Song Of The Nile Part 12

"Soon my private shrine to Isis will be complete and you can worship here in the palace. But one day, I'll build a temple of Isis. Here, in Mauretania."

"There's no need," Euphronius replied. "For I've foreseen that you'll leave this place soon."

WHEN the first ships arrived that spring, my royal entourage was moored in the marketplace near the stall of rug merchants because Chryssa insisted on interrogating them about dye making. She'd already learned that the Gaetulian tribes manufactured purple long ago. I remained dubious that such an industry were even possible. Given the words of the rug merchant, however, I was starting to wonder. "We need two kinds of snails. We have snails with red dye in Mauretania too. Perhaps not the same as in Tyre, but it's a good fast-setting dye that deepens over time. Yet what good is this to us? We have no Roman senators to wear the purple stripe on their togas."

And if I had my way, we never would.

"Majesty," a courier called for me in the crowd. "You're needed at the palace. A dispatch from Augustus awaits you!"

My blood ran cold. Juba regularly received instructions from Rome, but I'd received only silence. It would be bad news, I thought as we hurried back to the palace. Perhaps something had happened to Philadelphus . . .

"Get the queen something to drink," Chryssa snapped at a servant girl when we burst into my apartments. "She's deathly pale."

"I don't think I can read it," I said, handing the emperor's missive to Euphronius.

He broke the wax seal, read the contents, and announced, "The emperor is gravely ill."

My shoulders sagged in relief. "The emperor is always ill. How many times has he thrown Rome into a panic?"

"There's more," Euphronius continued, breathless. "You're summoned to Rome. You and your daughter both. Augustus says that he wants to make peace with you before he dies."

I clutched the arms of my chair, realizing how glad I'd been for the ocean separating me from the emperor. Chryssa hugged herself, her posture an echo of my inner torment. To see Augustus, to be at his mercy again . . . "I won't go, and if I must go, I won't take Isidora with me. She's not even a year old!"

"Majesty," Euphronius said, his voice moderated to soothe me. "Have you considered that the emperor may wish to restore you to the throne of Egypt?"

It could happen like that. On his deathbed. A grand dying gesture, like in all of the emperor's favorite plays. On the other hand, he could execute me. That would also be a dramatic end. Augustus thought he'd rid himself of Helios. Now he only had to do away with Philadelphus, me, and my daughter to make an end of the Ptolemies. But my deeper instincts told me this wasn't his intent. The Romans had rules for how to do away with foreign monarchs-even the ones they created-and Augustus loved to be seen following the rules. "You must be right, Euphronius. He must plan to restore me to Egypt, and my daughter after me. Is that what you've foreseen?"

"I've seen only possibilities, Majesty. Not certainties. The Rivers of Time show all possible futures. In some currents, Augustus restores you to Egypt. I just can't be sure if our River of Time flows in that direction."

In spite of this, I dared to hope. As Queen of Egypt, I could make a place for Helios. I could rebuild Thebes and unite North Africa, and revive the worship of Isis. But first I had to return to Rome.

Sixteen.

CHRYSSA insisted on packing my trunks for the journey, gathering up combs, polished mirrors, and pots of cosmetics while I dithered over which gowns to take. When I dismissed her to pack her own things, I caught a fleeting look of anxiety that she sought to hide from me. I remembered how she'd never wanted to return to Rome and how sick she'd been on the ship. "Chryssa, if you want to stay in Mauretania, you can stay."

She snapped my strongbox shut. "I belong to you. Where you go, I must follow."

A shaft of sunlight cut through the open terrace doors, illuminating the fabric that curtained my luxurious bed, a bed that would find no equal in Rome. I wanted her with me, but I wouldn't force her. "I'll need someone to stay here with Euphronius. King Juba seems fond of him, and he can look after my interests in the royal council, but I need someone to see that my estates are well managed. To watch over my treasures."

"I can't let you face the emperor alone," she said quietly. "Besides, who would rea.s.sure my sister that I'm happy here? Who will make sure that Phoebe is well?"

"I will," I told her. "You needn't return with me, Chryssa. I won't be there long."

She gave me a sidelong glance as if to test my resolve. "Who would tend to your hair and clothing?"

"I'll take Tala with me. She's been a good nurse to Isidora. I've come to rely upon her."

Chryssa scoffed. "You can't trust that Berber woman to make you look like the Queen of Egypt."

I'd been called the Queen of Egypt more times in the past few days than in all the years before, and I worried it would tempt the fates. "We'll manage without you, Chryssa. It isn't certain that Augustus means to restore my mother's throne to me. Even if he intended to do it, he's very ill. He might be dead before I even arrive in Rome."

Her chest rising and falling with emotion, she dared a glance at me. "Isis, forgive me, I wish he already were."

ON the morning of my departure, Juba was drunk. Frightfully drunk. Though he had a reputation for being a mild-mannered king, today he was snappish, hurling a finely wrought gla.s.s pitcher after a slave boy who displeased him. It had been a rare piece, but Juba didn't seem to care, and he forbade anyone to sweep up the shards. Stepping over the mess, I found him staring out over the harbor where my baggage was being loaded onto the ship. His long body slumped so far over the bal.u.s.trade that I worried he might fall. When he saw me, he rose back up and took another gulp from his goblet, then let it fall. It rolled off the marble edge of the terrace to tumble down the rocks to the sea. "Vale, Selene. Farewell to you and tell Augustus that everything I've done is for his vision of peace, for his glory, and his Golden Age . . . Through all things, I shall always honor him."

I'd never thought to feel pity for Juba, but the pain in his eyes rendered me speechless. In his way, Juba had always been the devoted son the emperor wished for, a son completely blind to his faults. Juba loved Augustus and everything my husband did, every stroke of his pen, every slash of his sword, and every breath he took, was a plea for the emperor's approval and acceptance. And yet on his deathbed, Augustus hadn't summoned Juba. He'd summoned me.

Wishing to say something, do something, to ease Juba's pain, I reached for his cheek, but he stopped my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "He'll want to see his child. Of course he will. It only makes sense."

"Isidora isn't the emperor's child. She's mine."

It was so often our habit to speak past one another that he went on as if he hadn't heard me. "The divine Julius summoned your mother to Rome. Now another Caesar calls for another Cleopatra to join him. And you look so pretty, flush with young motherhood, perfect for the part."

"You're terribly drunk," I said, inhaling the wine on his breath. "You're going to be sick in the morning."

"I'm already sick. I wonder if your mother's Egyptian husbands felt this way. Her brothers. She married them, but it was Caesar she wanted. You've made a brother of me. You've come to think of me like that, haven't you?"

Oh, irony. He thought it was the emperor that stood between us, but it was Helios. It had always been Helios. Still, I didn't like to see Juba in pain and regretted being any part of its cause. "Juba . . . I've come to think of you as a king."

"But not your king." For a moment, I thought Juba might ask me to delay the trip, but I couldn't have stayed. I had a daughter to think of now. A daughter with a proud ancestry who had only me to champion her. I'd stop at nothing to claim our right to Egypt now. Not for Juba or anyone else.

THE winds were against us. In the sleek-oared galley I'd hired to speed us on our way, it still took us much longer to return to Rome than it had taken to leave. Waiting to spot land, my future seemed as fathomless as the blue sea. I didn't know what awaited me; I didn't even know if the emperor would still be alive when we anch.o.r.ed at port. I only knew that if there were any opportunity of winning Egypt, I must seize it.

Our captain spoke Greek, wore an Egyptian amulet at his throat, and introduced himself as Kabyle, which was a Berber name. Memnon a.s.sured me that the skipper was of good reputation, and a few days into the trip Captain Kabyle called upon me in my berth, which had been his. Tala kept near, clutching her babe and mine.

"Captain Kabyle," I said by way of greeting. "You wear an ankh. Are you an Isiac?"

"Isn't every sailor, Majesty?" I suppose he had a point. Once, the seas had belonged to Poseidon and Neptune, but those G.o.ds seemed to offer only a watery death to those they despised, whereas Isis offered the magic of good winds and salvation of souls. It was the sailors who spread her worship, and every sailing season was marked by a festival in her honor, the Navigium Isidis. But I quickly gathered that the captain hadn't called upon me to discuss a fellowship of faith. His stance was tense, his tone firm. "You and your women need to get belowdecks with the rowers."

Over his shoulder, through the open curtain, he barked something to an officer, and I thought I heard the word pirates. I stood and Tala followed me, clutching both children. We'd scarcely taken a few steps onto the deck before I spotted three black ships in our wake. "Are you sure they're pirates?" I asked, my pulse quickening. It hardly seemed possible. Hadn't Augustus boasted that he'd smashed the forces of s.e.xtus Pompey and rid the world of piracy? "There must be a thousand ships that use these shipping lanes."

"And some of them are pirates, Majesty," the captain explained. "They travel together and it's a lean year. There'll be famine in Rome and they know it. If they can seize a ship filled with grain, they can demand a steep price."

"But this isn't a grain ship," I said as the sail snapped and the ship turned sharply at the captain's orders.

"They don't know that, Majesty, and royal hostages are valuable for ransom. Please go belowdecks with the rowers."

Ransom. For the love of Isis, what would become of my daughter and me if we were seized for ransom? Would Juba pay? Would the emperor? My bodyguards tried to hurry me belowdecks as the captain had commanded, but I couldn't make myself move, and Memnon looked ready to carry me off on his shoulder.

"Row!" the captain shouted as the ship bucked over the waves. "Row harder!"

The pirate ships gained on us, and as the ocean spray swept over the deck I wondered how long we could flee, how long before our oarsmen tired. It was Isidora's cry that finally roused me to action. I pried her from Tala's arms.

"We aren't going to outrun them," the Berber woman cried, and I could see that she was right. Our panicked rowers had lost their rhythm, oars wild, the ocean frothing beneath us. As our pursuers closed in, I could see the pirates themselves, hard-looking men. A grappling hook landed on our deck, but it wasn't encased in metal the way that Admiral Agrippa's always were, and the sailors quickly cut the line.

"Majesty, we're going to be taken," Memnon said, grimly drawing his blade. "But it will cost them dearly."

No. We weren't going to be taken. I'd been taken from Egypt and taken by the emperor, but I would never be taken again. I cursed myself for being too proud to learn from Euphronius. Holding Isidora in one arm, it was instinct alone that made me raise my free hand, palm toward our outstretched sail. "In the name of Isis," I chanted, drawing from the well of heka inside me, and the magic leapt to my command. In Egypt, my G.o.ddess is painted with colored wings. She's Isis, she's Hathor, she's Ma'at. Now, like a bird in flight, I heard her flapping wings as a dry gust of air swirled over the birthmark on my arm, then blew clean from my fingertips. Up, up into the sky it went. I tasted sand on my tongue and the scents of the desert filled my nostrils. I'd swallowed the sirocco and now breathed some of it out again, careful not to let it ravage me or topple our craft.

The winds coalesced above us, and I released the heka at their core, willing them to blow into our sail. The ship rocked forward with sudden force and I clutched Isidora, who wailed in fear. I wanted to hush her, to tell her that my winds would carry us to safety, but with my hair whipping round my face I could barely hear my own thoughts. Then a huzzah went up from everyone as we broke away from the pirate pack, our sail full.

The distance between us and the pirates opened to a wide expanse of ocean. But I was in a fury that these men put us in danger. There was more wind inside me. There was a whole storm. If I could use it to speed our ship over these waters, surely I could use it to swamp the pirate ships and send them to the bottom of the sea. I summoned another breath, the smoky grit of wrath inside my mouth. "Majesty," Tala said, her eyes narrowed. "We're away now . . . we're away."

She was right. I didn't have to harm the pirates; I just wanted to. I trembled with the effort to restrain myself, but Isis had given me this power. I couldn't dishonor her by using it in vengeance. There' d be justice for these pirates, I told myself. In this life or the next.

When I lowered my arm, one of the sailors said, "Sweet Isis, it was the queen that saved us!"

"Sorceress," someone else muttered in fear.

The Alexandrians aboard rejoiced in it. "Yes. Sorceress! She's the Sorceress of the Nile. Cleopatra Selene is the New Isis!"

Seventeen.

ITALIAN PENINSULA.

SPRING 23 B.C.

WE docked in Ostia in the morning and sent a rider ahead of us. No sooner did we come ash.o.r.e than we heard the gossip of the citizenry as they muttered blackly about the emperor's health. Mourners wailed at the foot of one of his statues, claiming that he'd perished. I saw in their faces a collective fear that the civil wars would begin again and Roman blood would flow. Memnon commandeered the first carriage for hire and we set off straight away down the Via Ostiensis. Unaware of the danger, my daughter was delighted by the jostling of the coach as we raced down the road under umbrella pines. She giggled while Tala hushed her son, Ziri, and worried at the blue creases of her hands. "I'll look so strange to them."

"You won't shock the Romans," I said absently. "The more exotic you are, the more prestigious you'll make me seem."

Meanwhile, my thoughts raced ahead of our carriage. What if the emperor really was dead? Would I grieve? Should I grieve? I pushed these thoughts away and tried to guess where the power would go. I'd be fortunate if Marcellus became the next great man in Rome with his wife, Julia, at his side. I might be restored to Egypt yet.

It was dark by the time we reached the gates of Rome, and as we made our way up the Palatine Hill, I felt my chest tighten. I'd never wanted to return, but here I was. The guards at the gate knew me, and the imperial family came flying out into the torch-lit night. I scarcely recognized Philadelphus. He was almost thirteen now, no longer the baby brother I'd left behind, but he threw his arms around me, crying, "Selene!"

I was so happy to see him, so eager to hold him against me, that I went weak in the knees. Julia was next to greet me, dressed in a fashionable gown and dripping with jewels. She was attended by a group of ladies, including Chryssa's sister, Phoebe, who scurried after her mistress to no avail. The emperor's daughter embraced me with such wild abandon that several curls escaped her complicated hairstyle and her bright yellow palla slipped from her slender shoulders to the ground.

"Oh, Julia," I said, reaching for her. "Is your father . . . is he . . . ?"

"He lives," she said, her eyes filled with tears. "But for how long? They say I'll be First Woman in Rome, and yet . . ." She suddenly laughed through her tears. "Just look at us. You still found a way to outshine me as a glamorous queen all covered in pearls. Let's see this daughter you've already managed to have for Juba."

Little Isidora emerged from the carriage to a chorus of gasps and sighs. "Oh, just look at your beautiful baby girl," Lady Octavia gushed, taking my child from Tala. I thought it might pain me to see my child in Octavia's fleshy arms, those same arms that had claimed my mother's children as her own. But my daughter would never know her true grandmother. Octavia was the closest thing. "Selene, she's as precious a child as anyone could ask for. Let's get her inside and out of the night air!"

In spite of the strange warmth of this homecoming, this wasn't a happy time in the imperial household. When we went inside, the slaves were huddled in corners, fear and uncertainty in their eyes. Livia was pale and distraught, her hair unkempt, and if I believed she was capable of shedding tears, I'd have sworn she'd been crying. "He's waiting for you, Selene."

It almost gratified me to see her like this, but even a humbled Livia unnerved me. "I'll call upon him in the morning."

"He may not have that long!" Livia snapped, and I was immediately brought back to the night she'd taken me to him. But there was no look of triumph on her face now. She'd been wrong about everything. She'd delivered me to her husband's bed, all to no advantage. If Augustus died now, she'd lose everything and it would serve her right.

"Please, Selene," Octavia said, her own expression grave. "My brother is so very ill. He's asking for you. You should go to him while the slaves unpack your belongings."

"We can't stay here," I said, regretting the way Octavia's face fell at my words. She'd missed me, that was plain, but I couldn't lodge in my old childhood room. "I have retainers and no king or queen may properly reside within the sacred boundaries of Rome. I'll take a house outside the pomerium."

This appeal to old Roman values softened the blow. Octavia nodded. "Of course. It's good of you to remember our laws."

"You taught me well," I replied, giving her hand a squeeze and hoping she understood that I was entrusting the safety of my daughter to her. I kissed Isidora's forehead, then, leaving my guards behind, I made my way to the emperor's rooms at the top of the stairs.

In the outer chamber, Admiral Agrippa sat with his big arms folded over his chest, jaw clenched, eyes focused somewhere far away. Marcellus was there too, and he brightened to see me, as if I'd alleviated some tension in the room.

Agrippa stood with stiff formality. "You had good speed on the seas, Selene. I was afraid you wouldn't make it . . ."

"Is he really that sick?" I asked, for it wasn't beyond Augustus to feign illness.

"Musa says he's suffering," Agrippa said mournfully. Antonius Musa was the emperor's physician, one of my father's freedmen, and the finest doctor in Rome. His word carried much weight and I heard myself sigh with pity. After all the emperor had done, didn't he deserve to suffer? And yet maybe calling me to his bedside was evidence of remorse. Of regret. Why else would he say that he wanted to make peace with me?

I found that I was trembling. Marcellus took this for a chill, and gallantly removed his cloak, spreading it on my shoulders. "Selene, Musa says the time may be short. That's why Augustus called for us. You, me, Agrippa, and Piso."

"Piso?" I asked, confused. "His fellow consul this year?" That the emperor had a colleague under Roman law was only a fiction to protect him from the accusation that he was a tyrannical monarch in deed if not name. It surprised me that he made this pretense even now, on his deathbed.

Marcellus straightened. "I think Augustus is going to name me heir. He wants Piso to witness it."

Agrippa bristled. "You'd better hope not, boy! The emperor's enemies call themselves Republicans and spread word that he's setting up a dynasty for you to inherit. Isn't the memory of Julius Caesar's fate enough to frighten you?" I winced to hear Agrippa speak to Marcellus this way. Marcellus was only a young aedile, it was true, but the emperor's nephew had served in the legions already in Spain. He was no boy and he might well be the next ruler of Rome.

Musa stepped out of the emperor's chamber and gave a small bow. "Majesty, Augustus is ready to see you. Please go in."

THAT I floated through the doorway with an aura of calm was more of a testament to my skills of deception than my steady nerves. I'd practiced the way I'd walk into his room, the exact expression, bracing for anything.

"Cleopatra," the emperor wheezed, lifting his head. The features of his face had hollowed, but his gray eyes were manic. Was he seeing me now, or my mother? How was I to know? "I told them you'd come."

With difficulty, I hid my distaste for the putrid smell of the room and smiled. "How should I not come, when summoned by Caesar?"

"I'm dying, you know."

"We're all dying," I replied. "Or so the philosophers say."