a long hallway, across a bridge of stone between two buildings, and down another long hallway.
"Here," she said, opening a wooden door.
The room was large and simply furnished, with a bed against one wall, a small table and a chair against the other, and a red-and-yellow rug of geometric Greek design on the floor. The lack of ornament was more than made up for by the breathtaking view from the tall window, from which drapes of pale yellow had been pulled back; no painting or mosaic could possibly compete with the majestic image of the Pharos, perfectly framed in the window, and a view of the great harbor dotted with ships in the foreground.
"Magnificent!" I whispered.
"Does Rome have any sight to match it?" asked Merianis.