stepped into another world. No longer were there whispering courtiers passing in hallways with the sound of sandaled footsteps and the rustle of long linen gowns, leaving the scents of chrysanthemum oil and rosewater in their wake; or the bustle of royal slaves going to and fro, full of self-importance; or the mysterious sounds of music and laughter coming from inaccessible chambers across moonlit courtyards. Instead, I found myself in the brusque, entirely masculine atmosphere of a Roman military camp. I smelled fish stew, heard peals of crude laughter, and felt rough hands searching for concealed weapons in my tunic as I passed through one checkpoint after another. In one of the larger courtyards, tents had been set up to provide the soldiers with accommodations. Priceless statues of Osiris and Serapis loomed incongruously above legionnaires lounging in their undergarments, sitting cross-legged and tossing sheep-bone dice on the ancient mosaic floor.
Eventually the guard passed me into the keeping of a senior officer, who apologized profusely for any indignities I might have suffered and assured me that his imperator was eager to welcome me with all possible attention to my comfort.
We ascended a very long flight of steps, then turned about and ascended more steps. The officer saw that I was slightly winded, and paused for a bit; then we ascended yet more stairs. At the end of a long, colonnaded corridor, tall bronze doors swung open. The officer showed me inside, then discreetly vanished.
The room was stunning. The floor was of dark green marble striated with veins of deep purple and rust orange. Columns of the same extraordinary marble-I had never seen anything like it-supported a ceiling of massive beams painted gold and inlaid with crisscrossing ebony and ivory tesserae. Here and there, rugs with designs of dizzying complexity were thrown on the floor, surrounded by massive pieces of furniture-tripod tables that appeared to be made of solid silver, and chairs and couches inlaid with precious stones and strewn with plump cushions of some shimmering, iridescent fabric. Illumination came from a dozen or more silver lamps hung by chains from the ceiling; each lamp was fashioned in the shape of four ibises flying in different directions, with the tips of their spread wings touching and points of flame flickering from their open beaks. The light was diffused softly and evenly throughout the room, creating an atmosphere of ease and relaxation that muted the magnificence of the appointments. Starlight and moonlight entered through tall windows that opened to views on all four sides of the room; the windows were framed by curtains of green linen hemmed with silver threads. I walked to the nearest window, which faced south, and looked out on a panorama of tiled roofs, hanging gardens, and obelisks, with Lake Mareotis in the background, its still, black face a mirror full of stars.
'Gordianus! In spite of all my entreaties to that wretched eunuch, I still wasn't sure you'd come.'
I turned about and saw that Caesar sat in a corner of the room with a coverlet draped over his shoulders, so that only his head was showing. Behind him stood a slave in a green tunic, fussily wielding a comb and a pair of scissors.
'I hope you don't mind, Gordianus, but I'm not quite done having my hair cut. I've been so busy lately that I've rather neglected my grooming. Samuel here is the best barber in the known world; a Jew from Antioch. I conquered Gaul, I bested Pompey, but there's one enemy against whom I find myself powerless: this damned bald spot! It's invincible. Relentless. Merciless. Every month more hairs are lost, the line of battle falls back, and the bald spot claims a wider territory. But if one cannot defeat an enemy, sometimes one can rob him of the trappings of victory, at least. Only Samuel knows the secret of holding this enemy at bay. He cuts and combs my hair just so, and eureka! No one would ever know that my bald spot has grown so large.'
I raised an eyebrow, tempted to disagree; from where I stood, the shiny spot was glaringly visible, but if Caesar believed that combing a few strands of hair over his naked pate created the illusion of a full head of hair, who was I to disabuse him of the notion?
'There, all done!' announced Samuel. The barber was a tiny fellow, and had to stand upon a block of wood to reach Caesar's head. He stepped off the block, put aside his instruments, pulled the coverlet from Caesar's shoulders, and gave it a shake. I saw with some relief that Caesar was dressed as informally as I was, in a long saffron-colored tunic loosely belted at the waist. He looked quite slender. Meto had once told me that Caesar could boast that he still had the waistline he had possessed at thirty, while Pompey's waistline had doubled with age.
'Perhaps you'd care to avail yourself of Samuel's services?' said Caesar. 'You are looking a bit ragged, if you don't mind my saying so. In addition to cutting hair, Samuel is also quite adept at tweezing unwanted hair from the nostrils or ears, or from any other part of the body that requires depilation.'
'Thank you for the offer, Imperator, but I'll pass.'
'As you wish. Off with you, then, Samuel. Tell the servers that I shall take dinner presently. On the terrace, I think.' He turned his gaze to me. 'No need to address me as a military commander, Gordianus. My mission to Egypt is peaceful. I come as consul of the Roman people.'
I nodded. 'Very well, Consul.'
He began to cross the room. I followed, then stopped in my tracks as my gaze fell upon a life-sized, nude statue of Venus that stood in one corner. The statue was breathtaking, so lifelike and full of sensuality that the marble appeared to breath. The flesh of the Venus looked warm, not cold; her lips seemed ready to speak, or to kiss; her eyes stared searchingly into my own. Her countenance seemed at once serene and brimming with passion. In Rome, latter-day copies of such masterpieces are strewn about the gardens of the rich and stuck here and there on public buildings like so many poppy seeds sprinkled on a custard. But a copy is never the same as an original, and this was clearly not a copy; it could only have been fashioned by the hand of one the great Greek masters of the Golden Age.
Caesar saw my reaction and joined me in front of the Venus. 'Impressive, isn't she?'
'I've never seen her equal,' I admitted.
'Nor have I. I'm told she was once the property of Alexander himself, and it was he who installed her in the very first royal palace built in Alexandria. Can you imagine? Alexander looked upon her face!'
'And she looked upon the face of Alexander,' I said, gazing once more into the statue's eyes and feeling irrationally flummoxed that I should be the first to blink and look away.
Caesar nodded. 'Upon Alexander's death, Egypt devolved upon his general Ptolemy, and this statue became an heirloom of the new royal family. Do you know, I thought, when I first stepped into this room-knowing that King Ptolemy had chosen it for my personal quarters-I thought that this statue had been brought here especially to impress me, to make me feel at home, since Venus is my ancestor. But if you look at the way the pedestal fits against the floor, it's obvious that she's occupied this room for a very long time, perhaps for generations. So it seems that the guest was fitted to the room, and not the room to the guest.' He smiled. 'And if you look very closely-here, Gordianus, step closer, she won't bite-you can see that there's a very fine, very slightly discolored line around her neck. Do you see?'
I frowned. 'Yes. The head must have been broken off at some point, then reattached.'
'Exactly. And when I noticed that, I had to wonder: Did that wretched eunuch give me this room because he knows that Venus is my ancestor, and he wished to flatter me? Or did he install me here so as to give me yet another not-so-subtle reminder that anyone-even a deity-can lose a head?'
I took my eyes from the Venus and stepped toward another of the windows. This one faced east, in the direction of the Jewish Quarter. In the open region beyond the city walls, I discerned the meandering course of the canal that led toward Canopus and the Nile beyond. 'You have spectacular views.'
'You should see them in the daytime. The harbor on one side, the lake on the other-it's hard to imagine a more ideal location for a city.
One can see why Alexander thought that he might someday rule the whole world from this spot, once he finished conquering it.'
'But he never had the chance,' I said. 'Before he could enjoy the fruits of his conquests, he died.' A stillness filled the room. Even the Venus seemed to hold her breath, taken aback to hear words of evil omen.
'The evening is warm,' Caesar said. 'Shall we dine outside, on the terrace overlooking the harbor?'
I followed him onto the flagstone terrace, which was lit by braziers set upon bronze tripods with lion's feet. He took one couch, and I took the other. The moonlight upon the lighthouse skewed my sense of perspective and created the illusion that the tower was a miniature replica, and that if I were to reach out beyond the balustrade, I might lay my hand upon it.
I looked to the west, where a massive structure rose even higher than the room in which Caesar was installed. 'What's over there?'
'That's the theater, which presents a steep wall toward the town and opens to the harbor, to which it has
