I walked to meet him, whereupon he held up a hand in greeting, which I returned cautiously, then he spoke, but since he spoke in Greek and the only Greek I knew at that point was not likely to help smooth diplomatic relations, I shrugged and said, “I'm sorry, sir. I don't speak Greek.”
A look of what could be considered distaste flashed in his eyes, except he covered it so quickly that I might have imagined it, immediately switching to Latin.
He spoke our tongue flawlessly, although something in the tone of his voice that I found disquieting, but I knew not why at the time. “Salve, Centurion. I am Paulinus Eupator. I am one of the city’s magistrates, and I hurried here as soon as I heard you and your general landed. What is his name, if I may ask?”
“Gaius Julius Caesar, Consul of Rome and commander of the Eastern Army.”
This last bit I made up on the fly; we had no official name, but this he did not know. The reaction to Caesar’s name was gratifying, his eyes immediately widening and in some sort of reflex, his hand went up to touch the amulet he wore around his neck.
He recovered nicely, however. “We are most honored to receive a personage as great as Caesar; his fame is well known, and deservedly so, throughout the civilized world.” He cleared his throat. “And what is the purpose of such a great man who visits our humble city?”
I shrugged. “That I can't tell you, Paulinus. You'll have to ask Caesar. I do know that right now he intends on marching to the royal palace to pay his respects to your sovereign.”
Now there was no hiding his discomfort and he pursed his lips, making me notice for the first time that his lips were painted along with his eyes. And there was that voice, I thought.
Almost like a woman’s voice, not just in pitch but in inflection as well. “I regret to say that there is a difficulty with his request, Centurion.”
Despite myself, I barked out a laugh. “Request? It’s not a request. Caesar is coming to pay his respects.” Then my brain registered what he had said. “And what do you mean by ‘difficulty’?”
Oh, he was very uncomfortable now, and I saw a bead of sweat pop out on his forehead. “It’s just that our laws are very specific, Centurion. The men who precede Caesar who carry those bundles of rods and axes? As I understand it, they represent Caesar’s power to punish men if he deems it necessary, correct?”
“Not just Caesar. Any Roman who's served in a type of office, both currently and if he's held this office in the past, is entitled to his lictors. The number depends on the office. What of it?” I asked impatiently, aware that while the noise had died down, now there was an air of anticipation hanging over us, and it was not just coming from the Egyptians. Caesar was not renowned for his patience.
“No person in Egypt other than Pharaoh has the right to take a man’s life, Centurion, even a Consul of Rome.”
“It’s a symbol of office,” I argued. “I haven’t seen or even heard of a lictor administering punishment in my lifetime. It’s simply a mark of the status of Caesar and men like him to have lictors.”
“I understand that, Centurion, truly I do.” He indicated the crowd behind him with a minute nod of his head. “But they do not. I must respectfully request that Caesar not be preceded by his lictors as he makes his way through our city.”
I stood there for a moment, although I knew delaying was not going to make things any easier. “Very well,” I said tersely, “I'll relay what you've said to Caesar. Wait here.”
Whereupon I turned and walked back to Caesar, fighting the urge to break into a run because it would not be dignified. Caesar had been standing there for a few dozen heartbeats, and for a man like Caesar that is a lifetime, so his impatience and irritation was clear to see even as I approached him.
“Well?” he snapped as I saluted him, which he did return, despite his obvious impatience.
I relayed what Paulinus had said, and I saw the same puzzlement in his eyes that I had felt.
“But it’s a ceremonial office,” he said in exasperation.
“I told him that, Caesar, but he says that although he understands that, those folks over there,” like Paulinus, I used my head to point, “they don’t know that.”
“Well, that's too bad for them. I'm a Consul of Rome, and they would do well to remember that. Tell the emissary that I won't be dismissing my lictors, and I will make my way to the palace.”
“Yes, sir.”
And with that, I turned to walk back to Paulinus, informing him of Caesar’s decision.
His chin quivered, and for a moment, I thought he might actually cry, but he took a breath then said slowly, “Very well. I will inform the City Guard that you and your party are to be escorted as they are currently formed. Do not worry, Centurion. The City Guard will ensure your safety.”
I threw my head back and laughed, which he did not care for in the slightest. “Thank you Paulinus, but,” I indicated my own men, “these are Legionaries of Rome. I think we'll be safe enough.”
“Fine, Centurion. As you wish,” he snapped.
Again, I was struck by how womanish he sounded. Paulinus turned away, walking over to the commander of the City Guard to say something. I saw the man’s body stiffen in anger, then he looked over Paulinus’ shoulder at me, and if looks could kill, I would have dropped stone dead. I merely winked at him, then turned to my men and ordered them to form up to march. And that is how we entered Alexandria.
~ ~ ~ ~
Despite Paulinus’ warning, we marched to the royal palace without major incident, save for a couple of rotten vegetables thrown our way, thankfully not at Caesar because we would have had to punish them, and one thing I was learning, tramping through the streets, was that there were a lot of Egyptians. Normally, Caesar would have led the way with his retinue, but given the tensions, he ordered me to send a Century ahead, and I chose Felix’s, marching with him as we cleared the way for Caesar. I had never seen so much humanity crammed into one place in my life, and I wondered if perhaps it was a case of every citizen choosing to be out in the streets to watch our approach. They gave way easily enough, yet were clearly not happy with our presence. I am just happy that none of us knew the local language because I am sure someone in the crowd said something that guaranteed their head leaving their shoulders prematurely, and that would have been bad. Another thing I noticed was the layout of the city itself, never seeing anything like it before. The streets for the most part are perfectly straight and intersect each other at right angles. As we marched, I studied the layout, trying to think why it was so foreign but so familiar at the same time. Finally, I made mention of it to Felix.
“That’s because it’s laid out like a Roman army camp.”
I started; he was right. That was why it had seemed so familiar, but was also so strange, because none of our towns or cities is laid out in a similar fashion.
“So these bastards stole our design,” I said smugly, but was surprised when Felix laughed.
“No, Primus Pilus, it’s the other way around. We stole the design from them.”
“Gerrae,” I replied indignantly, “how’s that possible?”
“Well, you know who Alexandria is named for, don’t you?”
“Of course, I’m not that uneducated,” I shot back indignantly, nettled at his presumption of ignorance on my part.
“Well, Alexander lived more than 200 years ago, and we’ve only been making our camps this way for about 150 years. So I think it’s safe to say that we copied Alexander. Not,” he added hastily, apparently worried that he had offended me, “that Alexander is a bad person to copy from.”
I regarded what he said, then asked, “And how did you know this, Felix?”
Now he looked uncomfortable.
Finally, he shrugged and looked away as he mumbled, “I like to read a bit. I just picked it up from somewhere, I guess.”