TW11 The Cleopatra Crisis NEW (8 page)

"Still," Caesar continued, "our influence in Egypt is not what it once was. Pompey has mismanaged things. I must take steps to remedy that situation. We must make the power of Rome felt here once again. Tomorrow, I will begin by demanding the tribute that is due to Rome, so that we might reward our army. And we must see to it that a more benign influence is set behind the throne. What do you know of the king's sister, the one who was exiled when Pompey was in power?"

Travers replied evasively, "Cleopatra? I fear that I know very little of her, Caesar. It is said that she is young and very beautiful. Also ambitious, which is why Pompey had banished her."

"I think perhaps we should recall her," Caesar said. "Let us arrange, through certain of these ministers who have no love for Pothinus, to send word to her to come and see me. I would like to speak with her myself and judge what manner of woman she is. Perhaps we can help her see that she would best serve her own interests by also serving Rome's. But I think it would not be wise to alert others of our plans before we have decided on a course of action. I will send word to her to come to me in secret."

Caesar smiled. “In the meantime, Septimus, my friend, we shall take full advantage of this grudging hospitality and send for wine. It shall probably be sour, but no matter. We shall only pour it out. Let them believe that we dissolute Romans are drinking through the night. So long as lights burn in our chambers, stealthy assassins might hesitate to enter.” He clapped his hand to his sword hilt. "And if they do, we shall be sober and prepared for them."

Throughout the night, the palace servants brought them wine, which neither of them even tasted. The hours stretched toward dawn. Caesar had no need of Travers, to help him stay awake. His hyper personality kept him going, dictating letters and portions of his memoirs until Travers was exhausted, and then Caesar, seeing he was tired, apologized for working him so hard and told him amusing anecdotes and stories of his childhood, which Travers wanted desperately to write down, but couldn't both because his wrist was sore from taking dictation and it was all that he could do to keep his eyes open. At some point, he dropped off, and when he awoke, it was morning and Caesar was still up, showing no signs of being tired. He chided Travers gently for falling asleep and when Travers apologized, assured him that it was perfectly all right, that he deserved his rest. If I don't die on the battlefield, Travers thought, just trying to keep up with him will kill me.

The morning was spent with Caesar visiting his troops and seeing to their comfort. Then he presented his demands to Ptolemy for payment of the tribute.

The boy king simply sat there, looking at them sullenly, while Pothinus stood at his side and spoke for him. He was, thought Travers, a decidedly unpleasant man. He was large and fat and jowly, with a shaved head and a mannered, effeminate voice. His pudgy hands had rings on every finger but the thumbs and they gestured languidly when he spoke, making Travers think of pale and bloated slugs.

"Your petition has been noted,” the eunuch replied pompously. “It would seem now, Caesar, that your business here has been concluded. The man you came here seeking has been dealt with, your soldiers have been fed and rested. We have done our best to be hospitable hosts. But the time has come when you should leave Egypt and go back to Rome. There are, no doubt, affairs of greater consequence you should attend to. You should not concern yourself with minor matters such as collecting tribute. It can be sent to you in Rome."

Caesar stiffened and his cheeks flushed red. "I do not require Egyptians to be my counselors!" he snapped. "And Rome does not wait on Egypt's pleasure. The tribute will be paid in due course, and speedily, else I shall instruct my army to seize it for themselves in whatever manner they so choose! It is
I
who have been patient, Pothinus. But my patience has been sorely tried. I would advise you not to try it further."

He turned on his heel and stalked out of the chamber, with Travers hurrying to catch up with him.

"I will rid Egypt of this insolent eunuch if it is the last thing I ever do," stormed Caesar as they headed back to their rooms.

Afterward, several of Ptolemy's ministers came to speak with him discreetly and Travers wondered which of them would send word to Cleopatra. He was excited at the thought of actually meeting her face-to-face, a woman who was one of the most legendary beauties and seductresses in all of history.

Despite all the years he'd spent at Caesar's side, there were still times when he found himself looking at that handsome, scholarly profile and thinking, "My God, I'm actually sitting here with
Julius Caesar
!" At such times, it seemed almost like a dream. And at other times, the world he came from seemed unreal.

He had been born in Dallas, Texas and had acquired an interest in ancient history at a very early age, a result of a typical boyhood fascination with the glamour of the Time Wars. Childhood play had led him to the library, to look up certain historical details so that he could settle arguments among his playmates about what sort of armor was worn by medieval knights and how ancient Romans fought. He was able to point out historical flaws in the design of the toy weapons that their parents purchased for them and was soon making his own from wood in his father's workshop. He sold them to his friends, who found that they held up to rough use far better than the flimsy plastic swords they bought in stores and made a far more satisfying sound when they were stuck together.

He became the local "Armorer," constructing wooden swords and shields and daggers for his friends, and with practice, he became more skillful at it.

Determined to be authentic at all costs, he did his research carefully and the more he read about ancient times, the more fascinated he became and the more he wanted to know. His interest in research helped him to acquire better study habits and his grades in school improved dramatically. His father, pleased with this development, as well as with his growing skill in craftsmanship, encouraged him and bought him better tools and books. While still in his early teens, Travers had graduated to working in metal. He started small, with handmade knives, but soon moved on to larger blades. By the time he was ready to enter college, he had made quite a bit of money selling replicas of Spanish swords, medieval maces. Viking blades and battle axes. Sinclair-hilted sabers, French rapiers and Scottish basket-billed claymores to collectors and would-be Time Commandos who were happy to pay hundreds of dollars for authentic, exquisitely crafted “souvenirs of campaigns in Minus time."

Travers entered Harvard on a scholarship and it was there that his area of interest narrowed to a specialization in classical times. He studied Greek and Latin and took graduate degrees in history, now certain of how he planned to spend his life. He intended to apply to the Observer Corps and be commissioned as an L.T.O., with hopes of a long-term posting in ancient Rome.

His timing could not have been more perfect. He completed his Observer training at the head of his class, just as the Temporal Crisis struck and the focus of the Time Wars shifted from the settling of international disputes to dealing with the new and greater threat from the parallel universe. The majority of the world's temporal forces were being converted to Temporal Observer status, to function under the senior officers of the Observer Corps, and there was a drastic need for personnel with the sort of qualifications Travers had, especially as L.T.O.'s. They were as anxious to get Travers as Travers was to join them and he was able to write his own ticket. Without hesitation, he requested to be assigned to Gaius Julius Caesar.

Now, the future that he came from seemed less real to him than the time in which he lived. He had become a Roman in almost all respects, except for that certain distance that he always had to keep, to remind himself of who and what he really was and what his task entailed. For over a decade, he had lived the dream. Caesar had become his friend and it was difficult for him to think that in a couple of years, he would be murdered in the Senate, beneath the statue of the very man whom he had driven out of Rome and to his death in Egypt.

He thought of Casca, striking the first blow, and Brutus, delivering the last. Travers felt the blade of the
parazonium
he wore at his side. Of Macedonian origin, it was the knife worn by almost every male Roman and the secondary weapon of the soldier, a lethal, bottle-shaped blade with a strong central rib, three inches wide at the hilt, narrowing slightly at the midsection and then flaring out once more and tapering to a sharp point. He had seen the horrifying wounds the foot-long blade could make and he shuddered at the thought of having something like that plunged into his body. Caesar would be stabbed a total of twenty-three times by the conspirators, from the neck down to the groin, and he would fall at the foot of Pompey's statue, which he himself had ordered put back up after the mob had torn it down. His blood would splatter on the pedestal, causing all of Rome to talk for years thereafter about the supernatural influence at work in the assassination, as if the spirit of Pompey himself had presided over it in revenge. And part of Travers' job was to see that it happened exactly that way.

He had come to have a great deal of respect and affection for Caesar, not only as a scholar studying his subject, but as a man and as a friend. It was hard to think that he would have to stand by and watch him die, and in such an awful manner, without being able to do anything to prevent it. But that was precisely what he had to do. If necessary, he would even have to get involved himself to make sure that history wasn't changed. As much as that thought disturbed hint, the thought that forces from the parallel universe could be at work to change that disturbed him even more.

Over the next few days, Caesar grew more tense and irritable. He avoided Pothinus and the king as much as possible, which seemed to suit the two of them just fine. He took long walks in the gardens, always armed and always with Travers at his side and several soldiers close by. It was in the gardens that several of Ptolemy's ministers contrived to meet with him, or to send informers, to keep him advised of what Pothinus was doing. The longer they remained in Egypt, in the midst of palace intrigues, the more danger they were in. If Pothinus found out about Caesar's plan to reinstate Cleopatra, he would waste no time in having them removed. Travers would have felt much better staying with the army, but Caesar insisted upon staying in the palace, both to claim the treatment due Rome's emissary and to keep an eye on things.

They were dining in their chambers one evening when one of the ministers arrived, along with a servant carrying a rolled-up carpet over his shoulder.

"I have brought the additional bedclothing you requested, Caesar," said the minister, shutting the door behind him as the servant carried it in.

"Bedclothing?" said Caesar with a frown. "I did not ask for bedclothing."

"Perhaps Caesar does not recall," said the minister with a smile. "Lay it down upon the floor, Apollodorus."

Caesar got up from his chair. "What is this? I am quite certain that I asked for no—"

Apollodorus unrolled the carpet and stood back. A young woman had been rolled up inside it. She was lying on her stomach. She pushed herself up slightly from the floor and bent one lovely leg, tossed her head, getting the hair back out of her eyes, and looked up at Caesar with a smile.

"You did ask that I come to you discreetly," she said.

Caesar stood back with surprise.

"I am Cleopatra."

She stood and faced them. Travers stared at her, stunned. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her hair was jet-black, long and straight. Her striking features were sharp and graceful. There was a proud nobility to her bearing. Her eyes were a deep brown, with a smoldering, penetrating gaze; her complexion dark: her mouth full and sensuous. Her figure was voluptuous, with large, firm breasts that were clearly outlined in the simple, thin, white linen shift she wore, her narrow waist and flaring hips accentuated by the gold girdle encircling it. Her legs were long and shapely, her small feet gracefully shod in thin, delicate sandals. She wore no jewelry except for an amulet around her neck. She was breathtakingly lovely. Travers recalled that at the time of meeting Caesar, this very meeting, she was twenty-one years old.

"That which was concealed shall stand revealed," Caesar murmured. Travers glanced at him sharply.

Cleopatra cocked her head, gazing at Caesar with puzzlement.

Caesar shook his head. "I was merely recalling something someone told me once," he said. He glanced at the minister and servant. "Leave us."

They went out and shut the door behind them. Caesar gestured toward his chair. "Please. Be seated." She chose the couch rather than the chair and reclined upon it gracefully.

Caesar watched her appreciatively. "Allow me to present my friend, Praetor Lucius Septimus."

She inclined her head slightly toward Travers. Travers stood and gave her a slight bow. "I am honored, Queen Cleopatra."

"I am not a queen now, Praetor Septimus, merely an exiled princess. My brother is still king,” she said.

"For the moment," Caesar said. He smiled. "I must admit that I had not expected your arrival in so bold a manner. It was very clever of you."

"Our nights are cool," she said. "A Roman could be expected to feel the chill. No one would remark upon his asking for another coverlet."

"Had I known they made such coverlets in Egypt. I would have sent for one much sooner," Caesar replied with a smile. "I merely regret that I had to ask you to resort to stealth in order to arrive in your own palace."

"I understood the need," she said. "Pothinus would hardly welcome my arrival. Since I was sent to live in exile, he has made a breach between my younger brother and myself."

"A breach can be repaired," said Caesar. "It wants only a craftsman who knows what he's about."

Cleopatra smiled. "You do not have the look of a craftsman," she said.