The Judgment of Caesar Read Free Page A

say, and to actually speak his name aloud would be too painful; if he had survived the travails of battle, very likely my adopted son Meto would be by Caesar’s side. I had seen him last in Massilia, in Gaul, where I had upbraided him and publicly disowned him for the intrigues and deceits he had practiced on Caesar’s behalf. No one in my family, least of all Bethesda, quite understood why I had turned my back on a son I had adopted, who had always been so dear to me; I myself did not quite comprehend the violence of my reaction. If these were Caesar’s ships, and if Caesar was among them, and if Meto was with Caesar—what a jest of the gods that would be, to snatch me from a quiet arrival in Alexandria and set me down in the midst of Caesar’s fleet, faced with a reunion I could not bear to contemplate.
    These thoughts, as gloomy as they were, at least served to distract me from imagining a more dreadful alternative—that the ships pursuing us were not from Caesar after all. These men could be pirates, or renegade soldiers, or something even worse. . . .
    Whoever they were, they were practiced sailors with considerable skill at pursuit and capture. Coordinating their movements with admirable precision, they drew apart so as to pull alongside us both to starboard and port, then slowed their speed to match ours. They were close enough now so that I could see the leering faces of the armed men on deck. Were they bent on our destruction, or merely exhilarated by the chase? From the ship to our starboard, an officer called out, “Give it up, Captain! We’ve caught you fair and square. Raise your oars, or else we’ll get rid of them for you!”
    The threat was literal; I had seen warships employ just such a maneuver, drawing alongside an enemy vessel, veering close, then withdrawing their oars so as to shear off the other ship’s still-extended oars, rendering it helpless. With two ships, such a maneuver could be executed on both sides of us simultaneously. Given the skill our pursuers had so far displayed, I had no doubt that they could pull it off.
    The captain was still in a panic, frozen to the spot and speechless. His men looked to him for orders, but received none. We proceeded at full speed, the pursuers matching us and drawing closer on either side.
    “By Hercules!” I shouted, tearing myself from Bethesda to run to the captain’s side. I gripped his arm. “Give the order to raise oars!”
    The captain looked at me blankly. I slapped him across the face. He bolted and moved to strike back at me, then the glimmer of reason lit his eyes. He took a deep breath and raised his arms.
    “Lift oars!” he cried. “Trim sail!”
    The sailors, heaving with exertion, obeyed at once. Our pursuers, with flawless seamanship, mimicked our actions, and all three ships remained side by side even as the waves began to brake our progress.
    The ship to our starboard drew even closer. The soldier who had ordered us to stop spoke again, though he was now so close that he hardly needed to raise his voice. I saw that he wore the insignia of a Roman centurion. “Identify yourself!”
    The captain cleared his throat. “This is the Andromeda, an Athenian ship with a Greek crew.”
    “And you?”
    “Cretheus, owner and captain.”
    “Why did you flee when we approached?”
    “What fool wouldn’t have done the same?”
    The centurion laughed. At least he was in good humor. “Where do you sail from?”
    “Ostia, the port city of Rome.”
    “Destination?”
    “Alexandria. We’d be there now if not for—”
    “Just answer the questions! Cargo?”
    “Olive oil and wine. In Alexandria we’ll be picking up raw linen and—”
    “Passengers?”
    “Only one party, a fellow and his wife—”
    “Is that him, beside you?”
    I spoke up. “My name is Gordianus. I’m a Roman citizen.”
    “Are you now?” The centurion peered at me. “How many in your party?”
    “My wife, a bodyguard, two slave boys.”
    “Are we free to