Queen of Kings - Maria Dahvana Headley [145]
Agrippa looked nervously at the arrows.
“I prefer the sword,” he said.
“As do I,” said Augustus. “We do not have that luxury. One arrow, and this will be done. One arrow, and she will be gone. Think of that. Do not worry. I will take charge of the bow.”
“I must prepare my men to march,” said Agrippa. He wanted the Hydra arrows returned to their grave, far from here. His calf blistered and seeped. It was wrapped in layers of bandages, and still it did not heal. He’d die of this wound, if not soon, then eventually. He knew it in his bones. He tightened the bandage about the leg and limped from Augustus’s study.
Augustus deliberated about the princes of Egypt. At last, he decided to leave them in Rome, safely caged in their silver room. They were children, and he would not bring them into battle. He could not bring himself to kill them. He could not bring himself to let their mother kill them, either, as he was certain she would.
He would win this battle with the arrows of Hercules, and she would be conquered, completely this time. He had the seiðkona and the Psylli. He had the powers of the Western Wind and of memory. He had Agrippa’s armies. What did she have?
No matter what Cleopatra and Sekhmet were capable of, they could not beat back all the forces of Rome.
There would be no more of this. When it was done, he’d return to Rome and to his daughter. He would return to these sons of Egypt. They showed promise, particularly the smallest one. He remembered the little boy’s strength in the Circus Maximus, his determination as he ran into the arena. They would forget their parents, as their sister had. He felt a pang as he thought of Selene, still half conscious in her room. He pushed the thoughts away.
He would be their hero. Sons.
Augustus went to his chamber and called his servants. They bathed him, anointed him. He put the gilded laurel crown atop his head. They strapped his armor onto his chest.
He brought Cleopatra Selene with him, ensconced in a padded litter with the seiðkona beside her. The legionaries that had gone in pursuit of the Greek witch had not found Chrysate, and he no longer trusted the guards to keep the girl safe. It would not matter. Selene would not remember this. She was still not herself, sleeping her wound away, waking only occasionally, mutely.
His skin pricked with righteous rage, thinking of the witch. She would be next, after Cleopatra. He would find her, if he had to go to Thessaly himself.
He made his way outside and ascended the steps of the platform that had been erected for his speech. Before him, a legion waited, armed, their faces still and watchful. Beside him, Usem and Agrippa stood, strong and loyal. The emperor of Rome was ready to fight, and he rallied his warriors.
“We march toward an enemy we have not seen before, but we will prevail!” he shouted, flanked by Agrippa and Nicolaus. “We will return home to our wives and our children!”
He glanced at the Psylli and felt a pang of jealousy, comparing himself to the snake charmer’s story. Augustus knew that he did not care enough about his family. He did not love them as much as he ought to. He loved Rome more. Was not Rome family enough? Was not Rome love enough?
It was.
“Though I cannot tell you what it is we will meet at Avernus, I can tell you that we are Romans. No enemy is as strong as we are. We’ve come from warriors, and we’ve been adopted by wolves. We have built Rome from out of the wild, and it will not return to chaos! We will fight and we will win, our swords bloodied, our arrows broken, and our voices carrying across the world. This is the empire of Augustus, and you serve beside me! I fight with you!”
He drove his sword into the air, listening to the cheers of his army as he rode from Rome, leading a legion of six thousand.
It was time.
The Palatine was nearly empty by the time the door of the silver room opened, and the princes looked up, startled by the light. They had been praying to the Egyptian gods, and praying for their mother, Alexander Helios leading Ptolemy. The