The Judgment of Caesar Read Online Free Page A

of the malady that plagues you, and so you must. Promise me you will, no matter whether I’m there to see it or—”
    “Don’t say such a thing!” she whispered.
    I took both her hands, but only for a moment. “The Great One doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” I said, reluctantly letting her fingertips slip from mine. “Look after her while I’m gone, Rupa. And you boys, behave yourselves!” Androcles and Mopsus both looked at me uncertainly, sensing trouble.
    A man of my years should never be obliged to climb down a rope ladder into a skiff, but I managed the difficult descent with more grace than I thought possible. Perhaps the gods were watching after all, and thought it fitting to allow an old Roman to retain a shred of dignity on the way to meet his destiny.
    “A beautiful day,” I said to the centurion. “Not a sign of that storm that blew us here. You’d never know it happened. Nothing but blue skies.”
    The centurion nodded but did not speak. His reserves of bonhomie were apparently spent. His face was grim.
    “Not a very cheerful group,” I said, looking at the rowers. They kept their eyes straight ahead and made no response.
    We rowed past warships and transports to the center of the little fleet. Pompey’s galley stood out from the rest. Its sail was trimmed with crimson, its armored hull gleamed in the sunlight, and the soldiers on the deck were by far the best outfitted of any in sight. It was clearly the handsomest ship in the fleet, and yet, in some intangible way, the gloomiest. Was I only imagining the air of dread that seemed to thicken around us as each stroke of the oars brought us closer?
    I was spared the challenge of attempting an ascent by ladder, for the galley was equipped with a ramp that unfolded from the deck. I stepped onto it, swaying a bit. When the centurion gripped my elbow to steady me, I turned to thank him; but the way he averted his eyes, as if the very sight of me might contaminate him, unnerved me. Mustering my courage, I turned and ascended the ramp.
    The moment I stepped onto the deck, I was searched. My dagger was discovered and taken from me. I was told to remove my shoes, and those were taken as well; I suppose an enterprising assassin might find some way to conceal a deadly weapon in his shoe. Even the cord I used to belt my tunic was taken. Armed guards escorted me to the cabin at the stern of the galley. Its door stood open, and well before we reached it, I heard Pompey’s raised voice from within.
    “Tell the brat and his pet eunuch that I’ll expect to meet them ashore tomorrow at noon—not an hour earlier and not an hour later. I’ll be able to judge how subservient these Egyptians intend to be by what they feed me for lunch. If they spring for crocodile steak and swallows’ tongues with a decent Italian wine, I’ll tell the boy-king to wipe my bottom for me as well. If they think they can get away with serving Nile mullets and Egyptian beer, I’ll know I have my work cut out for me.” This was followed by a harsh laugh that made my blood run cold.
    Another voice replied, in lower tones, “As you command, Great One,” and a moment later an officer emerged from the cabin, wearing full regalia and carrying a plumed helmet under his arm. He spied me and raised an eyebrow. “Is this the one called Gordianus, Centurion Macro?”
    “It is, Commander.”
    “Well, Citizen Gordianus, I don’t envy you. But then, you probably don’t envy me, either. I’m off to the mainland to parlay with that haughty boy-king and his insufferable advisers. The Great One expects to receive a fitting welcome when he goes ashore tomorrow, but one gets the distinct impression that the boy-king had rather be staging another battle against his sister and her rebels in the desert.” The officer shook his head. “This sort of thing was so much easier before Pharsalus! I had merely to snap my fingers, and the locals cringed. Now they look at me as if . . .” He seemed to