“Distinguished, at the very least,” she said, smiling. She had a marvelous smile. “And you were involved in the early campaigning, against Ariovistus and his Germans. That is why I asked. There is so little really known about the Germans, and I can find nothing at all about their musical accomplishments.”
“I can’t say that they really sing, but they make a sort of rhythmic, barking noise in which they take a certain satisfaction. It’s nothing a Greek rhapsode would consider melodic. The Gauls, on the other hand, sing all the time. It grates on the Roman ear, but by the time I left I had learned to appreciate it in sheer self-defense.”
“That is surprising. Romans seldom appreciate other people’s customs and way of life.” This was all too true. “But then, you have the reputation of being a surprising sort of Roman.” She introduced her companions who were, as I had suspected, boring old scholars, both local and Alexandrian.
“Cyprus was the home of the philosopher Zeno,” she said, “as I am sure you already know.”
“Never heard of the fellow.” I was lying, but the last thing I wanted was to get drawn into a philosophical discussion.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Princess, in Rome, when a man shows an interest in philosophy, it’s taken as a sign that he is planning to retire from public life. Too much scholarly accomplishment means that you spent your youth in exile in places like Rhodes and Athens. For the sake of my reputation and my political future, please allow me to remain my uncultivated self. My wife will be here before long, and she will talk philosophy, poetry, and drama until your ears turn to bronze.”
“I’ve heard that well-born Roman ladies are often better educated than the men.”
“It depends on what you think of as educated. Men study war, politics, law, government, and the arts of public speaking. It takes long study to become proficient in all of them.”
“Caesar seems to be the master of all of them. Is this a step toward becoming master of all the Romans?”
This conversation was taking all sorts of wild detours. “Of course not. Rome is a republic not a monarchy. The closest thing to a master of all the Romans is a dictator. Only the Senate can elect a dictator, and then only for a period of six months at the most. The Senate and Caesar do not get along well at all.” This was stating it mildly. Caesar treated the Senate with a contempt not seen since the days of Marius.
“Egypt is a monarchy,” she said, “and has been for thousands of years. Your republic has existed for—what, about four hundred and fifty-two years, if tradition is correct about the expulsion of Tarquinius Superbus?”
“About that, I suppose.” I tried to figure how many years that had been but gave it up. “But we’ve done rather well in our short history.”
“You have indeed. But a government appropriate to a city-state is rather inadequate when extended to a vast empire, is it not?”
“It works superlatively,” I protested, lying through my teeth. Our rickety old system was coming apart under the demands of empire, but I wasn’t about to admit it to a foreign princess, however beautiful her eyes.
“I think your Caesar has different ideas. He seems to be a most remarkable man.”
“Just another general,” I assured her. “He’s done all right, but look at Gabinius. I understand he’s here on Cyprus. Until a couple of years ago he was as successful as Caesar and Pompey. Now he’s twiddling his thumbs on Rome’s latest acquisition, all because he flouted the laws. No mere soldier is greater than the Senate and People.” A sanctimonious statement, but it was a sentiment I made a strong effort to believe in, despite all evidence to the contrary.
“That is another thing I do not understand,” she said. “How can any nation prosper when its generals prosecute and exile one another? It was behavior of that sort that destroyed Athens.”
“Oh, well, they were Greeks after all. How do you happen to be in Cyprus, Princess?”
“There have been some legal questions to sort out since you Romans deposed my uncle and drove him to suicide. I am here as my father’s representative. He was understandably reluctant to come in person.”
“I can’t imagine why. You Ptolemies kill each other at such a rate he can hardly object to our getting rid of his brother for him.” I had no personal animosity toward Cleopatra, but I was nettled by this unwonted anti-Romanism.
Her face flamed. “And took Cyprus from Egypt in the process!” “That, of course, is negotiable. Cato tells me that Cyprus may be returned to Egypt if your father continues to adhere closely to our treaties.”