protest in return. Who needs slaves when the peasants are so spiritless? Italians would have reduced the place to rubble before those pillars were head-high.
There can be no more agreeable way to travel than by barge upon the Nile. The water has none of the alarming instability of the sea, and the land is so narrow that you can see almost everything from the river itself. Walk a mile from the riverbank, and you are in the desert. And drifting downstream under a full moon is an experience out of a dream, the quiet broken only by the occasional bellow of a hippopotamus. On such nights the ancient temples and tombs gleam like jewels in the moonlight and it is easy to believe that you are seeing the world as the gods once saw it, when they walked among men.
It has been my experience that periods of ease and tranquility are invariably followed by times of chaos and danger, and my prolonged river idyll was no exception. My time of ease and idle pleasure changed as soon as I returned to Alexandria.
It was the beginning of winter in Egypt. And despite what many people say, there is a winter in Egypt. The wind grows cool and blustery, and on some days it even rains. My barge reached the delta and then took the canal that connected that marshy, rich country to Alexandria. It is wonderful to be in a country where one rarely has to walk for any great distance and there are no steep slopes to be negotiated.
I left the barge at one of the lake harbor docks and hired a litter to carry me to the Palace. This one was carried by a modest four bearers, but Alexandria is a beautiful city even at street level.
Our route took us by the Macedonian barracks, and I ordered a halt while I looked over the place. Unlike Rome, Alexandria had no ban on soldiers within the city. The Successors were always foreign despots, and they never thought it amiss to remind the natives of where power lay.
The barracks consisted of two rows of sprawling, three-story buildings facing each other across a parade ground. The buildings were predictably splendid, and the soldiers on parade went through their drill with commendable smartness, but their gear was old-fashioned to Roman eyes. Some wore the solid bronze cuirass now worn only by Roman officers, others the stiff shirt of layered linen, faced with bronze scales. The better-off Roman legionaries had gone over to the Gallic mail shirt generations before, and Marius had standardized it throughout the legions. Some of the Macedonians retained their long spears, although they had more than a century before discarded their old, stiff phalanx formation and had adopted an open order on the Roman model.
At one end of the field a troop of cavalry practiced its maneuvers. The Macedonians had found cavalry to be useful in the broad eastern lands that made up so much of the old Persian Empire they had conquered. We Romans had only a tiny cavalry force and usually hired horsemen when we felt the need.
At the other end of the field some engineers were erecting some sort of siege machine, a massive thing of ropes and timber. I had never seen such a device and ordered the bearers to take me nearer. Now, any foreigner would know better than to wander freely about a Roman camp or barracks, but I had become so accustomed to the unfailing toadying of the Egyptians that it did not occur to me that I might be intruding.
At our approach, a man who had been bawling at the engineers whirled and stalked toward us, the sunlight flashing from his polished greaves and cuirass. He carried a plumed helmet under one arm.
'What's your business here?' he demanded. I knew the breed: a long-service professional with slits for eyes and a lipless mouth. He looked like every centurion I ever detested. The arrow and spear gouges on his armor matched the scars on his face and arms, as if he had asked the armorer for a matching ensemble.
'I am Decius Caecilius Metellus the Younger, of the Roman diplomatic mission,' I said, as haughtily as I could manage. 'Your machine piqued my interest and I came for a closer look.'
'That so?' he said. 'Bugger off.'
This was not going well. 'See here,' I protested, 'I don't believe you appreciate the uniquely intimate relations between the Palace and the Roman mission.'
'Bring old Flute-Face down here and we'll talk about it,' the officer said. 'Meantime, get away from my barracks and stay away!'
'You shall hear more of this,' I promised. That is something one always says after being thoroughly intimidated. 'Bear me to the Palace,' I ordered grandly.
As we trotted thither, I fantasized punishments for the obdurate officer. He was perfectly within his rights to expel a foreign civilian, but that did not excuse him, in my estimation. After all, I was a Roman official, of a sort, and Egypt was a Roman possession, of a sort. But the man's insolence was quite driven from my mind by the news that greeted me when I reached the embassy.
I found Creticus in the atrium of the embassy and he beckoned me to him.
'Ah, Decius, this is convenient. We have some visitors from Rome. I was going to go greet them myself, but now you're here, so you can do it.'
' You were going to greet them?' I said. 'Who's that important?'
'A slave just brought this from the royal harbor.' He held up a small scroll. 'It seems that two ladies of important family have come to Alexandria for the salubrious climate.'
'The climate?' I said, arching an eyebrow.
'This is a letter from Lucullus. He informs me that the climate in Rome is unhealthy, something involving political infighting and blood in the streets. He is sending his ward, the Lady Fausta Cornelia, and her traveling companion, another highborn lady, and asks me to extend all aid and courtesy.'
'Fausta!' I said. 'Sulla's daughter?'
He glared impatiently. 'What other lady has ever borne that name?'
'I was just making sounds of astonishment,' I assured him. 'I've met the lady. She is betrothed to my friend Titus Milo.'
'All the better. Round up some slaves, they'll have a lot of baggage. And arrange for quarters. I'll speak to the court eunuchs about a reception for them.' Romans would never make this sort of fuss for visiting ladies, no matter how highborn, but the Egyptian court, dominated by eunuchs and princesses, was different.
'Who is the other lady?' A horrible thought struck me. 'It isn't Clodia, is it? She and Fausta are rather close.'
He smiled. 'No, you won't be displeased to see this one. Now go. They're fretting at the dock.'
I barked loudly and a gaggle of slaves appeared from nowhere. I ordered litters to be brought and they appeared as if by magic. It was really the most extraordinary place. I climbed into one and we trooped off to the royal harbor. This was a tiny enclosure within the Great Harbor where the royal yachts and barges were kept. It was bounded by a stone breakwater, and the opening in this was further protected by the island bearing the jewellike Island Palace, rendering it proof against the most violent storms.
Among the royal barges the little Roman merchantman looked humble, indeed, but the ladies who stood at the rail radiated arrogance the way the sun radiates light. These were not only Roman ladies, but patricians to boot, with that special assurance of superiority that comes only of centuries of inbreeding.
The slaves set down the litters and I clambered from mine as they abased themselves before the ladies descending the gangplank. The German-blond hair of Fausta Cornelia was unmistakable. She possessed the golden beauty of the Cornelians to an extent matched only by her twin brother, Faustus. The other lady was smaller and darker, but just as radiant. A good deal more so, to my eyes.
'Julia!' I cried, gaping. It was, indeed, Julia Minor, younger daughter of Lucius Caesar. Not long before this, a meeting of our families had been held and we had been formally betrothed. That we had desired this betrothal was, of course, immaterial as far as the families were concerned, but was regarded as a rather fortunate happenstance. At that time the Metelli were in a frenzy of fence-mending with the contending power blocs. Creticus had married off his daughter to the younger Marcus Crassus. Caius Julius Caesar was the rising star of the Popular Assemblies, and a connection with that ancient but obscure family was desired. Caius Julius's own daughter was already promised to Pompey, but his brother Lucius had an unmarried younger daughter. Hence, we were betrothed.
'Welcome to Alexandria!' I cried. I took Fausta's hand briefly; then Julia presented her cheek to be kissed. I obliged.
'You've put on weight, Decius,' she said.
'What a flatterer you are,' I said. 'These Egyptians feel they've failed their gods if they allow a Roman to walk a step more than necessary, and who am I to interfere in their devotion to piety?' I turned to Fausta. 'Lady Fausta, your beauty adorns this royal city like a crown. I trust you had a pleasant voyage?'
'We've been heaving our guts out since we left Ostia,' she said.
'I assure you, the accommodations here will more than make up for the rigors of a winter voyage.' The
