Caesar drew a breath, then reached out to take the ring from Meto. He cast a sharp glance at Pothinus then at the king. Few objects are more sacred to a Roman than his ring. Every citizen possesses one, as a mark of his status; I myself wear a simple band of iron, like most Romans, but those of greater station affect rings of more precious metal, with devices and engravings that proclaim their achievements. Pompey's ring, which I had seen in glimpses, was of gold and bore the single word "MAGNVS," the letters raised in reverse for use as a sealing ring. The ring in Caesar's hand was too far away for me to see in detail, but there could be no doubt, from the expression that crossed his face, that it was Pompey's.
Caesar had already learned of Pompey's demise. But the ring was positive proof of Pompey's death; under no other circumstance could it have been taken from the Great One's finger to be presented as a gift to his rival. Waves of emotion washed over Caesar's countenance. What did he feel? Triumph, surely, for here was tangible proof that the defeat of Pompey was complete and irreversible; but perhaps also a sense of having been cheated, since the fate of Pompey had been taken out of his hands; and perhaps a bit of anger, that a Roman of such stature had been deviously done in by foreigners acting under the orders of a foreign king, and his most treasured possessions treated with such contempt. A ring of citizenship, a symbol of the sacred bond between the Roman state and its individual members, had been reduced to a trophy plundered from a corpse. Was it being presented to Caesar to show the king's esteem, or to send another, more sinister message?
Caesar looked up from the ring in the palm of his hand and cast a searching gaze at King Ptolemy on his throne. Caesar's face was as inscrutable as that of the king, who gazed back at him.
"The king's gift is pleasing to Caesar?" said Pothinus.
Caesar made no answer for a long moment, then said, "Caesar accepts the king's gift."
"Ah, good! But there is another, which I daresay will please Caesar even more; a possession that was even more precious to Pompey than his ring." Pothinus gestured to the black dwarf to step forward. The man did so, carrying his burden awkwardly; the basket was nearly as big as its bearer. He set the basket down at Caesar's feet and then, with a flourish, removed the lid and reached inside.
Suddenly suspicious, Caesar stepped back. Meto stepped forward, gripping the pommel of the sword in his scabbard. Pothinus laughed. The dwarf removed the object in the basket and held it aloft, one hand clutching it by the hair and the other cupping the stump of the severed neck. In a state of excellent preservation-for the Egyptians know all there is to know about embalming dead flesh-the head of Pompey was exhibited for the perusal of Caesar and his company.
Caesar made no attempt to conceal his disgust. His lip curled back to show his teeth. He averted his eyes for a moment, then gazed openly at the head, clearly fascinated by it.
Pothinus inclined his head. "Caesar is pleased?"
Caesar's brow furrowed. A tremor of emotion crossed his face. His eyes glittered, as if suddenly filled with tears.
Pothinus looked from Caesar to the head of Pompey and back. "Caesar accepts the gift?" he said, uncertainly.
"Caesar…" Caesar's voice was thick with emotion. "Caesar certainly has no intention of returning this… gift… into the keeping of those who offer it. Meto! See that the head is returned to the basket, and take the basket to my ship. So far as can be done, have it purified; the coin in the mouth, and the rest, honorably."
As he averted his eyes once again from the head, and also from Pothinus, Caesar's gaze chanced to fall upon me. Perhaps it was the toga I was wearing that caught his attention; the curiosity of a Roman in formal dress amid the throng of Egyptian courtiers piqued his interest. He studied my face, and for a moment gave no sign of acknowledgment; then he exhibited that curious mixture of recognition and doubt that occurs when one sees a familiar face wildly out of context-for surely Gordianus the Finder was the last person he expected to see standing among King Ptolemy's retinue.
Meto was busy collecting the head of Pompey, but when he passed by, Caesar, still looking at me, touched his arm and spoke into his ear. I caught the merest glimpse of motion as Meto began to turn his head toward me. On a sudden impulse I stepped back into the crowd, obscuring the line of sight between Caesar's party and myself.
But I could still see Merianis. Her posture was erect, her expression rapt as she gazed steadily in the direction of Caesar's party, her eyes locked with those of another. I knew at once what had happened: In my absence, Meto's gaze had fallen on Merianis instead. For her, at least-to judge by her expression-the moment was significant.
CHAPTER XII
" 'When Alexander was fifteen, by chance he passed the place where the wild horse Bucephalus was caged. He heard a terrifying neigh and asked the attendants, "What is that bloodcurdling noise?" The young general Ptolemy replied, "Master, this is the horse Bucephalus that your father the king caged because the beast is a vicious man-eater. No one can tame him, let alone ride him. No man can even approach him safely." Alexander walked to the cage and spoke the name of the horse. Bucephalus, hearing Alexander's voice, neighed again, not in a terrifying way as on every previous occasion, but sweetly and clearly. When Alexander stepped closer, straightaway the horse extended its forefeet to Alexander and licked his hand, recognizing the master that the gods had decreed for him. Whereupon Alexander-' "
"What happens next?" asked Mopsus, sitting on the windowsill and gazing out at the harbor. Both of the boys seemed endlessly fascinated by the doings on Caesar's ships, the comings and goings of the merchant vessels, and the ever-changing play of shadows across the face of the lighthouse. From the abstracted tone of his voice, it was clear that Mopsus's question was not about the narrative I had been reading aloud.
In his lap, purring loudly, sat a gray cat with green eyes. Around his neck the beast sported a collar of solid silver hung with tiny beads of lapis, marking him as a sacred ward of the palace. The cat came and went as he pleased; Mopsus and Androcles had become quite attached to him, and kept scraps of food at hand to lure him to their laps when he deigned to visit us.
Several days had passed since Caesar's arrival. During that time, we had been allowed to move freely about the part of the palace that included our rooms. Our meals were served in a common area where a number of lesser courtiers ate; they kept to themselves and said little to me. Merianis looked in on us every so often, assuring me that the king had not forgotten me and letting me know, subtly but surely, that while I was officially a guest, not a prisoner, I was not to abandon my rooms at the palace. Nonetheless, I was allowed to leave the palace and go about the city as long as I returned by nightfall. But those excursions had grown increasingly problematic.
Alexandria was a city in tumult. Every day since Caesar's arrival, in some part of the city, there had been rioting. Some of the riots were small and easily dispersed by the King's Guards. Others were like whirlwinds that swept through entire quarters, bringing arson, looting, and death. In the bloodiest incident, a company of Roman soldiers on a friendly reconnaissance from the palace to the temple of Serapis had been ambushed and stoned to death, eradicated to the last man despite the fact that they wore armor and carried swords. The fury of an Alexandrian mob is a terrifying thing.
I myself, while out and about in the city, had not been caught in any dangerous situations, but I had seen plumes of smoke and come close enough to some of the disturbances to hear the din of soldiers clashing with rioters. My accent was distinctly Roman, and even the simplest request for directions from a stranger might elicit a hateful glare and a gob of spit at my feet. Rupa, who had lived in Alexandria for many years and still had friends in the city, fared better, but I found it awkward to depend on a mute in every encounter. The boys knew hardly any Greek and no Egyptian, and seemed likely to get themselves-and me-into trouble at any moment.