Pompey

A military commander walked urgently through the wide corridors of the Royal Palace in Alexandria. He sped by the courtyard, scanning quickly, and continued. He stopped at the entrance to the Royal Gardens, searching from one side to the other. Between the exotic plants sat the young King Ptolemy XIII.

"Beautifully played, Sire!" Ptolemy's tutor complimented the young king with adulation. The boy lowered the pipes with a joyous smile.

"Sire!"

"Archillas!" Ptolemy snapped, lowering the pipes. "Can you see I am busy? Are you blind?"

"Forgive me, Sire," said Archillas with reverence. “A Rhodian fleet has been sighted approaching Alexandria. They are flying Roman banners.”

He spoke while looking at the king, then bowed his head slightly to make eye contact with Pothinus.

“Rhodian ships! I want to see them!” Ptolemy exclaimed, leaping from his chair and running toward the garden’s exit.

“Sire! Sire! It could be Julius Caesar, and you must prepare yourself for such a guest,” Pothinus called out.

Ptolemy stopped, turned sharply, and addressed his advisor.

“I am king, and I do as I please. Am I the king, or are you the king?”

“You are, Sire… of course,” Pothinus replied in a condescending tone. “But you must prepare for protocol — and surprise Caesar.” He added the last words with a thin smile.

"Centurion Rufus!" ordered Tiberius Lucretius Vespillo.

"Sir!"

"Take a cohort from the Tenth; remain at the docks and guard the ships."

"It shall be done, sir!" replied Rufus.

"With your life, Rufus!"

"Sir!" Rufus saluted and departed.

"Tiberius, the cavalry must not be mounted; they would be exposed." Tiberius nodded. "Bring Asturco." And after a brief pause, he added, "I shall lead the way."

"That is too dangerous, Caesar! You should go on foot beside your horse, behind the standard." Tiberius objected.

"I am the standard, Tiberius," said Caesar calmly as his slave, Faberius, put the finishing touches on his armor. "If I am wrong, we shall all be dead anyway within the hour."

"Take us out," ordered Julius Caesar. Alexandria lay before him.

"Centurion Marcellus!" ordered Tiberius.

Caesar heard only gulls and water against the hulls. No merchants. No shouting from the docks. Alexandria seemed to be holding its breath.

"Sir!"

"Ready the men, we march!"

After a brief moment, Centurion Marcellus issued orders to the troops while Caesar mounted his horse, Asturco. “Attention to the front!”

Julius Caesar slowly advanced to the vanguard. The legionaries were lined up on either side, wearing their helmets and holding their red shields and javelins aloft. Asturco knew his position; he pawed the ground, awaiting his commander.

Caesar looked up; the sky was clear. From his vantage point, he could hear the whistling of the wind. He raised his right hand and left it there for a moment. Centurion Marcellus kept his sight fixed on it. Then Caesar lowered it, pointing with his index finger.

"March!" shouted Marcellus.

The troops began to march forward, like a dangerous heartbeat. The cadence of their movement was perfectly timed by the tubas and horns.

At the head of the column, Caesar rode without speaking, his gaze fixed on the Royal Palace of Alexandria. When they drew close, the great gates groaned open, revealing an Egyptian ceremonial guard already arranged in two perfect lines.

“Tiberius.” Said Caesar leaning over to Tiberius.

“Caesar.”

“I enter with a centuria. Stay at my side.”

“Yes, Caesar.”

“The rest of the legion holds position outside. Seal every access point. No one enters. No one leaves.”

He gave the orders from horseback without slowing. Dust rose around him as the chosen centuria formed up, shields flashing in the sun. His twelve lictors closed around him, fasces upright.

Caesar rode through the gates and dismounted his horse in the middle of the courtyard. A legionarius whisked Asturco aside, and Caesar removed his helmet. Next to him stood Tiberius. The two men stood in front of the palace’s doors, wide open. Behind them, the lictors stood in perfect formation.

“Where is Pompey?” Caesar could not prevent the question. “He is protected here.” He looked into the depths of the corridor behind the doors, hoping to see the silhouette of his most formidable foe, but he saw only ceremonial guards, armed, standing against the walls.

Caesar tightened his grip on his sword. Tiberius noticed — “This could get interesting! Here we go!” he thought, and the entire Roman column entered the palace. “Caesar, I hope you know what you are doing,” Tiberius wondered, as his eyes scanned every Egyptian guard, looking for a movement — “Today is as good a day to die as any other day!” was his last thought when the column stopped in a spacious royal lounge.

“Caesar, Egypt welcomes you!” Pothinus, standing next to Ptolemy XIII, exclaimed with a smile. Caesar did not move a muscle as his eyes scanned his surroundings — “Pompey, come out!” he thought.

Silence settled; no one moved until Lictor Proximus stepped aside and announced, with a thunderous voice:

“Before you is Julius Caesar, Pontifex Maximus, Imperator, Tribunica Potestas, and Consul of Rome.”

The last syllable remained hanging in the air, traveling through the silence of the palace.

“Congratulations on your appointment, Your Majesty…” And moving his head from side to side, Caesar added, “I do not see Queen Cleopatra. Where is she?” But he was really looking for Pompey.

“She is a traitor!” Ptolemy interrupted.

“Sire…” interjected Pothinus, and looking in Caesar’s direction he added, “She is not here… she went south… and wants to start a civil war of her own.”

Just as Caesar was preparing to speak, Pothinus interrupted.

"Caesar, Egypt has a gift for you," he said, turning and gesturing to one of his aides.

Caesar’s brow instantly furrowed as he fixed his gaze on a man advancing from the back of the royal hall, carrying an object wrapped in white Egyptian linen. Tiberius continued to scan the room for any sign until his eyes settled on Achillas, who had his hand on his sword hilt; Tiberius gripped his own weapon, fixing his eyes on the Egyptian general.

The man stopped before Caesar and placed the wrapped object at his feet. Then, he uncovered it and stepped back, bowing low. It was the head of Pompey.

Caesar gasped and stood motionless for a moment, staring at Pompey’s head; he closed his eyes, turned his face away, wheeled around, and strode out of the hall, followed by his lictors.

"Marcellus," Tiberius said, pointing to Pompey’s head. Marcellus knelt before it, looked at it for a moment, then wrapped it in his woolen cloak and held it close to his chest. The entire Roman force departed as quickly as they had arrived.

"What happened?" Ptolemy broke the silence. "They were enemies! What happened?"

"Sire!" Pothinus interjected, gesturing for the young king to remain silent.

"We made a mistake," Achillas said to Pothinus.

"Leave the palace at once and muster the army... recruit slaves if necessary," Pothinus ordered, looking worried.

"Are you going to summon the Order of Ra?" Achillas asked.

"No! Not yet. We cannot unleash that power on a whim... He has only one legion; he is just a man — we can defeat him!"