Song Of The Nile Part 11

"When your old king bequeathed his kingdom to Rome," Balbus replied.

"Then learn our ways like a good steward," Maysar argued. "We graze our animals on the lowlands-"

"You graze them in my fields where my slaves are trying to grow crops!"

"After the harvest, what fool objects?" Maysar asked, an enormous sword swaying at his belt. "When we take our animals to the highlands, the farmers are free to grow whatever they want. Farmers sell us grain, we sell them meat, and everyone is happy. We've been doing this long before any Roman stepped foot here."

Seeing that Juba was locked in conversation with the aqueduct engineers and didn't sense the trouble, I hurried between the men just in time to stop a red-faced Balbus from making some bl.u.s.tery retort. At my approach, he checked himself and made a correct bow, which every Roman considered a trial. The Berbers also bowed, the tinkling of their jewelry a pleasant sound as they rose back up again. "I'm so honored that you all came to celebrate the Saturnalia," I said, and knowing that Tala's brother had lost his wife to illness, I reached for his hands. "Maysar, I hope we can share in your joy for the new year as we shared your sorrows in the one past." In Egypt, where it was forbidden for strangers to touch the royal family, no queen would do this. But the Berbers might not come to love me if I held myself apart and I wanted them to love me. I needed them to love me. I'd learned from Cleopatra, Antony, and Augustus; I knew how important it was.

Maysar clasped my hands briefly, his eyes dropping in grief, and then he pressed the palm of his hand over his heart. "Come celebrate with us, Majesty."

I sat with the Berbers, listening to their stories. They were very polite and fiercely independent and generous with their praise when they learned that they were to keep their silver plate as a gift. Still, I sensed in them a tension that not even the rain or the freely flowing wine could dilute. It all came to a head when talk turned to the Garamantes. Balbus's nose was redder than usual and I suspected he was deep into his wine. "Mauretania must raise troops to fight," he said to Juba. "We can squeeze the Garamantes raiders between our soldiers and the ones in Africa Nova."

"We?" Maysar interrupted. "Will your sons fight or do you mean that the sons of Berbers should fight?"

The Romans prided themselves on enrolling their own sons in the legions, so I didn't think it was a fair critique. Moreover, we'd need to raise native Mauretanian troops, Garamantes or no; we couldn't rely upon Roman legions forever.

"Afraid of fighting, are you?" Balbus asked hotly. "The Garamantes refuse to acknowledge Juba as king. Your own brother-in-law was killed during a raid. If you don't want war with them, you're a coward."

"Coward?" Maysar was on his feet, and several other men rose with him. Then everyone started to speak at once and I had trouble following the argument.

"We avenged my tribesmen, then made peace-"

"You have no authority to make agreements-"

"The Garamantes aren't trustworthy-"

"Enough!" Juba shouted. My husband so seldom raised his voice that it silenced the room. Then the king waited for all eyes to settle upon him as he took a sip of wine to fortify himself. "We're building a kingdom. If there is to be Mauretanian independence, we must negotiate peace together, and if that fails, we must fight together too. Berbers and Romans, together."

This didn't go down easy. The chieftains grumbled their dissent, but Maysar suggested, "King Juba, son of Juba, perhaps we can send an envoy to the Garamantes to negotiate peace. I will go."

"It's too late," Juba said flatly. "The Garamantes have killed Roman citizens. They must pay for it in blood."

These weren't Juba's words, I knew. He was repeating something he must have heard from Balbus or one of the veterans, or perhaps even from one of the dispatches he received from Rome. Worse, I didn't know that he was wrong. I doubted that my mother would have dealt peacefully with raiders. War was an evil but perhaps, sometimes, a necessary one.

"If we raise a Mauretanian army for war with the Garamantes," Maysar ventured, "who will lead these troops?"

"Lucius Cornelius will lead our army," Juba said, and Balbus's expression was smug. Oh, how I wished the king hadn't made this announcement. Not here. Not now. The tribesmen were furious. Several slammed down their cups and others stood to leave. Some muttered curses and I knew enough of their language now to recognize it. Juba did too and tried to explain himself. "Balbus will be able to take a tribal cavalry and create an effective auxiliary force for the Roman legions."

"So much for the independence of Mauretania," Maysar said, spinning on his heel so that his burnoose swirled around him. Then he stormed out of the banquet.

I chased the widowed Berber chieftain down the long pillared corridor. My running steps were most undignified but entirely necessary, and the disquieting looks of the servants would have to be endured. "Maysar, wait!"

When I caught up, Maysar growled, "We thought this king would be different. But Juba is worse than a Roman. He's a changeling. He's a creature of Rome sent to defile our sacred lands. And though my sister praises you, you're just another Roman wife."

"I'm no Roman wife!" I cried, deeply offended. "I'm an Egyptian. A Ptolemy. I'm Cleopatra's daughter. There's no one who knows better than I do how the Romans destroy and defile sacred lands."

Now he stopped, his eyes snapping to mine. "There it is, madam. You're an Egyptian. Mauretania is but a sojourn for you. I've heard the talk of your haughty Alexandrian contingent. It's only a matter of time before you're restored to Egypt, they say. Then what's to become of us?"

"I'll still be your queen," I said, though I couldn't be sure of it.

He turned in the torchlight so that the hint of blue dye on his skin seemed like a menacing shadow. "Now you're going to give me honeyed words about how the Romans are only here to help us . . ."

"The Romans are here to steal from you," I said, and since he looked taken aback by my bluntness, I pressed on. "They have a voracious appet.i.te that can never be filled. Even now, they're gorging themselves on Egypt. I hope they choke on it."

Maysar's hazel eyes narrowed, the weathered lines of his warrior's face tightening, wary of a trap. "You're here to stop them?"

"I can't stop them," I admitted. Deciding then and there, I said, "But I mean to ensure that for every single thing the Romans take from you, they give something back. Right now, all you see is this palace and a harbor for Rome, but it's only the start. With Roman money, we'll build roads to connect the cities and villages. We'll build aqueducts to carry water into the desert. We'll build markets in which every Berber can profit. We'll build an army, using what the Romans have taught us about fighting so that-"

"So that we become just like them," Maysar interrupted.

I clasped my hands, searching for the words to explain. "Rome is triumphant now, she's ascendant, but things change. Fate turns. In the hills and the desert, the Berbers have always bided their time. As your sister is fond of pointing out to me, the Phoenicians who built their Carthaginian Empire on these lands are gone, but the Berbers are still here. Aren't you strong enough to outlast the Romans?"

I saw the hint of a smile. "The king feels this way too?"

"The king is ill advised," I said carefully, not wanting to do more damage to Juba's reputation. "That's why I can't let you stalk off into the night. That's why you must stay. Serve as an adviser to me and to the king as well."

"And serve with that swine-faced Balbus? Never. My honor would never endure it."

He stared at me, waiting for a gesture of dismissal. I almost gave him leave to go. Then I changed my mind. "For four years I lived with the man who destroyed my family. I ate with him, shared his wine, and played a kithara harp to entertain him. For the good of all that I cherished, I endured it. You're a chieftain. For the sake of Mauretania, can't you tolerate Balbus?"

"No," he said, slowly, then showed me his teeth. "But I'll join your council and enjoy forcing Balbus to tolerate me."

Fifteen.

WINTER was always quiet in Mauretania. To the southwest, winter snows crowned the Atlas Mountains, but here on the coast cypress, juniper, and aloe still covered the world in a green mantle. The almond trees were bare, but sun-drenched flowers bloomed in pots and the warm breeze that stiffened the banners over our palace carried a light perfume. We received few guests and even fewer letters. No more orders from Rome about the maps we must make, the aqueducts we must build, the grain we must send. Until the sea opened again, we were free to spend our efforts building the palace.

I hoped it would be the envy of every monarch in the empire. Bright and luxurious, it would be a reproduction of the home I'd left in Egypt. Carved marble niches waited with high arrogant brows, as if they knew Juba would acquire only the best artwork for them. Terraced gardens and brilliant mosaic floors-all inlaid with translucent gla.s.s tiles of green and blue-gave way to airy pa.s.sageways. Draperies in the terrace doorways swished with every sea breeze, and though rain-fed fountains sprayed with fanfare in the entryway, there were more placid blue pools too.

I couldn't build a temple to Isis, but even Juba allowed that I must not be faulted for a private shrine to my G.o.ddess. If the Romans could house their lares and penates in the storeroom, I could build a private enclosure in my rooms for Isis as the patroness of my reign. Therefore, I oversaw workmen as they installed an alabaster altar with niches for burning candles or sacred herbs. Painters gave life to my G.o.ddess in bright green, red, and yellow-depicting her in the Egyptian style, with wings, an ankh in one hand, and wearing a headdress shaped like a throne. I swelled with pride to see it. If Isis lived in me, I was bringing her back home to Africa, step by step.

Meanwhile, Juba's Roman advisers now treated me with a modic.u.m of respect. This may have been because I now looked more like a woman and less like a girl. It may have been because I was a mother. Or perhaps it was because Juba made no objection when I stated my intention to attend the council meetings.

Like all the greatest leaders, my family embraced the h.e.l.lenistic ideal of harmonia, a concept of community and cooperation. Tolerance for cultural differences. A goal of partnership between different peoples from all walks of life. This is why Juba had invoked my name to a.s.sure the Mauretanians that they'd be well ruled. Now I hoped to make good on that unspoken promise. I arrived early at the council chambers, ascending the stairs of the marble dais to my pearl-studded chair. It was smaller than Juba's, dwarfed by his golden throne, but mine had history, and I liked it. I thought Isis would have liked it too. I never forgot that Isis was the throne upon which I sat. It was by her providence and with her love that I must learn to rule.

The counselors arrived in groups, bowing to me as they found their seats. Some wore elaborate Roman togas draped over their arms. Some wore traditional Greek himations. One wore an unfashionable brown gown, for I'd invited Lady Lasthenia, and her presence here irritated the men almost as much as mine did. When Euphronius took his seat wearing stark white robes, more than a few of Juba's advisers raised their eyebrows. Still, none of them complained openly until Maysar strode into the chambers, his bright Berber garments sweeping the floor behind him.

Balbus drew his brows together, muttering something to his companions that I couldn't hear, and a general murmur of disapproval was cut off by the announcement of the king. Before Juba could settle onto the cushion of his throne or call our meeting to order, Balbus was on his feet, one finger pointed directly at the Berber chieftain. "What is he doing here?"

I gave Balbus my most charming smile. "Lucius Cornelius, thank you for giving me the opportunity to introduce our newest councilor, Maysar of the Gaetuli. He's here at my invitation."

My charm was clearly lost on Balbus, who turned to Juba. "Gaius Julius Juba, isn't it enough that we have to endure the queen in our council but also foreigners, most of whom aren't even citizens?" His fellow Romans thumped their feet in agreement and Maysar tensed, hand on the hilt of his sword. I didn't turn to look at Juba but sensed his alarm at this sudden mutiny. Balbus squared his shoulders, encouraged by the other Romans. "Why should we welcome a barbarian?"

My lips parted to answer, but I wasn't the first one to speak.

"Why should you?" Juba asked, voice steady and clear. "Because we say so."

If Juba's words surprised me, they positively stunned Balbus. Juba had used the royal we, and it seemed to remind Balbus that he stood before a sovereign king. "Majesty, I urge you to reconsider."

Juba's long arms stretched at his sides, tendons tight. "Lucius Cornelius, my wife and I were both raised within the household of Augustus himself, who set us here in the highest authority with his full confidence. You may trust in our decisions and you will remember yourself."

Juba and I were unlike any other client monarchs in the Roman world. We didn't have to send amba.s.sadors to treat with Augustus, nor await intermediaries to express his will. Outside of Agrippa and Maecenas, there was no man within the emperor's circle trusted more than Juba. Balbus knew it, and though he bl.u.s.tered on a few more moments, he eventually took his place, brooding silently.

What we discussed that day I cannot now recall, though I'm sure it had something to do with raising troops to secure the frontier against the Garamantes. I only remember that Juba and I left the chamber together, and everyone stood until we were gone.

On the terrace at this end of the palace, the mist of ocean spray sometimes wet the tiles and made them slick, so Juba offered me his arm and I took it. "Thank you," I said as we walked. "It means a great deal to me that you supported Maysar . . . and me."

Juba drew me closer, but said, "I didn't do it to please either of you. I can't have men like Balbus test me and find me wanting."

I agreed. "He's ambitious and hard to manage."

"Somehow he's easier to manage than my wife." Juba's tone was lighthearted, an amused tilt to his lips. I didn't expect that. I wanted to read his thoughts, feel his emotions, but he wasn't my other half. He was, and would always be, in some part, a stranger. "Selene, I'm told that other men's wives concern themselves chiefly with their households and the gentler arts."

"I'm not one of those wives," I replied, encouraged when Juba didn't scowl. "And though you might deny it, I suspect you wouldn't be happy if I were. Perhaps we ought to encourage Balbus to find his glory elsewhere. There are opportunities for advancement in Africa Nova."

Juba shrugged off my suggestion. "I'm going to ride, Selene. Why don't you come with me?"

As I could think of no good reason to refuse, I accompanied him to the stables. He chose a white horse for me-one of an ancient, all-but-extinct breed with gray stripes on its legs. Taking our mounts down the road, I urged my horse to step clear of rain puddles. Memnon and a few of our guards rode behind us. When it came to horses, Juba was a native son. While I struggled to stay astride, Juba coaxed his horse into an easy gallop past some Berber washerwomen who were too slow to give way to our royal entourage. A spatter of mud doused the oldest woman amongst them, and when she turned to see that it was the king who had splashed her, she cried, "You Romans make a mess of everything!"

At that, Juba wheeled his horse around. "What is the trouble?"

She splayed her dirtied gown so we could all see it. "You're the trouble, Majesty. Look what you've done! You and your muddy hooves."

"Madam," Juba sputtered, hand on his heart. "Do you take me for a centaur?"

We all broke into uproarious laughter. Me, Juba, the guards, and even the mud-spattered woman. We gave her some coins for her trouble then rode to the sh.o.r.e where the rocks at last gave way to the sandy beach. "A centaur!" I cried, bursting into a fresh round of laughter. "You knew what she meant."

Juba stopped his horse, leaning forward. "Yes, but I wanted to make you merry."

As always when Juba wanted to please me, I was guarded. "What makes you merry, Juba?"

"Not much these days." He looked away, his gaze on the mountains to the south. "I've sent expeditions into the wilds, but I think I'd like to see more myself. Once things are more established here, I'd like to take a journey."

He often boasted that he'd been given back his patrimony, but his father's cities remained in Roman hands; I wondered if he longed for home as I longed for Egypt. "Will you journey to Numidia?"

"No. I want to explore the interior of Mauretania. To see the lions and the elephants and find-Selene, you oughtn't let him do that."

I'd been too lax with my horse, who stretched his neck to bother a sh.e.l.l in the surf. It was some manner of sea snail, and the horse was pawing at it, and nipping with his teeth. "Is the snail poisonous?"

"No, but look at the pink froth on your mount's lips. If left in the sun, it might stain him purple."

"Purple?" I asked, suddenly alert. "Is that snail a murex?" And when Juba nodded, I realized that my horse was worrying the tiny creature that created the most expensive dye in the world. "Here?"

"Don't get too excited . . . There's a dye works in Numidia, in Chullu, but its purple is considered inferior to the Tyrian, the recipe for which is a closely guarded secret."

Other spiny sh.e.l.ls littered the beach, albeit without live inhabitants, and I dismounted to gather some. Juba climbed down from his horse and collected a few sh.e.l.ls himself. They were golden in color and whorled at the end with a low spire. Smaller than the kind children put to their ears to hear the ocean inside. In the russet sunset, Juba and I walked together on the pebbles that had washed ash.o.r.e, their once-angry edges washed smooth by the waters of Mauretania.

WHEN I returned to the palace with a handful of sh.e.l.ls, Chryssa h.o.a.rded them like gold. "You said we must make ourselves rich! This is how we can do it."

"Juba says that the Tyrian purple can't be reproduced. We'll never be able to make the same shade."

"Only a Greek would know the difference," Chryssa argued. "To the barbarians, purple is purple!"

I might have debated the point, but I was distracted by my daughter's cries. Tala tried giving her a damp cloth and a wooden ring to teethe on, but it hadn't helped her pain, and near my wits' end, I called for Euphronius. When he entered the nursery, I asked, "Can you stop my daughter's tears?"

Euphronius lifted Isidora from her cradle, handling my child like the precious jewel she was. "Her gums hurt. It's natural for her to cry. These things are always more difficult for the mother than the babe."

"But she's suffering," I said, feeling guilty for having been away from her for most of the day.

"I could give her a pinch of white willow bark powder, but there may be a spell . . ." He took his finger and rubbed it slowly on her lips, letting her gnaw him as she was wont to do.

Tala tutted. "Old man, how can we teach her not to bite when you encourage her?"

"Hush, Tala," I said. Like a cat senses an intruder, I felt the heka as the old mage whispered some words in the ancient language. The scent of magic was in the air. Then Isidora hiccuped through her tears, and calmed.

"That's our little princess," Euphronius cooed, lowering her back down in her cradle, utterly spent. He sweated and panted as if he'd made the run to Marathon. Then all at once, my mage keeled forward, collapsing to one knee.

"What ails you?" I asked, rushing to help him up.

Euphronius got to his feet only with difficulty, abashed. "I'm old. It's an ailment of its own."

I could never remember a time when the priest of Isis had not been old. He'd been old when he was our tutor, old when we were taken by the Romans, and older still when he urged us to run away from Augustus. Isiac priests and priestesses lived long lives and I never thought that he'd be an exception. He never ate the flesh of animals. He subsisted on fruits and vegetables, breads, cheeses, and nuts. He took bracing baths and long meditative walks. He'd always seemed hearty and hale until recently. "Is it heka sickness? Did you forget to do as you instructed me and make a channel for it to flow away?"

Euphronius shook his head. "It's like squeezing blood from a stone, Majesty. I have very little heka left inside me."

"Then visit the Temple of Tanit and be replenished," I said, wondering if he'd lost his wits.

"Majesty, I am not like you. I'm a priest of Egypt and Isis doesn't come to me in every incarnation. Besides, there is little heka left in that temple. Like tears into a well, it takes many before there's a bucket full. What magic was there now resides inside you."

In this moment, I realized how much it cost Euphronious to be here with me. He could have remained in Egypt, where he was still revered. Instead, he'd followed me to a land where he didn't even have a temple in which he could worship. He'd borne my resentment and coldness for more than a year now, keeping his eyes low and never speaking in my presence unless I spoke to him first. He'd waited upon my every whim without complaint and spent what little magic he had upon my simple request for my daughter. "Forgive me," I said, shamed for the way I'd been treating him. "My mother once said your loyalty was worth more than all the gold in the world. I haven't valued you as I should."

The old man faltered, a tremor in his lower lip. "I'm of no value, Majesty. I've led everyone I've loved to ruin. I know that it's only because of your generosity and sentimental heart that you haven't banished me. I've made too many mistakes in trying to guide you."

"I've made mistakes too," I said, my chest squeezing with emotion. "Too many to count. One of them has been to deny that you're dear to me."

Tears shone in his eyes. "I'd give my life for you, Majesty. You and Philadelphus and this little princess . . ."

People said these things to monarchs. They promised their loyalty and their lives. Yet I knew that Euphronius meant every word. "I'm a most fortunate queen. Can't . . . can't I give you some of my heka?"

"Majesty, queens use magic as mothers must, to feed the people and to defend them. Not to murmur little healing spells or help old mages. Remember, the magic inside you came at a costly price."