Milites Semper

On the night of the fifth day before the Ides of December, the sky over Alexandria was relatively clear. A warm land breeze slipped through the gaps between buildings, winding its way along the narrow streets where the Alexandrians had erected high barricades to halt the advance of Julius Caesar’s soldiers.

"I demand my release!" shouted the young King Ptolemy XIII, held captive in a section of the Royal Palace controlled by Caesar and his troops.

In a fit of rage, the young monarch tried to leave the room where he was confined alongside his closest advisors. Four heavily armed legionaries blocked his path; they drew their gladii just far enough to reveal the blades before sheathing them again with a sharp, metallic snap.

"You must understand — we need to negotiate with Caesar. This situation is untenable," an advisor attempted to reason with the captain of the guard.

"Sire, please, step back. I have orders to use force if necessary," the captain responded with authority.

"Little brother..." A familiar voice rang out from behind the line of legionaries. Ptolemy stepped forward and stopped behind his advisor. Amidst the soldiers, he made out the face of his older sister, Cleopatra.

"Cleopatra, you are a traitor and ought to be executed!" Ptolemy exclaimed from his protected position.

"Young Sire..." an advisor standing directly behind Ptolemy interjected in a persuasive tone. "Perhaps we should ask Her Highness the meaning of all this," he added, gesturing with his hand to emphasize his words.

"You shall be executed! The curse of Akhu-Sheut will fall upon you!" the young king shouted in anger, pointing an accusing finger at Cleopatra. A silence let the words sink in.

"What is he talking about?" Cleopatra asked, turning this time to the advisor standing on the other side of the line of legionaries, facing her.

"Your Highness..." the advisor replied hesitantly, moving his head in frustration; it was not up to him to say more.

"Oh, yes! You will suffer, Cleopatra!"

"Sire," the advisor cut in, looking at Ptolemy as he realized the information might be of strategic importance to Caesar. "Our goal now should be to negotiate your release as soon as possible... and perhaps we could put an end to this conflict."

"I won't allow it! What are you talking about? What is this curse of Akhu-Sheut? Tell me, or I’ll tear the answer out of you! I swear it!" Cleopatra demanded.

"Your Highness, these are matters of state," the advisor said in a tone intended to close the subject.

"You are my prisoner; Caesar listens to me..."

"Well, Caesar's prisoner," the advisor clarified.

Without replying, Cleopatra turned on her heels, walking to the opposite side of the Royal Quarters where Julius Caesar had his commanding post.

"Caesar, the tide has changed and the winds are favorable."

"Tiberius, assemble a small force, a contubernium of your most capable men... I cannot spare more men..."

"Caesar!" Cleopatra interrupted as she entered the room. "Ptolemy and his advisors..."

"Your Highness, I cannot attend to your family quarrel right now." Caesar exhaled sharply, irritation flickering across his face. He saw the confusion in her eyes and dismissed it. He stood between the wall and the gladius himself.

"But my brother is threatening me with... something his advisor called a secret of state..." Cleopatra insisted.

"Your Highness, you and your brother are meant to rule together. That is in your father's testamentum, and Rome is appointed as the guarantor. I will see to that."

"But Caesar..."

"Take the Queen to her royal quarters," Caesar ordered a legionary standing against the wall, "and make sure she stays there." Looking at Cleopatra, he added, "I will visit the Queen and talk to her after I am finished here."

"Caesar." The legionary saluted and proceeded to execute his order, escorting Cleopatra out of the area.

"I will join the men to see this opus to its end," Tiberius spoke as soon as the men were alone.

"That would be unwise, considering our position. I need you more as a commander than a dead hero... but... if you must. Depart at once."

"Caesar." Tiberius Lucretius Vespillo saluted and departed.

"Marcelus, gather your men," commanded Tiberius.

"Men." Tiberius made eye contact with each and every man of the contubernium. "We are going on a little destructive expedition."

"About time!" some of the men shouted with enthusiasm.

"We are going to set the world on fire. The problem is that where we are going is heavily protected." Tiberius paused to allow his words to sink in. "I will go with you... we are going to burn Ptolemy's ships; all of them."

"Who else is coming?" one of the men asked.

"It is only us." The men nodded in silence.

"We cannot wear armor. We go light—pugios only. It will get close." The men looked at each other; some of them tested their blades with their thumb, time seemed to slow to a single breath; a storm was coming.

"Two in the vanguard. Two with the clay pots. Two fuel men behind them. Marcelus and his second take the rear. I lead."

"Rotation?" asked Marcelus.

"Every centum passes... let's get ready."

"Armor off, pugios only… perfect. I always wanted to die underdressed!"

They laughed heartily.

The eight men gathered in the shadows of the lower colonnade, their faces already streaked with lamp-soot and mud.

"We move like dockworkers, not legionaries. If we're caught by Ptolemy's guards, we aren't Roman—we're ghosts."

A grim, silent resolve passed through the small circle. They didn't need a cohort. Eight men, eight daggers, and a city stacked like kindling. They felt confident; a high-ranking officer was sharing their destiny in a dangerous sortie.

"Legionarius semper!" said Tiberius, facing the men.

"Victoria aut mors!" they replied instantly.

"Legionaries!" The voice came from a balcony where Caesar stood. They faced him in silence. Caesar raised his right hand and lowered it, giving the order. The men vanished into the night. Caesar remained motionless, looking at the place where the men once stood.

Caesar stayed on the balcony, looking at the city below. The pupils of his eyes dilated, like those of a nocturnal eagle trying to detect any change in the night. His ears sharpened, allowing him to distinguish between the bark of a dog and the cry of a wounded soul. From his vantage point he could see as far as the entrance of the harbor. The lighthouse was dark, but its silhouette was unmistakable. Far to the right, he could see the dome of the library—majestic, the crown of the city. Then faintly, very faintly, his eyes detected a source of light. Seconds later the illumination became evident, drawing the contours of adjacent buildings. Moments later a gigantic inferno engulfed the Royal Docks. Caesar let a gasp out, his heart accelerated, pounding high-pressure blood through every vein and artery.

Estrella Cadens caught his attention near the entrance of the harbor. The Roman messenger warship had set sail to Rhodes. Help would arrive soon.

"Milites!" Caesar exclaimed.