I groaned and felt a stab of pain in my back from the effort of rising without using my hands. The king took a few steps back and looked down his nose at me. I dared to look back at him for a brief moment before lowering my eyes. His face was indeed that of a boy of fifteen. His Greek ancestry was evident in his blue eyes and fair skin. He was not particularly handsome, with a mouth too broad and a nose too large to satisfy Greek ideals of beauty, but his eyes flashed with intelligence, and the twist at the corner of his mouth hinted at an impish sense of humor.
'Gordianus-called-Finder is your name?'
'Yes, Your Majesty.'
'The spy who captured you charges that you were in the employ of Pompey. True or false?'
'Not true, Your Majesty.'
'My lord chamberlain suggests that you may be in Caesar's employ.'
'Nor is that true, Your Majesty.'
'But it is true that you know Caesar?'
'Yes, Your Majesty.' I could see that he was intrigued by Caesar, and that it was my uncertain relationship with Caesar that made him curious about me. I cleared my throat. 'If it would please Your Majesty, I might be able to tell him a thing or two about Caesar; provided I am allowed to keep my head, of course.'
While not looking directly at him, I could see nonetheless that the corner of his mouth twisted into a crooked smile. The young king of Egypt was amused. 'You there, spy. What are you called?'
The man gave a name of numerous syllables that was Egyptian, not Greek. Ptolemy evidently could not be bothered to pronounce it, for he continued to address the man by his profession.
'What caused you to think, spy, that this Roman was Pompey's man?'
The spy, in his reedy voice, proceeded to tell the tale of where and how he had first seen me, and of how he had come upon me again near the temple beside the Nile.
Ptolemy returned his gaze to me. 'Well, Gordianus-called-Finder, what do you have to say for yourself?'
I repeated the tale of why I had come to Egypt and how I had fallen in with Pompey's fleet, ending with the disappearance of Bethesda the previous day and my capture that morning.
We had all been speaking Greek. Abruptly, Ptolemy spoke to me in Latin. His accent was odd but his grammar impeccable. 'The spy strikes me as a bit of an idiot. What do you say to that, Gordianus-called-Finder?'
From the corner of my eye, I could see that the spy frowned, unable to follow the change of tongues. I answered in Latin. 'Who am I to contradict the judgment of Your Majesty?'
'It would seem you are a man of considerable experience, Gordianus-called-Finder. Truly, what do you have to say about this spy? Speak candidly; I command it!'
I cleared my throat. 'The man may or may not be an idiot, Your Majesty, but I do know for a fact that he's a thief.'
'How so?'
'After I was bound, he rummaged through my traveling trunk, ostensibly to look for evidence to incriminate me. Finding nothing of the sort, he stole the few things of value for himself.'
The corner of Ptolemy's mouth twisted in the opposite direction, producing a crooked frown. He fixed his gaze on the spy and resumed speaking in Greek. 'What did you steal from this Roman?'
The spy's jaw dropped open and quivered. He was silent for a heartbeat too long. 'Nothing, Your Majesty.'
'Any spoils taken from an enemy are the property of the king, whose officers may dispense them only in accordance with the king's wishes. Are you not aware of that, spy?'
'Of course I am, Your Majesty. I would never think to… that is, I would never dream of taking anything from a prisoner, without first… without handing it over directly to-'
In Latin, Ptolemy said to me: 'What did he steal from you, Gordianus-called-Finder?'
'Coins, Your Majesty.'
'Roman sesterces?'
'Yes, Your Majesty.'
'If the man has a few Roman coins on his person, or even a bag full of them, that would hardly constitute proof that he stole them from you.'
'I suppose not, Your Majesty.' 'To make an unsubstantiated charge of such severity against an agent of the king is an offense worthy of death.'
I tried to swallow, but my mouth was as dry as chalk. 'There was something else he stole from my trunk.'
'What?'
'A comb, Your Majesty. A beautiful thing made of silver and ebony. My wife insisted on bringing it with her… for sentimental reasons.' My voice caught in my throat.
Ptolemy turned his gaze back to the spy. The man had followed none of our exchange in Latin, but even so he began to tremble and gnash his teeth.
'Captain!'
Achillas stepped forward. 'Your Majesty?'
'Have your men strip the spy of his tunic and whatever else he's wearing. Turn out all the pockets and pouches and see what you find.'
'At once, Your Majesty.'
Soldiers converged. In the bat of an eyelash, the spy was stripped naked. He sputtered at the indignity and blushed crimson from head to foot. I averted my eyes, which chanced to fall on Pothinus. Did I imagine it, or was the eunuch discreetly taking a good look at the naked man's scrotum?
In the background, the piper continued to play. For a while I had ceased to notice his music, though he had never stopped playing the same song in endless variations.
'What did your men find, Captain?'
'Coins, Your Majesty. Bits of parchment. A perfumer's vial, made of alabaster. A few-'
'A comb?'
'Yes, Your Majesty.' Achillas held it before the king, who looked down his nose at it but did not touch it.
'A comb made of silver and ebony,' observed Ptolemy.
The spy, standing alone and naked, wrung his hands and trembled violently. There was a sound of splashing, and I saw that his bladder was emptying itself. He stood in a pool of his own urine, blushing furiously, biting his lips, and whimpering.
The piper continued to play. The tune changed to a brighter key and a quicker tempo.
'Have mercy on me, Your Majesty, I beg you!' blubbered the spy.
'Captain.'
'Your Majesty?'
'Have this man executed at once.'
Pothinus stepped forward. 'Your Majesty, the man is a valuable agent. He possesses a great store of specialized knowledge. Please consider-'
'This man stole from the king. He lied to the king. You yourself witnessed the lie. Are you saying, Lord Chamberlain, that there is an argument to be made that he should not be executed?'
Pothinus lowered his eyes. 'No, Your Majesty. The king's words humble me.'
'Captain Achillas.'
'Your Majesty?'
'Execute the man immediately, where he stands, so that all present may witness the swiftness of the king's justice.'
Achillas strode forward. Soldiers seized the spy's arms, not merely to immobilize him but also to keep him upright; his legs had gone soft, and otherwise he would have collapsed to the floor. Achillas put his massive hands around the man's throat and proceeded to strangle him. Where the man's face had been red before, it now turned purple. His body convulsed. Weird sounds rose came from his mouth until a sickening crunch put a stop to his gurgling. With a snort of disgust, Achillas released him. The man's head flopped to one side, and his limp body crumpled to the floor.
The room fell silent except for the merry tune of the piper.
'Lord Chamberlain.'
