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"Your imperator, then."
The guard glanced at me, then looked Merianis up and down. "But who's expecting you, my sweet?"
"Don't be impertinent!" I snapped. "This woman is a priestess in the royal temple of the goddess Isis."
The guard looked at me warily. "I meant no disrespect."
"Then stop wasting our time. Were you not told to expect me?"
"We were."
"Then take me to Caesar at once."
The guard ceded his place to another stationed inside the door and indicated that I should follow him. I glanced over my shoulder at Merianis, who flashed a last, mysterious smile as I stepped around a corner and lost sight of her.
This part of the palace was only a short walk away from the rooms I occupied, and yet I seemed to have 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 legio
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, colo
The room was stu
"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 ca
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!" a
"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 di
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?"