The Last of the Pharaohs (3 of 6)

By Pueros

Chapter III – Heroes

‘Life without the courage for death is slavery.’

- Seneca

(Former royal palace, Alexandria, Egypt, mid August 30 BC)

“Any signs of the oldest bastard yet?” asked Octavian, preferring to use this derogative for the subject of his enquiry, as the boy’s commonly used nickname, Caesarion, suggested that he was the genuine son of the divine Julius. This was a popular concept that the new master of the Roman Empire was very keen to dispel, despite the fact that he had long since secretly concluded that the notion was actually true.

Octavian, currently dressed in a rich but light white Senatorial summer tunic with purple edgings, had immediately recognised this fact after he had met the currently renegade King when he had been taken to Rome as a toddler almost 16 years previously. Despite the age differential, the familial resemblance between Caesarion and Julius Caesar were simply too strong to ignore, although the Dictator’s great nephew and heir had spent much subsequent time and effort trying to dissuade others from coming to the same conclusion.

“Not yet,” answered 33 year-old Agrippa, who was attired in his general’s purple-striped tunic, with his customary lack of formality towards the similarly aged Octavian. Not only were the two men close friends but also both knew that it was their excellent complementary partnership that had achieved their new Imperial supremacy. The former was the consummate politician, whilst the latter was now the best soldier in the known world.

The success of their partnership came despite, or perhaps more correctly because of, the fact that in many ways they were opposites. The clean-shaven Octavian was very well groomed and dressed, inscrutably suave and much preferred the political intrigue of Rome to military affairs. The rougher, bearded Agrippa was happiest in his usually unkempt army uniform, blunt almost to rudeness and never more pleased than when spending time on campaign with the army and navy.

“However,” Agrippa continued, “my instinct suggests that the bastard’s still in Alexandria. Informers tell me that Cleopatra sent him away just before we arrived in the city but, by then, we had the place blockaded. I’m sure that he never escaped but has instead been lying low somewhere, waiting for travelling restrictions to relax before attempting flight, probably by sea because that would be quicker and safer.”

“I thought that you had some very promising leads regarding possible escape by that method,” commented Octavian. “Yes,” Agrippa replied, “a ship’s captain told us that Cleopatra had paid him to transport someone important out of the country as soon as the naval blockade had been lifted. However, it seems that he wanted to supplement the fee provided by his former Queen with the huge reward we’ve offered for the capture of her oldest bastard. The situation became interesting when one of the boy’s slaves then turned up to make arrangements. However, as it turned out, he had abandoned his master, taking a large amount of gold with him, and was intent only on securing his own passage to a new life.”

“The slave claimed, under question,” Agrippa continued without hesitation, although the more sensitive Octavian suddenly looked uncomfortable about this discreet reference to the torture undoubtedly inflicted on the servant, “that he no longer knew the location of the bastard, who had chosen an alternative method of escape. Such a scenario did not surprise me. As you know, many of those in the royal household have run away, after looting what they could of their previous masters’ possessions, and I’m sure that Cleopatra would have set up several options of escape for her oldest son, both for safety and to confuse us.”

“Are you sure that the slave spoke the truth?” Octavian not unreasonably asked. “Yes,” Agrippa responded, “as no one could have endured what he did without confessing all.”

Octavian’s face turned white at this further reference to the slave’s torture but still managed to enquire “What did you do with him after you finished your questioning?” “Crucified him,” Agrippa answered nonchalantly, “for being a traitor and thief to his master!”

“Quite correct,” a recovering Octavian observed, “as how would civilisation develop if slaves were allowed to get away with betraying and stealing from their betters?”

(Royal necropolis, Alexandria, same time)

“You must flee, Highness, before the soldiers come too close,” the deeply alarmed and unarmed Rhodon suggested in a whisper, “and whilst I try to hold them at bay for a time!” However, the subject of his recommendation did not move from the park bench.

“That is very heroic of you,” Caesarion, who had somehow stopped crying, dried his tears and composed his mind in readiness for his meeting with his erstwhile tutor, instead commented in his cultured Greek, and with genuine praise, “but their presence here might be innocent. Even if it is not, I do not propose to run away any more, particularly in this setting, with my royal ancestors as witnesses. I felt obliged to respect the instructions of my mother, the Queen of Kings, to flee from my homeland but, and please forgive any pomposity, no-one now alive can command my actions. I am sole Pharaoh!”

“Forgive me, Highness,” Rhodon requested quietly, with his clear admiration for his young King’s own heroism evident in his voice, “but I perhaps mistakenly placed your safety before your pride.” “Thank you for your kind consideration,” Caesarion responded, as the Romans came ever closer, “but a Pharaoh should never dishonour himself, especially in the face of the enemy.” His tutor was tempted to respond that he wished that some of the boy’s less principled forebears had exhibited similar attitudes but refrained. He instead stood up to intercept and greet the approaching Centurion, who was in his 40s, whilst silently praying to the 16 year-old’s heavenly colleagues to grant them both current salvation.

Rhodon begged the gods that the presence of the soldiers in the necropolis at this untimely hour was indeed innocent, despite the fact that the evidence suggested otherwise. Not only was the coincidence of the military arrival, just as he had sat down to converse with his young King, very unsettling but also the park was such a peculiar place for the Romans to be, particularly at sunset. However, if fortune did indeed prove kind, it was essential that the legionaries did not gain a good view of the Pharaoh’s stunning face, which would surely have been fully described to them in case they came across the 16 year-old fugitive, on whose head there was an enormous reward.

Standing between the still seated Caesarion and the arriving soldiers, Rhodon demonstrated his excellent Latin by greeting the men in their own language. The Centurion did not return the welcome but instead asked suspiciously “You speak my tongue unusually well for an Alexandrian!”

“I am a tutor to the social elite,” an apparently nerveless Rhodon replied, believing that the truthful disclosure of his profession should be more than sufficient answer to the Centurion’s observation. He was proved correct when the senior soldier changed subject and enquired “What are you doing here at this late hour and who’s your companion?”

“My companion is my son,” Rhodon lied, “and we’re hear to pay our respects to the Pharaohs who served Egypt for the past three centuries. It seemed appropriate for us to do so at this time because the current sunset represents foreclosure not only on the day but also on the independent kingdom the monarchs once ruled. The new dawn will instead herald the latest province of the Roman Empire!”

The Centurion carefully looked Rhodon over, whilst also peering several times round the tutor’s well-groomed body to glance at his supposed son, dressed in flowing robe and wide-brimmed hat. A smile then appeared on the officer’s rough face, currently in need of a shave. “I’m not unhappy that many of you Alexandrians still exhibit reverence for your past leaders,” he then announced, “as some were indeed great. In fact, I’m here with some of my men to show my respects at the mausoleum of Alexander, which I understand is located within the park. It might be our last chance for a while because we sail down the Nile tomorrow with much of the army in order to accept the surrender of the riverside communities. I’d be most grateful if you would kindly direct us to the relevant tomb!”

Rhodon gladly gave the Centurion the relevant instructions. However, after reciprocating with his thanks for the courtesy, the Roman asked one more question to which he required an answer before he and his men were prepared to set off on their way. “You’re a tutor and so should know,” he remarked before enquiring “when did Alexander found this city and in what circumstances?”

“The 300th anniversary of the city’s foundation was celebrated last year,” Rhodon advised. “Alexander was undertaking his pilgrimage to the desert shrine of Siwa,” he continued, “and had travelled down the Nile from Memphis to Lake Mareotis, intending to proceed along the coast to Paraitonion before striking southwards across the sands to the sacred oasis. As usual on his journeys, he was always looking out for appropriate sites for new cities, invariably named after himself, and he liked what he saw on the slip of land separating the lake from the sea.”

An immensely grateful Rhodon, gaining in confidence that both he and the young Pharaoh behind him, who was certainly the most hunted person in the world at that moment, were going to survive the present disconcerting encounter, now decided to reward the Centurion with a short anecdote. “When the architects later ran out of chalk for marking the lines of the proposed walls and streets,” the tutor advised, “the King ordered barley-meal, prepared for the workmen, to be used instead. However, many birds from the river and lagoon, almost infinite in number and variety, suddenly flocked down and devoured the food. Alexander was greatly disturbed by the omen but his seers exhorted him to be of good cheer, as to them the portent was good. They declared that the metropolis would have most abundant and helpful resources and be a nursing mother for men of every nation. I believe that this prophecy has thankfully proved correct!”

The Centurion’s cheery smile broadened with Rhodon’s answer. “Thank you,” the Roman replied, “go well, Alexandrian, and may you and your son also live long and prosper. In order to do so, however, don’t forget the curfew that starts shortly!” Without waiting for a response, he then trooped off with his men in the direction of Alexander the Great’s mausoleum. Meanwhile, the acutely relieved tutor returned to sitting besides his regal pupil on the park bench.

“I thought, Highness, that we were done for,” Rhodon advised, with his relief clearly audible, “but, in reality, it seems that I’m just becoming paranoid!” “It is a forgivable emotion,” a quiet, rather fatalistic Caesarion responded, “as danger exists everywhere for anyone who tries to help me. After all, look what they did to Ay.”

Caesarion barely managed to utter the last sentence, as remembrance of what had been perpetrated on his beloved Ay caused him to break down once more. The boy then felt Rhodon do something that he would never have even thought of attempting before, as Cleopatra would have had him suffer a horrible lingering death for the impetuosity. The previously very formal tutor put his arm over his young King’s shoulders, in an affectionate, fatherly manner that denoted a desire to console and comfort. Despite the associated sacrilege of courtly ritual, and the fact that his ancestors were still witnessing events, the 16 year-old was in no mood to discourage such a display of kindly remedial concern.

Caesarion, recalling the imminence of the curfew, managed to recover quickly, aided by Rhodon’s show of paternal worry, to ask “Do you know who betrayed Ay and why they executed him like a common criminal or traitor?” “It appears, Highness,” the tutor answered, “that the captain of the ship who was supposed to smuggle you to Phoenicia, before your overland journey to Parthia, decided to try to supplement the gold he had already received for your passage from your mother with that offered by Octavian for your head. When your servant arrived for the meeting to discuss your transference to the vessel, Roman soldiers were waiting for him.”

“Ay was then taken for interrogation in the royal palace, where the Roman High Command is currently based,” Rhodon continued, “but my sources advise me that no amount of bribery, then beatings and whippings or eventual torture and mutilation could sway him from his original story. The young hero claimed that he didn’t know where you were because he had deserted you days before, robbing you in the process, and had only met up with the ship’s captain in the hope of arranging his own escape from Alexandria to a better life elsewhere. His endurance of all that he had suffered, plus the large amount of gold coin found on him, finally convinced his questioners that he must be telling the truth. He was then executed, not for being one of your supporters but simply for being a treacherous thief.”

“Oh gods!” Caesarion exclaimed on hearing this revelation, with yet more tears swelling in his eyes. “Ay was neither a traitor nor a thief,” he then spluttered, even though he was preaching to the converted, “as he was on an dangerous errand for me and the money he carried was to buy provisions and bribe harbour officials to turn certain blind eyes. He deserved a better end. I cannot stand the thought that he died with everyone believing him to be such a criminal!”

“I believe, Highness,” Rhodon commented, in an attempt to alleviate Caesarion’s desperate distress, “that few who saw the state of Ay’s form as he was crucified in the square thought any such thing. They could recognise a martyr in the cause of the royal house of Egypt, even if the Romans couldn’t.”

“I thank the gods for that,” Caesarion, clearing his tears, now responded, “but what about his body. It must receive appropriate burial and not be disposed of like that of a criminal. The ship’s captain must also pay for his perfidy!”

“Both matters are being taken care of, Highness,” Rhodon advised. “You do have a number of other loyal friends in Alexandria,” the tutor continued, “who are still helping your cause. The Roman soldiers, guarding the crosses on which the latest public executions have been conducted, will be bribed to release Ay’s body to supposed members of his family. These impostors are instructed to have your heroic slave’s remains mummified according to sacred ritual, as befits a loyal servant of the royal house, and placed in the relevant catacombs. As for the ship’s captain, I doubt that he’ll survive this night. Instead, as he staggers back to his boat, about now, just before curfew, from the tavern where he’s been drinking most of the afternoon, I suspect that he might have his jugular severed in a dark, quiet alley!”

“Thank you for these favours,” Caesarion remarked to Rhodon, with genuine appreciation, before requesting “but may I ask another?” “Highness,” the tutor replied, “Pharaohs do not ask favours, only issue commands that will be obeyed!”

“Well, then,” the still deeply melancholic Caesarion announced, “I command that, when the time comes, and if the gods make such a development possible, Ay’s body is transferred to rest for eternity alongside my own. I have a feeling, as I sit here, that I shall soon be residing here with my ancestors, and perhaps such an event would be for the better. I do not want to be the reason for further grief, either for my friends or my country!”

“Oh, Highness,” Rhodon retorted, “may the gods prevent such disaster. Please forgive me from saying so but you should not be wishing for such calamity, as it would be breaking faith with the cause for which your true friends are prepared to risk all, which is not just you as a person but what you personify, namely Egypt. It would also be a betrayal of Ay’s sacrifice!”

On hearing this remark, Caesarion’s lovely body noticeably jumped, as he realised the truth of Rhodon’s words. “You are right,” the boy then confessed, “please forgive my lack of certainty and resolve.”

Rhodon commented “Highness, it is not for mere mortals to forgive gods, only perhaps to proffer advice to their earthly reincarnations.” Time was now pressing and so the sage tutor, still trying to comfort Caesarion by holding the distressed boy round the shoulders, decided to advance debate more urgently.

“Ay’s sacrifice might prove useless, however,” Rhodon therefore suggested, “if we don’t quickly agree our next course of action. I have alternative accommodation arranged for you, whilst other plans are set in motion to smuggle you out of Alexandria, where you’re too well known to stay for long.”

The original scheme formulated by Cleopatra had been to spirit Caesarion away to the court of the King of Parthia, Rome’s apparently perpetual enemy. Although the Queen had supported Mark Antony in his war against that eastern empire, she knew that the rulers would be happy to accept a change of allegiance by the new young Egyptian Pharaoh. Even if he was in exile and without an army, the possibilities he offered to irritate the Romans were many.

For example, the prospect of a serious rebellion in the new province of Egypt in favour of the exiled Pharaoh, perhaps backed by Parthian money and forces, would thereafter be a constant worry for the Romans, especially as the King concerned was also the son of the divine Julius Caesar. There might even be the possibility of eventually establishing Caesarion on the Imperial throne, as a compliant client of his erstwhile hosts, if he managed to gain the support of the Roman masses because of his famous bloodline.

“Highness, I have also brought another young slave, whom you know well, to attend you,” Rhodon next announced, “as a Greek gentleman would always be expected to have at least one servant, no matter how bad his circumstances had become.”

Caesarion immediately realised who the young slave would be. However, the thought of what had happened to Ay stimulated him to protest, without bothering to name the servant concerned, “He is too young and it is too dangerous for him. I shall be fine on my own. The peril is also too great for you and the friends of whom you talk. I should be grateful if you would all accept immediate discharge from my service. I shall not betray my cause or Ay’s sacrifice but I should attempt to succeed in my mission without endangering others!”

Rhodon could not help but admire Caesarion’s heroic attitude. However, the tutor also appreciated that the proposal was either immaturely unrealistic or again maturely self-sacrificial. Either way, he had no intention of permitting his King to proceed on his own.

“Even the gods sometimes need the help of mortals,” Rhodon insisted, “and, Highness, please forgive me for saying so but, in current circumstances, you are no exception. Such a reckless move would truly imperil our cause and Ay’s sacrifice!”

“He’s still too young,” Caesarion declared, in the process illustrating to Rhodon that his King had thankfully accepted the need for assistance, apart from that offered by a certain young person. “He would claim not,” the tutor replied, “and that he should be allowed to serve you in bad times as he did in good, particularly as his help is certainly needed even more than ever at present. He reluctantly bowed to Ay’s seniority when it was thought sensible that only one slave should accompany you. However, now that there is sadly a vacancy in your service, he will be heartbroken if you do not choose him to fill the position, regardless of the danger.”

“He’s too young,” Caesarion now unconvincingly mumbled, whilst tears returned to his sensuous light blue eyes. However, to the perceptive Rhodon, these reactions indicated that his King’s defences were beginning to crumble. The tutor then decided to administer the coup de grace.

“He loves you,” Rhodon suggested, “and believes that his place is now at your side, whatever the future holds, even an early death. I don’t think that, whatever happens, he’d be prepared to continue to live without you. I also believe that you know that my words are true!”

Caesarion’s suddenly quaking body and renewed sobbing proved to Rhodon, still holding the boy, that he had won the argument. His King was crying again because he had finally accepted the fact that he must endanger someone whom he loved as much as he had Ay. The tutor then decided to complete his victory by providing the pre-arranged signal.

Another very pretty boy, a 14 year-old, then stepped out from the deepening shadows nearby and ran to the pair sitting on the park bench. Caesarion saw the approach and announced, whilst trying rapidly to stop his tears and dry his eyes, “You brought him with you!”

It was the gladness in the voice and the immediate appearance of the disarming smile, recently rarely seen but for which Caesarion’s face had formerly long been renowned, that provided Rhodon with the first clues. The young King’s subsequent attribution of his tutor as “You old rogue!” then convinced the wily Greek that the new arrival was already beginning to have a beneficial effect on his own god, cause and secret.

Without bothering with any courtly formalities, the brown haired and eyed 14 year-old, who was almost a replica of Ay at the same age, rushed up to Caesarion and embraced his master, with Rhodon just managing to withdraw his own arm from his King’s shoulders in time. The tutor then began to believe that regular lachrymation must be a common phenomenon in this part of the royal necropolis, as the new arrival appeared to have tears in his own eyes, which were suddenly being matched by some on the face of the man watching the reunion.

“Thank you, Lord,” Sesse repeated several times as he clutched Caesarion. The 14 year-old, whose appellation derived from the popular nickname the great Ramses II had been given by his people a millennium previously, had become the King’s second ‘handboy’ 4 years before, in not dissimilar circumstances to Ay’s recruitment.

There had been no jealously from the more senior slave, who instead appreciated the help the very pleasant newcomer provided, as their master’s life became ever more complicated in line with growing up. Ay did not mind even when the new servant’s relationship with the young King eventually became sexual, like his had done.

Ay was just happy to see his master well served, whether that was in normal daily life or in bed. The senior slave’s generous attitude was undoubtedly also helped by the fact that he was permitted to share the younger boy’s favours, which were happily given. In fact, the three of them, the young Pharaoh and his two intimate servants, became, in normal times, a very contented trio whenever alone in each other’s company.

Rhodon was eventually compelled to terminate the reunion celebrations in favour of departure from the royal necropolis by the lateness of the hour and the imminence of the curfew. “Sesse should just have time, Highness,” the tutor advised Caesarion, “to guide you to your new accommodation before the Romans start arresting people for breaking the nightly restrictions. Please forgive me for not accompanying you but the last thing we want at the moment is for me to be held for questioning. I’m afraid that, unlike Ay, I might not have the fortitude not to betray!”

“You are honest as usual,” Caesarion commented. “Just realistic, Highness,” Rhodon responded, “as the pressure the Romans could apply on me would probably not just centre on my body. I have a wife and children and, if they were threatened……..”

“You don’t have to explain,” Caesarion informed, “as I would not expect either you or your family to suffer on my behalf, or even that of Egypt, particularly as both causes might already be lost. If you are taken, please feel free to tell all you know. I promise that neither the gods nor I shall think any less of you for such action. You are already a hero, as is Sesse here, as are the other friends, necessarily unnamed for their own safety, who are helping me, and as was Ay. Please, no more martyrs!”

Rhodon now felt guilty at revealing where his true loyalty would lie if fate dictated, despite knowing that, for his young King’s own salvation, the candid confession was necessary. However, the hour pressed and there was no more time for further debate. Brief farewells were instead exchanged, along with acceptance that Sesse would act as future go-between, and the two parties separated, with a deliriously happy 14 year-old, momentarily forgetting the loss of his close friend, Ay, and rejoicing in his new responsibility, guiding his master towards hopeful temporary safety.

As Caesarion and Sesse subsequently walked along the dark deserted streets, the beautiful big brown eyes of the latter looked up into the lovely light blue variety possessed by his young King. Now remembering his late friend, the 14 year-old announced with clear brave determination “I have no family except you, Lord, so I’d be like Ay and never betray you, regardless of what they do to me!”

Sesse’s taller 16 year-old companion did not doubt the younger boy’s promise and said so. “I know,” Caesarion declared, whilst rewarding his thrilled slave with an affectionate arm around the shoulders.

(Former royal palace, Alexandria, two days later, mid August 30 BC)

“Any signs of the oldest bastard yet?” asked an increasingly impatient Octavian once more. “No,” Agrippa answered with obvious displeasure before changing subject slightly.

“What about the three younger bastards the whore had by Antonius,” Agrippa enquired, “have you made a decision about what you want doing with them? I still suggest immediate strangulation despite their ages, as their bloodline could stir future trouble.”

“From a soldier’s point of view, I’m positive you would consider that the best course,” Octavian replied, “but, as a politician, I’m not sure that that would be advantageous to us in the long term. The twins and the younger boy are, after all, only 10 and 6 respectively and the offspring of the last Queen of Egypt and Marcus Antonius. The deaths, or even quiet disappearance, of such important minors might ferment unrest both in this country and Rome, where my late ally still has some support. Their demise might therefore cause trouble that we could do without at present. Moreover, the brats might come in useful as live bait!”

“Bait!?” Agrippa incredulously repeated before asking “For what?” “I have heard,” Octavian responded, “that Caes…., sorry I mean the older bastard, had some affection for his younger half brothers and sister. I’m sure that he still has friends and other resources in Alexandria, otherwise he would not remain at large with such a price on his, I understand, pretty young head. Perhaps he’ll try to make an attempt to contact or even rescue the children, or at least stay in the city until he knows their fate, actions that would make him much more vulnerable to capture.”

“He’d therefore be a fool not to abandon the brats,” suggested Agrippa. “Or just a loving brother,” retorted Octavian, “but, either way, there’s no harm in me continuing to delay my decision over the children for now. However, have their house arrest superficially relaxed. Also allow greater freedom throughout the city for the general population, including entry in and out, particularly for business people. After all, tensions will be reduced by allowing a semblance of normality to return, and the resumption of trade and commerce will enable the stream of duties and taxes to flow once more, this time into our coffers. Nevertheless, make sure our men remain highly vigilant as far as a certain fair-haired, blue-eyed bastard is concerned, by doubling the reward for his capture. His siblings especially need to be discreetly watched, as I suspect that, in the new atmosphere we’re creating, they might receive an unexpected visit!”

Agrippa grinned, as he once more admiringly recognised the masterful political acumen of his friend.

(Mareotic Dock, Lake Mareotis, south Alexandria, ten days later, late August 30 BC)

Having spent twelve nights in another awful claustrophobic steamy tenement, Caesarion was happy now to be aboard a Nile barge, berthed amongst the many other boats, crane-filled quays and warehouses in the dock that served Lake Mareotis and its canal link to the Nile. The boy was initially even more pleased to discover who comprised his new companions, although this pleasure was mixed with amazement and then with concern.

“Welcome on board, Highness,” the attractive 16 year-old leader had greeted his main passenger, who had arrived, as his mother had once done somewhere else, wrapped in the middle of a carpet. The ploy was needed by the courageous Sesse to smuggle his master, loaded with other rugs in the back of a mule-driven cart, through the well-guarded southern Mareotic gate of Alexandria and into the eponymous docks, before being carried into the hold of the waiting publicly-owned vessel.

As Caesarion rose to his feet, he saw the young leader and another ten handsome 15 and 16 year-old boys, attired only in short plebeian skirts, prostrating themselves before him on the restricted floor area of the barge’s crowded hold that still remained free of cargo. “Please rise, Timotheos, and the rest of you,” an astonished young King then requested, “and tell me what you are all doing here.”

“We’re your crew!” the smiling Timotheos announced, as he regained his feet.

(Former royal palace, Alexandria, same time)

“I know it’s difficult,” Rhodon advised, “but it should help to take current matters off your mind a little if you paid some attention to your lesson.” However, the tutor subsequently quickly realised that he was certainly wasting his time by both making the suggestion and attempting to teach the pretty little 6 year-old anything. The boy simply resumed crying and begging, amidst sobs and tears, “Please let me see Caesarion!”

Rhodon later had as little success with the delightful 10 year-old twins, Alexander Helios and Cleopatra Selene, as had achieved earlier with their infant sibling, Ptolemy Philadelphus. All of the recently orphaned children, whose futures, if they had any, remained uncertain, were rightly sad and frightened, and wanted their wonderful older half-brother, hero-worshipped by them all, to come to comfort them, as he had often done previously. The tutor had difficulty in explaining why the boy could not currently fulfil their wish, as advising such distressed innocent youngsters that their sibling would be killed for so doing seemed inappropriate.

When Rhodon subsequently emerged from the royal palace, he was himself comforted by the fact that the young princes and princess were at least currently well cared for in luxurious accommodation by competent, loving slaves, who had helped to rear the children and had loyally retained their posts. However, the tutor was disappointed that he would still be unable to convey news of the fate Octavian had in mind for them to their concerned older half-brother. His irritation was compounded by the fact that he worried that Caesarion’s response would be either to abandon or delay his escape from Alexandria in order to embark upon some rash attempt to rescue his younger siblings.

(Mareotic Dock, Lake Mareotis, south Alexandria, same time)

“You are the ‘friends’ to whom Rhodon referred,” the amazed Caesarion accused the small unit of ephebes, to which he had until recently happily belonged, the ‘Ephebeia’ being the corps in which young Greek gentlemen developed their military skills. The tutor, who had been charged by Cleopatra with arranging her son’s entry into the organisation, had bravely handpicked the members for the young King’s company from the most likeable similarly aged offspring of the minor Hellenic nobility, chosen not for social standing but for character.

Rhodon, who had great influence within the ‘Ephebeia’ because of his royal role, had been aided in his efforts to secure suitable affable companions for the young King by the Queen’s various current distractions, not least the ominous advance of Octavian on Alexandria. The tutor had fully appreciated that, if Cleopatra had paid any attention, she would certainly have profusely objected to the relative mean social status of the young selections, possibly at great cost to himself.

Nevertheless, Rhodon had courageously taken the chance for the sake of Cleopatra’s eldest son, whom he liked so much that his affection, diplomatically kept well hidden, bordered on fatherly love. He relished in his most important pupil’s magnificent attributes and character and had believed that sometime, if the gods allowed, the boy would become a truly great King. The views of the tutor, who was never an obsequious person, were significant because there were few others of independent intellect and standing who were in a position to make a better judgement.

Rhodon had hoped that the many grave matters on Cleopatra’s mind would make her indifferent to the fait accompli regarding the young King’s ephebe unit, despite possible complaints from members of the top elite, disgruntled about the insult to their own sons. The tutor’s aspirations had fortunately, for his own welfare, been shown to have merit, although obviously this achievement was seriously marred by the fact that his Queen’s prevailing concerns were proving to be well founded, with tragedy ultimately falling on her and Egypt.

In the aftermath of the disaster, Rhodon believed that his duty now lay in securing the wellbeing, if not restoration, of Caesarion and the rest of the royal house. As the tutor had already hinted to his young King, he was prepared to sacrifice everything in this cause, except his own dear wife and children.

Rhodon had chosen the unit of ephebes well. Unlike Caesarion’s official ‘Friends’, selected by the Queen years previously from the very top families, the young King genuinely enjoyed the companionship of these particular less snooty and more worldly boys.

Caesarion’s affection and respect for the other members of the training company, 12-strong in line with the main unit of Egyptian numerology, which has had so many implications for modern timekeeping, had quickly been reciprocated. Because of the young King’s age and need to train alongside boys of similar years, his companions had been granted the exceptional honour of joining the exciting ‘Ephebeia’ earlier than normal. They had also rapidly recognised that, as far as membership of their unit was concerned, their capable, energetic, gregarious and considerate companion was like them, even if elsewhere he was a Pharaoh and a god.

The boys’ mutual fellowship now extended to helping their friend and King in his hour of need. However, as far as parents and other authorities were concerned, they were, in line with Octavian’s recent proclamation that society should return to normal, resuming military training by going on a sailing expedition down the Nile.

The unit was ostensibly continuing to learn sailing techniques, river navigation and supply logistics, with the practical element being the transport of provisions to Egyptian military outposts along the Nile. In reality, in restored peacetime, this meant conveying Mareotic wine to the thirsty soldiers and officials manning customs and observation posts.

Fortunately, the parental and other authorities were not alert enough to notice that the supervising adult, who would normally be expected to accompany such an expedition, not only had not yet turned up but also would not in fact do so because none had been appointed. The boat was, in reality, to be crewed only by the boys, as Rhodon believed that he could trust no one else to convey a certain particularly precious item of cargo.

Amidst the current social confusion, Rhodon believed that he could manage such a ploy, with no one of import in Alexandria appreciating that the ‘Ephebeia’ training barge did not possess a mature captain. Even if anyone did, a plausible excuse, based on fact, had been devised, as the explanation would undoubtedly be needed en-route. This pretext centred round the genuine fact that there was a current shortage of ephebe instructors, many having recently been killed in the hopeless but heroic last-ditch fight of Mark Antony’s infantry outside Alexandria. The most senior, experienced and capable boy available would therefore substitute in the role, and Timotheos fitted this description perfectly.

The barge, whose cargo consisted mainly of wine in many large amphorae, eventually cast off at mid-morning. Rhodon had earlier concluded all the necessary business to clear the departure with the harbour authorities, including the payment of dock duties and obtaining written permission for a return training voyage as far as the customs post at Babylon. This township was named after its Mesopotamian namesake and guarded the southern edge of the Nile delta.

The ‘Ephebeia’ unit, including Caesarion, had sailed on the barge previously, becoming quite proficient at the art. Accordingly, Timotheos and his young crew were confident of their abilities to convey their friend and King to safety. However, they had not reckoned on having to deal with the boy’s heroic stubbornness.

The training barge, with a small rowboat in tow, did not sail serenely along the Canopic Canal, which linked Lake Mareotis to the Nile, after leaving the crowded dangers of the Mareotic Harbour. The vessel instead quickly anchored in one of the many quiet backwaters of the waterway, where Timotheos was forced to lead the argument against the principal passenger.

“You can’t, Highness,” Timotheos begged. “I have to, and please do not call me ‘Highness’, as you and the others should be accustomed to calling me simply ‘Caesarion’ by now,” replied his young King firmly, in his usual cultured and unabbreviated accent.

“But we’ve just smuggled you out of the city and it would be far too dangerous to return, High…., sorry, I mean Caesarion,” beseeched Timotheos. “You would go back if they were your brothers and sister,” his young King responded.

“I’m not important but you are,” Timotheos explained. “My brothers and sister are important to me,” Caesarion retorted, “and I am simply not abandoning them until I know that they are safe. Anyway, I am not making a request but am issuing a command, now that your boat and crew are moored safely out of harm’s way!”

“You tricked us into abandoning the harbour,” Timotheos complained, “never intending to allow us to sail you away to safety. You instead manoeuvred us into safety, whilst always planning to return to Alexandria. Why did you come to the docks in the first place?”

“I thought hiding on a barge might be safer and more pleasant than in a dreadful tenement,” Caesarion confessed, “and intended to delay departure until I could do something to help my brothers and sister. However, when I saw who the crew were, I knew that I could not endanger you by letting the boat remain in the dock, especially as the Romans might sometime put two and two together and conclude that the ‘Ephebeia’ training vessel might be worthy of a search. I am sorry to have deceived you.”

The appearance of Caesarion’s disarming smile now nullified Timotheos’ upset. “Well,” the latter then stated, “we’ll forgive you if you let us help you in whatever escapade you’re now planning.”

“How do you know that I am planning anything?” Caesarion asked. It was now Timotheos’ turn to smile. “Because I know you!” the perceptive ephebe leader remarked.

(Former royal palace, Alexandria, the next night, late August 30 BC)

“What do you want me to do with the older bastard after we capture him?” asked Agrippa, worried that Octavian might exhibit the same sort of generosity he had so far shown the subject matter’s three half-siblings. “Do you, for example, want to see him personally?” the general enquired.

“I don’t ever want to see him,” Octavian answered, “but, if and when he’s taken, have him questioned as to the identity of those who’ve been shielding and otherwise helping him.” “What do you mean by ‘question’,” Agrippa interrupted in his usual forthright way, “may we, for example use instruments on him?” However, there was now a long hesitation before a response was acquired.

Agrippa knew that this moment would be awkward. Octavian was, after all, as both of them knew, talking about not only his second cousin, genuine son of the divine Julius, whose largesse in nominating his great nephew as heir had led to supreme power, but also a young King. It would be considered an insult to the gods of both Rome and family to torture the body of such a person. The irreverent general himself would have had no hesitation in tormenting and mutilating the young bastard but he knew that his friend was a more sensitive and religious soul.

Nevertheless, Agrippa smiled when he received the answer for which he had hoped. “I do not need nor wish ever to know the methods you choose to employ,” Octavian finally replied, “just obtain the required information, kill the named confederates and then….” There was a further hesitation, which the general eventually tried to end by repeating, as a prompt, “And then?”

“Have the boy secretly strangled,” a grim-faced Octavian finally commanded, with the anguished strain resulting from having to give such a distasteful order evident in his voice, “and burnt on a pyre, as befits his crowned status. His ashes can then be publicly laid to rest with his ancestors in the royal necropolis. Let word be spread that he died fighting nobly, as there’s no need to mention murder or speak of ill of the dead. He is, after all, the last of the pharaohs.”

“I haven’t caught him yet,” Agrippa reflected.

A smile instantly returned to Octavian’s face. “I think you will soon,” the most powerful man in the world remarked.

Meanwhile, less than 100 paces away, a youthful male, covered in a dark flowing robe and broad-rimmed hat, was emerging from a secret doorway in a palace cellar, not far from where Ay had suffered so horribly and Caesarion would too if captured. The form, apparently conversant with the residence’s layout, then made its way up a long narrow stone spiral staircase to an empty outside courtyard. Using best use of the shadows, the shape subsequently skirted the quadrant towards the entrance that was known to lead to the accommodation where two young princes and one young princess were held.

Interested concealed eyes watched every step, whilst the mind behind them began to think of a great reward that could soon be his.

(To be continued in chapter IV – ‘Inundations’)