The throne of kings lay at the far end of the hall and Julius strode toward its occupant. His footsteps clicked loudly and, like gaudy insects, the courtiers ceased all movement as he approached. Julius glanced to his side and saw that Porphiris was keeping pace without a sound. Julius had heard rumors of eunuchs serving the kingdoms of the east and wondered if Porphiris was one of that strange breed.

The long walk toward the throne seemed to take forever, and Julius found to his annoyance that it was raised on a stone dais so that he must look up as a petitioner to the king. He halted as two of Ptolemy’s personal guard stepped across his path, blocking it with ornate staffs of gold. Julius frowned, refusing to be impressed. He thought Ptolemy regarded him with interest, though it was hard to be certain. The king wore a gold headdress and mask that obscured all but his eyes. His robes too had threads of that metal woven into them, so that he gleamed. Julius could only guess at the heat of wearing such a thing in the stifling chamber. Porphiris stepped forward.

“I present Gaius Julius Caesar,” Porphiris said, his voice echoing, “consul of Roman lands, of Italy, Greece, of Cyprus and Crete, Sardinia and Sicily, of Gaul, of Spain, and of the African provinces.”

“You are welcome here,” Ptolemy replied and Julius hid his surprise at the soft, high-pitched tone. The voice of a young boy was hard to reconcile with the wealth and power he had seen, or with a queen renowned for her beauty and intelligence. Julius found himself hesitating. Fumes of myrrh hung in his throat, making him want to cough.

“I am grateful for the quarters provided to me, great King,” Julius said after a moment.

Another man stood to one side of the golden figure and leaned down to whisper into his ear before drawing himself up. Julius glanced at him, noting the vulpine features of a true Egyptian. His eyelids were stained with some dark sheen that gave him an eerie, almost feminine beauty. There was no Greek blood in this one, Julius thought.

“I speak with Ptolemy’s voice,” the man said, staring into Julius’s eyes. “We honor great Rome that has brought trade here for generations. We have watched her rise from simple herdsmen into the glorious strength she has today.”

Julius found himself growing irritated again. He did not know whether it would be a breach of manners to address the man directly, or whether he should reply to Ptolemy himself. The king’s eyes were bright with interest, but gave no clue.

“If you would speak to me, tell me your name,” Julius snapped at the courtier.

A ripple of shock went around the hall and Ptolemy leaned a little closer in his seat, his interest obvious. The Egyptian was unflustered.

“My name is Panek, Consul. I speak with the voice of the king.”