I’m sorry, he thought. I failed you all.
“Those who beg mercy of Rome shall have it,” Octavian announced in a loud voice to the room. “Let it be known to all those who have served under Antony. Turn over arms, submit to the authority of the Imperator, and live. If not, go the way of Lucius Vorenus.” His gaze fell on Vorenus, piercing and angry. “His head. Now,” he said, dismissing his life with a wave of his hand.
Metal rang from behind Vorenus, and he closed his eyes. This will do for the headache, he thought to himself. It was the sort of thing Pullo would say, and the thought of his old friend made Vorenus both sad and happy at the same time. At least Pullo lived.
“No!” shouted Selene.
Once more the room turned to the girl who for the moment seemed a woman. Her brothers were startled away from their embrace of her, leaving wet marks upon her dress. With Octavian’s attention upon her she approached the throne that might one day have been hers, arms loose at her sides as she swayed up next to her mother, who only looked down at her daughter with an unreadable expression upon her face. Selene’s jaw was stiffly set, and her gaze did not fall to the ground. She did not bow.
“No?” Octavian sounded amused. “You disagree with the judgment of Rome?”
Cleopatra’s hand twitched at her side, as if she thought to reach out to her daughter to protect her from the dangerous game she was playing, but Selene was already speaking, her voice steady and smooth. “Vorenus was more a father to me and my brothers than Antony ever was,” she said. “He has been, as you said yourself, a loyal man. Yes, he was loyal to Antony, but it was only because it was his place to be. Antony chose for both of them.”
Octavian said nothing, but he stared at the girl for long seconds, seeming deep in thought. “What is his life worth to you?” he finally asked.
“Whatever mine is worth to you,” Selene replied. “He is as my father. If I’m to be spared, let him be so.” She bowed at last, graceful and smooth, and held herself low and humble before him.
Vorenus saw Octavian swallow hard. “You’re as interesting as you are beautiful,” the Imperator said. The smile that spread across his face seemed to Vorenus both victorious and devious. “I’ll offer you a bargain. A gift to show my goodwill to Egypt and Rome’s loyal subjects.”
Cleopatra’s hand twitched again, but instead of reaching out to her daughter she bowed alongside her.
“I offer Lucius Vorenus of the old Sixth Legion free passage from this room as a wedding gift.”
Cleopatra knelt on one knee, then raised her head to address the man upon her throne. “A wedding gift?”
Octavian’s face flashed to malice for a moment before it returned to something that might have been kindness. “Yes, my lady. For your daughter, who I will give to a truly loyal man, Juba the Numidian.”
“Numidian?” The word was gasped out of Cleopatra’s throat.
“A man of my own family,” Octavian said, an edge in his voice. He stood from the chair, came down the steps to stand before Selene. “Well? I give you a place in my family, lady Selene. And so to these your brothers.”
Selene had remained bowing, but now she raised herself up. “If Juba will have me,” she said in a quiet voice.
“He will.”
The leering look in Octavian’s eyes as he stood so close to the girl and passed his gaze over her body made a heat rise in Vorenus that brushed aside his pains and focused his awareness. His fingers stretched and balled into fists. I can get to him, he told himself. I can do it.
But then Selene was turning toward him. Her eyes shone with dampness, but the smile on her face seemed genuinely happy. Her mouth shaped in silent speech. Go, she seemed to say. It’ll be fine.
Vorenus felt her love, her devotion, her kindness. He relaxed his fists and returned her smile with his own. Be strong, he tried to tell her. Be strong and live.
Hands were pulling him away, out of the chamber. He nodded to the girl who thought she’d saved his life, and then he turned and let Galbus lead him out of the palace and into the sunlight. For Selene’s sake, he walked as if he had no care in the world.
Three legionnaires formed around him and Galbus. None of them returned his weapons to him. None said a word.
Not that anything needed to be said. Vorenus knew Octavian could never let him live. He’d only promised free passage from the throne room, not from the island. Selene would learn such nuances in time. She’d learn to play the game. And she’d be good at it in the end. Vorenus was certain of that, too. She was stronger than anyone ever gave her credit for. And she and her brothers would live. That was the important thing now. If it took his death to ensure that, he couldn’t complain.
Vorenus took a deep breath of the salty air, feeling the shadow and light pass over his face as they walked beside the palm trees that grew along the promenade. They were taking him to the end of the long dock, past the ships. The better to dispose of his body, he supposed. Let him float to the deep with whatever was left of Khenti.
They passed the royal barge and then, as Vorenus expected, the smaller trireme that he’d arrived on. There were, he saw, a handful of Roman guards on its deck, keeping an eye on the trap that led to the oarsmen below. Vorenus could hear that the Egyptians he and Khenti had conscripted to that duty were still inside the boat, their fate yet to be determined.
Not far beyond, the paved quay ended at the southern point of Antirhodos, an area that couldn’t be seen from the rest of the island, hidden behind piles of crates and barrels. The channel separating them from the city was deep and fast with strong current. All the better to kill him quietly and have him swept away.
Galbus stepped aside, motioning Vorenus toward the edge. Vorenus sensed the other three legionnaires slowing and taking positions behind him. Their movements were so scripted, executed so silently, that a part of him wondered how many men they’d executed as a group. Not that it mattered. Not now.
The waves moved up and back among the rocks below him. Instead of looking down at them, he looked off at the sea and tried to remember his mother.
He could see a body rising out there, floating up with the tide before falling away again amid the waves. Khenti, Vorenus thought. I failed him, too.
“You’ll meet your Egyptian friend in the afterlife,” Galbus said.
Vorenus doubted that was so. “Be quick,” he said. It seemed the sort of thing he ought to say, though he didn’t really know if it mattered.
Vorenus fixed his gaze on that faraway body. He heard, for the second time in minutes, the sound of a blade being pulled from its scabbard. The body on the water rose on a high wave, rolling over. Vorenus, through his tired eyes, at last saw it clearly. Blond-haired, wearing the uniform of a legionnaire.
A gladius, still in its sheath, suddenly flew up from the shoreline rocks below him, hanging for a moment point down in the air before him. Only in that moment did his mind catch up to the reality of what was going on.
Though no longer the young man that he’d once been, Vorenus could still move with speed when it was necessary. He reached out and snapped his hand around the grip of the gladius even as he spun on his toes and brought the weapon around in an arc. For a fleeting instant he saw the dark shape of Khenti leaping up over the wall, swoop-bladed Egyptian sword in hand, but then Vorenus lost sight of him as he came around and his swing landed solidly against the edge of the blade that had been meant for his neck.
Galbus’ eyes widened in shock as his blade sank into Vorenus’ sheathed gladius. Their arms reverberated for a second, and then Vorenus lunged forward, slamming his forehead into the Roman’s nose.