In Thrall To The Enemy Commander

Titus demonstrated the seal on his scroll to a nearby scribe, who gave an approving nod. The young commander broke the wax and cleared his voice.

‘Before you begin,’ interrupted the Queen, ‘will you not also introduce your companion?’

Titus paused.

‘The one who lurks at the edge of the tent there,’ said the Queen, pointing to the very shadows in which Wen hid.

‘My Queen?’ asked Titus.

Wen prepared to step forward, certain that the Queen had noticed her.

‘Do not play the fool, Titus,’ said the Queen, craning her neck in Wen’s direction. ‘He is as big as a Theban bull.’

There was a sudden movement near Wen and a towering figure stepped out of the shadows beside her.

‘Ah, you refer to my guard,’ said Titus. ‘Apologies, Queen. That is, ah, Clodius.’

Wen’s heart skipped with the realisation that a Roman soldier had been standing beside her all the while, as quiet as a kheft. ‘He accompanied me from Alexandria for my protection,’ Titus continued. ‘He is one of our legion’s most decorated soldiers.’

Wen sank farther into the shadows as the Roman guard made his way through the crowd. He wore no sleeves and his chainmail cuirass fit tightly around his sprawling chest, as if at any moment he might burst from it. The red kilt that extended beneath his steely shell was too short for him, exposing most of his well-muscled legs. He held a helmet against his waist and walked in measured strides that seemed to radiate discipline. Wen wondered how she had not noticed him.

‘You may stop where you are, Clodius,’ said Cleopatra, holding up her hand as her own guards gripped their swords.

The towering Roman turned to his young compatriot in apparent confusion.

‘You heard her, Comm—ah—Clodius,’ he said in a rough soldier’s Latin.

The guard dropped to his knee and bowed. The torches flashed on the muscled contours of his arms, giving Wen a chill. She feared such arms. They were Roman arms, designed to destroy lives.

‘Apologies, Queen Cleopatra,’ said Titus. ‘My guard does not speak the Greek tongue.’

‘Of course he does not,’ said Cleopatra, regarding the man’s arms as Wen had done, ‘for his realm is obviously the battlefield, not the halls of learning.’

‘Shall I dismiss him?’

A buxom young woman standing beside the Queen bent and whispered something into her ear. ‘Do not fear, dear Charmion,’ Cleopatra answered aloud. ‘He will not harm me. As you know, the Romans value glory over all else. There would be no glory in assassinating a queen on the eve of her military defeat now, would there?’

‘You heard her, ah—Clodius,’ said Titus in Latin. ‘Please, return to your post.’

There was something curious about the way Titus spoke to Clodius. Something in the tone of his voice, perhaps, or in his choice of words. The High Priestess would have sensed it right away and known exactly what was amiss. But Wen could not identify it and was soon distracted by the sight of Clodius himself striding back towards the shadows in which she stood.

Time slowed as he took his position beside her and she perceived the long exhale of his breaths. She braved a glance at him, but his brow was too heavy to see his eyes and the rest of his expression was a mask of shadowy stone. ‘General Gaius Julius Caesar,’ Titus began, reading from his scroll, ‘Protector of the Roman Republic, Defeater of Pompey the Great, Conqueror of Gaul...’

The Queen held up her hand. ‘We do not have time for scrolls, good Titus. Please speak Caesar’s message in your own words.’

The Roman looked up. ‘My Goddess?’

‘What does General Caesar ask of me?’

Titus cast his gaze about the room, as if searching for Clodius. ‘Well?’ asked Cleopatra.

‘Ah, General Caesar begs an audience with Your Divine Person,’ he said at last.

Cleopatra’s expression betrayed no sentiment, yet Wen sensed her careful choice of words. ‘What does Caesar hope to gain by summoning me? He allies himself with my husband-brother, Ptolemy, after all, and occupies our very palaces.’

‘He has made no alliance with Ptolemy,’ answered Titus. ‘He wishes to reunite the Lord and Lady of the Two Lands.’

There was a collective gasp and then the room went quiet. ‘Reunite me with Ptolemy? For what motive?’

‘Your Divinity...ah...to please the gods.’

‘He wishes to collect the money my late father owed him,’ Cleopatra said to a flood of laughter.

A bald man in a green robe bent to whisper something into Cleopatra’s ear. The Queen gave a resigned nod, then set her flickering gaze upon the crowd.

‘This priest of Osiris believes that Caesar and my husband-brother conspire to kill me. Who here agrees that Caesar summons me to my death?’

A chorus of voices sang out in agreement, and Wen thought to herself how mistaken they all were.

‘You there,’ the Queen called out. ‘Why do you shake your head in dissent?’

The room went silent. Wen looked around, but she could not discern which of the men had been addressed. ‘Do you disagree with the Osiris priest and these other distinguished men?’ asked the Queen. She was staring directly at Wen.

She had addressed Wen.

Wen felt heat rising in her cheeks. ‘Ah, yes, My Queen,’ she sputtered.

‘Come forward,’ said Cleopatra.

Wen willed her quaking legs through the crowd of advisors, imagining what her head would look like on a spike. When she arrived before the Living Goddess and kneeled, her hands were trembling like a thief’s.

‘You may rise,’ said Cleopatra. ‘Who are you and by whose permission do you appear in my presence?’

‘This is Wen of Alexandria,’ offered an ancient man with long white hair. ‘She is the woman you requested, Goddess. Egyptian by birth, but speaks a commoners’ Latin.’

‘Ah, yes, the...translator,’ Cleopatra said. ‘Thank you, Mardion.’ Cleopatra studied Wen with interest and Wen became painfully aware of her bare feet on the Queen’s fine Persian carpet. ‘Tell me, Translator, why would Caesar not kill me if I go to him now?’

Wen felt every eye in the room upon her and her courage flickered with the braziers.

‘Speak,’ Cleopatra commanded. ‘The fate of Egypt is at stake!’

‘I have heard that Caesar has a taste for h-high-born women,’ Wen blurted, instantly aware of the veiled insult she had made.

But the Queen only nodded. ‘I have heard this rumour as well. Go on.’

‘Th-the Gabiniani of Alexandria say that he has conquered as many women as he has kingdoms. The wives of Crassus and Pompey—even Lollia, the wife of the Gabiniani’s own beloved General. I do not think Caesar will kill you, Goddess. Instead he will seek to conquer you as he does all women of power and beauty. In order to prove his worth.’

Cleopatra wore a puzzled expression. She narrowed her eyes. ‘Do you support my brother Ptolemy’s claim to the Horus Throne?’