The October Horse by Colleen McCullough

the thin small mouth, the dented chin, the round Gallic face. It was all there, all perfectly preserved, though the slightly freckled skin had gone grey and leathery.
    “Who did this?” Caesar asked of Potheinus.
    “Why, we did, of course!” Theodotus cried, and looked impish, delighted with himself. “As I said to Potheinus, dead men do not bite. We have removed your enemy, great Caesar. In fact, we have removed two of your enemies! The day after this one came, the great Lentulus Crus arrived, so we killed him too. Though we didn't think you'd want to see his head.”
    Caesar rose without a word and strode to the door, opened it and snapped, “Fabius! Cornelius!”
    The two lictors entered immediately; only the rigorous training of years disciplined their reaction as they beheld the face of Pompey the Great, running natron.
    “A towel!” Caesar demanded of Theodotus, and took the head from the servant who held it. “Get me a towel! A purple one!”
    But it was Potheinus who moved, clicked his fingers at a bewildered slave. “You heard. A purple towel. At once.”
    Finally realizing that the great Caesar was not pleased, Theodotus gaped at him in astonishment. “But, Caesar, we have eliminated your enemy!” he cried. “Dead men do not bite.”
    Caesar spoke softly. “Keep your tongue between your teeth, you mincing pansy! What do you know of Rome or Romans? What kind of men are you, to do this?” He looked down at the dripping head, his eyes tearless. “Oh, Magnus, would that our destinies were reversed!” He turned to Potheinus. “Where is his body?”
    The damage was done; Potheinus decided to brazen it out. “I have no idea. It was left on the beach at Pelusium.”
    “Then find it, you castrated freak, or I'll tear Alexandria down around your empty scrotum! No wonder this place festers, when creatures like you run things! You don't deserve to live, either of you—nor does your puppet king! Tread softly, or count your days.”
    “I would remind you, Caesar, that you are our guest—and that you do not have sufficient troops with you to attack us.”
    “I am not your guest, I am your sovereign. Rome's Vestal Virgins still hold the will of the last legitimate king of Egypt, Ptolemy XI, and I hold the will of the late King Ptolemy XII,” Caesar said. “Therefore I will assume the reins of government until I have adjudicated in this present situation, and whatever I decide will be adhered to. Move my belongings to the guest palace, and bring my infantry ashore today. I want them in a good camp inside the city walls. Do you think I can't level Alexandria to the ground with what men I have? Think again!”
    The towel arrived, Tyrian purple. Fabius took it and spread it between his hands in a cradle. Caesar kissed Pompey's brow, then put the head in the towel and reverently wrapped it up. When Fabius went to take it, Caesar handed him the ivory rod of imperium instead.
    “No, I will carry him.” At the door he turned. “I want a small pyre constructed in the grounds outside the guest palace. I want frankincense and myrrh to fuel it. And find the body!”
    •      •      •
    He wept for hours, hugging the Tyrian purple bundle, and no one dared to disturb him. Finally Rufrius came bearing a lamp—it was very dark—to tell him that everything had been moved to the guest palace, so please would he come too? He had to help Caesar up as if he were an old man and guide his footsteps through the grounds, lit with oil lamps inside Alexandrian glass globes.
    “Oh, Rufrius! That it should have come to this!”
    “I know, Caesar. But there is a little good news. A man has arrived from Pelusium, Pompeius Magnus's freedman Philip. He has the ashes of the body, which he burned on the beach after the assassins rowed away. Because he carried Pompeius Magnus's purse, he was able to travel across the Delta very quickly.”
    So from Philip Caesar heard the full story of what had happened in Pelusium, and