The Gods of War Page 29

  He spoke with sardonic amusement, but when she did not respond, he could not hold the expression. His features slowly drooped into blankness. “We were young together,” he said. “I made a mistake and he forgave me.” He was surprised at his own honesty. It was less painful to spin a tale.

  “I would have killed you,” she muttered, biting her lower lip.

  Brutus could only look at her, sensing she spoke the truth. He reminded himself that the queen had known absolute power from her youngest years. She was every bit as deadly as the black snakes of the Nile.

  “I could never forgive a betrayal, General. Your Caesar is either a great man or a fool. Which do you think it is?”

  “I think you and he have much in common. I do not answer to you, however, nor will I explain myself to you any longer.”

  “He has gone tonight to kidnap my husband, my brother, and my king. He has seen only the edges of the army Egypt can field. Caesar may die in the striving, or my brother fall and be pierced with arrows. This is the great game, General. These are the stakes involved. Listen to the words when I say this to you. He let you live because he is blind to you. He does not know what goes on in your heart.”

  She touched his neck with the palm of her hand, pressing. He thought she must bathe in lotus oil to have such an effect. He felt a tiny scratch, as if from a thorn. He might have jerked away, but his senses pressed in on him and he longed for a breath of cold air. He heard her speak through layers and layers of winding cloth, muffled.

  “I know you, General. I know every small sin, and every great one. I know your heart as Caesar never can. I know hatred. I know jealousy. I know you.”

  Her hand dropped away and he staggered, still able to feel where her nails had pressed.

  “Be loyal now, General, or measure your life in beats. His fate is tied up in Egypt, in me. And my arm is long. I will not suffer another betrayal, nor even the shadow of one.”

  He gaped at her intensity, stunned and bewildered. “Egyptian bitch, what have you done to me?” he said, groggily.

  “I have saved your life, Roman,” she said.

  Her lips formed a smile then, but the eyes were cold and watchful. Without another word, she left him alone in the entrance hall, slumped against a pillar and shaking his head like a wounded animal.

  The Canopic Way cut through the heart of Alexandria. The two legions with Julius jogged east along its length, their clattering sandals shattering the peace of the night. In the darkness, the main artery of the city was an eerie place. Temples to strange gods loomed over them and statues seemed ready to leap into life on every side. The flickering of night lamps cast shadows on the grim men who ran with drawn swords toward the royal palace.

  Julius kept pace with them, measuring his breaths as his legs and chest began to loosen. The feeling of excitement had not lessened. If anything, he had wound himself to an even tighter pitch of tension and he felt young as he counted the roads they passed. At the fifth, he gestured left and the snake of legionaries turned into the outskirts of the palace, following the same route he had taken with Porphiris three days before.

  The royal palace was not a single building but a complex of many structures, set in sculpted gardens. The first gates were manned by nervous guards, long alerted by the crash of pounding feet. Soldiers of the Tenth stepped forward with heavy hammers and brought the barrier down in a few swift blows. The first blood of the evening was shed as the guards raised their weapons and were left to be trampled as the legions went on into the dark grounds.

  The main building where Julius had met the boy king was lit at all points and gleamed in the night. Julius had no need to direct the men toward it. There were more guards there and they died bravely, but the Tenth had spread out into their fighting line and only an army could have held them.

  Panic was spreading through the palace quarters and the resistance they met was sporadic and badly organized. Julius had the impression that a direct assault had never even been considered. The outer gates had been designed for artifice and beauty rather than solid defense, and the defenders seemed to be in chaos, shouting and screaming at each other.

  Armed soldiers began to spill from an unseen barracks, trying desperately to form before the Tenth reached them. They were slaughtered like cattle and lambs, their blood spilling down the steps to the main entrance. The doors of bronze that had been open for Julius’s first visit were now closed, and as he reached them he could hear bars thumping into place. He thanked his gods for Cleopatra’s knowledge and leapt over a stone wall at the side of the steps, calling for hammers as he ran to a lesser entrance.

  The ringing blows sounded far in the dark. As if to answer them, an alarm bell began to ring somewhere near, and Julius dispatched a century to silence it.

  The side door was solidly made and Julius was forced to control his impatience. He checked the edge of his sword, though he had yet to blood it. Then the tone of the impacts changed and the door fell. His Tenth roared into the breach and Julius heard screaming inside. He stayed close to the front, shouting orders and directing them as best he could. The palace looked very different from his previous visit by day, and it took a few moments to get his bearings.

  “Tenth, with me!” he shouted, racing through a hall.

  He heard Octavian and Domitius panting at his back and allowed his pace to slow a little. It would do no good for him to run straight onto the swords of defenders around the king, and the two generals were better able to clear the way.

  Even as he had the thought, the black corridor seemed to fill with men, and Julius saw Octavian and Domitius dart in with their swords swinging. The only light was from a lamp much farther down and the combat was brief and terrifying, bodies struggling in shadows. The Roman armor held against the bronze blades of the palace guard, and in only a few moments the first of the Tenth were stepping over the dead and rushing on.

  “Which way?” Octavian said, spitting blood from a broken lip.

  Julius wished for more light, but could make out the white gleam of marble stairs he had ascended a lifetime before.

  “Up there!” he said, pointing.

  His breath was coming harshly and his sword had lost its gleam with the stain of an unknown guard, but he ran with the others as they pounded up the steps. Cleopatra had told him where her brother slept and Julius took a turning away from the meeting hall into a corridor that was better lit than the rest of the labyrinth. Once more, he saw Octavian and Domitius take positions ahead and suddenly he was shouting for them to stop.

  They had passed a door that seemed to be made of solid gold. Julius looked around for the men who carried hammers.

  “Here! He’s in here,” Julius called. “Hammers to me!” He threw his weight against the door, but felt no give in it.

  “If you’d stand back, sir,” a burly soldier of the Tenth said at his shoulder.

  Julius stepped clear as the man raised the iron head and began a pounding rhythm, quickly joined by two more. The corridor became the focus for the Roman force, with defensive stations taken up around it while the last obstacles were broken.

  The gold was heavy but it dented under each blow and it was not long before one of the great oblong barriers sagged away on a broken hinge.

  An arrow flew through the gap, ricocheting off the head of a hammer and slicing into a soldier’s cheek. With an oath, he yanked at it and three of the Tenth held him down while the arrow was snapped and the head removed with brutal efficiency. Shields were raised as the second door fell, and two more of the whining shafts struck uselessly against them as the Tenth surged into the room.

  The lamps were lit in the royal chambers and Julius was astonished to see two naked girls with bows inside. They cried out in terror as they tried to pull back one more shaft. Almost with contempt, the legionaries stepped forward and slapped the weapons out of their hands. The women struggled wildly as they were shoved away from the doorway they guarded.

  The king’s bedroom was dark and Jul
ius knew the first ones through would be silhouetted against the light. His soldiers hardly hesitated, trusting to speed to keep them safe. They leapt into the shadows, rolling and coming up ready to kill.

  “He’s here,” one shouted back. “The king alone.”

  As Julius crossed the outer chamber, he saw the wall was marked in lighter patches where the bows had been torn from their wires. Other weapons were held against the polished marble and Julius wondered if the boy Ptolemy collected them. The women were concubines rather than guards, Julius guessed, glancing at them. The king could clearly have his pick of the beauties of Alexandria.

  Ptolemy’s bed was a huge construction that dominated the private rooms. The boy himself stood part dressed by its side and only the rumpled sheets showed where he had been sleeping. It was strange to see his face in the dim light after their first meeting, and Julius was impressed at the courage of the slight figure standing with his bare chest heaving and a knife held too tightly in his fist.

  “Put that away,” Julius said. “You will not be harmed.”

  The boy recognized him then and took in a hiss of breath. The soldiers of the Tenth moved closer to the king and with a jerk he raised the blade to his own throat, glaring at Julius.

  A legionary snapped out an arm and gripped the king’s wrist, making him cry out in pain and astonishment. The knife was thrown down with a clatter. Ptolemy began to shout for help and the man who held his wrist took careful aim and hit him on the point of his chin, heaving him onto his shoulder as the boy went limp.

  “Sound the signal horns. We have the king,” Julius said, already turning away.

  “There’ll be more of them by now, waiting for us,” Domitius said, gazing at the limp body of Ptolemy. The king’s head lolled as he was carried back down the corridor, his arms swinging.

  The fighting began again with even greater ferocity as the legions tried to retrace their steps back to the gardens. The sight of the unconscious king stung the roaring Egyptians into greater efforts, and three of the Fourth were wounded, slowing the retreat. Even so, the ceremonial guards were no match for the hardened soldiers of Rome, and they fought their way through to the gardens, leaving a trail of dead behind.

  The night met them with a cool breeze that dried their sweat as they ran. Julius heard more voices calling out words he did not know, and as they reached the broken gates to the streets a flight of spears came from somewhere near, one of them knocking down a panting optio. He was dragged to his feet by two of his men and he screamed as they hacked through the shaft, leaving only a blood-wet stump of wood sticking out of his back. They carried him onto the streets with the king.

  The disturbance at the palace had roused the people of Alexandria and crowds were gathering. Julius urged his men to hurry. If they saw their king being carried like a sack of wheat, they could be shocked into an attack, and Julius felt every moment pass, increasing his anxiety.

  The legions pounded along the Canopic Way at their best speed, spittle turning to thick soup in their mouths as the breath burned out of them. The mile of road seemed to stretch farther than it had on the way in, but the crowds parted before them and they did not falter.

  It seemed hours before Julius saw the gates of his quarters open and ran through them, gasping in relief. The palace began to fill with his men once again and this time there were no restrictions on their noise. They whooped and shouted at the victory, even as the wounded were passed overhead to where healers waited with sutures and clean cloths. Not a man had been killed, though the optio who had stopped a spear was not likely to walk again. Julius spent a moment with him before he was borne away, passing on a few words of comfort as best he could.

  When the last of them were in, the doors were closed and barred. Every lamp Brutus could find had been lit and Julius could see the windows were blocked with heavy sacks and stones. The palace had become a fortress and he anticipated the dawn with enormous pleasure.

  “Let them wail and bluster now,” he said to the men around him. “We have their king.”

  They cheered and Julius sent an order to open the kitchens below to prepare a meal. His centurions set the first watches against a counterattack and he finally had a moment to himself.

  “Where is Cleopatra?” he asked.

  Brutus was close by, watching him. “She has taken rooms on the floor above,” he replied, his expression strange. “She waits there for you.”

  Julius smiled at him, still flushed with the victory. “I will tell you about it when I’ve seen her. Find a secure place for our new guest and set guards.” He paused to take a deep breath, steadying himself. “It was easy, Brutus.”

  “They will strike back,” Brutus said, wanting to puncture the pride he saw. “She said we have seen only the edges of their army.”

  His head ached terribly as if he were recovering from drunkenness. He remembered the queen speaking to him, though the details were dim and wavering in his mind. Julius didn’t see his distress.

  “How will they attack us while their king is in my hands?” Julius replied. “I will humble the men who controlled him, Brutus, when they come.” He laughed at the thought and walked away to see Cleopatra, leaving Brutus behind.

  The suite of rooms Cleopatra had taken had not been touched by the soldiers. All the others Julius passed were stripped bare of anything that could be used in the barricades, but her chambers were warm and comfortable with rugs and hangings. Flames crackled in tall braziers at either end, though Julius hardly saw them. His eyes were drawn to the slender figure of the queen as her shadow moved behind gauze hangings on a bed to match Ptolemy’s own. He could make out the outline that had aroused him on their first meeting and wondered why she did not speak.

  His heart beating strongly, Julius closed the doors behind him and crossed the room, his footsteps loud in the silence. He could smell her scent in the air as well as wisps of steam and warm dampness that came from another room off the main one. She had been bathing, he realized, finding the thought fascinating. Without her slaves to heat and carry water, he did not doubt that his own men had been willing.

  He reached the bed and still she did not speak as he ran his calloused palms down the gauze, the noise like a whisper.

  “We have him, Cleopatra,” he said softly, feeling her stir at his voice. As he spoke his hands moved the gauze aside.

  She lay on her back, naked, as he had somehow known she would be, with only shadows to cover her. Her skin shone gold as she looked up at him, and her eyes were dark. “He is not hurt?” she said.

  Julius shook his head, unable to reply. His gaze traveled down the length of her body and he found it difficult to take a breath.

  In an instant, she had risen and fastened her mouth on his. He could taste the sweetness of honey and cloves, and her perfume washed over him like a drug. Her fingers pulled at the fastenings on his armor and he had to help her. His chestplate fell away with a clang of metal that made them both jump. Her hands were cool where they touched his skin and then he was naked. Her hands reached to his hips and pulled him gently toward her mouth. He cried out at the warmth, shuddering as he closed his eyes.

  His hands strayed down to her breasts and he pulled away from her, climbing onto the bed and letting the gauze fall back behind him.

  “Is this my reward?” he said, his voice hoarse.

  She smiled slowly, her hands roaming him, touching old scars. Holding his gaze, she turned lithely onto her stomach, raising herself and reaching behind to hold his hot flesh in her hands as he rose over her.

  “It is just the beginning,” she said.

  CHAPTER 26

  With dawn yet to break, Julius strode through the lower corridors, nodding to the guards as they stood to attention. The king of Egypt was locked in a room that had once held jars of oil. It had no windows to tempt a rescue and the door was solid.

  “Has he been quiet?” Julius asked.

  Before his legionary could reply, a high voice yelled a stream of oaths
and curses inside, barely muffled by the heavy wood.

  “He’s been doing that for hours, sir,” the soldier said.

  “Open the door,” Julius replied, pursing his lips. “I’ll speak to him.”

  As he entered he saw that Brutus had stripped this room as bare as any of the others. No bed had been provided and a small bench and bucket were the only furniture. A single lamp burned steadily on the wall and in its glow Julius could see white smears of dust on the boy’s skin. The king of Egypt had clearly spent the night on the cold floor.

  Ptolemy stood with stiff dignity, facing his captor with his arms folded over his narrow chest. Julius could see the outline of his ribs and the dust had smeared on his cheeks as if he had tried to hide his crying.

  “Good morning,” Julius said, seating himself on the bench. “I will have some clothes found for you when the men bring breakfast. There is no need for you to be uncomfortable while you are here.”

  Ptolemy glared at him without speaking. He was smaller than Julius had realized the night before and his face was pale and delicate, as if it had never seen the sun. His features lent themselves easily to expressions of sullen anger. The dark eyes and long lashes were twinned in Cleopatra and Julius repressed a shudder of dislike at the thought of their relationship.

  Julius let the silence stretch for a little longer, then stood. “If there is nothing else, I will go back to my work,” he said.

  He turned to leave and Ptolemy snapped words at his back. “You will release me immediately!” he said. His Latin was faultless.

  Julius faced him and this time could not prevent a smile. “No, I will not, Your Majesty. I need you, you see.”

  “What do you want? Gold?” The boy’s lips twisted into a sneer.

  “I want to see Cleopatra restored as queen,” Julius replied, watching the boy closely. As he spoke, he wondered if that was truly what he desired. Before meeting Cleopatra the night before, his aims had been clear. Now, the thought of restoring her to the incestuous arms of her brother did not seem as attractive.