Song Of The Nile Part 17

Did he think I'd forgotten? Tala whisked the children off to the nursery and I retired with Chryssa and the mage. I sought out the sanctuary of my rooms, the ones with windows overlooking the ocean. I threw back the silky curtains to let in more light and it seemed as if every winter blossom turned its face to me; the perfume of the sweet alyssum in my gardens beckoned, clean and welcoming. Chryssa put my things away, taking careful inventory of each new acquisition, and I found myself comforted by the familiarity of her service. Yet something niggled at me. "Why did no one want to speak of King Juba?"

"He went on a journey with Circe, his Greek hetaera," Euphronius said. "I think she's Herod's spy."

If I'd known Juba's head could be turned by a hetaera, I might've hired one for him myself. "Circe? That can't be her real name."

"Of course not," Chryssa snorted. "She's a professional, and everything you might expect from such a woman. She's talented in a variety of arts. There are rumors he's settled her into a palace in Volubilis where he treats her like its queen."

No bitter reply escaped my clenched jaw. Harem intrigue had long been a part of my family's history and I knew better than to permit a genuine rival in my own kingdom. "Are the rumors true?"

Euphronius rubbed his chin. "I don't think so. The king's missives are long accounts of his travels, detailing everything from the behavior of elephants to his theory about the source of the Nile. Sometimes he sends plants for me to catalog and other times he sends maps for Rome. He couldn't do all this if he were indolent with pleasure in a palace with a prost.i.tute. But he seems in no hurry to return, no matter how we beseech him. He's been gone for months."

Was I fascinated or appalled? "Months? Who has been ruling the kingdom?"

Euphronius shrugged. "The council, Majesty. With much disagreement. I can't count the number of times that Balbus and Maysar have nearly come to blows."

With a critical eye, Chryssa examined a set of engraved ink pots I'd acquired in Rome. "I think the Berber would gut Balbus like a fish if he weren't mindful of the trust you placed in him. It's only by some miracle of Isis that blood hasn't yet been spilled."

"What are they fighting about?" I asked, realizing that I'd been gone too long and had much to catch up on.

"What don't they fight about?" Euphronius snorted. "The slaves, the raising of troops, war with the Garamantes, the endless stream of veterans needing to be settled, the treasury-" He broke off, exchanging a guilty look with Chryssa.

"The treasury? No, don't tell me. Not now." I didn't want to hear any more bad news. I would learn it all tomorrow in the council chamber. Right now, I just wanted to sleep peacefully in my own bed.

IT wasn't until I'd changed gowns for the third time that I admitted to myself I was anxious. When I left for Rome, it was barely acknowledged that I had a place on the council as Mauretania's queen. What political dynamics might I face now, after having been away? To be sure, I had my partisans, but Juba's Roman advisers still made up the bulk of the government, and they'd been hostile to me. I dreaded the inevitable clash.

When I pushed aside the fringed draperies and pa.s.sed beneath the archway into the council chamber, the herald announced me and the a.s.semblage stood. I wore a splendid emerald-colored gown held in place with a long rope of pearls that looped round my waist three times, then crisscrossed my b.r.e.a.s.t.s before encircling my neck. In my hair, I wore a decorative diadem, likewise studded with pearls. On my shoulders, the royal purple cloak that Balbus had given me.

I forced my countenance to one of confidence. An expression that said this was my council, my palace, and my kingdom. I swept up the stairs of the dais and seated myself on the throne. Then I lifted my eyes to see the most astonishing thing. Juba's Roman advisers looked relieved. "Majesty," Balbus said, as if speaking for them all. "We welcome you home and wonder what news you bring."

I reported everything hurriedly: The Kandake of Meroe had invaded Egypt. Admiral Agrippa was in self-imposed exile in the East. The emperor had survived his illness. Marcellus and my little brother had not. To keep the grief from my voice, I turned quickly to matters that concerned Mauretania directly. Our grain shipments helped ease the famine, but Rome would need more wheat and barley. "I must extend my thanks to Euphorbus and the rest of you for ensuring that grain arrived, even in winter. I know it was difficult. Perhaps near impossible. Yet I must ask, how much more can we send and by when?"

Maysar rose to his feet. His ornamented slippers swept softly against the marble as he took a few steps. "Majesty, Mauretania is a land of fruit and honey. We send the bulk of our grain to Rome, and for ourselves we eat fish and olives and the flesh of animals that roam in abundance. But those last shipments of grain cost us dear. We made no profit."

I expected this and feared the worst. "So our treasury is empty . . ."

Maysar gave an uneasy smile. "Empty? No. Our treasury is growing. With the new seaport, we're doing brisk trade. Lumber, carpets, animals for the arena. These things are all in high demand. But . . ."

"But?" I leaned forward, preparing myself for bad news.

"While you were away . . ." He cleared his throat and swept a hand in the direction of Chryssa, who skulked by the entryway, a bundle in her arms. "At the insistence of your rapacious slave girl, we started a dye works off the coast."

Chryssa came forward, bowed deeply before my throne, then snapped open a voluminous garment before me. It was a purple cloak, a nearly exact duplicate of the one that I wore. "The sea snails? Juba gave permission for this?"

"Yes, Majesty," Chryssa said, then climbed the marble dais and held the new cloak against the old. "It isn't exactly the same shade as the Tyrian but very close. A little bluer. Prettier, I think."

"And there's demand for it?" I asked. Nervously, she looked to the others, and I sighed in exasperation. "Oh, will one of you please tell me!"

Chryssa was the brave one. "We call it Gaetulian purple. We put out that this is the color you favor. As you were born to the purple, the only remaining Ptolemaic queen, it's become fashionable. We've received orders from all over the world. But we did this without your permission, Majesty. We beg your forgiveness . . ."

The council chamber was silent, everyone straining for my reaction. Since my mother's death, I could scarcely count the days upon one hand that I hadn't lied about something. Yet they all stood in mute terror over their harmless deception. "Well, I do favor Gaetulian purple, and I hope Lucius Cornelius won't be offended, but I don't think I'll ever wear the Tyrian again!"

Balbus laughed, and as sighs of relief filled the chamber I removed the older cloak and fastened the new one on my shoulders. It was very fine indeed! If this new dye sold for even half that of its Tyrian counterpart, I'd have gold aplenty to send to Helios and his Meroite armies . . . if only I could find him. I'd never worry about how to fund a Temple of Isis or any other project. Sweet Isis, we were going to be rich.

Apparently, Chryssa already was. Presenting me with a note that detailed her share of the dye works investment, she lowered her eyes. "This is my peculium and I submit to you my request for liberty."

This formality was unnecessary, but I knew how much it meant to her that we observe the official forms as nearly as we could. Though it would be expected of me, I wasn't obliged to grant her freedom, and with the whole council looking on, her eyes met mine in silent plea. In truth, I'd never wanted to own another human being; I'd always intended to free her. Yet the fear that she might leave me made me hesitate. To sever this bond was to risk losing my closest companion.

This was, I thought, why love was so dangerous. I searched for the right words, when a certain warmth stole over me at the realization that her happiness was more important than my fear. Even if she left me, I'd never regret speaking the words, "My council may serve as witness that I gladly grant your freedom and will enroll you in the census. You'll be known hereafter for official purposes as Cleopatra Antonia.n.u.s."

As I had received citizenship through my father, she'd bear his name and mine. In this way, even if no other, we would always be connected. She seemed to know it too and her eyes glistened as she took the new name to herself, bowing before me as a free woman.

EARLY the next morning, my courtiers and I boarded a small ship that ferried us out to an island upon which fishermen hauled in large wicker baskets filled with murex. It was the smallest of the dye factories and touring it was an otherwise idyllic adventure but for the stench. Going ash.o.r.e, I nearly gagged. "What is that vile smell?"

Chryssa grinned, inhaling rather dramatically. "Learn to love it, Majesty. It's the smell of profit!"

"It's the dead snails, fermenting in the sun," Maysar said with a grouchy roll of his eyes. "You'll grow accustomed to it."

I somehow doubted that. We tread a footpath between mountains of crushed sh.e.l.ls. Muscular men stirred giant pots from which putrid plumes of steam rose up to sting our eyes. The workers wore veils to cover their mouths and noses. Even with such coverings, they must have had very strong const.i.tutions. Much stronger than those of my courtiers; Lady Lasthenia pinched her nose shut and before Crinagoras could utter a witty word he rushed back to sh.o.r.e to vomit. With my own stomach churning in disgust, I asked, "Must the dead snails be fermented and boiled to get the color?"

The Berber chieftain and Chryssa answered me at the same time. She said yes. He said no. Then they grinned at one another as if they'd argued about it before and had enjoyed doing so. Maysar kicked at a little pile of sh.e.l.ls, saying, "The sea snails need not be crushed up and turned into pulp. As I've told your greedy little freedwoman, the snails can be milked for pigment. When you poke them, they secrete mucus. Alone, it smells nothing so offensive as rotting sh.e.l.lfish. If we kept the snails as Romans keep lampreys, we wouldn't have to keep dredging the sea for more."

This seemed like a much more agreeable way of making the purple dye, but Chryssa argued, "As I've told this uncivilized Berber, milking the snails would require staggering amounts of labor. We'd need a legion of slaves."

Too many slaves had already come with us from Rome. More arrived every day. I didn't like the stench of this dye factory, but when I considered the alternative, it wasn't difficult to decide against the snails.

Twenty-three.

MAURETANIA.

SPRING 22 B.C.

A few days after my return, Lady Lasthenia took me on a tour of the unfinished lighthouse. She and her students had employed mathematics to design new mirrors that better reflected the light. Now those enormous silver mirrors dangled at the ends of ropes as men used cranes and pulleys to haul them up. Someday, a fire would burn in that lighthouse, blazing as an eternal beacon of welcome to Iol-Caesaria. It was a thing of wonder to me and a great source of pride.

As we stared together up at the lighthouse, Lasthenia said, "We all share your sorrow for Philadelphus, Majesty. Pythagoreans believe the soul is indestructible and that he'll be born again. In this, we aren't so different from your Isiacs."

I'd run from Augustus's grotesque proposal like a hare from a hunter, only fearing that I'd be captured. I'd failed my Alexandrians, but my flight from the emperor was only a temporary setback. I hadn't forgotten Egypt or the war happening there. "I wonder what your eyes and ears in Egypt have told you about the Kandake of Meroe?"

Lady Lasthenia crossed her arms over herself and adopted a scholarly tone of voice. "She's a powerful queen who calls herself a pharaoh. I'm told she's very majestic. She has a high proud forehead and wears thick gold bracelets on both arms. Her lips are very lush, very full, and they say that her skin is like polished onyx-"

"Enough." I closed my eyes, hand over my heart. Until that moment, I hadn't known that jealousy could cause such excruciating physical pain. Helios had found a warrior queen to fight where he had not found one in me. Why did I insist on torturing myself by hearing it again? "And the wizard in her service?"

Lady Lasthenia's expression turned cool and haughty; she enjoyed being in the know. "She claims Horus comes to her in the form of a young mage, but this is likely meant to demoralize the Romans. You shouldn't worry so much about her. The Kandake of Meroe won't rule Egypt in your stead." This hadn't been my worry until she said it. "None of the other monarchs in the East would stand for it. The Kandake isn't part of the civilized Greek-speaking world. She's an outsider. She's not a Ptolemy."

"As much good as that name has done me," I said, staring out over the sea, my cloak threatening to fly away in the wind.

"Majesty, your name holds such power that even here, exiled to this outpost, you've aroused the envy of other monarchs. King Herod of Judea starts construction on his own harbor city this year. He calls it Caesarea-Maritima."

It made me smirk. "How original." Herod was emptying his treasury to imitate me. I could at least take pleasure in that!

Several weeks pa.s.sed and Iol-Caesaria became my city in truth. I was the highest authority in residence and didn't need to ask permission for anything from anyone. Why should I care if the king brooded in some far-off city with some other woman? For the first time in my life, no man ruled me. And I ruled a kingdom.

The first thing I discovered is that Juba had been right to chastise me for my arrogance. I knew next to nothing about the day-today administration of Mauretania. It wasn't as simple as weighing options and saying that this or that must be done. Though I had an apt.i.tude for it, I still had much to learn about governing my kingdom and I swiftly came to appreciate our advisers-even the Roman ones-for their knowledge of law and finance.

As part of my new education, I took my courtiers on an inspection of the city. Everywhere we went, crowds hailed me by name. My advisers said that the people loved me and I came to believe it. Perhaps they loved me because I was a sorceress. Maybe I'd won them over with my eagerness to include Berber chieftains in the royal council or because they thought I was the last of the Ptolemies. I didn't know the reason; I only found myself profoundly grateful. They would be my protection against the emperor's wrath.

"They love you because of me," Crinagoras said. "My poems remind them that you're a vibrant young queen with a babe at her breast. I quite fear for your reign should you ever allow me to leave your service."

He may have been right, but the people also seemed pleased with the new cisterns for drinking water. The new markets for trading. The bathhouses and paved roads. These things made their lives better. I took pride in that, but when we came upon an elongated oval structure I was less proud. "Someone tell me this isn't going to be an amphitheater! Juba means to bring gladiators here?"

"The king and the council thought gladiator games a good idea," Chryssa said, fanning herself, sharp eyes alert for pickpockets. I hardly thought she needed to worry with surly Memnon and his men guarding us. "Maysar is the only one with sense. He believes the influx of criminals to fight in the arena will disgust the Berbers and goad the Garamantes, specifically."

I shielded my eyes from the hot African sun. "That's the second time you've spoken of Maysar approvingly."

A blush reached to the tips of Chryssa's ears. "For a barbarian, he's quite sensible."

"Then maybe he'll know how to put a stop to this. I don't want Mauretania stained with gladiator blood."

We returned to the palace. The scent of roasted kid and spiced vegetables drew us to the banquet hall, where my court a.s.sembled for our evening meal. Servants removed my sandals, bathing my feet in rose-scented water, and I summoned Maysar and Balbus to join me. The two men glared and, situated between them, I half feared they'd draw knives on one another. I hoped the servants would heavily water their wine, and only after the meal had been served did I broach the subject. "I'd like to stop work on the amphitheater."

Balbus paused midbite, nearly choking on a bit of grilled meat. "Stop work?"

Finding my courage, I swirled a lump of root vegetable in the thick yogurt sauce. "I don't approve of gladiator games. Egyptians would never tolerate any monarch who asked her subjects to fight to the death."

"This isn't Egypt," Balbus said, lamplight illuminating his reddening jowls.

Taking a deep breath of the rose-scented air, I said, "Nor is this Rome."

Balbus wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "The people must have entertainment."

"Then let's give them a hillside theater." The suggestion came from Leonteus of Argos, our court tragedian.

"Yes," I decided. "We'll have plays, comedies, and tragedies."

Several Romans groaned, bloodthirsty lot that they were. Balbus clenched his teeth, something he often did when he was about to flatter me. "Majesty, your beauty startles all who set eyes upon you and it does credit to your s.e.x that you concern yourself with the gentler arts. If it's a theater you want, finance one, but work on the arena has already begun. You cannot countermand the orders of the king."

My temper rising, I sipped my wine to consider a politic answer. "I'm certain the king would approve. He's actually started writing a history of theatrics, did you know?"

Balbus protested, "Madam, you cannot simply turn an arena into a theater!"

The entire court watched us. The Alexandrians, the Romans, and the Mauretanians. Important ministers and servants all listened with rapt attention, straining to hear what I'd say next. This was a confrontation that I must win or fight to a draw. "I propose only that work stop on the amphitheater for the time being."

Balbus snorted. "But King Juba-"

"Isn't here," I interrupted, an edge to my voice, one that the emperor used when he was vexed. "He's not here and I am. I'm not questioned in Rome and I won't be questioned in my own kingdom."

Balbus slammed down his cup. "You're only a woman!"

"I'm your queen." Only the flickering torches were brave enough to crackle. Everyone else was silent. Balbus stewed, his face redder than ever, and I knew I'd let it go too far to be mended. I must cut him down hard and not show the uncertainty that made me wring my hands underneath the table. "I'm your queen and so long as you remain in Mauretania, you will submit to my rule."

His proud eyes burned black. "Then perhaps I should seek my fortune elsewhere."

"Perhaps you should."

"Madam," he said, rising to his full bl.u.s.tery height. "You go too far."

I hadn't studied at the knee of Augustus to be cowed by a man such as this. Always know the most important person in the room, Augustus had told me. This time it wasn't Balbus. It was me. I didn't blink. I stood to face him and my Macedonian guards flanked me. Memnon's hand must have gone to his sword, because the crowd gasped. Lifting a hand to calm them, I said, "Lucius Cornelius, like so many Roman veterans here, you fought for Julius Caesar. You were with him in Alexandria when he fell in love with my mother. And after he died, you joined King Bogud to fight for my father." Oh, yes, I'd studied Balbus, but this speech was for the other veterans of Actium who had loved my father and could still love me. "I honor your service, Balbus, so if you leave me, let's not part on bad terms. Let me buy your plantations at double their value."

Balbus's piggy eyes grew wide, his rage half forgotten. "Double?"

Thank Isis for the purple dye that would fund such an extravagant gesture. "I'm not stingy with friends, even when we must disagree or part ways."

"I shall consider your offer," he said, as his scarlet rage paled to the mere pink of pique. He realized that he was being banished in the gentlest possible way and that I'd won the day.

"HOW proud your mother would've been to see that," Euphronius said as we picked through the scroll racks lining the walls of Juba's study.

I unfurled some sketches, determined not to be caught unawares by anything else that Juba had put into motion while I was away. "I doubt that. I don't remember my mother's council ever questioning her."

"Oh, they did. When she was your age, the eunuch Pothinus and General Achillas tried to drive her from power."

"Let's hope Balbus isn't planning to do the same." As I made sense of the sketches, I sat in Juba's chair, suddenly light-headed. "This is ghastly! It's a cult for the emperor. Juba means for us to build a temple for Augustus as if he were a G.o.d."

Euphronius peered over my shoulder, one eyebrow raised. "Chryssa tells me you proclaimed yourself a G.o.ddess at your wedding."

"That's different," I insisted, glad he didn't press me to explain why. This sketch of the cult statue was no accurate representation of Augustus but some idealized version of the emperor, with bare feet, like some Homeric war hero. I might have laughed were it not for the carved cuira.s.s. There, meant in clear relief, would be a celebration of the emperor's victory over my parents at Actium. As a child, I'd been forced to endure nightly lectures about the failings of my family. I thought I'd left all of that in Rome. Now Juba wanted to bring it to Mauretania? Lucky that he was away!

Perhaps I should have trembled to do it, but I took the sketch and all the accompanying scrolls and threw them into the fire. Euphronius watched them burn. "You're changed, Majesty."

He remembered me as a frightened princess. As the girl who refused to run away from Augustus to pursue an uncertain destiny. But now I had run away and I must make myself so powerful that even the emperor couldn't punish me for it.

BLOSSOMING springtime flowers meant that dispatches from Rome would soon arrive and I'd be held to account. I felt as if I must do everything before the emperor could act against me. With the help of several of my father's veterans, we recruited and trained marines to guard our ships from pirates-a move that was quite popular with the businessmen in Mauretania. Always, wherever I went in the city, my eyes sought out a place for a temple to Isis. I never forgot her; never forgot that she was the throne upon which I sat. I owed everything to her. Everything. But to build an Iseum would require the services of skilled architects, almost all of whom were Roman and already hard at work. I couldn't hire more.

As it happened, the King of Judea's new cities were effectively monopolizing most of the talent in the empire. There was one talent, however, whose artistry I was particularly fortunate to have. Master Gnaios was the only artist at my disposal who had known my brothers. Here in my own kingdom, at long last, I could memorialize them. I commissioned a statue for each of them. Caesarion, Antyllus, Helios, and Philadelphus. I even commissioned a statue of Petubastes, my cousin, the priest of Ptah. "Do you remember him, Gnaios?"