Chapter XIII -- The Murder of Pompey the Great (continued)
Pompey dropped anchor in a shallow bay off Pelusium, on the north-eastern coast of Egypt, on September 28, 48 B.C. The next day he would celebrate his fifty-eighth birthday.
Maybe I'll feel differently in a few decades, but it sounds like Pompey has lived a rich, full life -- three years longer than Caesar, in fact.
Young Ptolemy XIII, no more than sixteen years of age, had been in conflict with his elder sister Cleopatra for the past few months, and he was camped here at Pelusium with an army of twenty thousand infantry and two thousand cavalry while Cleopatra camped in Syria to the north, trying to gather an army of her own around her.
And you thought you fought with your brothers and sisters -- imagine having armies at your command! I thought it was bad to give teens fast cars...
News of Pompey's defeat in Thessaly reached Ptolemy before Pompey did. Knowing that Pompey was on the run, and seeing his pitifully small fleet, the king's advisors decided to turn against Pompey to stay in Julius Caesar's favor.
Pompey's really getting kicked while he's down, isn't he? Show no fear; dogs can smell fear.
Looking up at Colonel Septimius opposite as the boat moved across the water, Pompey began to frown. The officer's face was beginning to look familiar. "Don't I know you, fellow soldier?" Pompey asked.
...
Behind them, Colonel Septimius drew his sword, stepped forward, and before any of Pompey's companions could prevent him, plunged it into the general. As Pompey fell forward, General Achillas and Centurion Salvius slid their swords from their scabbards and slit the throats of Pompey's centurions; then they, too, struck Pompey.
Sad.
A woman's scream echoed across the water -- Cornelia had witnessed it all.
It just gets worse.
Still alive, Pompey dragged his scarlet cloak over his head, so that his face was hidden from spectators in his dying moments.
I've never been dying at the hands of assassins, but covering my face to maintain my dignitas has never occurred to me as a priority.
As Pompey's two servants watched in terror, Colonel Septimius then stepped up, and wielding his sword like an ax, severed Pompey's head with several blows. Reaching down with his left hand, he grabbed a handful of his victim's graying hair and lifted the head up for those on shore to see.
Again, it just gets worse.
After a throng of Egyptians had insulted the remains, Philip, his secretary, was left on the beach with his master's naked, bloody corpse.
Why the intense hatred? The Egyptians don't simply eliminate Pompey; they tear off his head and "insult" his body. Even Pompey's avowed enemy, Caesar, doesn't want that.