smug stain of a man who’d never been denied anything. “The queen’ll pay you for your troubles. That won’t help you sleep at night. I know where you fetch your water, and when your husband works the fields, and how your little boy shrieks when his mother sucks a fine Macedonian cock.”
His strutting sickened her.
“Quiet,” she told him. “I’m not some bureaucrat from Alexandria here to measure your crops. I am the Shining One, Queen of the Upper and the Lower Kingdoms, daughter of the Sun, Lady of Diadems, and you’ll address me as such. Tell me: what is your name?”
“Agapios, my queen, the Shining One, Lady of Diadems.” Smirking, he bent into a deep bow, so low that the crown of his head dipped past his buckled knees. “Your father never took such an interest in his men’s business in the south. Perhaps you like what you see.” He gestured to his body.
“I don’t know if you’re drunk or stupid or both. Honestly, I don’t much care.” Berenice turned back to Pieton and Thais. “Fifty lashes for each of the boys. And as for this creature, sever his right hand and relieve him of all duties and privileges of a soldier.”
The soldiers quieted, their fear curdling. Even the petitioners who crowded the balconies and walkways stared in silent awe. The world grew still, as though she gripped Medusa’s head and had turned her onlookers into stone. Their terror buoyed Berenice. They should be frightened.
“My queen,” Pieton broke in. “May I have a word?”
At her nod, the eunuch approached to whisper in her ear. “Your actions may be noble but they aren’t wise. These men expect certain rewards for their loyal service. And not merely the right to till some land in peacetime. They serve with the understanding that they might take what they please. Under your father, compensation to the woman was the standard and mutually amenable practice.”
Slowly, Berenice shook her head—his words cloyed at her. She didn’t need pleas to become more like her father. There were reasons that eunuchs could never rule. These soldiers had never respected the Piper—no one had. The answer, surely, wasn’t to cast herself in his image.
“Do you think Agapios would serve me loyally on the battlefield?” she asked quietly. “That he wouldn’t turn to Rome at a moment’s notice? He’d treat me as he treated her if given half a chance. He insulted me before my own guards. I can’t imagine he’d be more likely to esteem me as his commander.” There were men, she knew, too many men who would bear her little respect, queen or no. Who would always see her as an interloper, a blushing flower, a naïf. But her father was the weak one, not she.
“He’s a noxious creature,” answered Pieton, “unworthy of the army, and you’re right to punish him for his impudence—execute him, even. But don’t punish him for this nonsense, or soon we’ll have no soldiers at all.”
She didn’t believe that. She refused.
“And what of her?” Berenice looked to the woman, whose hands shook beneath the weight of her babe. Her older boy tried to comfort her, wiping away her tears with the grubby hem of his tunic. He was naked underneath, but that didn’t seem to bother him. That made sense, she supposed. She recalled that Egyptian children of that age rarely wore clothes at all. His mother had probably only forced him into an outfit for this occasion.
Pieton laughed, a hacking sound at the back of his throat. “You think she cares what happens to these men? She cares only for some coin, and even if there is some grain of truth in her story—and trust me, it’s never more than a grain—she no doubt saw any molestation by the royal army as a stroke of luck. It’s well and good to take note of the common folk’s concerns, but don’t make too much of them.”
Berenice looked at the woman and her wounded child. The boy touched his bandage with tender fingers, as if to unstick the cloth from the oozing wound.
His strutting sickened her.
“Quiet,” she told him. “I’m not some bureaucrat from Alexandria here to measure your crops. I am the Shining One, Queen of the Upper and the Lower Kingdoms, daughter of the Sun, Lady of Diadems, and you’ll address me as such. Tell me: what is your name?”
“Agapios, my queen, the Shining One, Lady of Diadems.” Smirking, he bent into a deep bow, so low that the crown of his head dipped past his buckled knees. “Your father never took such an interest in his men’s business in the south. Perhaps you like what you see.” He gestured to his body.
“I don’t know if you’re drunk or stupid or both. Honestly, I don’t much care.” Berenice turned back to Pieton and Thais. “Fifty lashes for each of the boys. And as for this creature, sever his right hand and relieve him of all duties and privileges of a soldier.”
The soldiers quieted, their fear curdling. Even the petitioners who crowded the balconies and walkways stared in silent awe. The world grew still, as though she gripped Medusa’s head and had turned her onlookers into stone. Their terror buoyed Berenice. They should be frightened.
“My queen,” Pieton broke in. “May I have a word?”
At her nod, the eunuch approached to whisper in her ear. “Your actions may be noble but they aren’t wise. These men expect certain rewards for their loyal service. And not merely the right to till some land in peacetime. They serve with the understanding that they might take what they please. Under your father, compensation to the woman was the standard and mutually amenable practice.”
Slowly, Berenice shook her head—his words cloyed at her. She didn’t need pleas to become more like her father. There were reasons that eunuchs could never rule. These soldiers had never respected the Piper—no one had. The answer, surely, wasn’t to cast herself in his image.
“Do you think Agapios would serve me loyally on the battlefield?” she asked quietly. “That he wouldn’t turn to Rome at a moment’s notice? He’d treat me as he treated her if given half a chance. He insulted me before my own guards. I can’t imagine he’d be more likely to esteem me as his commander.” There were men, she knew, too many men who would bear her little respect, queen or no. Who would always see her as an interloper, a blushing flower, a naïf. But her father was the weak one, not she.
“He’s a noxious creature,” answered Pieton, “unworthy of the army, and you’re right to punish him for his impudence—execute him, even. But don’t punish him for this nonsense, or soon we’ll have no soldiers at all.”
She didn’t believe that. She refused.
“And what of her?” Berenice looked to the woman, whose hands shook beneath the weight of her babe. Her older boy tried to comfort her, wiping away her tears with the grubby hem of his tunic. He was naked underneath, but that didn’t seem to bother him. That made sense, she supposed. She recalled that Egyptian children of that age rarely wore clothes at all. His mother had probably only forced him into an outfit for this occasion.
Pieton laughed, a hacking sound at the back of his throat. “You think she cares what happens to these men? She cares only for some coin, and even if there is some grain of truth in her story—and trust me, it’s never more than a grain—she no doubt saw any molestation by the royal army as a stroke of luck. It’s well and good to take note of the common folk’s concerns, but don’t make too much of them.”
Berenice looked at the woman and her wounded child. The boy touched his bandage with tender fingers, as if to unstick the cloth from the oozing wound.
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