we have done for him what he would have had done, and that he is yet innocent of Pompey's blood.'
He then invited Caesar to take up residence in the royal palace as the guest of his absent majesty.
'It seems to me,' Artixes said, 'that Caesar was at least as great a hypocrite as this Greek whom you revile, for he must have been pleased just as the Greek assured him he would be.'
'Of course,' I said, 'but his tears were genuine none the less. You have heard what he said about Pompey. You must understand the solitude he knew when he saw that Pompey was no more.'
And then I recited to the boy that great passage in which Homer tells how the aged Priam came to the Greeks' camp to beg the body of his slaughtered son, the hero Hector. I forgot in my emotion that Artixes does not understand Greek, but he listened intently. I suppose the music captivated him. Besides, barbarians are accustomed to long paeans of praise for dead heroes, and I don't suppose they listen carefully to the words.
I did not tell him that that evening Caesar said to me:
'First Crassus, then Pompey. Their heads looked well set on their shoulders back at Lucca.'
'I saw how deeply you were moved, General.'
'Cruel necessity, Mouse. Never lose the capacity to weep. Nothing unmans a man so surely as the refusal or inability to cry at appropriate moments.'
It was soon evident that, despite the murder of Pompey, our situation in Alexandria was full of danger. As I have said, Caesar had rashly brought only a small force with him. The Egyptian army, though probably contemptible, was large. There were also troops composed of Roman veterans, old soldiers of Gabinius, who had remained in the country, and had now been re-formed in the semblance of an army. No one could be sure whom they obeyed. Most dangerous of all was the Alexandria mob. Trained legionaries may have no fear of regular troops, but they hate street-fighting against an enemy that is hard to identify, that comes and goes, that resorts to murder in back alleys, that profits from its own irregular nature.
Caesar was aware of these dangers, yet seemed careless of them. When news came that Pothinus, a palace eunuch, had summoned troops from Pelusium, and given command to Achillas, the officer who, we believed, had murdered Pompey, Caesar was strangely indolent. He remained in the palace near the harbour working on his memoirs of the Gallic War. I urged him to action; he merely smiled. 'Time enough,' he said. I could not understand his lassitude.
There were riots in the streets. I took it upon myself to order that the legionaries be confined to our camp by the harbour. Then word was brought that an Egyptian fleet, perhaps that which had been sent to Greece in aid of Pompey, was anchored in the inner basin. Our escape to the sea was blocked. Still, Caesar did nothing but dictate to his secretaries.
What was to be done? The chief officers held a council of war in his absence.
'What is the General doing?' someone — I cannot at this distance recall who — enquired.
'Playing with fire,' Casca said. 'He is bored by success.'
This was nonsense. Caesar was stricken by one of those unaccountable spells of lassitude which in the past had preceded some of his greatest victories.
'He is waiting for a sign.'
It was time to provide one. I again assumed responsibility, and commanded the docks to be set alight. The fire spread to the Egyptian ships in the inner basin. Some were burned; others fled seawards. For the moment our position was eased. Following up this success — slight though it was — I despatched two centuries to seize the Pharos and the mole which connected it with the town. There was some brisk fighting, but the enterprise was happy. We were now able to construct a line of defence. Admittedly our position was still dangerous, but it seemed to me that it would require a frontal attack to dislodge us, and I did not believe the Egyptians capable of that.
The young King Ptolemy was our hostage. I set little store by that, for I could not believe that the Egyptians would not happily sacrifice him, since they are by nature incapable of loyalty. Unlike Romans they set no store by promises, but will promise whatever they think may secure an immediate advantage. Anyone who has dealings with them knows, however, that their word is not worth a docken.
I reported to Caesar the measures I had taken. He approved them, but absently.
'I have always known I could rely on you, Mouse,' he said.
'To the death,' I replied.
He smiled and pinched my ear.
I hoped we would now be able to embark on a discussion of strategy, but at that moment we were interrupted by a knock on the door. A centurion entered, followed by slaves bearing a rolled-up carpet on their shoulders. They laid it on the marble floor, very gently, and stepped back. 'So?' Caesar said.
'A gift to my lord from the Queen of Egypt,' one said. 'Well,' Caesar said, 'let us see what the Queen has sent us.' 'Be careful, Caesar. It may be a trap.' 'You are too cautious, Mouse.'
The carpet had been placed some fifteen paces to Caesar's right, and was unrolled towards him. It was obvious that it contained an object. For a moment I suspected that the macabre and disgusting taste of the Egyptians had contrived to present us with another corpse: which of our friends might be revealed cruelly murdered?
I was wrong. A girl lay there, in a short purple shift, rucked up to display plump but shapely legs. She sprang to her feet, not apparently stiff as a result of her surely uncomfortable journey within the carpet. She looked Caesar in the eye and then threw herself on the marble pavement, stretching out her arms to embrace his ankles. He bent down, put his hand in the thick tresses of auburn hair and raised her up. Caesar was not a tall man, but she reached only to his chest. She smiled, showing white, even teeth. Her mouth was rather large, and her eyes sparkled.
'Do you know who this is, Mouse?' 'No, of course not.'
'I rather suspect the Queen of Egypt has delivered herself to me. You must be dusty, madam,' he said to the girl. 'I will give orders that a bath be prepared.'
Two hours later, Caesar emerged from his bedchamber. 'Now I have truly tasted Egypt,' he said.
Many have said that Cleopatra bewitched him. But that is nonsense. Nobody ever bewitched Caesar, certainly no woman. She delighted him, but that is not the same thing at all. She was little more than a schoolgirl, fifteen years of age, and though her body was a woman's, and her breasts beautiful as pomegranates, her nature was childish. He called her 'Kitten', and in her grace, impulsiveness and cruelty, she was indeed feline. Of course he made jokes about this, at my expense, Kitten and Mouse — there is no need to repeat them. Caesar too had an adolescent streak.
There is no doubt, however, that, even though she didn't bewitch him, from that first hour she determined his Egyptian policy. Before her arrival, he had been considering how best to use his possession of young Ptolemy. Now he was ready to discard him just as one spits out a melon seed. It was clear that Cleopatra was to be established as the ruler of Egypt, under Caesar's control. You may think this was an absurd ambition considering that we were beleaguered. But Caesar cared nothing for such considerations. Cleopatra sat on his knee and stroked his cheeks and begged for stories, and expressed wonder at his exploits; Caesar played with the rich tresses and kissed those luscious breasts, and ran his finger along those cherry-red lips, and feasted on her dark almond-shaped eyes, that seemed sometimes black, sometimes a deep purply blue; and had formed his determination.
One thing should be said. Cleopatra cured him of that lassitude which had afflicted him ever since he held Pompey's ring with the lion supporting a sword in its paws. If he spent half the day, and all the night with her, in the other hours he recaptured his wonted energy.
Cleopatra didn't love him, of course, being capable of passion but not love, quite different emotions as I know to my cost; and that might have been grief to him, but wasn't, he being too vain to feel what wasn't there, or the pain of its absence. Instead he took great pleasure in recounting his exploits to her, believing that she was as deeply impressed as she pretended. The light in Alexandria towards evening is violet-coloured, as cranes fly black overhead; and that is how I see them, on the terrace, the Queen sitting on his knee as he talked and talked and she stroked his cheek, her profile hard against the darkening light over the sea. Her nose, I thought, would be too large when her features were fully formed. She listened and purred. She knew when to laugh too, and this pleased him, for Caesar had no great sense of humour, but considered himself a wit.
And he exerted himself, hoping she would be as amazed by what he did now as she pretended to be by what he recounted. To please her, he had her brother murdered in the prison where he had been confined, and even yielded to her request that they should view the unfortunate boy's corpse. Then she nuzzled
Caesar and he squeezed her breasts. 'I'm so glad he's dead,' she whispered.
Otherwise his renewed exertion was to our common benefit. It relieved me of much anxiety. Though our
