The October Horse by Colleen McCullough Read Free Book Online Page B

Cape Lochias itself and having a fine view not of the Great Harbor but of the sea. Had the Lord High Chamberlain wished it, he might have walked out his back door and down to a little cove wherein he could paddle his pampered feet.
    “Very nice,” Caesar said, sitting in a backless chair.
    “May I offer you the wine of Samos or Chios?”
    “Neither, thank you.”
    “Spring water, then? Herbal tea?”
    “No.”
    Potheinus seated himself opposite, his inscrutable grey eyes on Caesar. He may not be a king, but he bears himself like one. The face is weathered yet still beautiful, and the eyes are unsettling. Dauntingly intelligent eyes, cooler even than mine. He rules his feelings absolutely, and he is politic. If necessary, he will sit here all day waiting for me to make the opening move. Which suits me. I don't mind moving first, it is my advantage.
    “What brings you to Alexandria, Caesar?”
    “Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus. I'm looking for him.”
    Potheinus blinked, genuinely surprised. “Looking in person for a defeated enemy? Surely your legates could do that.”
    “Surely they could, but I like to do my opponents honor, and there is no honor in a legate, Potheinus. Pompeius Magnus and I have been friends and colleagues these twenty-three years, and at one time he was my son-in-law. That we ended in choosing opposite sides in a civil war can't alter what we are to each other.”
    Potheinus's face was losing color; he lifted his priceless goblet to his lips and drank as if his mouth had gone dry. “You may have been friends, but Pompeius Magnus is now your enemy.”
    “Enemies come from alien cultures, Lord High Chamberlain, not from among the ranks of one's own people. Adversary is a better word—a word allowing all the latitude things in common predicate. No, I don't pursue Pompeius Magnus as an avenger,” Caesar said, not moving an inch, though somewhere inside him a cold lump was forming. “My policy,” he went on levelly, “has been clemency, and my policy will continue to be clemency. I've come to find Pompeius Magnus myself so that I can extend my hand to him in true friendship. It would be a poor thing to enter a Senate containing none but sycophants.”
    “I do not understand,” Potheinus said, skin quite bleached. No, no, I cannot tell this man what we did in Pelusium! We mistook the matter, we have done the unforgivable. The fate of Pompeius Magnus will have to remain our secret. Theodotus! I must find an excuse to leave here and head him off!
    But it was not to be. Theodotus bustled in like a housewife, followed closely by two kilt-clad slaves bearing a big jar between them. They put it down and stood stiffly.
    All Theodotus's attention was fixed on Caesar, whom he eyed in obvious appreciation. “The great Gaius Julius Caesar!” he fluted. “Oh, what an honor! I am Theodotus, tutor to his royal majesty, and I bring you a gift, great Caesar.” He tittered. “In fact, I bring you two gifts!”
    No answer from Caesar, who sat very straight, his right hand holding the ivory rod of his imperium just as it had all along, his left hand cuddling the folds of toga over his shoulder. The generous, slightly uptilted mouth, sensuous and humorous, had gone thin, and the eyes were two black-ringed pellets of ice.
    Blithely unaware, Theodotus stepped forward and held out his hand; Caesar laid the rod in his lap and extended his to take the seal ring. A lion's head, and around the outside of the mane the letters CN POMP MAG. He didn't look at it, just closed his fingers on it until they clenched it, white-knuckled.
    One of the servants lifted the jar's lid while the other put a hand inside, fiddled for a moment, then lifted out Pompey's head by its thatch of silver hair, gone dull from the natron, trickling steadily into the jar.
    The face looked very peaceful, lids lowered over those vivid blue eyes that used to gaze around the Senate so innocently, so much the eyes of the spoiled child he was. The snub nose,