"Greetings, Most Exalted Majesty," he said in his elegant Greek. "Queen Cleopatra, you do us great honor to journey to Rome with the express purpose of attending my Triumph. You do me great honor to live as my guest in my garden home."

He stood there, straight, his toga hanging in gracious lines. There was only the slightest hint of a smile on his face, such as he would have given to any visiting dignitary.

"I thank you/' I said, loudly enough that others could hear me. "It pleases me to come, and to thank Rome's foremost, general for preserving my throne and enforcing my father's will for Egypt when usurpers refused to honor it."

"I have brought a gift that I hope will please you," he said. There was a stirring in the ranks, as they shuffled around to bring the object forward.

"I am pleased to receive it," I said. "But you may speak to me in Latin if you wish. I have studied it for this journey."

Now, for an instant, his face registered surprise. Why had I not told him this last night? he was wondering.

"You outdo yourself, most gracious Queen," he finally said in Latin.

I was grateful that I could at least understand that.

The attendants brought forward a large rectangular wooden box, which they had lifted off a cart. They laid it at my feet, then pried its lid off. Caesar stood by approvingly.

It was a mosaic of the finest sort, the kind called opus vermiculatum> vermiculatum> made with minute pieces of colored stone, meant to be transported and set in a larger floor within a border. The tiny size of the stones meant that the color variation and shading could depict almost any scene realistically. This showed Venus emerging from the seafoam. The colors of the sea were exactly those of the waters in the palace harbor at Alexandria. It was magnificent. How had he had it made so quickly? Then I realized he hadn't. It had been looted from some site the Romans had taken. It must have been part of his own collection. made with minute pieces of colored stone, meant to be transported and set in a larger floor within a border. The tiny size of the stones meant that the color variation and shading could depict almost any scene realistically. This showed Venus emerging from the seafoam. The colors of the sea were exactly those of the waters in the palace harbor at Alexandria. It was magnificent. How had he had it made so quickly? Then I realized he hadn't. It had been looted from some site the Romans had taken. It must have been part of his own collection.

"I thank you. It is beautiful," I said. I hoped my Latin did not sound laughable.

He inclined his head. "I am pleased that it pleases you."

"And I have brought you a gift from Egypt," I said, nodding to my attendants. They returned, wheeling a statue of Pharaoh Cheops in matte-black graywacke stone, a treasure that it had hurt me to part with. Every plane on it was perfect, buffed to an impossible smoothness, yet with no shine.

Now, again, just for that instant, his face showed an emotion: surprise and pleasure. His eyes, covetous of all beauty, widened a bit at the sight of it.

"The Queen of Egypt is most generous," he said. "I thank you with all my heart." He paused. "TTie Dictator of Rome would be most honored and personally gratified if the Queen of Egypt would come to his home for dinner in three days. This will allow me time to prepare. I trust it will not be too humble a dwelling for her to enter. It is in the Forum, near the Regia. As Pontifex Maximus, it is my official residence."

Pontifex Maximus? What was that? It sounded priestly, and he scorned all religion, believing only in the G.o.ddess of fortune, who had made him her favorite son.

"The college of sixteen priests, pontiffs," he explained. "A most ancient and sacred order, the state religion."

How had he ever been chosen for that? "I would be pleased," I managed to get out.

He nodded his head. The meeting was over. Suddenly I remembered that I had something else to present to him. "Great Caesar/' I said, "I have two other gifts to make to you. Pray, wait a few moments until they are brought out."

Then we had to remain as we were, static, he standing, I sitting, silent. At length--it seemed like forever--my soldiers brought out the two pirates, shackled and bound to a yoke.

"Behold!" I said, and had the pleasure of seeing Caesar finally lose his composure as he recognized one of them.

The heavy bald man shook his chains and began cursing. "May you rot in the ground, may dogs bolt your flesh, you monster! This woman is as bad as you--you're killers both! Had things been but a little different, it would be she in chains and you begging for her life!"

"What is this?" asked Caesar. "How did you get these men?"

"Answer me first," I said. "Who are they? They attacked my ship as I journeyed here, and forced us into the Strait of Messina."

"This one here"--he nodded at the big one--"was one of my captors on the island some thirty years ago, when I was held prisoner by pirates. He managed to escape when I returned for revenge."

"He kept talking about his brother." Without realizing it, I had lapsed back into Greek.

"His brother, the sc.u.m, was the ringleader. I slit his throat myself, as he was being crucified. He had always been entertaining and courteous to me, as only villains can be. The crucifixion was too cruel for him, so I ended it early."

"And what about him?" I nodded to the thin one with the burning eyes.

Caesar walked over to him and stared at him, squinting his eyes. "Yes . . . this melts the years away. How are you, Philetas?"

"Free me and you'll find out."

"Free you, so you can kill me? I think not." Caesar sounded amused and kindly. "So, you are still at it. Aren't you a little old still to be a pirate? It's a strenuous profession."

"Aren't you a little old to be a general?" his adversary sneered. "It's a strenuous profession as well. I heard in your last campaign you were showing some wear. And then, all the enemies yo. U make--it must make sleeping difficult, guarding yourself against all those who'd like to put a dagger between your ribs."

"Like you?" He shrugged. "One gets used to it. Now, really, Philetas, I would think you'd be ashamed still to be a pirate! And not even a very successful one. It sounds as if the high point of your career was when you held me prisoner, and when was that--over thirty years ago? Now you're reduced to attacking medium-sized ships around Sicily in--what sort of a boat was it?" he asked me.

"There were three of them, fast hemiolias," I said.

"Leftovers. Outdated," he said, dismissing them. "And all that killing you do, for so little return."

"You're the king of the killers. You've killed thousands and thousands in your campaigns in Gaul--uncountable thousands."

"That was war."

"It was pure ambition," spat the big one.

"Well, then my ambition has been better rewarded than yours." I detected a slight change in his voice; he was shaken by the sudden appearance of the pirates and their accusations. "And now you will have to write an end to your life, tally up your accounts."

"Still playing a part?" yelled the big one. "Now you're a philosopher? You played the jolly companion with us, then came back and killed us."

"Did I not tell you that was what I would do?" he said. "Be reasonable, gentlemen. I merely kept my word."

"Mark you, all of you!" cried Philetas, addressing the entire company. "This man is dangerous! He is not what he pretends to be! If ever you feared anyone, fear him!"

"Take them away," said Caesar. "Take them away." His voice was hard. Then he turned to me with a different one. "Thank you for this unlooked-for presentation. It gives me faith that in some fashion all the threads of one's life are eventually gathered together, and answers are given." He smiled a little uncertainly. "I will expect your company three days from now. Until then, please use this villa and the gardens for your own pleasure, and do not hesitate to send me word if there is anything you lack." He turned and stepped smartly down the steps to his horse.

The lictors turned to precede him, their axes flashing. Soon the whole company had departed, the tramp of their boots dying out in the distance.

When I reentered the room, I saw it had been discreetly tidied, the sheets whisked away and replaced by fresh linens, windows opened, floors swept, and bundles of herbs hung to sweeten the air. All gone. The night had never happened. I wondered if any of the servants had seen Caesar come and go; probably not. He would have made sure of that.

Charmian had dressed Caesarion, who was playing in the middle of the floor with Ptolemy. They all looked well rested and eager to explore.

"What a company of soldiers!" cried Ptolemy. "And what were those things they were carrying? Those funny bundles of sticks with ribbons and axes?"

"I believe they are called fasces. They denote some sort of authority," I said. I realized I badly needed an advisor on Roman customs and history, and I could hardly expect Caesar to take on the task himself. Whom could I find, without embarra.s.sing myself?

"Everything here is so odd!" he cried, happy with the novelty. "The trees are all different, the language sounds ugly, and why do they wear those voluminous togas? Aren't they hot in them?"

Just then two servants entered, bearing trays of food. Ptolemy ran over to one and crowed with excitement.

"What's that? And that?" He stabbed his finger at each foreign-looking dish.

After eating, we wandered through the villa and its grounds. It was peculiar to have complete access to someone's private retreat in his absence. He was there, in every decision that had been made about the furnishings, the plantings, the decorations, the comforts, yet he was not there, so I could stare or linger as openly as I wished. As a child I had always been entranced by the story of Psyche in the palace of the invisible Cupid. I had known it by heart.

As she walked through the lovely rooms, a voice all sweetness and gentleness spoke to her: "Fair Princess, all that you behold is yours. Command us, we are your servants." Filled with wonder and delight, Psyche looked about in all directions, but saw no one. The voice continued, "Here is your chamber, and your bed of down; here is your bath, and in the adjoining alcove there is food."

Psyche bathed, and put on the lovely garments prepared for her, then seated herself on a chair of carved ivory. At once there floated to its place before her a table covered with golden dishes and the finest food. Although she could see no one, invisible hands served her, and unseen musicians played on lutes and sang to her.

For a long time Psyche did not see the master of the palace. He visited her only in the nighttime, going away before morning morning dawned. . . . dawned. . . .

Psyche begged her husband that her sisters might visit her. At first they were happy to see their young sister and to find her safe, but soon, seeing all the soon, seeing all the splendor in Psyche's palace, envy sprang up in their hearts. They questioned her rudely concerning her husband. splendor in Psyche's palace, envy sprang up in their hearts. They questioned her rudely concerning her husband.

"Is he not some dreadful monster," they asked, "some dragon, who will at length devour you? Remember what the oracle said!''

I smiled, remembering my favorite tale and marveling that it seemed to have come true. Now I was acting it out myself, except that I knew Caesar and what he looked like.

He is not what he pretends to be! If ever you feared anyone, fear him! Unbidden, the pirate's words sounded in my mind. The hateful man--what did he know? Unbidden, the pirate's words sounded in my mind. The hateful man--what did he know?

The story had ended happily, for the unseen husband, Cupid, had loved Psyche dearly and protected her from the envy of his mother, Venus.

Venus--Caesar's ancestress.

Suddenly the villa began to take on an ominous aspect. Stories of men and stories of the G.o.ds should be kept separate.

"See this statue?" I said brightly. "I am sure it is a copy of one by Praxiteles. .. ."

The villa and its grounds occupied us all that day, and by nightfall we were ready for a quiet supper and a recuperative night. The twilight was tender and lingering, as if day were loath to depart from Rome. In Egypt, so much farther south, we had little interim between full day and full night.

I lay down, grateful to be able to rest my head. Charmian came in, sat beside my bed on a low stool, and played the flute softly, as she did at home.

"Are you happy to be here?" she asked me.

"I think so," I said. One moment I was, the next I was not sure. I would be relieved when the second and third ship arrived, bringing more of my attendants. At the moment I sorely missed Mardian. But I knew he could not come.

"I wish we could see Rome itself," she said. "I am about to die of curiosity."

"We can," I said. "We can go tomorrow."

"I want to see Rome without being seen," she said. "If you venture out, throngs of curious people will mob you--all eager to see the famous Queen of Egypt. You will spend all your time fending them off, and see nothing at all."

"Then we will have to go as Roman matrons," I said.

"Who do not speak Latin?" She laughed. "I enjoyed seeing Caesar's face today when you told him you spoke it. You exaggerated more than a bit."

"Yes, I know. But by the time we leave, I shall speak it." I was determined to do so. "And I can understand enough that we can get along. After all, all we need to do is ask the most rudimentary questions and make the plainest remarks--'good day,' 'fine wine,' and so on. Oh, let's do it! Let's go out tomorrow--to the Forum! And to the Circus Maximus! That way, when I go there to the dinner, I won't be at such a gawking disadvantage. It is always best to spy out the unknown. You get us some clothes. . . ."

The next morning, a fine bedecked litter set out from the villa with two sedate matrons leaning back against the cushions, their faces veiled. Charmian and I had struggled with the unfamiliar garments--the undertunic, the long, full stola stola with its many folds around the hem, the enormous with its many folds around the hem, the enormous palla palla that enveloped it all and was draped over our heads, hiding our hair--for an hour. that enveloped it all and was draped over our heads, hiding our hair--for an hour.

"It seems to me," she had said, "the purpose of Roman clothes is to obliterate the body,"

I giggled. "Yes. The only parts visible are the face, the hands, and the feet."

"Do they hate their bodies?" she wondered.

"Evidently," I said, wondering what sort of society would have invented these garments. They were not only unwieldy, because of their sheer bulk and layering, but unflattering. "Romans are reputed to be very uncomfortable with all the body's natural functions."

Except Caesar, who was so different in so many ways, I thought.

The litter left the villa's grounds, and we were borne along to the river. The Tiber was not wide, but it was a serene, pleasing green. I could see the docks where the commercial ships tied up, with the usual warehouses and emporia alongside them. We had not landed there, and I was glad, for the odor of it was not very alluring. We kept to our side of the river, where there were only open fields, and gazed at the city sprawling on the other side.

It was a cl.u.s.ter, a jumble of buildings of all sorts and sizes. I could see hills rising here and there, and tried to count them. Were there seven? There were supposed to be. I could see five or six. The city was shimmering in the moist heat of the summer day, and its aspect was not particularly inviting.

But that is compared to Alexandria, I reminded myself, and Alexandria is supposedly the most beautiful city in the world. My judgment and senses have been spoiled by my native city.

We continued along the sh.o.r.e, then we approached a bridge spanning the river to an island in its midst. I knew it was Tiber Island, which had a famous hospital dedicated to Asclepius on it. We crossed it and then took the other bridge onto the Roman side.

Immediately it was different. There seemed to be an anthill of people milling and bobbing about in the narrow streets. They were loud and aggressive, shoving and yelling. A cleared s.p.a.ce with the foundations of a new structure reared up before us.

"What is that?" I asked one of our bearers, who luckily spoke Greek.

"A theater being built by Caesar," he said. "It's the second stone one to go up. He is trying to outdo Pompey, who built a gigantic one not far away."

We took a sharp turn to the right, and once again everything changed. We were now fighting our way through a flower and fruit market that seemed vast. A loud din hung over the area, as sharp as the mingling odors of roses, field poppies, onions, and garlic. Everyone was gesturing and shouting, so it appeared. I saw a basket of unfamiliar fruit, dark and light green mixed together.

"What are they?" I asked, pointing at them. "I would like some."

The bearers set down the litter. Now I was right in the crowd itself. Instinctively I drew my palla palla closer around my face. closer around my face.

I could understand some of the conversations around me, but not enough. Most of it was the usual: bargaining, complaining, comparing goods. But occasionally I could hear the words Caesar Caesar and and Cleopatra. Cleopatra. What were the common people saying about us? What were the common people saying about us?

The bearer returned with a handful of the fruits. They were olives, but larger and of a different color than I had ever seen.

"We call them black and white olives, Your Majesty," he said. "They grow near here, in the region of Picenum."

"Happy Picenum," I said, "to have such treasures for the palate." I bit into one; it it was running with juice, almost like a grape. The sweet oil had a slightly tangy undertaste.

We finally fought our way free of the market, and were on a wide road winding to the left. I saw that we were at the base of a hill, and that crowning the hill were several temples. Could this be the Capitoline? If so, then the temples were among the most sacred in Rome, housing statues of their ancient protectors. Then, suddenly, we swung into a flat, wide area congested with buildings--and people.

"The Forum Romanum," said the bearer.

So this was it--the heart of Rome. It looked like an ill-planned, crowded mess--like something a child makes when he a.s.sembles his blocks on a table too small for them. Everywhere buildings fought with one another for s.p.a.ce, aligned at crazy angles to eke out the smallest advantage of site. Temples, covered porticoes, platforms, statues--there was no harmony or beauty to the whole. But then, that was how the world saw Romans themselves--as clumsy, unmannered, trampling on beauty because they had no eye for it.

I suppose they think this is attractive, I thought. Poor Romans!