Song of the Nile (55 page)

“Yes,” I admitted, fascinated.

“Then I
became
Caesar,” he continued. “I put the crown upon Cleopatra’s head. I put the scepter in her hands . . . and she spread her body over me like the stars over the earth. Then it was your body. Warm and real. You and I, joined together at last . . .”

I stole a glance to see if he were taunting me, but he wasn’t. He went rigid with desire, and my mouth fell slightly agape. Did he not recall that we’d been interrupted? Or was I the one who misremembered, only wishing under the influence of the
kykeon
that the deed hadn’t been done? He’d been drunk on the
kykeon
, whereas I’d had only a few swallows. Perhaps it had been enough to distort my memories too.

“I took you as my bride,” the emperor recalled, and for one paralyzing moment I thought he might stroke himself with the hand that drifted between his legs. Then he stilled. “Death came for me as a pillar of fire.” I swallowed, remembering the glint of Helios’s sword and the flames, trying to find the words that might excuse me of conspiracy. “It was your father’s shade. I’d know Antony’s hulking shoulders anywhere, though his hair was all yellow flame. It was a warning. A warning of some kind. A warning against touching you, I think.”

He looked down at me, fearful. He was very near the precipice of something. I need only push him.
Vow to me that you’ll get free of him!
I squeezed my eyes shut against the agonizing pain and my twin’s impetuous demand. I’d said only what must be said to make him flee and save his life. Vows could be broken. What was one more deception upon the weight I already carried in my heart? “In my vision, I was your salvation, Caesar.”

Now the emperor brightened, hopeful. “Yes. The goddess came to me in your guise and beat death back with the air from her wings and a flood of grain. With
seed
. I always thought that damnable frog amulet at your throat meant that you were a resurrection of your mother. Perhaps you’re
my
resurrection. You’ll give me a son to live on after me. And when I’m gone, you’ll preserve my legacy . . .”

It’s what you want to believe,
I thought. I had only to reassure him. Stoke the fantasy that he desired, as I’d always done, and he’d remember that he made me Queen of Egypt. He’d remember his promise to marry me and set Livia aside. Nothing I’d ever done would be easier than to reassure him that he’d been cleansed by fire, that the deeds of his past had all been burned away to make way for a new Golden Age. He’d believe me. So why couldn’t I do it?

I’d made a vow to my goddess. A vow to Helios. A vow to myself...

My mother had chosen one River of Time for her own. Now I must choose another, even as all other possibilities flowed away. My mother’s calling was not mine. Isis had called me to something different. To break free of Augustus was to accept that I might never see Egypt again. To accept that when I died, I’d be buried in a tomb built for my twin, on a hill in Mauretania that had blossomed forth with flowers to celebrate the child in my womb.

“What is it, Selene? What did you see?” Augustus asked, leaning forward.

Child of Isis, you are more than flesh.
That is what my goddess wished to teach me. What I wished to teach my daughter. I was more than a body to give this man a child. My heart was made to hold so much more than hatred. And I didn’t have to destroy this man to triumph over him. Turning away from the emperor, a sound of mingled grief and victory escaped me.

“Tell me, Selene. I command you.”

I remembered my twin’s fury and confusion as I fought his magic with my own. I’d been stronger. Strong enough to save the emperor’s life. Maybe now I could be strong enough to save myself. “I saw the scepter of Egypt fall from my hands,” I whispered. “The crown flew from my head, and in my vision, Caesar, I could only protect you from death by giving up what I wanted most.”

He reeled back. “What are you saying? You’re saying that it
was
a warning?”

One little word that would change my destiny. It came out as a sob. “Yes.”

His hands went to his hair, pulling at it by the fistful. “No, but the seed . . .”

“Spilled seed. Cornucopias overflowing. Isn’t that one of your symbols? One of your tokens of the Golden Age? It was prophesied upon my birth that I must help bring about a Golden Age, but it won’t be mine; it will be
yours
, Caesar. I’ll ensure your glory as your obedient daughter and client queen. That’s how I can help lift the curse my goddess placed upon you.”

He was on his feet in a flash. “You and the games you play! If you think that you’ll rule Egypt and deny me a son—”

“I can deny you nothing, but you already have a son. Claim Julia’s little boy.”

“No,” Augustus said, shaking his head, distraught.

“You would’ve made Julia’s child with Marcellus your heir. You need only adopt your grandson by Agrippa. Let Julia’s little boy be a Caesar. It’s what you always intended. If you search your heart, you know it was always your plan.”

“Gaius is Agrippa’s son and Agrippa has made himself my enemy!”

“Admiral Agrippa is still your friend. You can reconcile with Agrippa . . .”

Now anger crept into his features. “You’re just afraid. We’ve come so far, you and I. To the edge of greatness. Where is my
Cleopatra
? Who is this timid creature who turns away when offered the world?”

I was Cleopatra’s daughter, Isidora’s mother, the Queen of Mauretania, beloved of Isis. I was myself. I didn’t need to be anyone else.
He
did. “I’m your temptation, Caesar. Your Dido.”

At this, the emperor’s eyes snapped to mine.
“What?”

“I’ve always been your temptation. You must send me away. The gods demand it of you as they demanded it of Aeneas.”

At the reminder of his forefather, Augustus blinked several times. He’d said that he wanted to be Caesar and wanted in me his own Cleopatra, but those ambitions weren’t lofty enough for him. He wanted to be
Aeneas
, a thing I’d always known, a desire I’d fueled in him from the start.
Aeneas
, the great Trojan hero, forefather of Rome. Aeneas, who was, in Virgil’s epic, the stalwart hero who must abandon his African queen to meet his destiny.

“No, it cannot be,” he whispered, even as he looked down upon my charred dress, a sure reminder of Dido, who had thrown herself upon a pyre for lost love. “You’re mistaken,” he said, fury turning his face crimson. “You told me once, words in vivid red blood on your hands, that there would never be an end to it between us and you were right. I’ll never let you go.”

But it was done. Like a Roman
pilum
, my javelin had arced through the air, struck his shield, and
stuck
. The idea would drag upon him no matter how valiantly he tried to fight it. He would send me away—with protestations and self-pity and tears at ruthless fate—but he would send me away. Perhaps even this very night.

AS my ship slipped from the harbor into the Aegean, the mood of my courtiers was decidedly somber. Lady Lasthenia wouldn’t meet my eyes, her disappointment palpable. Lady Hybrida blubbered, waving away anyone who tried to hush her. One could rarely tell what Memnon thought about anything, but his shoulders rounded in defeat beneath his bloodred cloak. Crinagoras couldn’t even bring himself to make a self-congratulatory remark. None of them knew that the emperor had placed my mother’s diadem on my brow and her scepter in my hands; they believed I’d failed them, yet somehow they sought to reassure me.

“Majesty, he’ll send for you again,” Crinagoras said. “Augustus has too much of a poet’s soul to let it end like this.”

Perhaps
, I thought.
Perhaps not.
Maybe the Eleusinian Mysteries made an end of it for him. It wouldn’t surprise me, for I had, in some sense, made a different man of the emperor. Augustus might go on to his destiny as the father of Rome and never turn back. Or perhaps he would summon me again, the game between us timeless. Eternal.

It was too much to contemplate now. My burned arm throbbed painfully beneath my clothes and I wanted wine and oblivion. During the days, I slept in my berth, lulled by the sound of the oars below as we journeyed back to Africa. At night, I drank to excess and I drank alone. I shunned moonlight and pined for those lost nights with Helios on the beach. I shunned sunlight too, for it reminded me of his hair. I felt as if I’d been roused from a long dream, like
kykeon
had been my whole life and only now was I awakening.

Gulls cried and I heard the little running steps of Isidora and Tala’s boy as they chased after one another. Someday, my daughter might hate me for choosing these simpler pleasures for her, but heart, be still, listen to her laugh! I clasped my hands over my mouth, overcome, but did nothing to disguise my tears. I let them roll down my cheeks, wet and salty.

It would all be different now. It must all be different now. Augustus believed that
I
was the wronged party, that he’d abandoned me and left me wounded. Scorned. To assuage his worries that I might throw myself into a pyre for love of him, he’d be generous with me. I would do as I pleased and Augustus would say nothing against it.

I loved coins—for they endured. Men had made coins for me, but now I would mint my own. Coins to honor my mother. Coins of Isis. Coins of a crocodile, free, unfettered, unchained. And I would build an Iseum, a bright and beautiful sanctuary for my goddess in the midst of a hostile Roman world. A place where Memnon and all my faithful could worship, where Euphronius could work his magic, and where I could teach Isidora.

It would be a triumph of its own, twice as worthy as anything else I’d ever done.

WHEN I heard the cry of landfall, I emerged, cramped from the womb of my berth, blinking into the sunlight. My eyes burned as if I saw daylight for the first time. A tower of gleaming white light rose before me, a city behind it, all aglow. My lighthouse was complete. Stone by stone, it stood up from the blue sea to tower over my harbor, a guide to bring me home. At the sight of my purple sails, a trumpeter bellowed my homecoming and shouts of gladness went up in the streets. “The queen!” A bustle of activity beset the shoreline while citizens poured out onto balconies and rooftops to cheer my return. The sight of them made me smile through my tears, but not wishing to be feted like a conqueror I went quickly ashore.

Wooden construction cranes with dangling ropes dotted the landscape, as ubiquitous as palm trees, and I saw that Iol-Caesaria was much changed in the years that I’d been away. It was bigger, grander. Buildings of modern design rose tall and majestic over the new city wall. My palace . . . why it was almost finished now.

I didn’t dally. Before the staff could even assemble to welcome me, I passed through the gates and took the stairs two at a time. My shawl came loose in the wind and fluttered behind me, but I didn’t stop for it. Inside the receiving hall, servants chased after me and stunned courtiers poured out of every crevasse of the palace. Chryssa and Maysar both helped Euphronius, stooped as he was over his divination staff.
My loved ones,
I thought. How bittersweet to see them again with nothing in my hands, when I could have brought them everything.

“Majesty!” Chryssa shrieked with joy, jostling to be the first to welcome me.

“Oh, beloved queen,” Euphronius said. “Come closer so I know my old eyes don’t deceive me.”

“Is this merely a visit?” Maysar asked with a smirk.

“No,” I replied, my eyes clear, my voice unwavering. “I’ve come home.”

The Berber chieftain gave a brilliant smile, then lowered to kiss my hands.

“The king is in his chambers,” Chryssa said, her own smile wide and teary. “Surely, someone has informed him . . .”

This upset my balance. I’d expected that Juba would still be in Spain with Agrippa. I thought I’d have more time to prepare. Time to consider what I wanted. On the other hand, maybe what lay between Juba and I had always been too well considered. That he was here now was an omen and an opportunity that might not come again.

I strode purposefully to Juba’s rooms. His two guards scattered before me as if I were the sirocco itself. They both spoke at once. “Majesty, the king is dressing,” one said. “Majesty, the king is sleeping,” said the other. I pressed my hands to the big double doors, letting my weight swing them open. It would seem that both guards had been telling the truth, after a fashion. The King of Mauretania was unshaven, his eyes heavy with sleep as one slave tried to tug his arm into his tunic and another laced up his sandals. Juba looked up at me and blinked slowly, as if he couldn’t make his bloodshot eyes obey him. “Selene?” Juba coughed into his hand, then snapped at his slaves. “Go!”

The slaves slipped past me and I eyed the king’s pallor warily. “Are you feverish?”

“I’m drunk.” Juba pulled at the laces of his sandal, irritated by his inability to tie them. “Or at least I was drunk and now I’m ill. Or perhaps I’m
still
drunk and imagining you. Perhaps Dionysus is inside me.”

Making my way to his side, I stooped and put my hand over his. “You’re not imagining me. And you aren’t Dionysus.”

“Nay.” He drew his hand from mine and let the offending sandal fall to the floor. “That must be Augustus. If you’re the New Isis and Queen of Egypt, your consort must be Osiris, or is it Serapis to the Greeks? Dead gods who rise to be lovers befuddle me.”

“I thought you were in Spain. With Agrippa.”

“I was,” Juba said, leaning back on his pillows and shielding his eyes from the light. “I saw Julia too.”

Julia
. How I missed her. Seating myself at the edge of Juba’s bed, I asked, “How does she fare?”

“Better than her new husband, I think. Now that she has a babe, Agrippa wants her to return to Rome but fears the mischief she’d make without him. As it is, Julia loves traveling with the soldiers, meeting the people in the provinces, and indulging in their scandalous customs.”