Song Of The Nile Part 6

"What of your women?" I asked, drinking from a tisane of mint leaves steeped in hot water. The infusion was refreshing and I called for another cup.

"You've met Tala, haven't you? She's one of my many sisters and always free to speak her mind."

Sweet Isis! The proud servant who'd been unafraid to show her disdain for me was the chieftain's sister? She hadn't mentioned it and now I was glad I hadn't sent her away. "She's with child. Does she have a husband?"

Maysar's brilliant smile faded. "My sister Tala is a widow. Her husband was killed in a raid by the Garamantes."

"I'm sorry to hear it," I said, and I was. No wonder Tala was so unpleasant; she'd suffered a terrible loss.

"Berber women of her status seldom serve," Maysar explained. "It is only because she's so heavily pregnant that I'd rather have her here in the city than helping to shepherd our tribe. With us, the women are the spiritual leaders. Some tribes keep their women cloistered. In others, women fight with the men or become craftswomen and magicians."

It was the word magician that caught my attention. I was about to ask him about it, when a young messenger burst into the room. Juba leaned close to the newcomer. After a few whispers my new husband rose from his table. He uttered some vague words of apology before retiring. Then his advisers all followed him out of the hall.

OUR first official dinner in Mauretania had come to an abrupt end and now, behind closed doors, something important was happening. Something I should be privy to. Shut out, I paced, hearing voices but unable to make out words. Balbus was loud and aggressive. Juba maintained a measured tenor. If only I knew what they were saying!

Coming upon me in the dingy corridor, Crinagoras made a sweeping bow that involved much dramatic waving of fingers. "Majesty, it's fortunate I was there to entertain the desert chieftains, but even a man of my talents can't make them stay when their monarchs flee the room."

"Of course," I murmured, only at half attention, straining to hear the men in the room beyond.

"Will you go in?" Crinagoras asked, glancing at the unguarded doors.

A bitter taste filled my mouth. "They shut the doors in my face. I wasn't invited."

Crinagoras shot me a sideways glance. "Why should you be? You're only the wife of the king. A veritable child-bride at that. A girl with no experience of the world and no concerns beyond cosmetics and hairpins and expensive jewels."

"You taunt me," I said crossly.

A grin split his face. "I knew you'd be clever enough to deduce as much. You must have also gathered that I'm only repeating words spoken by the men behind those doors. Majesty, have I ever mentioned that the first line of a poem is the most important? The first words, nay, the first word, the first sound as it rolls off the tongue, is crucial. It sets the tone for the whole piece."

He wasn't talking about poetry, and though I didn't care for his irreverent manner, he was right; if I didn't establish my place now, I might always be excluded. Without another word, I pushed the doors open to find Juba drumming his fingers upon a polished citrus-wood table. Balbus sat near him, alongside a number of Roman military officers and a few Greek diplomats. They were all big men, many of them warriors, and I forced myself to brave their irritated stares. "What news, gentlemen?"

Juba glanced up, clutching some missive in his right hand. "Go to bed, Selene. We'll talk in the morning."

My spine stiffened. "If the business of Mauretania must be conducted at this hour, I'll stay awake to hear it."

"Heed your king," Balbus snapped at me. "This is no place for a girl."

"But I'm not a girl." I took a steadying breath. "I'm the queen and you must accustom yourself to my presence."

Someone murmured something about how I was truly my mother's daughter. Then the room went silent. I made no move to leave. Seeing he wouldn't dissuade me, Juba finally waved a hand in surrender. One of Agrippa's engineers stood to make a place for me, and when I was seated, Juba said, "Selene, the revolt in Thebes has been put down. The Prefect of Egypt has crushed the rebellion."

It was with great difficulty that I didn't lurch forward. "When?" My voice was a rushed, shaky whisper.

The young courier cleared his throat. "Weeks ago, Majesty. A missive was sent to Rome, but it must have pa.s.sed you on the sea. I came over land but was delayed for some time by the Garamantes in Numidia and was unable to carry this message until ransomed by superior officers."

The poor courier had been taken captive trying to get this message to us. A gracious queen would have asked after his well-being, but I was too stunned. What had I been doing the day the rebellion in Thebes was put down? While Egyptians were fighting Romans, had I been playing the kithara for the emperor? Had I been choosing gowns for my wedding chest? It seemed impossible that I might not have felt the clash of armies in my body the way I felt the words of Isis in my blood and pain. "And what of Alexander Helios, Prince of Egypt? Is there news? Has he been captured?"

The uncomfortable silence that blanketed the room told me that this question had already been asked. The courier shook his head and all eyes turned to Juba, including mine. The king's gaze fell to the scroll in his hand, and he swallowed. "Selene, there are reports that Helios was seen wielding a sword in battle. Gallus writes that they're still sorting the dead but that your brother will be found amongst the corpses."

Nine.

I went limp. Then every part of me trembled. I should have cried out. I should have screamed. I should have felt the blackness of grief close its bony hand around my throat. But if Helios were dead, wouldn't I know it? He was blood of my blood, bone of my bone, my companion in this life and all the others. If he were dead, the sun itself would go dark in the sky. My heart couldn't possibly pulse with life without the answering echo of Helios's heart somewhere in the world. I knew this. I knew this as surely as I knew the sound of my own voice. "How can they still be sorting the dead?"

Juba sat back, his shoulders slumped, regret in his voice. "Because Thebes has been destroyed."

I couldn't make sense of this. Thebes-the city that had once been the capital of both Upper and Lower Egypt-destroyed? Thebes had been great before Alexander set foot on Egyptian sands. And the Romans had destroyed it? I tasted sand, envisioned toppled towers, and smelled the smoke as Thebes burned. I quaked at this madness. "What have you Romans done?"

Most of the men stared blankly, keeping the stiff professional disinterest of the Roman soldier, but some cringed. Perhaps they'd heard the whispers that I was a sorceress who held crocodiles in my thrall. Maybe they were afraid of me. Maybe they should have been afraid because I felt a terrible rage and a gust of dry wind howled through the old building, rattling the doors.

"G.o.ds be good, let's hope it's not the sirocco," someone said. I didn't see who.

Juba seemed to sense danger. "We'll retire for the night. My queen needs time to grieve her brother's death."

His words sent me into a wilder fury. Helios wasn't dead and Juba couldn't simply say it and make it so. My twin couldn't be dead. Not after everything I'd endured to save him. If anything, I felt him nearer to me now than in all the months since he ran away. I should have been with Helios. Together, perhaps we could have saved Thebes. What was I doing here while officials sorted the dead in Egypt? My mother's Egypt. I rose from my seat and another blast of wind rattled the house.

"You're dismissed," Juba said to the men. "Go!" They scattered into the hall, leaving Juba and me alone. "Selene, I'll send word to the Prefect of Egypt and tell him not to burn the body. You can build Helios a tomb in the custom of your people . . ."

He meant well by it-I know he did-but I lashed out anyway. "Don't pretend you care. Helios isn't dead. If he was, certainly the prefect would have recovered his body. One day, Helios will rule Egypt. It's his destiny."

"No, Selene." Juba made me look at him and compa.s.sion colored his features. "Trust me, Helios is dead. If not in Thebes, then somewhere else. Augustus had a thousand agents seeking him out, and I can well imagine their orders. Do you think the Prefect of Egypt would have razed Thebes on his own initiative?"

I shook my head violently. "No, that wasn't the emperor's plan. He sent me with you to-"

"To get you out of the way. You were a dangerous girl to have in Rome where Isis worshippers invoked you as their champion. A dangerous girl to have in the East where your parents still have allies and friends. A daughter of Antony was too dangerous to keep in Rome, a daughter of Cleopatra too dangerous in the East. So he sent you here, to Mauretania, to the other side of the world."

Distraught, I brought my hands up to my face and Juba's hard expression crumbled, as if he regretted saying these things to me. Tears spilled over my lashes. "I don't understand. The emperor promised mercy for Egypt. Mercy for Helios. The emperor promised me. He gave me his vow."

Juba reached for my chin, cupping it tenderly. "Oh, my poor Selene, you actually thought you could save him."

The pity in his voice was horrible. Unendurable. I broke away, fleeing the room. Somehow the news had already reached Chryssa. On her knees in my chamber, she was sobbing. Her cries echoed in my ears from somewhere very far away. "Stop it. Helios lives! I know it. I know he lives still."

Chryssa rocked herself and made a keening sound. "How can it be? I know the stories of Carthage. When Romans destroy a city, they kill every warrior, they put every building to the torch, and they salt the fields."

She'd been my brother's slave before she was mine. She'd loved him. Worshipped him. I found myself sinking down beside her, to offer her comfort. "It's true that the Romans are destroyers, but they're also liars. If Helios is dead, then why do I sense him here in Mauretania? Why is it that every time I turn a corner, I feel as if he'll be there?"

"Because you're one soul!" Chryssa wept, clasping my hands. "Now that his body breathes no more, the rest of his spirit must have come here to rejoin with yours."

THE winds blew that night and into the next morning, snapping sail lines, jostling fishing boats in the harbor, and sending sprays of water into the air. It was a stiff wind that roared hour after hour, carrying with it a dry and oppressive heat. The Romans saw it as a bad omen, more portentous than lightning or the entrails of the sacrificial beasts. It bodes ill for our mission here, some said, and wondered which ancient G.o.d we'd offended. Meanwhile, Berbers wondered if this storm had been sent to drive us away.

Outside, servants braved the scouring winds to haul fresh water from the well, dragging huge clay jugs into the house as if preparing for a long siege. The ladies in my chamber busied themselves closing shutters, pulling dusty tapestries from the walls and fitting them around the windows. I sat in the center of this whirlwind, hands tight on the arms of my chair. I was thinking. Turning this puzzle over and over. Had I been sent to Mauretania only because I was too dangerous to keep in Rome? I remembered the men Augustus killed on our way to Ostia. Had they come to see me? I'd thought to help Egypt with my newfound power as a queen confirmed by Rome, but perhaps I'd merely been sent into exile.

Though the howling winds buffeted us with hot air, my fingers were cold. My toes, my ears, my nose all ice. I hadn't eaten. I hadn't slept. I was scarcely aware of Juba's presence until he grabbed the arms of my chair, demanding, "Is this storm your doing?"

The blue-tinted Berber woman tried to explain, "It's the sirocco. First come winds, then sands from the Sahara-"

"Leave!" Juba cut her off as he'd seen my magic before and she hadn't. But I didn't care if he shouted and I didn't care if the winds blew. I didn't believe that Helios was dead. Still, at war with my heart was my reason. A dark, terrible, stormy reason that swept everything from my mind. What if Chryssa was right, and Helios's spirit was here, right here in this room with me, waiting for me to breathe for the both of us when I couldn't seem to breathe at all . . .

"Selene," Juba said, stooping in front of me. "Are you making these winds blow?"

I felt for the little frog amulet at my throat. It wasn't warm. I didn't feel heka flow through me. I felt drained. I felt nothing. A strange sound, almost like a laugh, escaped me. "I don't know."

Juba rocked back on his heels. "How can you not know?"

"In a world without Helios, how can I know anything?"

He cursed in Latin, pushed to his feet, then ran both hands through his hair. "I know we've been angry with each other. I know that this hasn't started well, none of it. Still, I wouldn't see you in such pain. Tell me what I can do to help."

Outside, the wind continued to howl, gusts of sand scrubbing buildings as it pa.s.sed. I wanted to go out into it; maybe I'd finally get clean. "Let me go into sanctuary."

Juba was aghast. "I'm not sending you into a storm to stay by yourself in some primitive cave."

I tried to adopt a reasonable tone. "What do you think our new subjects will read into a storm arriving just as we take our places as king and queen? At least, if we follow their customs and the winds stop, they may think we bring them fortune instead of doom."

Juba couldn't argue or perhaps he simply didn't know what else to do with me. "Where would you go?"

"Tanit's temple could serve as a sanctuary, can't it? It has big doors to shut out the sand. I'll go with some covered skeins of water . . . maybe I can find some comfort for my grief there."

Juba sighed elaborately. "I suppose you want me to go through with the mummery of some ritual divorce?"

"There's no need, Juba. Both of us know this is no true marriage."

TO my surprise, it was Tala who objected most strenuously to my leaving. As the winds blew harder, the blue-hued woman said, "Foolish! When sand comes, you'll be stranded. No servants to cater to you. Sirocco cares nothing for royalty. Will swallow up even spoiled little queen."

Even Lady Octavia would have put Tala out into the street for speaking with such disrespect, but I'd let no one distract me from what I felt compelled to do. When Tala saw I was determined, she sighed and put her hand over her belly. "I take you as far as temple, then I turn back."

"I have guards to take me," I said, motioning to the a.s.sembling group of soldiers wearing plumed helmets and scarlet capes.

"Roman guards," she snorted, pulling a veil over her face. "I am Amazigh. I know this storm."

We rode camels to the temple because camels were the animals best suited to survive a full-bore sandstorm and would provide shelter if we were caught in one. I clung to the animal's hump as it swayed in its graceless gait, not liking the scratch of its fur, not daring to complain. My cloak flapped wildly behind me as I leaned into the wind, which howled down every alleyway like some ancient demon, and by the time I rushed up the steps of the temple into the relative shelter of the outer chamber, I was breathless. In the lamplight, Tala said, "I leave bedding. Sealed jars of olives and dates. Fresh water too." Then she handed me a stoppered bottle of olive oil. "Put it in nose and in mouth, to keep moist."

"Thank you, Tala. You may go now before the storm gets worse."

Her jewelry jingled as she turned to leave, but then she stopped at the doors. "Maybe Romans gave us brave queen. Good for Amazigh. We'll see."

THE inner chamber of the temple was dark, but I wasn't afraid, because Tanit-this Punic version of my G.o.ddess-was a mistress of the night. My footsteps fell softly upon the stone floor to a simple pallet with some blankets, but I didn't lie down. Heka drew me to the altar. Magic hummed in the stonework of the stelae and danced in a fountain that flowed over a ledge and dropped in a sheet to a murky pool below. The water tumbled, frothing over itself, misting the air beneath the candlelit statue of the G.o.ddess. She was a maiden beauty with a garland at her neck and a bed of flowers at her feet. She was foreign but familiar, and I let out a sigh of exultation.

The G.o.ddess had been waiting here for me and I waded into the pool so she might embrace me as her daughter. If there were crocodiles or sacred animals, I didn't fear them. Mere weeks had pa.s.sed since the emperor put his filthy hands upon me, and as the water floated my gown up around my waist, I lolled there in the water, half awake, half asleep. I closed my eyes, feeling weightless, safe as I was in the womb. I rested my head on the ledge of the pool, breathing sweet air through my veil.

My G.o.ddess had suffered. Her brother-husband had been murdered by the dark G.o.d Set, his body mutilated. She'd wandered the world, gathering the pieces, using her magic to put him back together and bring him to life again. Somehow, I must do the same for Helios. The spell Isis cast, a simple prayer, was one I murmured now.

"I call you to me.

I call you by the breath of your body.

I call you by the truth of your soul.

I call you by the spark of your mind.

I call you by the light of your spirit."

In the corners of the temple, little clouds of sand seeped through the stonework, snuffing a few candles out. It became darker, and I was so sleepy. So very tired. So completely exhausted with grief. I closed my eyes and must have slept. Berber women believed that whatever they dreamed in such sanctuaries would come true.

I dreamed that I wasn't alone.

I couldn't hear my own breath over the rush of the waterfall, but somehow I heard his. I opened my eyes and let them drift to each alcove, searching the shadows. Behind a pillar, I made out the shape of a young man. He emerged through the cascade of water, like a curtain pushed aside. Even with the spray of water in my eyes, I would have known him in any temple, in any part of the world, in any lifetime. "Helios," I whispered and rushed to him, throwing my arms about his neck. He crushed me against him and I recognized his scent-the sea-swept notes that were his and mine alike. He felt solid, but when he didn't speak I knew he was only a spirit body, my Osiris, from the realm of the dead. His hands pushed back the wet hair from my face. Our eyes met, and everything I wanted to say flowed out of me in a rush of tears. "How could you leave me?"

Then this spirit I'd conjured did speak. "I'm sorry," Helios rasped. "Sorrier than you'll ever know."

"You swore to me that you'd take me to Egypt, that you'd never let me be married off, that you'd always defend me. That you'd always, always, defend me. But I had to defend everyone. You, Philadelphus, Egypt . . . and I didn't know what to do."

I regretted saying these things because they seemed to pain him more than they did me. He shuddered, every part of him sagging with defeat and sorrow. "I'm so sorry, Selene. So sorry."

"The emperor hurt me," I whispered.

His shoulders rose again and he gripped my arms. "What did he do to you?"

At last the truth escaped me. "He raped me."

There it was. I'd spoken it aloud, and in the speaking, made it real. I'd given voice to the filth and shame and now I was fragile. I'd been called a wh.o.r.e and a seductress and a schemer, and borne it. If Helios doubted me, even this spirit version of him, it would break me. I'd shatter into a thousand pieces and no one and nothing would ever be able to make me whole. But Helios offered no recriminations. Instead, he cried out in rage. Then his voice dropped low and deadly. "I'll kill him. I'll make him pay for this as he's never paid for anything else in his life. If I could reach Octavian tonight, he wouldn't live to see the sunrise. I've made other promises to you, Selene, but this one I'll keep. By Isis, I vow to you, that I'll kill-"