"No, Consul."
He nodded. Even with his back turned, I could tell that he took no pleasure in the gesture. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, nervously turning the alabaster vial between two fingers. He turned to face me.
"I've just received disturbing news. How are your eyes, Gordianus?"
"I beg your pardon, Consul?" "Stand here and look toward the east, beyond the city, at that blur of desert between here and the Nile. What do you see, Gordianus?"
"Not much, Consul. A blur, as you say, further obscured by a great cloud of dust."
"Exactly. That's the dust raised by a marching army. According to my intelligence, the whole of Ptolemy's army has decamped from their fortress in the desert and is now marching this way under the command of a certain Achillas. You've met this fellow, I understand?"
"Not exactly, Consul."
"But you've observed him at close quarters?"
"From a considerable distance, I saw him murder Pompey. Later, practically under my nose, I watched him strangle an Egyptian spy with his bare hands."
"A murderous brute!"
"I believe that both acts were committed at the behest of the king, which would make the killing of Pompey an assassination and the killing of the spy an execution-if one believes that some killings are murder and other killings are not."
Caesar looked at me askance. "I've killed men in battle. Men under my command have caused the death of many others. Would you call me a murderer, Gordianus?"
"I would never presume to offer such a judgment, Consul."
He snorted. "Wriggled out of answering that one, didn't you? You remind me more and more of Cicero. The word-twisting, the hand-wringing, the endless equivocations-his ways have rubbed off on you over the years, whether you like it or not."
I kept my voice steady. "The times we live in have led us all down paths not of our choosing."
"Speak for yourself, Gordianus. You spend too much time looking backward. The future lies ahead."
"A future that will soon bring Ptolemy's army to the gates of Alexandria?"
"So it seems. I never intended for Alexandria to become a battleground. I meant to come here, settle affairs between the king and queen, and be on my way. Instead, I now face the prospect of a full-scale war, and I don't like the odds. I've sent for reinforcements, but who knows when those will arrive? As it stands, their numbers are great, and ours are small. Granted, the forces under Achillas's command are highly irregular by Roman standards. The core is made up of the legionnaires who arrived here under Gabinius to restore the late king to his throne and to keep the peace. It seems they've since forgotten their origins and become Egyptianized, marrying local women and adopting native customs. That one of their number would consent to murder Pompey in cold blood tells us just how far they've descended from their honorable beginnings. Added to their ranks are mercenaries, runaway slaves, and foreign criminals. They've no discipline to speak of, and little loyalty; once, when they wanted higher pay, they blockaded the palace to demand it. But they haven't forgotten how to fight. Under a commander as murderous as they are, they may constitute a formidable foe."
He began to pace, turning the alabaster vial in his fingers. It seemed that Meto was far from his thoughts. He spoke again.
"A moment ago, you said that the killing of Pompey was done at the behest of the king. Do you believe that, Gordianus? Did King Ptolemy himself order the assassination? Is he capable of issuing such a command without Pothinus guiding him?"
"Surely you've come to know the king better than I do, Consul. You must be a better judge of his character and capabilities."
"Am I? Do you want the truth, Gordianus? These Ptolemies have me utterly confounded! The two of them have put my head in a spin. It's absurd. The master strategist, the consummate politician, the conqueror of Gaul, the author of Pompey's downfall-stumped by two children!"
I could not restrain a smile. "Cleopatra is hardly a child, Consul, as young as she may seem to men of our years. And-since you asked for my opinion-Ptolemy is no longer a boy. He's very nearly at that age when a Roman youth puts on the toga of manhood and becomes a citizen. Were you not precocious at fifteen, Consul?"
"Precocious, perhaps, but I was hardly ready to run a country like Egypt! When I was the king's age…" Caesar's face softened. "That was about the time I lost my father. It happened one morning while he was putting on his shoes. He was a strong, vigorous man in the prime of life; my mentor, my hero. One moment he was alive, tying the straps of his shoes. The next moment, he gave a lurch and tumbled to the floor, as dead as King Numa. His own father had died the same way-suddenly, in middle age, for no apparent reason. Some flaw passed from father to son, perhaps; in which case, I'm already past the span of my allotted years and living on borrowed time. I could die at any moment; perhaps I'll drop dead while we stand here talking!" He gazed at the distant cloud of dust and sighed. "I remember my father every day-every time I put on my shoes. It's a sad thing for a boy on the verge of manhood to lose his father. The same thing happened to Ptolemy, though he was even younger when the Piper died. I think that may be why he craves so strongly the affection and guidance of an older man."
I frowned. "You speak of Pothinus?"
Caesar laughed. "I'll spare you the predictable joke regarding Pothinus's manhood. No, Gordianus, I refer to myself. The other day, in the reception hall, when I spoke of the special friendship between the king and myself, I wasn't just spinning pretty words in the manner of Cicero."
"I think I may understand the king's fascination with Caesar, but I'm not sure I understand…"
"Caesar's fascination with the king? Ptolemy is intelligent, passionate, willful, convinced of his divine destiny-"
"Like his sister?"
"Very much like her, though I'm afraid he lacks Cleopatra's sense of humor. Such a serious young man-and what a temper! That tantrum he threw the other day, haranguing the crowd and casting off his diadem!" Caesar shook his head. "I acted too quickly, pressing him to make peace with his sister. I should have anticipated his reaction."
"It seemed to me that the king was behaving like a jealous lover." I gazed steadily at Caesar, wondering if I had spoken too candidly.
He narrowed his eyes. "The intimate relationship between an older man and a youth has always been more warmly regarded in the Greek-speaking world than in our own. Alexander himself had Hephaestion, and then the Persian boy, Bagoas. If the king of Alexander's city has approached me in the same spirit of manly love, should I not be honored? Young men are naturally susceptible to hero worship. The more ambitious or highborn the young man, the more exalted the older man upon whom the youth desires to model himself."
"The king's attention flatters you?"
"Yes; and in a way that his sister's attentions do not."
"They say that Caesar set his sights on a king, when he was young." The steadiness of my voice was inversely proportionate to the recklessness of my words. Everyone knew the rumors about Caesar and King Nicomedes of Bithynia. His political enemies had used the tale to ridicule him-but most of those men were dead now. Caesar's soldiers cracked jokes about it-but I was not one of Caesar's comrades in arms. Still, it was Caesar himself who had opened this avenue of conversation.
His response was surprisingly candid. Perhaps, like me, Caesar had reached that point in life when one's own past begins to seem like ancient history-more quaint than quarrel provoking. "Ah, Nico! When I put on my shoes, I think of my father; when I take them off, I think of Nico. I was nineteen, serving on the staff of the praetor Minucius Thermus in the Aegean. Thermus required the help of King Nicomedes's fleet; an emissary was needed to go to the king's court in Bithynia. Thermus chose me. 'I think the two of you may hit it off,' he told me, with a glint in his eye. The old goat was right. Nico and I hit it off so well that I tarried in Bithynia even after Thermus sent a messenger to retrieve me. What a remarkable man Nico was! Born to power, sure of himself, with a voracious appetite for life; a ruler not unlike the one that Ptolemy may yet become. What a lot he had to teach an eager, ambitious young Roman who was no longer a boy but not quite a man. When I think of how naive I was, how wide-eyed and innocent!"