"Nonsense," she said, rising and circling the desk. The captain sprang to his feet. "Sit down, Captain." She gestured to a slave, who poured two cups full. Selene took one and handed the other to Aeson. The eunuch and the scribe made scandalized sounds, which she ignored. She perched herself on the desk. "Have something to eat, then tell me about these Romans."
She listened intently as Aeson delivered his tale. He described his annoyed amusement when he was ordered to deliver these primitive landlubbers to Alexandria. He said that his scorn was tempered somewhat when the Romans asked such penetrating and perceptive questions about naval matters. He described these odd men, their dress and manner, their way of speaking, their obvious pride and equally obvious discipline. Then he got to the fight.
"Two pirate vessels attacked an Alexandrian warship?"
"They didn't just attack. They were lying in wait and it was us they were waiting for. They must've had a lookout on top of the cape, because they were already churning the water white when we came into view. They were making straight for us and they weren't mistaking us for any rich merchantman, either. We never had time to properly prepare for battle. The first one was on us before we could even get the mast unstepped."
"And yet they didn't take your ship," she said. "Even after starting with such a clear advantage. We'll leave aside for the moment just why they were mad enough to assault a warship with no prospect of a rich haul. Tell me why you are alive and how your ship returned unharmed."
"Well, Majesty, this is the part you are going to find hard to believe."
"Go ahead. I've heard many marvelous stories and I'd like to hear another."
He told of the unequal battle when he thought Drakon was surely lost, how annoyed he was when the Romans, unbelievably, put on armor and calmly prepared to fight as if this were a land battle. Then, baldly and factually, he told how the Romans made an opening at the enemy rail with their spears, then stepped across and proceeded methodically to turn the enemy vessel into an abbatoir.
"They acted like it was a routine task, Majesty. Like this was something they did all the time. There were no heroics. The unit behaved like a machine for slaughter. When they came back aboard, it turned out the least warlike of the lot, the one named Flaccus, had taken a small wound. The rest of them seemed to think this was hilarious, like getting hurt in such a trifling fight was proof he didn't have the stuff of a real warrior in him."
"You've made my day much more interesting," she said. "I thank you. Now go and tender your report to the naval authorities and see to the replacement of your lost crew and such repairs as your ship needs. You've done well."
The captain rose, bowed and left the room. Selene turned to her scribe. "Find me whatever the library has on the Romans. There should be plenty. They were becoming a prominent nation before Hannibal expunged them."
"As Your Majesty wishes," the man said, clear from his tone that he regarded this as a matter unworthy of her attention. Selene had her own opinion on this.
Marcus and some of the other Romans were at weapons drill the next morning when the summons came. They had brought their practice swords from Carthage and were going at it in full gear. Marcus glanced over the rim of his shield when he saw the man in messenger's uniform come onto the terrace. In the instant his attention wavered. Brutus leaned into him with a shield-slam, knocked him off balance and cracked his lead-weighted wooden blade into the side of his helmet.
Marcus blinked the stars from his eyes and signaled for the messenger to approach. "The Queen-Regent Selene desires the attendance of the delegation from Noricum at this afternoon's court," the man said, handing him a document intended to pass him through the doorways of the palace to the august presence.
Marcus dismissed the man and called his following together for a briefing. Before it broke up, Caesar nudged Flaccus. "Better brush up on your seductive wiles, Flaccus. It looks like we're going to call on the old lady."
Flaccus sighed amid general hilarity. "The things one must do to serve the Republic."
Two hours later they arrived at the gate of the palace. Except for its massive scale, the imposing building maintained the pleasing, austere harmony of classical Greek architecture, eschewing the over-elaboration so common to Successor aesthetics. The only Egyptian elements were two sphinxes flanking the great doorway, and these were Greek in execution if not in inspiration.
Instead of a military guard, a steward dressed in a snowy robe met them. "You would be the delegation from Noricum?"
"We are Romans," Marcus answered.
"Your pardon, gentlemen," the steward said gravely, "but Her Majesty has instructed that you be addressed as envoys of Noricum until certain diplomatic questions are answered. If you will come this way."
"She's not taking any chances," Flaccus said in Latin as they followed the man. "The Seven Hills are on Carthaginian territory now, so she's not ready to address us as Romans just yet."
"We'll just have to convince her that Rome is ours, not Carthage's," Marcus said.
The walls were decorated with the ever-popular motif of the battle of gods and giants, with the latter depicted as all manner of grotesques: men with serpents for legs, or bodies covered with eyes or with dragon tails or lion heads. The gods were depicted as idealized humans, identifiable by their attributes: Zeus with his thunderbolts, helmeted Ares and Athena, Apollo with his bow, Artemis in her hunting tunic and boots.
They came to a double door of bronze worked in a foliate design and were admitted to a spacious room they took at first to be an anteroom to the throne room proper. In this they were mistaken.
At one end of the room a young woman in a plain blue gown was deep in conversation with a number of elderly men who had the look of scholars. She glanced toward them and came forward. "You are the delegation from Noricum?" she said.
"Romans," Marcus said. "We are here to meet with your queen." He looked past her for someone more official. "We expected to be presented at court. Who are you, girl? One of the queen's attendants?" He wondered what made the jaws of the old scholars drop in unison. He looked around to see if some prodigy had occurred behind him.
"No," said the young woman. "I'm Selene."
It took a moment for the words to register. "I suppose it's a common name around here. The Selene we wish to see is-"
"Foreigner!" spluttered one of the graybeards. "You address the queen of Egypt! You speak to Selene Ptolemy the Second!"
For the first time since leaving Noricum, Marcus was utterly nonplussed. The young woman before him raised a fine-boned hand and quirked an eyebrow quizzically. He took the small hand in his much larger one, a hand that seemed to have turned numb. Flaccus stepped in and appropriated the queen's hand in his own.
"We are most charmed, Your Majesty. I am Flaccus, and I've been named official-"
Marcus trod heavily on his foot and regained her hand. "You may address me, Majesty. I am Marcus Cornelius Scipio and I am head of the Roman delegation." He stopped and took a deep breath. "I fear our rustic simplicity has played us an ill turn and I apologize. Would it be utterly oafish of me to note that Your Majesty looks very little like her coin portrait?"
At this she released a full-throated laugh and even a few of the elders managed dry chuckles. "This explains it! I fear you've been deceived by our propaganda. Since the Successors of Alexander took over his empire, it has been our custom to portray reigning queens as stern-faced old matrons on the coinage. It's thought that people won't take a young queen seriously."
"I see. That does explain it." Gods! he thought. I must sound like an utter bumpkin!
She laced an arm through his. "Come along and walk with me, Marcus Cornelius Scipio. While we walk, you can introduce me to your friends."