After those foreign visitors departed,
the King my father seemed somewhat fainthearted.
Like me, he was disturbed by those men's news---
some star foretold a young King of the Jews
had been born recently in Israel.
(We can deal with this treason fairly well;
and hopefully squelch questions here at home
before they have a consequence in Rome.)
But something else struck him about those three.
He spoke about a Prince called Ptolemy
Kaisarion, Queen Cleopatra's son
by Caesar, who was stabbed; to Antony,
a stepson, hated by Octavian
(proud Antony, dead by his own, fierce hand).
Two others, famous for their poetry:
one---carried off of Caesar's flagship---died
ashore (Brundisium) mysteriously;
the other poet, and a suicide,
took his own life (Octavian's command).
These (each of whom the King my father met
at some time in his long career, nor yet
forgot) stood right before him, having aged,
but still entirely recognizable.
This was no stunt some comic clown had staged.
Each one could cause severe, formidable
disruption to Roman commerce and power.
What if the Enperor, Augustus, (he
who once was called Octavian) now thought
that these bogus Magi had slyly brought
my father into some conspiracy?
That would accelerate his final hour.
Better swift action, taken locally
right now: such an expedient solution,
a single night's work, will bring the conclusion,
and lose the truth in buried secrecy.
The record will reflect our loyalty.
Starward
[jlc]