“Why?”
Agrippa looked around to make sure no one of lesser rank was within earshot.
“The rumour is that she’s fled the palace and is in a voluntary exile. That she and her brother have had a disagreement and she left.”
“A disagreement about what?”
“One report states that recent crop failures have been blamed on her by her brother….Did you know they were married by the way? Brother and sister are also husband and wife.”
Marcellus raised his hand.
“I did.”
“Well the reports our master received in Rome were that the advisors to her brothers were constantly scheming against her and the Alexandrians are now disgruntled with her. Do you remember Falco the legion of Aulus Gabinus sent here some ten years ago when our master helped Ptolemy Auletes regain his throne?”
“Yes of course,” the thirty year veteran answered. Marcellus had only served seven years. At thirty three he was the youngest General serving and knew nothing of this story.
“The legionaries went native and married local girls.”
“I remember something of it sir, Yes.”
“Now,” Agrippa said, more for Marcellus’ benefit, “The governor of Syria, Bibulus, sent his two sons to find these men, but rather than give up their new lives the soldiers murdered them. Cleopatra had all those responsible arrested and sent to Bibulus. This is what angered the Alexandrians. She appears to have taken Rome’s side in this matter. Which is why we believe she left. It is reported that she is currently trying to raise her own army. It is quite possible that Pompey has either gone over to her or is hoping to recruit the legionaries of ten years ago.
“So if this isn’t her coming to us now in this barge then who could it be? This, what did you call him, Aletes?”
“Ptolemy Auletes. Cleopatra’s father. No not him. He died three years ago.”
“Then perhaps it’s him, the son, Cleopatra’s brother.”
“Well whoever it is,” Marcellus said, “I’d better let our master know.”
Inside the senior officer’s cabin a man was at his desk writing. He put his stylus down for a moment and rubbed tired eyes, then picked the pen up again to continue.
Gaius Julius Caesar, fifty two years old, supreme Roman military commander, the most powerful man on earth was making reports in his journal.
The civil war that has been raging now for almost two years has brought me and my legion to the shores of Egypt. Pompey runs from me and yet I hope, somehow, when he is captured to make a reconciliation with him.
There was a knock at the door.
“Come,” Julius said.
The door opened and Marcellus entered.
“I am sorry to disturb you Caesar but a royal barge is approaching.”
“Has there been any advanced message or messenger?”
“No sir nothing.”
“Any indication as to who may be on board?”
“No sir.”
“Very well.”
Julius got up from the table and beckoned to two man servants who instantly rushed forward with his armour, cloak and weapons and began helping him into them.
“Assemble all generals and an honour guard.”
“Yes sir.”
By the time Julius was on deck the Egyptian royal barge, which was a third of the size of the Roman Quinquireme, had already launched its longboat. The generals stood and watched as it came nearer. Three ambassadors sat in full ceremonial dress, guards behind them.
The three were sweating by the time they’d climbed the ladder and faced the Romans, much to the amusement of the officers present.
“Welcome aboard gentlemen,” Caesar said with friendliness.
The man in the middle of the three stepped forward.
“I am ambassador Pharnaces. I am the royal messenger for king Ptolemy XIII of Egypt. I have a message for our esteemed friend and guest Gaius Julius Caesar,” Pharnaces said extending a be-ringed hand holding a small scroll.
Caesar took the scroll, opened it and read the characters.
“His royal highness king Ptolemy invites you to be a guest upon his royal barge. He welcomes Rome as a friend and ally. What answer shall I give him on my return?” Pharnaces said.
Caesar rolled the scroll back up.
“I will be honoured to be king Ptolemy’s guest.”
The ambassadors all bowed low, turned and descended the ladder slowly.
“Launch the longboat,” Agrippa ordered.
“If you want my advice Caesar we’ll leave this viper’s nest now and return to Rome. Come back with your legions and teach them some manners. Expecting you to attend them. It should be the other way round.”
“Now. Now. Marcellus. You must exercise patience. Firstly I come in peace. We all do. Secondly we come for my son-in-law Pompey. And thirdly I want the money owed to Rome by the former and now dead king Auletes. It is a lot of money to sail away from. Rome and Egypt have been allies for years. I would very much like to see it remain so.”
Julius led the way down the ladder and onto the Roman longboat, his Generals and personal bodyguards following and the boat was launched. As Julius sat watching the gulls sitting on the waves he couldn’t help wondering if Pompey had done this very same thing just days before.
Sitting on his throne on his royal barge surrounded by his advisors the fourteen year old King Ptolemy XIII watched the Roman visitors draw closer. He’d been most interested in watching the elegant Caesar as he’d descended to the boat.
“I think we should make peace with this man,” he said to the heavily armoured man standing to his left, General Achillas.
“The Romans are not to be trusted sire.”
“Once I have given him what he wants he will leave.”
“I hope so my King.”
Ptolemy watched for a further minute.
“I do not think I want this man to be my enemy. Bring forward the gift. I will offer it myself.”
“As you wish sire.”
Once on the deck of the royal barge the four Roman Cornicens stood in a line and blew a fanfare as Julius Caesar came on deck. He waited until they finished and the Cornicens were lowered and all on deck waited as the Egyptian Shenebs, a long trumpet, gave their fanfare.
Caesar nodded at his musicians, smiling, then he looked at the Egyptian royal party and his face became serious. He bade his Generals to wait where they were then stepped towards the royal dais alone. Then his smile returned. He focused on the youth on the throne.
“King Ptolemy I presume.”
The boy, in his enthusiasm, nodded. Caesar expected him to rise and greet Rome’s greatest general as an equal but the boy remained seated.
“Hail King Ptolemy, Theos Philopater, divine son of the gods, ruler of the lands of upper and lower Egypt, chosen of Ptah, to carry out the rule of Re, the living image of Amun.”
Caesar waited until the elegant, effeminate, man had finished.
“That was quite an introduction….” he paused for the other man to give his name.
“Pothinus. Lord chancellor and advisor to King Ptolemy.”
“Very well. And I am Gaius Julius Caesar, Aedile, Praetor, Consul, Dictator, Triumvir and Pontifex Maximus and descendent of Venus.”
He looked at the rest of the royal party.
“And where is Cleopatra?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
None of the royal entourage answered him. Now he focused on Ptolemy again. His face deadly serious.
“Where is your sister?”
Caesar was met with stony silence. He began pacing up and down as Generals do, his hands firmly clasped behind his back. He had already noted that while he stood in the direct sun the Alexandrians stood in the shade.
“As I recall one of the conditions of your father being returned to his throne was that you rule jointly. Yet news reached me in Rome that she is in exile. Could you kindly explain please.”