The Silver Eagle

With plenty of maritime experience, the friends would have little problem finding a ship home. The fact that they had been part of the bestiarius’ expedition would make them even more valuable as crew to any captain with intentions of carrying wild animals. And by concealing their armour and weapons, it would be easy enough to avoid unwanted scrutiny.

At this, Hiero grew agitated. ‘I can’t sit here like a fool. Do you have any idea of how much food those beasts consume every day?’ he demanded. ‘If Tarquinius is correct, the best policy might be to move on. Journey to another port.’

‘There is another option,’ said Tarquinius.

They both turned to him.

‘Wait until it gets dark and then check it out for ourselves.’

Romulus began to feel uneasy, but Hiero’s face grew eager.

‘We could reconnoitre the situation. Talk to the locals.’

‘That sounds risky,’ challenged Romulus. Relations between him and Tarquinius were still strained thanks to the haruspex’ repeated refusals to explain why he had left Italy.

‘For seven years we have lived and breathed constant danger,’ Tarquinius answered calmly. ‘And yet here we are.’

Romulus feared the faraway look in Tarquinius’ eyes. ‘Carrhae and Margiana just happened though,’ he cried. ‘We had to deal with those situations as they happened. This can be avoided!’

‘My destiny is to enter Alexandria, Romulus,’ said Tarquinius solemnly. ‘I cannot turn away now.’

Hiero’s gaze switched eagerly from one to the other, fascinated.

Romulus felt unhappy at the prospect of walking into an unfamiliar city that was at war. And the air currents he had seen over Alexandria were full of dark possibilities. He stared at Tarquinius, whose face was set. It was futile to argue with him. Unwilling to look again at the sky over the city himself, Romulus hung his head. Mithras, protect us, he prayed. Jupiter, do not forget your faithful servants.

Hiero was oblivious to the deep emotions flowing between them. ‘Good,’ he proclaimed. ‘I can think of no better men for the job.’

Neither Tarquinius nor Romulus replied. The former had fallen deep into thought. The latter was struggling to control his fears.

Alexandria awaited.

The couple’s rooms were large and airy, the floors covered with thick carpets, the furniture made of ebony and inlaid with silver. Long, column-filled and painted corridors led to a succession of similar chambers interspersed with courtyards and gardens. These last were filled with fountains and statues of the bizarre Egyptian gods. Everywhere the windows afforded stunning views of the Pharos, the lighthouse. Even these could not make Fabiola like Alexandria. Egypt was an alien place, full of strange people and customs. The pale-skinned servants who bowed and scraped obsequiously were driving her to distraction. And luxurious surroundings could only do so much to dispel her claustrophobia. After weeks of being cooped up indoors, she was struggling not to despair. Nor could she go on avoiding Caesar for ever.

Fabiola listened to the baying mob outside. Although the sound had grown familiar, it still chilled her blood.

Sextus gave a reassuring look, which helped a little.

Brutus also saw her glance at the shuttered window. ‘Don’t worry, my darling,’ he said. ‘There are four cohorts just outside. The rabble can’t get anywhere near us.’

Something inside Fabiola snapped. ‘No,’ she cried, ‘but we can’t go out either! We’re trapped like rats in a sewer because Caesar bit off more than he can damn well chew.’

‘Fabiola-’ Brutus began, his face strained.

‘I’m right, and you know it. Once he knew Pompey was dead, Caesar sauntered in here as if the place were his,’ she retorted hotly. ‘Is it any surprise that the Egyptians didn’t like it?’

Her lover fell silent. His general’s habit of acting so fast that his enemies were caught off-guard almost always worked. This time, Brutus had to admit, it had not.

Fabiola grew even more indignant. ‘And to let his lictores clear the path before him? Is Caesar the king of Egypt now?’

Docilosa looked worried. This was dangerous.

‘Lower your voice,’ Brutus ordered. ‘And calm down.’

Fabiola did as he said. Other senior officers were billeted nearby and might overhear. It was pointless losing control, she thought. A waste of energy.

Rather than take his entire army to Egypt, Caesar had split it into three unequal parts, sending the larger portions back to Italy and into Asia Minor, where their missions were to enforce the peace. Meanwhile, he himself was to pursue Pompey. This decision had not augured well for their arrival in Alexandria. And so it had proved. Sailing in not long after Pharsalus with about three thousand men, Caesar had ordered his ships to anchor safely offshore until he knew what type of reception the Egyptians would offer him. When a pilot vessel emerged a short time later, its crew was instructed to carry the news of his arrival to Alexandria’s ruling officials. Their reply was swift. As Caesar landed, he was greeted by a royal messenger who solemnly presented him with a package.

In it were Pompey’s signet ring, and his head.

Full of sorrow, Caesar promised revenge on those who had killed his former friend and ally. Ultimately, it might have served his purpose for Pompey to die, but Caesar was not the cold-blooded killer some Republicans made him out to be. His clemency towards the senior officers who had surrendered at Pharsalus had been remarkable. And his very public grief for Pompey was genuine. Perhaps it was this pain which led to his use of his lictores upon their arrival, thought Fabiola. But Caesar’s move went down badly with the locals, and things had grown worse from there. Although the quarrelling Ptolemy XIII and Cleopatra were both absent, the city was no walkover for an invading force. The local population did not take kindly to foreign soldiers invading their streets, or to their royalty’s palaces being seized. When Caesar had two of the ministers responsible for Pompey’s murder executed in public, the simmering resentment created by his arrogance flared into open anger. Aided by the Alexandrian mob, the Ptolemaic garrison began to launch daring attacks on the foreign troops. It started with barrages of rocks and broken pottery, but soon progressed to more deadly violence. Using their intimate knowledge of the city, the Egyptians cut off and annihilated a number of Roman patrols over the space of a few days. Almost overnight, the entire place turned into a no-go area. In a humiliating climb-down, Caesar was forced to withdraw his outnumbered legionaries into one of the royal palaces near the docks. There, with all the approaches blocked by barricades, they remained.

After two years of constant marching and fighting, their time in Alexandria was meant to be an opportunity to relax. Instead, confined by the unrest to their quarters, Fabiola had been brooding constantly about Caesar. In her mind, his sexual assault on her in Ravenna utterly proved his guilt. And her parentage. The latter discovery had not afforded her any of the joy that might be expected in such circumstances. In its place, Fabiola was filled with a dark, vicious satisfaction. After years of searching, she had been granted one of her most desired wishes. Now her revenge had to be plotted, but she wanted far more than to slip a sharp knife between Caesar’s ribs one night. It was not that Fabiola cared whether she died in the attempt. She did not. With Romulus in all likelihood dead, what purpose was there in living? No, her restraint was because Caesar did not deserve a swift end. Like her mother’s in the salt mines, his had to be a lingering death, full of suffering. Preferably at the hands of those he trusted most. Yet Fabiola had to be careful. Since Alesia, Caesar did not trust her and keeping Brutus happy in the face of his master’s disapproval was a task in itself.

Currently, however, the most likely risk was that an Egyptian rabble would tear them all to pieces. For someone who wanted to engineer a man’s death with precision, it was immensely frustrating. Here Fabiola could do nothing other than work on Brutus, and her resentment was reaching critical levels.

Fierce street battles were still raging daily. While a type of status quo had been reached, Caesar and his small force were cut off from his triremes, their only way out of the situation.

‘Help is on its way from Pergamum and Judaea,’ offered Brutus. ‘It will arrive in a matter of weeks.’

‘Really?’ cried Fabiola. ‘That can’t be certain, or there’d be no need for this pointless attack on the harbour.’

‘We have to regain access to our ships. And seizing Pharos Island will give us an advantage over the Egyptians,’ he replied, the colour rising in his cheeks. ‘You know that I cannot disobey a direct order.’