The Gods of War Read online

  Julius jerked back in horrified disbelief. There was no time to consider the implications. “Bar the doors and be ready!” he cried. “I want men on the roof with spears and bows. They are coming!”

  CHAPTER 27

  The Egyptian army killed the horses of the extraordinarii. Inside the palace, the Romans could hear their mounts screaming.

  High above their heads, more than a hundred of the Fourth legion had climbed onto the tiles to send a withering fire down into the horde that crashed against the palace. They could hardly miss against such a mass of besieging warriors.

  In the chaos of the first few minutes, grapnels and ropes were sent spinning upwards for any purchase. Some were cut before the men below could begin to climb, but the Egyptians had archers of their own and legionaries fell as they hacked at them. The attack was loud and violent, but the palace was not an easy place to storm. Only the highest windows had been left open and everything below that was solid with barricades. Even the warriors who clung to ledges could not find a way in. As they scrabbled at the windows, swords came through the gaps to send them screaming onto the heads of their own men.

  A dull booming was heard as Ptolemy’s army thumped a wooden beam against the main doors. Arrows rained down on them, but as fast as they died, more rushed forward. Inside, Julius had Cleopatra’s rooms stripped and the contents piled against the door for when it broke. He had not had time to consider a strategy against the army. He knew he could not stay there forever and regretted telling the boy king how little food they had left. Even on half-rations, they would be starving inside a week.

  Ptolemy himself stayed out of range of spears, though Julius sent Ciro up to the roof to try for a long shot. The sudden change in manner was beyond comprehension to the Romans. Cleopatra at least had seemed to understand when Julius described the gold headdress being placed on the boy. He remembered Ptolemy’s warning that outside, he would be the king.

  The first attack came to nothing and those who battered at the doors were driven back at last by a storm of heavy tiles from the roof. Though they had retreated, Julius was sure they would return with more to hold shields over their heads. It was what he would have done.

  Over the noise outside, Julius called to his generals: “Brutus! Go to Cleopatra and tell her I need a way out of here. We cannot stay in this place and let them smash it. If they burn us out, we’ll have to rush them.”

  Cleopatra had come to the entrance hall as he spoke. “They would not dare to set fires while I am here,” she said.

  Julius wanted to believe it, but he couldn’t take the risk. “They have us surrounded. Are there no tunnels, no secret routes?” he demanded, wincing as the battering ram struck again. No doubt the men were better protected this time.

  Cleopatra shook her head. “I would have used one by now if there were,” she snapped.

  Julius swore under his breath, turning away to peer through the cracks of daylight at the warriors beyond. The palace felt claustrophobic and he hated to play such a passive role. Apart from the men on the roof, he had no way of attacking his enemies unless he sent the legions out in a direct assault that could very well have been suicide.

  “Do they have heavy weapons, catapults and the like?” he shouted over the noise. The palace could be reduced to rubble by such things and he had a sudden terror of them.

  “Not close,” Cleopatra replied. She ran her tongue over her lips, tasting the dust in the air and frowning. “Follow me to the roof and I’ll show you.”

  Julius hesitated, unwilling to leave his men. Brutus stepped forward a fraction before Domitius and Octavian.

  “Go, sir,” he said. “We’ll hold them here for a while.”

  Julius nodded in relief and raced after the queen, taking flights of stairs to the highest floors without slowing down. He was panting by the time he reached the top and climbed a ladder into the sunlight.

  Summer had come to Alexandria and he felt the heat like a blow. The tiles stretched away in all directions, though his gaze was immediately drawn to the line of efficient killers he had sent to the edge of the roof. Ciro was with them and as Julius watched he took careful aim and sent a spear down at a difficult angle. The big man smiled at the result and the others clapped him on his shoulders. Then a rush of arrows sent them all leaping backwards. They saluted as they recognized Julius and he waved them back to their task.

  Julius took a sharp breath at the view of the city and sea the height gave him. The port was laid out in miniature below and the horizon was split between the deep ocean and the brown blur of the Egyptian heartlands.

  Cleopatra stood beside him, her hair whipped into curls by the wind.

  “There are barracks at Canopus, two days to the east, along the coast,” she said, pointing into the dim distance. “They have catapults there and ships to carry them.”

  Julius studied the mouth of the port. He could see the tiny galleys of the port watch on patrol. Merchants sailed or rowed across the harbor and dozens more sat at anchor, protected from storms. Alexander had chosen well when he built his city.

  “I must get men out tonight,” Julius said. “I can block the entrances to the port with ships sunk in the entrance. Where will the army go then, to reach us?”

  Cleopatra shrugged. “The coast is rocky and dangerous anywhere else. You will delay them for days, wherever they try to land.”

  “Can they still pass with the heavy weapons, though?” Julius asked.

  “Eventually. We are an ingenious people, Julius.”

  He studied the coast, his gaze darting from place to place as he thought.

  “I could lower men from ropes tethered up here,” he said at last.

  He strode to the far edge and looked down, swallowing painfully as he saw how far his men would have to descend. An arrow hummed past him, its force almost spent. He ignored it.

  Cleopatra had come with him and stood looking down the sheer walls at her brother’s army.

  “Just one man could carry a message to my own forces,” she said. “My slave, Ahmose, can take the news. They will tip the balance and give you the chance to break free of the siege.”

  “It’s not enough,” Julius replied. “Send him if you wish, but I cannot stay here without knowing whether he reached them or was killed. We don’t have food for more than a few days.”

  Julius walked along the edge, looking down at the minor buildings surrounding the palace. He reached the rear and had to edge around a sloping section, thankful the old tiles were dry and steady underfoot. Behind the palace, there were smaller structures used by slaves and servants. As Julius saw them he smiled.

  “Can you see this?” he said.

  Cleopatra peered over the edge with him.

  Below, a sloping line of tiles seemed to come close to the main wall. Julius knelt, then lay on his stomach. The other roof looked near enough to jump to, or climb down to on ropes. From there, he could see a mismatched trail of homes and temples leading across the city.

  “That’s the place,” he said. “If I can get men down to that first roof, they can cross above the heads of Ptolemy’s soldiers. They’ll never know we are there. Can you see a window at the same level?”

  Cleopatra lay flat to crane her head over the rim. She nodded and both of them became aware of their closeness at the same time. Julius knew his men would be watching, but he was still captivated by her. He shook himself.

  “I must go down and find the room that looks out onto those roofs.”

  “Isis has favored you, Julius, in showing you the way,” Cleopatra said.

  He frowned. “My own eyes had something to do with it.”

  She laughed at that, coming quickly to her feet with all the easy grace of youth. Beside her, he felt old, but then she kissed him, her tongue grazing his with the taste of marble dust.

  Ciro and Domitius eased their heads a fraction out of the rear window, looking down before jerking back. The Egyptian archers were good and they did not want to risk even a lo
ng shot.

  “Twenty feet down and about six across,” Domitius said. “We can make it, if they don’t see us coming. After that I don’t know. I couldn’t see how far the roofs reach before we’d have to come down. It may not be far enough.”

  “There’s no other way,” Julius replied. They could all hear the hammering below while the army milled in the grounds. “As soon as they bring catapults, we’re finished, unless our food and water run out first. We need to draw some of them away at the very least.”

  “Let me have this one, sir,” Domitius said. “With a cohort of the youngest men to try for the ships.”

  Julius looked at him. “Very well. Ciro, you go with him. Pick your men ready for sunset.”

  Brutus had come to see what delayed his commander and he seemed nervous. “I would like to go as well,” he said.

  Julius frowned. “Your arm is barely healed. How would you climb down twenty feet of rope?”

  Brutus looked relieved not to have had a straight refusal. “After the rope is anchored, the rest will slide down. I can do that.” He raised his right arm and opened and closed his fist.

  Julius shook his head. “Not this time, Brutus. The gods alone know how difficult it will be to cross those roofs. Worse, if your arm gave way and you fell, they would know we were trying to get out.”

  Brutus took a deep breath. “As you order, sir,” he said, disappointment clear on his face.

  “We could tie his wrists to the rope we’ll use to slide, sir,” Domitius said suddenly. “Even if his arm goes, he won’t fall then.”

  Brutus turned in astonishment to Domitius, and Julius saw how much his old friend needed to be back in the fight.

  “If you sink the ships, you could have to swim. There’s a good chance you won’t be coming back. Do you understand that?”

  Brutus nodded, a touch of his old wildness showing. “Let me go. Please,” he said.

  “All right, but if your arm snaps, you stay on the first roof until it is over.”

  “Yes, sir,” Brutus replied, his face strained with tension. He clapped his hand on Domitius’s shoulder as Julius turned away, and Domitius accepted it with a nod.

  Below their feet, the hammering went on.

  Though the sun had set, the grounds of the palace were lit with bonfires at all points and arrows soared sporadically up to the roof and against the windows. The army had either settled in to starve them out, or were waiting for catapults to arrive. Julius watched from a high window, well hidden from the sight of their archers. He hated to be trapped and hardly dared reveal how much his hopes were pinned on the men clambering across to lower roofs at the back.

  The time would come when he was forced to send the legions out against the army that faced them, he knew. When the moment was perfect, he would try for a shattering blow, but against such numbers he feared he would be leading them straight to destruction. Cleopatra had been invaluable with her knowledge of their tactics and strengths, but the Tenth and Fourth were vastly outnumbered even so. In his most private of thoughts, there were times when he wished he had simply left the city when his time was up. Then he would grow angry in reaction. He would not run from a rabble of foreign soldiers. If he had to, he would find supplies and send for reinforcements from Greece and Spain. The Egyptians would learn what it meant to threaten the life of the man who ruled Rome.

  Behind the palace, Domitius was at the window with Brutus, tying his wrists securely to the piece of waxed cloth that would send him sliding into the arms of the waiting legionaries. Moving five hundred soldiers in strained silence was difficult, but there had been no cries of alarm and the plan was moving without a fault.

  As Domitius tugged the knot, he felt Brutus looking at him in the dark.

  “We were friends once,” Brutus said.

  Domitius snorted to himself. “We could be again, old son. The men will accept you in time, though Octavian . . . well, he might not.”

  “I am glad you spoke up for me,” Brutus replied.

  Domitius gripped him by the shoulder. “You risked all our lives for your pride and temper. There have been times when I would rather have put a knife in you.”

  “If I could change it, I would,” Brutus said truthfully.

  Domitius nodded, helping his legs over the edge. “I stood on the white cliffs of Britain with you,” he said. “You killed that big blue bastard with the hatchet when I was flat on my back. That counts for something.” He spoke slowly, his voice low and serious. “I can’t call you a brother, after what you did. Perhaps we can get by without spitting in each other’s bread.”

  Brutus nodded slowly, without looking round.

  “I’m glad of it,” Domitius said, heaving him off the ledge.

  Brutus gasped as the rope sagged and his initial rush was jerked into a slow descent. Halfway down, when there was nothing but yawning darkness beneath him, he spun and the cloth twisted, halting him. His weakened muscles protested as he swung his legs frantically. With an effort, he managed to turn himself back round and the slide began once more. His arm ached worse than he cared to admit, but he gritted his teeth against the pain and then found himself being held by the men on the roof below. They untied his wrists in silence and handed him his sword, which he strapped to his waist. Like him, they wore no armor and carried no shields. Their faces were black with soot, and only the whiteness of their teeth and eyes in the moonlight showed their positions, spread over the roofs like mold. The hulking figure of Cleopatra’s slave, Ahmose, was there with them, unsmiling and silent as he crouched on the tiles.

  Before Brutus could step clear, Domitius thumped into his back and sent him sprawling.

  “No more to come,” he heard Domitius whisper as he guided Brutus through the men to the front.

  The tiles creaked under their feet and they could only hope their progress wasn’t being followed from below, with archers ready to catch them as they came down. The first roof blended into the next without a gap, but the third was too far away to step across.

  “I need a man to jump this,” Domitius said.

  In the moonlight, the alleyway seemed larger than it had any right to. A young soldier of the Fourth stepped forward and removed his sword. With barely a nod to his officers, he took two quick steps and launched himself over. The clatter as he landed made them all freeze, but already the palace seemed far behind and no one came. The rope was thrown to him, and one by one they used it to cross. Brutus went first this time, trusting his arm to hold his weight. The muscles were sending shooting pains, but the bones held and he reached the other side, sweating but exhilarated.

  Four more roofs were passed in the same way before they came to a space too great to bridge. The street below seemed empty as the front rank lay on their stomachs and looked down. At the crouch, they came back and reported that the way was clear, then sent ropes skipping down to the stones below.

  Brutus lost skin on his palms as he opted to slide, not trusting his arm to take his full weight yet again. With some misgiving, he realized there would be no retreat that way, not for him. Ahmose landed behind him without a sound. With a smile, he raised a hand to the Romans and strode away into the darkness. Brutus wished him luck in bringing Cleopatra’s army. Even if they managed to block the harbor entrance, Julius needed an edge.

  The cohort jogged through the streets in almost complete silence. For better grip on the roofs, they had tied cloths around their sandals, and no challenges were shouted as they made their way to the docks.

  The harbor of Alexandria was well lit and busy. Domitius halted the men in the last shadows of the road, passing the word for them to be ready. They would be seen at any moment, and after that it would be a rush to block the port before the army could respond.

  A voice began to yell and Domitius saw two men pointing in their direction. “That’s it, then. We go,” he said, running out into the light.

  There were never fewer than a dozen merchant vessels working their cargoes on or off the quayside. Th
e cohort of five hundred Roman legionaries raced toward them, ignoring the shouts of panic as word spread. As they reached the docks, they split into four groups and ran up the loading planks of the nearest ships to them.

  The crews were terrified at the sudden attack and three of them surrendered without hesitation. In the fourth, two sailors reacted more from instinct than sense, trying to stab the first men to board them. They were cut down and their bodies heaved over the side into the dirty water. The rest did not resist and moved down the loading planks as they were told until the Romans had the ships to themselves.

  The sails went up with only a little confusion and the mooring ropes were cast free or cut. All four of the vessels began to ease away from the docks, leaving their shouting crews behind them.

  Brutus could see men racing off into the dark streets to alert Ptolemy’s army. By the time their night’s work was over, the docks would be crowded with soldiers. At least it would give Julius a respite, he hoped. He could not regret having come, and for the first time in months he felt alive enough to cheer as the sails fluttered and the ships began their crisscrossing courses to the mouth of the port.

  “Get two men up top, as lookouts,” he ordered, smiling as he remembered a time in his youth when he had climbed to that position himself. He did not imagine he could reach it now, but it gave him pleasure to recall the journey across Greece with Renius, when the world lay before them. The legionary who had been first over the roofs was climbing even before Brutus had finished giving the order. Brutus thought he should learn the man’s name and was embarrassed that he did not know it. He had been apart from the workings of the legions for too long. Even if he did not survive the night, it felt right to be back in command. He had missed it more than he knew.

  Away from the lights of the port, the moon followed their movement on the still, black water. The same barriers that prevented storms from wrecking Alexandria allowed only the smallest of breezes, and progress was painfully slow. It did not suit the mood of the men on board. They all turned to see the great fire on the lighthouse of Pharos, its gleam warning ships for miles. The glow of its flames lit their faces as they passed and they cast long shadows on the decks.