Her own ancestor, Ptolemy, had seized Egypt as his share. Rome, she was certain, would not allow such a thing. Its outlandish republican government seemed chaotic, but it worked and it had staying power. Their unbelievable rise from beggar nation to northern empire was proof enough of that.
So what to do in the event of Roman victory? Selene was of Greek-Macedonian descent, without a drop of native blood in her veins. But after more than two hundred years the Ptolemies had Nile water in their veins and their flesh was the soil of Egypt. They combined the qualities of the Two Lands with those of Greece. Domination by Rome would simply call for patience, and patience was an ancient Egyptian specialty.
"Your Majesty," Scipio said, breaking into her thoughts, "I have to address a disturbing report I've received."
"You are being uncommonly formal," she observed. "You don't normally address me by title except in public."
"We Romans," Flaccus said with a mischievous smile, "consider capital punishment worthy of formality."
"Capital punishment?" she said, mystified. "Who is being executed?"
"My fellow senator here," Flaccus said, jerking a thumb toward Scipio.
"What? You know I don't understand Roman humor. Please explain."
"Nothing humorous about it," Marcus said: "I understand you are having statues of me erected in towns all up the Nile."
"Naturally. You are a great man now, and Egyptians are accustomed to seeing their great men in the form of statues. They won't take them seriously otherwise."
"I am flattered, but my fellow senators will take them as a sign of dangerous ambition and the fact will be used against me in the Forum."
"Furthermore," Flaccus pointed out, "some of them have been placed in temples, particularly those devoted to the cult of Alexander. Marcus's enemies in the Senate will say that he aspires to become king of Egypt and receive not only royal but divine honors. Among us 'king' is a foul word, and only a triumphing general receives semi-divine honors, and that for only a day. To aspire to such things warrants a gruesome death by Roman law."
"How silly," she said. "Why risk everything for power if you can't be king? And there is great precedent for living monarchs to be deified."
"We have different customs, Your Majesty," Scipio said.
"You hardly need to tell me that. Besides, I merely honor your services by ancient custom."
"Nonetheless, the mere appearance of such ambition will be quite sufficient for the Senate to demand my head. As proof of friendship with Rome, you might be asked to deliver it personally."
"In some ways you are a most unreasonable people. Oh, very well, I'll have the statues removed."
"Not removed-destroyed," Marcus specified.
"If the Egyptian people need a visible demonstration," Flaccus suggested, "why not erect tablets inscribed with words of your esteem for Rome and pledging the friendship of our two nations? If the populace truly require statues, make them statues to the genius of the Roman people."
"Genius?" Selene said.
"Every Roman male," Flaccus explained, "is born with a genius: a guardian spirit who protects him and advises him to right behavior. Girls are born with an equivalent spirit called sijuno. Places have genii as welclass="underline" The genius loci is thespirit of that place. There is a collective genius for the people as a whole. This will be a way for you to render divine honors to your new allies without attracting the wrath of either the Senate or the gods."
"I see. Be so good as to give my director of works instructions on how these statues should be designed. I will see that they are placed in every town in Egypt."
"Very good of you, Your Majesty," Flaccus said. "The Senate and People of Rome will be pleased."
Later the Romans took their leave and Selene sat brooding. The men had a way of undermining her most careful, foresightful plans and somehow turning them to their own advantage. Who would have imagined that they would detect the subtle implications of those statues? Most men, especially the military sort, never saw beyond their own aggrandizement. These seemingly blunt, practical men were uncannily attuned to the attitudes of their peers, and they considered no one, not even a queen of Egypt, to be higher than their own peerage.
This called for further planning.
In their quarters in what was now acknowledged as the Roman wing of the Palace, Marcus Scipio and Aulus Flaccus compared notes. They drank the Lesbian wine they had come to love, Flaccus taking three swallows for Scipio's one, in a large room filled with models of machines from the Archimedean school of the Museum.
"I found out about the horns," Flaccus said.
"What horns?" Marcus said, examining a bewildering contraption its designer insisted would lift whole cohorts of soldiers above the walls of an enemy city and set them down inside without having to storm the battlements.
"These," Flaccus said, lifting Marcus's elaborate helmet from the table. "They are ram's horns."
"That much I figured out for myself."
"You haven't done enough sightseeing around here."
"I've been busy," Marcus said.
"If you'd paid attention, you would have learned that the ram is sacred to the god Ammon. Long ago, Greek priests determined that Ammon is identical with Zeus, hence the many temples to Zeus-Ammon erected by the Ptolemies. Zeus, in these temples, is carved in the Greek fashion, but with ram's horns to identify him with the native god. I believe you've noticed that the portraits of Alexander on local coins also depict him wearing these horns."
"That much I had noticed," Marcus said, nodding. "I wondered about that."
"Well, wonder about this." Flaccus reached into his purse and withdrew something. It glittered in the lamplight as he flipped it through the air.
Marcus caught it and sucked in his breath as he saw what rested in his palm. It was a magnificent golden coin, new-minted and as broad as three of his fingers held together. On its obverse side was a beautifully carved and struck masculine profile. Its features were unmistakably his own, and a curling ram's horn sprang from the rather abundant, curling hair above his ear. He raised his eyes to meet his friend's.
"Are these in circulation?" he all but whispered.
"I visited the royal mint this morning, luckily for you. They'd only struck a few, to show to the queen for her approval; I personally watched them melted except for this one. Then I got a sledgehammer and smashed the dies. I told the master coiner that I would see him crucified if so much as a single coin or die were held back. I even found the clay model the sculptor made for the die-cutters as a guide and destroyed that."
"Thank you, old friend," Marcus said with great sincerity. Then: "What do you think the woman is up to? Is she deliberately trying to have me killed?"
"I doubt it, though I wouldn't put it past her. She's not a nasty piece of work like her brother, or like Hamilcar and his sister, but royalty have their own set of priorities. Her first order of business is to secure her own reign. Next, she has to increase or at least sustain the power and prestige of Egypt. Rome is the rising power in the world, so she sees the advantages of an alliance with Rome. You represent Rome."
"That doesn't explain giving me divine horns," Marcus pointed out.
"I haven't told you all I found in the mint."
"Do be so good," Marcus said, pouring himself a large goblet of Lesbian, all but sweating with relief at his near escape. Death was nothing, but execution by senatorial order, with its attendant disgrace to his family, was unthinkable.