“No it’s my way of saying thank you. Your reward will come another day.”
CHAPTER SIX
Ptolemy was suddenly awake. He had been dreaming, strange dreams, chaotic dreams. He was soaked in sweat. He looked around the room he was in. It was his bedroom. He stared at a lamp stand that was buckled. The oil from it was in a puddle on the floor. Then he remembered.
He had returned to his bedroom with Theodotus and Pothinus. No! Wait! Pothinus was executed. He now remembered how he had recoiled in horror when he’d fled Caesar and seen the headless corpse of Pothinus being dragged away by palace slaves. The body had left a large smear of blood on the floor. A trail of red against the polished marble.
It was just Theodotus.
He, Ptolemy, had been weeping in despair and had completely against character grabbed a pitcher of wine. Theodotus had tried to discourage him from drinking. But Ptolemy had downed a third of the jug in seconds. Never having drunk before it burned his throat and made him throw up.
Undeterred, he’d continued.
“My Lord this is not the answer.”
Theodotus had tried to take the jug from him but Ptolemy had collapsed to the floor clutching it to his chest.
“It’s the only way. What do I have left?” The boy King blurted out, “Pothinus is dead. Cleopatra is back. Caesar has sided with her against me. They have stolen my throne.”
“Usurped it for the moment my King. Have you forgotten your army? Twenty thousand men under Achillas’ command surrounding this city. Men joining every day.”
“What good will it do?”
“Sire Achillas outnumbers Caesar’s forces five to one.”
“Doomed! We are all doomed!” Ptolemy had shouted.
Theodotus had tried to re-assure him but he was soon downing the wine at a very fast rate. Finally Ptolemy had ordered them all out of his presence and shouted at everyone to leave him alone. Later there came the sound of the lamp crashing over, other things being broken, more vomiting and finally his snoring filled the palace. At Theodotus’ orders a servant peered cautiously into the room to see what was happening. Theodotus came in with a handful of slaves. Ptolemy was slumped on the floor against the large wooden bed. Slaves quickly undressed and cleaned him and helped him into his bed. Theodotus went over to where his crown lay on the floor where it had rolled and picked it up and put it on a table. A slave ran past him with Ptolemy’s royal robes which stank of sour wine and vomit. The lamp stand was picked up and the spilt oil mopped up. Some broken furniture was carried outside. After watching the slaves position the boy so if he did vomit again he wouldn’t choke on it Theodotus ordered them out. They left him snoring. Theodotus noticed when they left that the Roman guards were no longer there, just the two Egyptian ones with spears.
Ptolemy now sat up in bed. His mouth was dry and tasted disgusting. He tried to swallow but couldn’t produce enough saliva. His head was thumping in a way he’d never known before. He belched. The taste of the wine was back in his throat. It tasted strong and burned. He leaned over and was sick all over the floor. When he did lift his head again the room was spinning. He groaned and lay back again and slept for a while. When he woke up the room was brighter which told him it was around mid-morning. Looking at the sun’s pattern on the floor he guessed it was between eight and nine o’clock. Someone had been in and cleaned the floor again. He got up out of the bed feeling a bit better and walked shakily over to a basin by which there was a jug of fresh water. He tried to pour himself a cup full of water but was shaking too much. He put the cup down and raised the jug to his lips with both hands and slurped from it. He paused, wiped his hand across his mouth and drank again. Next he poured himself some water into the basin and cupping his hands into the water he splashed it over his face. He repeated it twice more and when no one was there to wipe his face with a towel for him as there had been someone all of his life he found a towel and wiped it himself. Not knowing what to do with the towel he threw it on the floor. Then a thought struck him, an awful thought. Once he was with Achillas and the army he would have to do everything himself. He remembered the events of last night again and soon panic started to set in. he dashed across the bedroom to the double doors.
“Theodotus! Theodotus!” he wailed.
He opened the double doors and stopped, shocked to find no guards. The corridor was empty except for a female servant arranging flowers on a side table. She saw him approach and instantly dropped to her knees and spread her hands on the floor, her head low.
“Where are my guards?” he asked her.
She kept her face down.
“I don‘t know my King.“
“Theodotus! Where’s Theodotus?”
He stopped and looked ahead. Theodotus had rounded the corner and seeing Ptolemy he walked quickly towards him.
“Theodotus where have you been? I was worried. I had nightmares.”
Theodotus caught him by the arm and led him back towards the bedroom.
“Stop! What are you doing? STOP!” Ptolemy stamped his feet.
“This is not the place to discuss….”
“I want answers.”
“My King it would be better if we could discuss things in private.”
“No! Stop! I won’t go! I demand an answer. Where have you been?”
Theodotus stopped and sighed. He glanced at the servant still grovelling on the floor.
“Get out,” he ordered her.
She fled. Only too happy to get away.
“I have been to see Caesar my King.”
“Caesar! What did he say?”
“Nothing my Lord. I didn’t get to see him. He would not grant me an audience. I saw his General who told me that you have until nightfall to leave with all your belongings or they would be confiscated. I took your crown with me to see if he would honour the privileges a King should have but that General of his, Dolabella, just laughed and said your crown wasn’t worth its weight in shit.”
Ptolemy snatched his crown and put it on his head.
“If they do not respect my crown then they do not respect me!”
He turned and ran, catching Theodotus completely unawares. Theodotus being a man of considerable age and girth watched him go, unable to give chase.
Ptolemy reached the outside and paused at the bright morning sunshine as it dazzled him at first. He put his hands up in front of his eyes to shield them. He saw people on the street below gathering and he ran down the steps towards them.
There was a group of eight men at the bottom in a circle talking. One of them saw Ptolemy at the last moment as he crashed into them sending two of them sprawling. They only just managed to stop themselves from crashing to the ground.
“Hey look out!” the man who had first spotted him shouted out.
Ptolemy himself had crashed to the ground and a burly man of the group picked him up roughly. He drew back his fist but stopped in amazement at who he faced.
“It’s King Ptolemy!” someone shouted. More and more faces began to turn.
“What’s he doing here?”
The man who’d picked him up, intended to punch him, recoiled in horror. It was punishable by death for a commoner to put his hands on a member of the Royal family.
“I’m sorry your majesty I didn’t know it was you.”
“Why is he here?” someone shouted.
“Where are his guards?” said another.
“Is he alone?”
His crown had fallen and someone picked it up for him. A large group had already gathered and as the word was getting around people were abandoning what they were doing and running over to view the scene.
King Ptolemy!
Fat boy!
The bastard!
Was in their midst.