She looked at us one by one. The sight of Meto evidently pleased her, for she spent a long moment appraising him from head to foot. I was less interesting to her. Her gaze turned to Caesar and remained upon him. The look they exchanged was of such an intensity that all else in the room seemed to fade; I sensed that I had become a shadow to them.
Caesar smiled. "Meto, what do you think of Queen Cleopatra's present?"
" 'Beware of Greeks bearing gifts,' " Meto quoted. I assumed he was making a joke, facetiously comparing the queen's rug to the Trojan Horse, but when I glanced at his face, I saw that he did not smile.
The queen ignored these comments. She assumed a formal stance, one foot before the other with her head tilted slightly back and her arms spread in a gracious gesture. Her Latin was flawless and without accent. "Welcome to Alexandria, Gaius Julius Caesar. Welcome to my palace."
"Her palace?" I heard Meto mutter.
Caesar shot him a sharp look, then spoke to me. "My apologies, Gordianus. I had intended that you and I should dine at our leisure tonight, sharing our thoughts. But one never knows when a matter of state will arise, as it has, however unconventionally, this evening."
"No need to apologize," I said. "I've been a poor guest. My conversation was as weak as my appetite. I'll leave you now."
I strode from the terrace into the grandly appointed room, not looking back. I slowed my pace for a moment as I passed the statue of Venus. There was something about the queen that reminded me of the goddess, some intangible quality to which great artists attune their senses. Ordinary men call it divinity and know it when they encounter it, even if their tongues cannot capture it with words or their hands give shape to it in sculpture. Queen Cleopatra possessed that quality-or was I simply dazzled for the moment, as any man can be dazzled by an object of desire? Surely Cleopatra was no more a goddess than Bethesda had been, and Caesar no more a god than I.
I pushed open the bronze doors and stepped out of the room, and did not realize I was being followed until I heard a voice mutter behind me: "She's trouble."
I stopped and turned around. Meto almost collided with me, then stepped back a respectful distance. "Papa," he whispered, lowering his eyes.
I made no answer. Despite his armor, despite his strong limbs and his battle scars and the thick stubble across his jaw, he looked to me at that moment like a boy, timorous and full of doubt. I bit my lip. I screwed up my courage. "I suppose it's just as well we've met. There's something I must tell you. This won't be easy…"
" 'Quickest done is best done,' " Meto said, quoting the proverb I had taught him as a child, suitable to pulling thorns or drinking foul medicine. He kept his eyes lowered, but his lips formed a faint, ingratiating smile. I tried to ignore it.
"The reason I came to Egypt…"
He lifted his eyes to meet mine. I looked away.
"Bethesda has been unwell for quite some time," I said. "Some malady the physicians could never put a name to. She conceived a notion, that if only she could bathe in the Nile…"
Meto frowned. "Is Bethesda here in Egypt with you?"
My tongue turned to lead. I tried to swallow but could not. "Bethesda came to Egypt. She bathed in the Nile, as she wished. But the river took her from me. She vanished."
"What are you saying, Papa? Did she drown?"
"The river took her. Perhaps it was best, if her sickness was incurable. Perhaps it was what she intended all along."
"Bethesda is dead?" His lips quivered. His brows drew together. The son who was no longer my son, the favorite of Caesar who had seen men die by the thousands, who had hacked his way through drifts of dead bodies and mountains of gore, began to weep.
"Meto!" I whispered his name, but kept my distance.
"I never thought…" He shook his head. Tears streamed down his cheeks. "When you're far from home, you can't help but imagine what might be happening there, but you teach yourself to think of only good things. In the field, getting ready for battle, fighting a battle, tending to the aftermath, there's so much terror all around, so much confusion and bloodshed and suffering, that when you think of home you think of everything that's the opposite, a place that's safe and happy, where the people you love are all together and nothing ever changes. But of course that's a dream, a fantasy. Every place is the same as every other place. No one is safe, anywhere. But I never thought… that Bethesda…" He shot me an angry look. "I didn't even know she was ill. You might have told me in a letter-if you hadn't stopped writing me letters."
I drew back my shoulders and stiffened my spine. "There, then. I've told you. Bethesda is gone. Her body was lost, or else I would have mummified her, as was always her wish."
Meto shook his head, as if dazed. "And Diana? How is she? And little Aulus? And-"
"Your sister-" I corrected myself. "My daughter and her son were well when I left them in Rome. She's expecting another child, or else she might have come herself."
"And Davus? And Eco? And-"
"All are well," I said, wanting to end the conversation.
He sighed. "Papa, I know what a tribulation this must have been for you. I can only-"
"Say no more!" I said. "You needed to be told, and I've told you. Go back to Caesar now."
"Go back?" He laughed without mirth, even as he wiped a tear from his cheek. "Didn't you see the look on his face? And the look on her face? She's trouble. It's one thing, dealing with that starstruck boy-king and his eunuch, but I'm afraid Queen Cleopatra may be another matter altogether. I'll give her credit for sheer nerve-"
"I see how long your tears for Bethesda lasted. Now it's back to Caesar and the queen and whatever game the lot of you are up to."
"Papa! That's unfair."
"Think what you wish, but don't address me as your father."
He drew a sharp breath. He winced, as if I had turned a knife in his chest. "Papa!" he whispered, shaking his head. I could have sworn he was a child again, no older than ten or twelve, an uncertain boy clad in the armor of a warrior.
It took the last measure of my resolve to resist embracing him at that moment. Instead, I turned and strode resolutely down the hallway and then down the many flights of steps, leaving Meto to await the pleasure of his imperator and the queen.
CHAPTER XV
"You knew," I said to Merianis as we walked side by side through courtyards and past bubbling fountains, heading back to my room. She had been waiting for me at the checkpoint marking the boundary of the Roman enclave.
"You knew," I repeated, turning to look at her. "Thus your coy smile earlier. Thus your arch comment about surprises."
"Whatever are you talking about, Gordianus-called-Finder?" "You knew that another visitor besides myself was going to call on Caesar tonight."
"Who's being coy now?" she said. "Are you saying that you were joined at dinner by an unexpected guest?" She could not suppress a broad smile. Her white teeth, in contrast to the black luster of her flesh, were dazzling.
"A gift for Caesar arrived from an unexpected quarter."
"A gift?"
"A surprise with another surprise hidden inside. It was compared to the Trojan Horse."
Merianis laughed. "Did Caesar say that?"
I frowned. "No, it was one of his men."