“Well,” she said as he and his lictors escorted her back to the unmarred Royal Enclosure, “I shall scrape up every talent of gold and silver I can find to rebuild the temples, the gymnasium, the agora, the courts of justice, all the public buildings.”
His hand holding the donkey’s halter jerked; the animal stopped, its long-lashed eyes blinking. “That’s very laudable,” he said, voice hard, “but you don’t start with the ornaments. The first thing you spend your money on is food for those left alive in this desolation. The second thing you spend your money on is clearance of the ruins. The third thing you spend your money on are new houses for the ordinary people, including the poor. Only when Alexandria’s people are served can you spend money on the public buildings and temples.”
Her mouth opened to rail at him, but before she could speak her outrage, she encountered his eyes. Oh, Creator Ptah! He is a God, mighty and terrible!
“I can tell you,” he went on, “that most of the people killed in this war were Macedonians and Macedonian-Greeks. Perhaps a hundred thousand. So you still have almost three million people to care for—people whose dwellings and jobs have perished. I wish you could see that you have a golden opportunity to endear yourself to the bulk of your Alexandrian people. Rome hasn’t suffered reduction to ruins since she became a power, nor are her common people neglected. You Ptolemies and your Macedonian masters have run a place far bigger than Rome to suit yourselves, there has been no spirit of philanthropy. That has to change, or the mob will return more angry than ever.”
“You’re saying,” she said, pricked and confused, “that we at the top of the tower have not acquitted ourselves like a true government. You harp on our indifference to the lowly, the fact that it has never been our habit to fill their bellies at our expense, or extend the citizenship to all who live here. But Rome isn’t perfect either. It’s just that Rome has an empire, she can squeeze prosperity for her own lowly by exploiting her provinces. Egypt has no provinces. Those it did have, Rome took from it for her own needs. As for yourself, Caesar—your career has been a bloody one that ill equips you to sit in judgement on Egypt.”
The hand tugged the halter; the donkey started walking. “In my day,” he said in ordinary tones, “I have rendered half a million people homeless. Four hundred thousand women and children have died because of me. I have killed more than a million men on my fields of battle. I have amputated hands. I have sold a million more men, women and children into slavery. But all that I have done has been done in the knowledge that first I made treaties, tried conciliation, kept my end of the bargains. And when I have destroyed, what I have left behind will benefit future generations in far greater measure than the damage I did, the lives I ended or ruined.”
His voice didn’t increase in volume, but it became stronger. “Do you think, Cleopatra, that I don’t see in my mind’s eye the sum total of the devastation and upheaval I’ve caused? Do you think I don’t grieve? Do you think that I look back on all of it—and look forward to more of it—without sorrow? Without pain? Without regret? Then you mistake me. The remembrance of cruelty is poor comfort in old age, but I have it on excellent authority that I will not live to be old. I say again, Pharaoh, rule your subjects with love, and never forget that it is only an accident of birth that makes you different from one of those women picking through the debris of this shattered city. You deem it Amun-Ra who put you in your skin. I know it was an accident of fate.”
Her mouth was open; she put up her hand to shield it and looked straight between the donkey’s ears, determined not to weep. So he believes that he will not live to be old, and is glad of it. But now I understand that I will never truly know him. What he is telling me is that everything he has ever done was a conscious decision, made in full knowledge of the consequences, including to himself. I will never have that kind of strength or perception or ruthlessness. I doubt anyone ever has.
A nundinum later Caesar called an informal conference in the big room he used as a study. Cleopatra and Apollodorus were there, together with Hapd’efan’e and Mithridates of Pergamum. There were Romans present: Publius Rufrius, Carfulenus of the Sixth, Lamius of the Fortieth, Fabricius of the Twenty-seventh, Macrinus of the Thirty-seventh, Caesar’s lictor Fabius, his secretary Faberius, and his personal legate, Gaius Trebatius Testa.
“It is the beginning of April,” he announced, looking very fit and well, every inch Caesar, “and reports from Gnaeus Domitius Calvinus in Asia Province have informed me that Pharnaces has gone back to Cimmeria to deal with his erring son, who has decided not to submit to tata without a fight. So matters in Anatolia lie dormant for at least the next three or four months. Besides, all the mountain passes to Pontus and Armenia Parva will be choked with snow until the middle of Sextilis—oh, how I hate the discrepancy between the calendar and the seasons! In that respect, Pharaoh, Egypt is right. You based your calendar on the sun, not on the moon, and I intend to have speech with your astronomers.”
He drew a breath and returned to his subject. “There is no doubt in my mind that Pharnaces will return, however, so I will plan my future actions with that in mind. Calvinus is busy recruiting and training, and Deiotarus is extremely eager to atone for being in Pompeius Magnus’s clientele. As for Ariobarzanes”—he grinned—“Cappadocia will always be Cappadocia. We’ll get no joy from him, but nor will Pharnaces. I’ve told Calvinus to send for some of the Republican legions I returned to Italy with my own veterans, so when the time comes, we should be well prepared. It’s to our advantage that Pharnaces is bound to lose some of his best soldiers fighting Asander in Cimmeria.”
He leaned forward in his curule chair, eyes roaming the row of intent faces. “Those of us who have been marooned in Alexandria for the last six months have fought a particularly enervating campaign, and all troops are entitled to a winter rest camp. Therefore I intend to stay in Egypt for two more months, as long a winter camp as events allow. With Pharaoh’s permission and co-operation, I am going to send my men to winter camp near Memphis, far enough away from Alexandria to permit of no memories. There are tourist attractions galore, and the issue of pay will give the men money to spend. Also, I am arranging to have Alexandria’s surplus daughters shipped to the camp. So many potential husbands have died that the city will be burdened by too many women for years to come, and there is method in this provision. I do not intend these girls as whores, but as wives. The Twenty-seventh, the Thirty-seventh and the Fortieth are going to remain to garrison Alexandria for long enough to establish homes and families. I am afraid that the Sixth will not be able to form permanent liaisons.”
Fabricius, Lamius and Macrinus looked at one another, not sure whether they welcomed this news. Decimus Carfulenus of the Sixth sat impassively.
“It is essential that Alexandria remains quiet,” Caesar went on. “As time passes, more and more of Rome’s legions will find themselves posted to garrison duty rather than active service. Which isn’t to say that garrison duty consists of idleness. We all remember what happened to the Gabiniani whom Aulus Gabinius left behind to garrison Alexandria after Auletes was restored to his throne. They went native with a vengeance, and murdered the sons of Bibulus rather than return to active duty in Syria. The Queen dealt with that crisis, but it mustn’t happen again. Those legions left in Egypt will conduct themselves as a professional army, keep up their soldier skills, and hold themselves ready to march at Rome’s command. But men stranded in foreign places without a home life are discontented at first, then disaffected. What cannot happen is that they steal women from the people of Memphis. Therefore they will espouse the surplus Alexandrian women and—as Gaius Marius always said—spread Roman ways, Roman ideals and the Latin language through their children.”
The cool eyes surveyed the three centurions concerned, each primipilus of his legion; Caesar never bothered with legates or military tribunes, who were noblemen and transient. Centurions were the backbone of the army, its only full-time officers.
“Fabricius, Macr
inus, Lamius, those are your orders. Remain in Alexandria and guard it well.”
No use complaining. It might have been a lot worse, like one of Caesar’s thousand-mile marches in thirty days. “Yes, Caesar,” said Fabricius, acting as spokesman.
“Publius Rufrius, you too will remain here. You’ll have the high command as legatus propraetore.”
News that delighted Rufrius; he already had an Alexandrian wife, she was with child, and he hadn’t wanted to leave her.
“Decimus Carfulenus, the Sixth will go with me when I march for Anatolia,” Caesar said. “I’m sorry you won’t have a permanent home, but you boys have been with me ever since I borrowed you from Pompeius Magnus all those years ago, and I prize you the more for being loyal to Pompeius after he took you back. I will plump your numbers out with other veterans as I go north. In the absence of the Tenth, the Sixth is my private command.”
Carfulenus’s beam revealed his two missing teeth, screwed up the scar he bore from one cheek to the other across a kind of a nose. His action in taking Ptolemy’s citadel had saved a whole legion of troops pinned down by that cross fire, so he had received the corona civica when the army had been paraded for decorations, and, like Caesar, he was entitled to enter the Senate under Sulla’s provisions for winners of major crowns. “The Sixth is deeply honored, Caesar. We are your men to the death.”
“As for you lot,” Caesar said affably to his chief lictor and his secretary, “you’re permanent fixtures. Where I go, you go. However, Gaius Trebatius, I don’t require any further duty from you that might handicap your noble status and your public career.”
Trebatius sighed, remembering those awful walks in Portus Itius’s extreme humidity because the General forbade his legates and tribunes to ride, remembering the taste of a Menapian roast goose, remembering those dreadful gallops in a pitching gig taking down notes while his pampered stomach heaved—oh, for Rome and litters, Baiae oysters, Arpinate cheeses, Falernian wine!
“Well, Caesar, as I imagine that sooner or later your path will take you to Rome, I shall defer my career decisions until that day comes,” he said heroically.
Caesar’s eyes twinkled. “Perhaps,” he said gently, “you’ll find the menu in Memphis more appealing. You’ve grown too thin.”
He folded his hands in his lap and nodded briskly. “The Roman element is dismissed.”
They filed out, the babble of their talk in full spate even as Fabius closed the door.
“You first, I think, good friend Mithridates,” Caesar said, relaxing his pose. “You are the son and Cleopatra the granddaughter of Mithridates the Great, which makes you her uncle. If, say, you were to send for your wife and younger children, would you stay in Alexandria to supervise its rebuilding? Cleopatra tells me she will have to import an architect, and you’re justly famous for what you’ve done down on the sea plain below Pergamum’s acropolis.” His face took on a wistful look. “I remember that sea plain very well. I used it to crucify five hundred pirates, much to the governor’s displeasure when he found out. But these days it’s a picture of walks, arcades, gardens, beautiful public buildings.”
Mithridates frowned. A vigorous man of fifty, the child of a concubine rather than a wife, he took after his mighty father—heavyset, muscular, tall, yellow-haired and yellow-eyed. He followed Roman fashion in that he cropped his hair very short and was clean-shaven, but his garb tended more to the Oriental—he had a weakness for gold thread, plush embroidery and every shade of purple known to the dyers of murex. All foibles to be tolerated in such a loyal client, first of Pompey’s, now of Caesar’s.
“Frankly, Caesar, I would love to do it, but can you spare me? Surely with Pharnaces lurking, I am needed in my own lands.”
Caesar shook his head emphatically. “Pharnaces won’t get as far as Asia Province’s borders, let alone Pergamum. I’ll stop him in Pontus. From what Calvinus says, your son is an excellent regent in your absence, so take a long holiday from government, do! Your blood ties to Cleopatra will make you acceptable to the Alexandrians, and I note you’ve forged very strong links with the Jews. The skills of Alexandria repose with the Jews and Metics, and the latter will accept you because the Jews do.”
“Then yes, Caesar.”
“Good.” Having gotten his way, the ruler of the world gave Mithridates of Pergamum the nod of dismissal. “Thank you.”
“And I thank you,” said Cleopatra when her uncle had gone. An uncle! How amazing! Why, I must have a thousand relatives through my mother! Pharnaces is my uncle too! And through Rhodogune and Apama, I go back to Cambyses and Darius of Persia! Both once Pharaoh! In me, whole dynasties connect. What blood my son will have!
Caesar was speaking to her about Hapd’efan’e, whom he wanted to take with him as his personal physician. “I’d ask the poor fellow for myself,” he said in Latin, which Cleopatra now spoke very well, “except that I’ve been in Egypt long enough to know that few people are genuinely free. Just the Macedonians. I dare-say that Cha’em owns him, since he’s a priest-physician of Ptah’s consort, Sekhmet, and he seems to live in Ptah’s precinct. But as you at least part-own Cha’em, he’ll do as you say, no doubt. I need Hapd’efan’e, Cleopatra. Now that Lucius Tuccius is dead—he was Sulla’s physician, then mine—I don’t trust any physician practicing in Rome. If he has a wife and family, I’ll happily carry them along as well.”
Something she could do for him! “Hapd’efan’e, Caesar wants to take you with him when he goes,” she said to the priest in the old tongue. “It would please Creator Ptah and Pharaoh if you consent to go. We in Egypt would have your thoughts as a channel to Caesar no matter where he might be. Answer him for yourself, and tell him about your situation. He’s concerned for you.”
The priest-physician sat with impassive face, his black, almond-shaped eyes fixed on Caesar unblinkingly. “God Caesar,” he said in his clumsy Greek, “it is clearly Creator Ptah’s wish that I serve you. I will do that willingly. I am hem-netjer-sinw, so I am sworn to celibacy.” A gleam of humor showed in the eyes. “However, I would like to extend my treatment of you to include certain Egyptian methods that Greek physicians dismiss—amulets and charms possess great magic, so do spells.”
“Absolutely!” Caesar cried, excited. “As Pontifex Maximus, I know all the Roman charms and spells—we can compare notes. I quite agree, they have great magic.” His face became grave. “We have to clear one thing up, Hapd’efan’e. No ‘god Caesar’ and no falling to the floor to greet me! Elsewhere in the world I am not a god, and it would offend others if you called me one.”
“As you wish, Caesar.” In truth, this shaven-headed, still young man was delighted with the new turn in his life, for he had a natural curiosity about the world, and looked forward to seeing strange places in the company of a man he literally worshiped. Distance couldn’t separate him from Creator Ptah and his wife, Sekhmet, their son Nefertem of the Lotus. He could wing his thoughts to Memphis from anywhere in the time it took a ray of sun to travel across the sacred pylon gates. So, while the talk between Caesar and Cleopatra proceeded in Greek too fast for him to follow, he mentally planned his equipment—a whole dozen carefully packed supple, hollowed reeds to start with, his forceps, trephines, knives, trocars, needles…
“What about the city officials?” Caesar was asking.
“The present lot have been banished,” Apollodorus answered, “I put them on a ship for Macedonia. When I arrived with the new Royal Guard, I found the Recorder trying to burn all the bylaws and ordinances, and the Accountant trying to burn the ledgers. Luckily I was in time to prevent both. The city treasury is beneath the Serapeum, and the city offices are a part of the precinct. All survived the war.”
“New men? How were the old chosen?”
“By sortition among the high Macedonians, most of whom have perished or fled.”
“Sortition? You mean they cast lots for the positions?”
“Yes, Caesar, sortition. The lots are rigged, of course.”
“
Well, that’s cheaper than holding elections, which is the Roman way. So what happens now?”
Cleopatra spoke. “We reorganize,” she said firmly. “I intend to ban sortition and hold elections instead. If the million new citizens vote for a selection of candidates, it will reassure them that they do have a say.”
“That surely depends on the selection of candidates. Do you intend to let all who declare themselves candidates stand?”
Her lids dropped, she looked cagey. “I haven’t decided on the selection process yet,” she hedged.
“Don’t you think the Greeks will feel left out if the Jews and Metics become citizens? Why not enfranchise everybody, even your hybrid Egyptians? Call them your Head Count and limit their voting powers if you must, but allow them the simple citizenship.”
But that, her face told him, was going way too far.
“Thank you, Apollodorus, Hapd’efan’e, you may go,” he said, stifling a sigh.
“So we are alone,” said Cleopatra, pulling him out of his chair and down beside her on a couch. “Am I doing well? I’m spending my money as you directed—the poor are being fed and the rubble cleared away. Every common builder has been contracted to erect ordinary houses. There is money enough to start the public building too because I’ve taken my own funds from the treasure vaults for that.” The big yellow eyes glowed. “You are right, it is the way to be loved. Every day I set out with Apollodorus on my donkey to see the people, comfort them. Does this win your favor? Am I ruling in a more enlightened way?”
“Yes, but you have a long way to go. When you tell me that you’ve enfranchised all your people, you’ll be there. You have a natural autocracy, but you’re not observant enough. Take the Jews, for example. They’re quarrelsome, but they have ability. Treat them with respect, always be good to them. In hard times they’ll be your greatest support.”