Hand of Isis (43 page)

“Oh,” I said. I thought a few minutes, while on stage the baby, grown into a youth, seemed to be having a quarrel with Pharaoh’s son, involving a lot of singing. “No wonder people mind, then. Why do you do it, Dion?”

He leaned back over. “Because truth doesn’t belong to any one people, but to all of the souls in the world who seek it. And there are truths to be scattered everywhere, even in places where they will not take root for many years. Thus are we all advanced in the service of the Most High. To say this truth belongs only to the Jews is like saying that philosophy should only be studied by Greek men, or that Isis cares only for Egyptian women.”

I thought a while longer. On stage, Moses had killed a soldier and was now fleeing, which seemed to involve a lot of singing, while three men dressed as archers performed in counterpoint, complete with very well executed dancing.

Dion leaned in again. “Truth makes us free, Charmian. The best we can do is to carry the banner proudly in our own time.”

I squeezed his hand. “I think you are a very good man, Dion,” I whispered.

It was well into the third act before I saw Dion’s handiwork. As we took our seats again after the pause, he grinned at me. “You’ll like this. I know you will. I thought of you when I was figuring out how to do it.”

With a fanfare, the music began.

The Jews, it seemed, were fleeing Egypt, and had come at last to the edge of the sea. However, Pharaoh’s chariots pursued with a heavy drumbeat and menacing trumpets. A painted backdrop of the billowing waves stood across the stage, unsupported on either end or above, rather fierce looking waves, I thought.

“?‘Oh, what shall we do?’?” the chorus of Jews sang. “?‘We will be killed!’?” In counterpoint, the drums and trumpets and Egyptian soldiers were all singing their parts, a big set piece of a song with all the trimmings.

Moses took his staff, topped with a serpent’s head that looked rather like the uraeus, and stretched out his arms dramatically, shouting one word aloud. The drums crashed, and all of the music halted on a single note.

Slowly, with no visible mechanism at all, the backdrop of the ocean parted, each piece rolling smoothly backward with no hand upon it. There was no walk above from which they could have been pulled, since this was a lecture hall, not a theater. They did not extend to the makeshift draped wings. No hand touched them at all as the waves glided smoothly apart.

“Hurry!” grown-up Mariamne yelled. “We must cross while the waves are parted! There is not much time!”

At that the flutes began again, and the song of the Jews as they tumbled into the place between the waves, carrying children and bundles and looking fearfully behind. They passed in the middle, then broke into two lines across the back of the stage, into either wing. Last of all came Moses, his arms still outstretched, passing between the massive set pieces, each twice a man’s height. The drums and trumpets began to pick up; Pharaoh’s chariots were approaching. The painted waves towered over him. When he stood behind them, he once again shouted a word of command.

And again, soundlessly, and without the touch of human hands, the waves glided together once more, ending precisely together, Moses behind them, just as the music ended.

The audience broke into thunderous applause.

Dion stretched and grinned in his seat as the actors came out to take their bows. Demetria was one of the last, but her face glowed, and there was a wave of stronger applause when she came forward, for child Mariamne.

Afterward, we stood while people milled around, waiting for Demetria.

“How in the world is it done, Dion? The waves must be yours. I remember when we talked about that story.”

Dion grinned wider. “On the back of each one there’s a big basket of sand on a cord tied to the axle of the piece’s wheels. When the sand empties out of the basket into another, the weight pulls the cord, and the scenery moves across the stage and lifts the full basket. There it sits, until the gradual emptying of the full basket into the now empty one reverses it, and the cord winds the other way. When it does, the scenery moves back. You can change the timing by varying the amount of sand, but you have to be very precise. Otherwise the waves will move before Moses tells them to. When he walks through the waves and stops behind them, he can see how much sand is left, and times the command for the waves to close to when the basket empties.”

I looked at him with astonishment. “That’s incredibly clever!”

“I thought so,” Dion said modestly.

Demetria came hurrying up. “Well?”

I hugged her. “All right, you can keep the part! If Dion will make sure you don’t have to walk home from the theater alone.”

“I swear,” Dion said.

Demetria threw her arms about me and Dion both. “I love you so much!”

“And I suppose we should see about voice lessons,” I said. “I imagine the temple would be happy to have you as a full-time student.”

T
HUS WHEN
the play ended, just before Demetria turned twelve, she became an acolyte, spending all day, every day at the Serapeum and the Temple of Isis, arriving early for choir for the Morning Offices, and then taking lessons and lunch there. In the afternoon she had music, voice and instrumental both. In four years she would be a dedicant, if she excelled, an irrevocable commitment to temple and to Goddess. A dedicant could still marry, if she wished, but her vows were for life.

I supposed that sixteen was not too young to make that choice. I had known what my life would be when I was fourteen.

I
HAD A LETTER
from Emrys, written from Antioch.

Hail Charmian,

Antonius is here with us in Syria, and they say we are going against the Parthians again next summer. I was not in Jerusalem at the beginning, as light cavalry is of no use in close street fighting, but I do not want to ever see such again. I think everyone would have been killed, had Herod not called Sossius off. I do not mind so much facing armies in the field, but I do not like sacking cities, and I cannot help but feel it too much. Now Herod is a very great hero in the eyes of everyone here, as well as being a good soldier. They call him Herod the Great without a trace of irony.

I am glad to hear Demetria is well and that her studies are progressing. Does she miss the nursery and Caesarion, or is it time for her leave that behind her so that she does not yearn for it? You can be very proud of your daughter.

Less than two more years . . .

Straight on the heels of this, Antonius’ general Gaius Capito arrived in Alexandria, with letters for the Queen and a personal plea that she come to Syria immediately, bringing all possible supplies and ships.

He made his request as gracefully as possible, before the Queen’s entire council, clearly knowing what a position Antonius had put him in, and appreciating it not at all. Consequently, the Queen did not torment Capito, but told him that he would have his reply in a few days, and that he might enjoy the hospitality of the city in the meantime. He left, looking as though he’d expected to spend the next few days in an oubliette instead.

After he departed, the council all looked at each other, as if daring another to speak first.

It was Apollodorus who did, who had been with her since childhood. “Gracious Queen,” he began. “Herod and the Parthians . . .”

“Of course we must go,” she said, folding her hands in her lap. “I have not done all for the alliance, only to scrap it.”

W
E SAILED FOR
A
NTIOCH
, and with thirty ships now we were quite a great fleet. Caesarion and Iras stayed in Alexandria, but the twins came with us. Antonius had never seen them.

This time, when we came into the harbor, we did not come like Aphrodite of the Waves, courting. We came on a warship, and we did not sing.

Antonius recognized the difference, of course. He came to the ship immediately himself. A show of respect? I wondered. Desperation for supplies? Or did he truly want to see Cleopatra? In any event, he hurried, and he was well dressed in a harness of white leather studded with gold over a blinding purple tunic with broad golden borders, short enough to show off his handsome legs.

He made his bow to the Queen, his officers behind him, while we all stood like statues. She wore the double crown and uraeus, the snake jutting gilded from her brow, and in her pleated linen sat as still and impassive as any statue, like a carving on a wall of Isis in the Halls of Amenti.

She said one word. “Kneel.”

I took a breath.

“I will not,” Antonius said.

Her eyes bored into him. “Kneel to this throne, or our alliance is over.”

“Cleopatra . . . ,” he began, spreading his hands.

“Kneel.”

The color rose in his face. “Can’t we discuss this privately?”

“The state of our alliance?” Her painted brows rose. “I think not. Now kneel as any proper suppliant. That is what you are, isn’t it? Without me you will not keep what you have won.”

She will break it, I thought. She is humiliating him before his officers, and surely his pride will not bear it.

Instead, Marcus Antonius sank to his knees. “There,” he said. “Does that suit you now?”

“Very well,” she said. “And I will give you what you want. Provisions and grain to fight the Parthians, food for your men and their horses, and a fleet to guard your back.”

Bareheaded, he gave her half a smile. “In exchange for what?”

“All of the cities on the coast of Phoenicia from Ashkelon to Ptolemais Ace, and from Ptolemais Ace to Balanea, excepting the cities of Tyre and Sidon. The province of Ituraea, between the Roman province of Syria and the Kingdom of Judea. The cities of the Decapolis in the interior of Judea, including the cities of Hippos and Gadara, and the groves of Gilead, near Jericho. Also the Nabatean coast of the Red Sea along the Gulf of Elat.”

Antonius’ smile faded. “You are asking for a third of our eastern territories.”

“And if I do not have them, they will be overrun by the Parthians, and you will not have them either,” she replied coolly.

“Half that land is already given to Herod,” he said.

“How very unfortunate for him.”

“Cleopatra . . .”

“When Herod can bring you a fleet and supplies, then no doubt it will be in your better interest to enforce his claim. Right now he brings you nothing, due to the brilliance of your General Sossius, who has managed to impoverish the nation and loot the capital of your own ally. But then,” she said, pausing as if suddenly remembering something, “you weren’t here, were you, Imperator? I believe you were opening the games in Athens.”

Antonius’ mouth opened and shut. Then he got to his feet, spun on his heels, and stalked out of the audience without another word, his officers scrambling after.

I waited until they were gone. “Gracious Queen?”

Cleopatra had not moved at all. “He will be back,” she said. “He needs me more than I need him.”

T
he next day Cleopatra had an invitation to dine with Antonius at the palace of Antioch, which he had taken for his own.

“Very well,” the Queen agreed, “but in two days our fleet sails for Egypt. Tell the Imperator that he must decide whether he will meet my terms, or watch his supplies sail back to Alexandria.”

I wanted badly to see Emrys, who was stationed in Antioch, but did not dare to. It would be too great a test of my loyalty, with our masters opposed. I thought he must feel the same way, as he had made no attempt to see me either.

I waited while she went ashore to the dinner, and was there when she brought Antonius back to the ship for a private conversation. Of course, for the great, private conversations are rarely private. I was hanging about the back of the cabin, in case she wanted anything, and was both surprised and pleased that the bodyguard Antonius had brought was Sigismund.

We exchanged happy glances while the slaves brought wine for the Queen and Antonius. I would have gladly run and hugged him, and vice versa, but we were both on duty. He looked fit, if a bit older, and his long blond hair was now severely cut in the Roman fashion, a new scar across his cheek. He still looked like he could lift an ox, though.

We both faded into the background on our respective sides of the room as the cupbearer closed the door.

Cleopatra was all Greek today, in an Ionic chiton of pale lavender, the borders worked with violets. She sat down not on the couch, but in a hard chair, her arms resting along its armrests like a Roman legate. “Well?”

“I’m sorry.” Antonius poured himself a cup of wine from the cool amphora left standing. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Sorry for what?”

“For marrying Octavia. Is this jealousy?” He did not look at her, but rather into the depths of the cup. “Do you want me to tell you I don’t love her, that I’ve never thought about anyone but you? That I didn’t enjoy a moment with her and that I missed you every second?”

“Are those things true?” Cleopatra’s voice was completely dispassionate, as though she spoke of someone else, long ago.

He took a quick drink of the red wine. “No.”

Sigismund’s eyes met mine across the room, and I could read his thought as clearly there as if he’d said it aloud: Not good.

I sincerely hoped this didn’t come down to violence or kidnapping. Me against Sigismund was no contest, but he knew as well as I that I would have to try. Still, he could probably stop me with no worse than a broken arm or wrist, and he would do as little as he could.

“It seemed the wise thing to do, marrying her. It seemed the way out of a situation with Octavian, that my brother, curse him, got me into. And Octavia’s not a bad sort. She’s not you or Fulvia, someone I would choose, but I like her well enough. She didn’t really want to get married again so soon, but she knew she had to, and that she would have to marry to improve her brother’s position. She liked me better than Tiberius Nero, and she liked the idea of making peace between me and her brother.” Antonius took another deep drink. “I didn’t know how you’d take that.”

“As the political expedience it had to be,” she said. “What I do not appreciate is my letters remaining unanswered, and you sending diplomatic correspondence as though I were a mere acquaintance.”

Antonius turned around, and there was something real in his eyes, something raw. “I didn’t know what to say!”

Her voice shook a little, finally. “You could have said what you meant, as Caesar did.”

“As Caesar did.”

“Yes.” Their eyes met.

“I am not your Alexander, or anything else out of a dream.”

“I know,” she said.

“I did love you. I do love you.” He put the cup down on the table with a clatter. “What do I have to do to convince you of that?”

“Act like it.”

Over their oblivious heads, Sigismund and I exchanged a glance.

“By laying vast territories at your feet as a symbol of my contrition?”

“By laying vast territories at my feet as your children’s patrimony,” she said. “You have not even seen them. I know perfectly well they are nothing to Roman law. Are they nothing to you as well, Antonius? I thought you a better father than that in Rome, and a better man.”

“How can I ask you for that?” He turned back to the wine table again. “Cleopatra, I have nothing to say. We can’t start over again. There’s too much between us, and always politics in the way.” He filled the cup to the rim. “If I had my way, I would come back to Alexandria with you and come to know the children, live in some reasonable way. But you know perfectly well that’s never going to happen. I am going to spend my life as a series of interludes between one battlefield and another until I die, playing games I never quite understand. Octavian’s a better player, Cleopatra. You last saw him years ago. You don’t know.”

“Then don’t play against him,” she said, standing up swiftly. “You have the East. Leave Rome to Octavian. Stop trying to roll dice against him to be the First Man of Rome. Do the thing that you do well. Choose territory you can hold and keep it. Forget the Senate and the people of Rome.”

“Stop being Roman,” he said blankly.

“Yes.”

There was confusion in Sigismund’s eyes, and I saw that he did not have the context I did—Ptolemy in the double crown and white warrior’s shenti of Pharaoh, nothing of Macedon about him, refusing to play games of regency in Pella while the Black Land waited. It had worked before.

“Come to Alexandria,” she said. “Let us build a successor kingdom in the East, you and I, to be ruled by Caesar’s son and our children after us. Octavian wants the West. Let him have it! We have more than enough.”

Antonius put the cup down again. “You will still have me.”

She blinked, and her eyes were wet. “Maybe.”

“I will swear my oath to you,” he said roughly, “I will swear by any god you like that I will never again put anything before you or our children.”

“Done,” she said, and stepped forward into his arms.

In Sigismund’s eyes I saw nothing but vast relief.

E
MRYS HEARD THE GIST
of the conversation from me and Sigismund both, though I did not give him all of the details. He and Sigismund had cups in hand, and I sat with them in a tavern in Antioch, a rare break from the Queen’s work.

“Can the leopard change his spots?” Emrys mused. “Leopards have, but the other leopards don’t like it.”

Sigismund poured more wine for all three of us. “Well, you and I, Emrys, we’ve already changed our spots. Would anyone at home recognize us the way we are now? When we joined up we thought we’d go home in sixteen or twenty years as rich men. But in sixteen or twenty years, is there any going home? My village on the headwaters of the Rhenus wouldn’t recognize me. I’d be as odd as a dragon there.”

“What are you going to do when you get your discharge, Sigismund?” I asked.

“Go back to Rome,” he said, taking a deep swallow. “I’ve a woman there, a widow with three children. She’s got a tavern in the Subura she’s trying to hang on to, and she could use a man about to keep the crowd civil. We’ve got an understanding. When I get out, we’ll get married.”

“That’s wonderful,” I said. “I wish you every happiness.”

“Yes, well,” he said, smiling. “Not as fancy as Emrys here, but a good future.”

“A better idea than being a gladiator,” Emrys said.

“Too old,” Sigismund said, cracking his knuckles. “I could have done it ten years ago. But I’m thirty-six. Not as fast as I used to be. It’s time to be done with campaigning. If that’s the leopard changing spots, it’s all to the good.”

“The other leopards don’t like it,” I murmured.

W
E WINTERED IN
A
NTIOCH
. All was preparation for the great campaign in the spring, in which the Parthian Empire should be defeated by Antonius as decisively as it had been by Alexander. I did not have much enthusiasm for the task. I could not shake the vague feeling of foreboding, that the entire enterprise was ill conceived and badly timed.

The plan was thus: Rather than advance straight upon Parthia, as Crassus’ disastrous expedition had, Antonius’ forces would advance northward, through Armenia, and then come down on the heartland of Media from the west. The first city to fall should be the city of Praaspa.

Alexander could have done it. Alexander had done it. But we did not have Alexander.

F
OR THE MOST PART
, the winter passed pleasantly. Emrys had one more year of service—this would be his last campaign. The Queen and Antonius were all smiles, and one never saw them except together, usually with Helios and Selene in tow.

Antonius had brought his oldest child east with him, Antyllus, who I remembered as the little boy shoved on Caesarion as playmate by Fulvia in the last days of Caesar’s life. Now he was twelve. He was a slim, well-mannered boy just reaching the age when it seems as if his knees and elbows were too big for the rest of him. He had the look of Fulvia about him, and he was very gentle with the twins. I thought that he was a little shy, something of a defect in the oldest son of the First Man of Rome.

Toward spring I had a week of worry when my blood didn’t come, and I wondered if Emrys and I had finally not been careful enough. I had not conceived since Demetria’s difficult birth, and was not at all certain whether or not I could, but we tried to take no chances. Still, as any good physician would say, such things are always uncertain, and celibacy the only sure barrier to conception. I was, after all, only thirty-three.

After a week, it came on hard, and I breathed a sigh of relief. There were children enough in my life, with Demetria, Caesarion, and the four-year-old twins. The prospect of another pregnancy and child just now seemed daunting.

In any event, another child was on the horizon, as three weeks later the Queen missed her blood. I knew how she loved all of her children, Caesarion, Selene, and Helios alike, but I confess that my first thought was “Not again!” Her pregnancy with the twins had been so dangerous and taxing on everyone, and very nearly tragic at the end.

Therefore, it was decided that when Antonius marched toward Armenia at the beginning of Roman May, we would return by sea to Alexandria. Antyllus would come with us, as Antonius thought him still too young for a military campaign.

Of all the times I had said farewell to Emrys, this one was the hardest. I wept, as I had not before.

“You worry too much,” he said with a smile. “I’m an old soldier and I know how to look after myself.”

“I know,” I said. “And I will make offerings in your name every day anyway.”

“It can’t hurt,” he said, and kissed me good-bye.

I
DID NOT HAVE TO WAIT LONG
for a letter. Soon after we reached Alexandria the first one arrived.

Hail Charmian,

We are advancing with eleven legions, and as yet have met no resistance to speak of. Therefore we have stripped the countryside of provisions, and our baggage train is grown very large indeed, so we do not lack for food. However, by necessity, we move very slowly, no faster than the pace of a laden mule. This chafes the light cavalry very much! Our Armenian allies are helpful, and they have many more horsemen than we do, so you see all is well. . . .

I wished this comforted me, but it did not. However, I had other things to think of. Caesarion had his own household now, and I had charge of the twins in the nursery, who would at the end of the fall be joined by a little brother or sister. The doctors could only hear one heartbeat, something for which I made a thank offering in the Temple of Isis.

When Cleopatra appeared at festivals or on progress with Helios and Selene, people rushed to touch her, calling that she was Isis incarnate, the fertility of the Black Land personified. And so she seemed, her two beautiful children on either side of her, with Caesarion, the Horus of Egypt, walking behind.

Summer came on, and the Inundation.

The Queen’s belly swelled. The Temple of Hathor at Dendara was finished. Caesarion and Antyllus frightened everyone by sneaking out of the palace together and going about town in the middle of the night dressed as servants. Antyllus was scolded, and Caesarion lost the use of his horse for two weeks.

Iras and I laughed about it as soon as the boys were gone. “You do know,” she said to Cleopatra, “they do no more than we did.”