Kaisaros: The Roman Pharaoh

Chapter Two: Slow Recovery

The aftermath of Actium must have been a huge blow to Antony's self esteem, because even now he looks like he hasn't taken care of himself. Still asleep in a hammock, he looks more tired than I've ever seen him. His dark brown curls are matted and dirty, shadows under his eyes, facial hair unkempt, even his tunic and cloak that have been folded aside on a table are black, only showing off his depression more.

In all my years knowing him, I've never seen him wear black on his tunic, let alone a cloak. Antony was always a man who wore bright colors, even if I thought it looked ridiculous. Every time I uttered my distaste, he would only laugh and kiss my cheek if we were alone.
"Just try it one day," he had whispered in my ear, "I'm certain you'll outshine Apollo himself."

From the waist up, he is shirtless. The wound on his side has been stitched up, only leaving black thread and irritated red skin visible. He'll have that scar between his ribs for the rest of his life, but he's alive.
I feel his forehead and am alarmed at how warm he is.
I search the tables for a bowl of water and a cloth, then come back. Gently, I dot his forehead with the wet cloth and he visibly relaxes.

Still half asleep, he blindly reaches up and weakly grabs my hand holding the cloth. I can feel the calluses on his palm and fingers scraping against my softer hand. Staying still, I look over at his face. Breathing shallow, he looks at me with glassy eyes, like he cannot believe what he sees.
"Thurinus?" He whispers.
I can't help but smile sadly. The last time he referred to me by my childhood nickname was in a letter mocking me after the Second Triumvirate broke apart. But now he says my nickname almost sweetly.

"Hello, Antony," I say back. Still having my hand in his grasp, he kisses my knuckles with surprising tenderness. "My sweet flower," he sighs, tears rolling down his cheeks. I take the cloth in my other hand and wipe them away. Another of his nicknames for me. He had jokingly made a comparison to my golden curls being the same vibrant color as a sunflower and the nickname stuck ever since.

I shiver somewhat, having not heard anyone call me those names in years. "Rest, Antony," I sigh, slipping my hand out of his grasp and filling a cup with water he can drink. He takes the drink and finishes it in a few swallows, gasping somewhat once he is done.
"You're in my camp outside of the city, near the Gate of the Sun. One of your soldiers ran into my camp and showed me your bloodied short sword. I ordered your man and mine to find you, then patched you up." I nod to the ghastly line of stitches at his side.

His hand touches the healing wound and he winces, hissing out a sharp breath. "Why?" He asks.
"Because it's what you would have done for me," I respond simply. He sighs, laying back down and gazing up at the roof of the tent. "I've messed up terribly, haven't I?"
I remain silent.
****
Another of my soldiers comes into the medical tent bringing news. My troop looks hesitant to speak when he sees Antony is awake. "You may speak, centurion," I order. "Of course, Caesar. Your order to kill Caesarion has been successful. Some of your troops had found them close to the Nile."

I ignore Antony's alarmed stare and ask, "Who else was with the boy?"
"A few teachers and some of Cleopatra's handmaidens. All were killed by your instructions. General Agrippa made sure of it. He brought back Caesarion's head and necklace as proof."
"Good," I say simply. "Any news about the queen?"

"Not since she locked herself in the palace."
"Very well. You are dismissed, centurion," I nod.
"Sir," he salutes, casting his gaze at Antony briefly before exiting.
"You had Caesarion killed? He was Caesar's son, basically your brother—" Antony states before I cut him off.
"He was no blood relative of mine," I state firmly, ignoring his stare, hands balled into fists at my sides.
"I am the only son and heir of Julius Caesar. Besides, we got rid of a threat before he could raise an army," I mutter, exiting the tent and leaving Antony alone.

Outside, the night is calm despite everything, giving me relief from the heat. "How is Antony?" My friend Agrippa asks me once I'm outside. "Recovering. He should be well by the month's end, perhaps sooner."
I follow my friend over to a small table near a campfire. Something is covered under the cloth.

I wrinkle my nose just at the smell of decay alone. Agrippa removes the cloth to reveal the rotting head of Caesarion, son of Cleopatra and a scarab necklace that must have belonged to the boy. I never met Caesarion in person before all of this, but even I can tell he was nearly a man just from his severed head.
Probably seventeen at the most.

My mind spins at the thought seventeen years have passed since my father's death. It feels like only yesterday. I take the scarab necklace from the table, staining my fingers with the somewhat fresh blood on the piece of jewelry. The necklace is fairly simple, a golden scarab with its wings spread and a red circle above the insect's head. Possibly meant to represent the sun, but I cannot say for certain.

"What shall we do now?" Agrippa asks, placing the sheet back on the boy's head. "Burn the head if you want," I sigh, toying with the scarab in my bloodied fingers. "Feed it to the crocodiles in the Nile, whatever suits you. Just get it out of my sight."
Agrippa nods and signals for some of his men to dispose of the rotting head. I watch them take it away.

I gaze up at the night sky and am surprised to see a red comet streaking across the stars, moving towards the pyramids in the distance. I smile a little, feeling more confident. "We march into Alexandria at dawn," I say. "I will tell Cleopatra that her city has fallen and her reign is over."