“Seven days, though!” Julius snapped. “Shall I turn tail and meekly follow the orders of the gold-faced boy? That’s if they were his orders at all and not just the whim of one of his controlling clique. Alexander would be appalled if he could see this city treat me in such a fashion. Did I say they revere him as a god?”

“You mentioned it,” Octavian replied, though Julius did not seem to hear him. He stared in wonder as he considered the idea.

“His statue adorns the temples of their gods here, with incense and offerings. It is astonishing. Porphiris said that Ptolemy himself was divine. These are a strange people, Octavian. And why would you cut the testicles from a man? Does it make him stronger, or better able to concentrate? What benefit is there in such a practice? There were some with the king who could have been men or women, I couldn’t tell. Perhaps they had been gelded. I have seen some strange things over the years—do you remember the skulls of the Suebi? Incredible.”

Octavian watched Julius closely, suspecting that the tirade was finally coming to an end. He had not dared leave Julius alone in the grip of such a temper, but he could not help yawning as the night slipped by. Surely dawn could not be far off.

Domitius entered through tall bronze doors. Octavian rose as soon as he saw his friend’s expression.

“Julius,” Domitius said, “you should see this.”

“What is it?” Julius replied.

“I’m not sure if I know,” Domitius said with a grin. “There’s a man the size of Ciro at the gate. He’s carrying a carpet.”

Julius looked blankly at him. “Is he selling it?”

“No, sir, he says it’s a gift from the queen of Egypt.”

Julius exchanged a glance with Octavian.

“Perhaps they want to make amends,” Octavian said, shrugging.

“Send him up,” Julius said.

Domitius vanished, returning with a man who loomed over the three Romans. Julius and Octavian heard his heavy step before he came through the doors, and they saw Domitius had not exaggerated. The man was tall and bearded, with powerful arms wrapped around a tube of gold cloth.

“Greetings and honor to you, Consul,” the man said in flawless Latin. “I bear the gift of Cleopatra, daughter of Isis, queen of Egypt, honored wife to Ptolemy.”

As he spoke the man lowered his burden to the floor with immense care. Something moved within it and Octavian whipped his sword from its sheath.

The stranger spun at the sound, his palms held up. “Please, there is no danger to you,” he said.

Octavian stepped forward with his blade and the man knelt quickly, unrolling the carpet with a jerk.