Queen of Kings - Maria Dahvana Headley [95]
An ostrich paraded below, its beak thrust high and prideful into the air. The Romans scarcely took notice. They’d seen ostriches before.
Augustus’s gaze fell on a large grouping of senators, their bald pates shining in the torchlight. They were accompanied by scribes. He nudged Agrippa.
“Why are they here?”
“I don’t know,” Agrippa answered.
“They’re old men,” said Augustus.
“And not armed,” said Agrippa.
Augustus looked at them again, wondering what their purpose was. Senators did not typically attend such events. They ought to be sleeping, but they were rigid with excitement. One of them glanced over as the emperor looked away.
The senator’s gaze made contact with the eyes of a slender man in the guise of a servant, who’d fallen into position just behind the imperial box, unnoticed by anyone in it. The man slipped sideways until he stood directly behind Chrysate, and the senator, almost imperceptibly, nodded to him.
The sun was setting, and the torches were lit. It was about to begin.
Augustus filled a goblet of wine, took the vial of theriac from his tunic, and poured some into his cup. A rough hand took the wine from him. Augustus turned to the intruder, infuriated.
“You must remain clear for this,” Agrippa told him.
“I will do as I wish,” Augustus replied, annoyed. The theriac hardly tasted bitter to him now. It was nearly sweet.
Music played from beneath the bleachers, and the gladiators began to proceed up from below, for their presentation to the emperor. Augustus looked down at them, displeased. They were a wan and ill-looking group. Beaten. The bestiarii bowed their heads before him, prodded by their handler.
Had it always been this way? In his boyhood, Augustus had gloried in the strength of the gladiators, the polished muscles, the shining—though brutish—armor and weapons. These men looked feeble. They were criminals, of course, condemned to serve out their sentences in the ring, but this was no excuse for their ashen faces, their skeletal limbs.
Augustus removed Ptolemy from his lap and stood, and the crowd, seeing him, quieted.
“Citizens of Rome!” he shouted. “I, for one, would like to meet the wondrous rhinoceros and the great hippopotamus rather than these! These slaves are only animals, when we have been promised wonders!”
The crowd roared with approval.
Augustus’s mood improved. He gave a flourish of his toga, a gesture of presentation. Now he would bait the trap. Now he would entice his prey. He put his hands on the children’s shoulders, beckoning them from their seats.
“As I welcome the animals of Africa,” Augustus shouted, “I welcome three children into Rome. These were not children of Rome before today. They were children of Egypt!”
The crowd booed and hissed. Agrippa shifted beside Augustus, his hand on his sword.
Under Augustus’s hands, the boys shifted as well, uncomfortable with the attention suddenly directed upon them. Selene looked straight ahead. Regal. Octavian approved. Would that she were his own daughter.
“They were children of that country’s queen. You may remember her name. Cleopatra. Perhaps you saw her in my procession?”
The audience laughed and jeered at the name of their defeated foe.
“She is dead, and her children came willingly to this country.”
The booing became louder. The emperor let it build to a crest of wrath and disdain before continuing.
“They are no longer the children of Egypt, however,” Augustus said. “For Egypt is now the child of Rome.”
Applause and laughter at the emperor’s wit. Augustus stood straighter, delighting in this moment. He loved his citizens. They were beings of intelligence. They obeyed