Cleopatra’s Daughter: A Novel (24 page)

Julia sighed.
“My
home should have been in Egypt,” she repeated as Gallia strung the last bead onto her hair. She rose from her chair
and studied herself in the polished bronze. “No wonder you miss Alexandria,” she said thoughtlessly. The swath of violet silk she had purchased had been sewn into a pair of tunics, and while mine hung straight and shapeless as a stick, hers clung to the emerging curves of her body. I had combined red ochre with blue azurite to make a violet paint for her eyelids, and with the faience beads in her hair, she did look like a princess. “Give me your diadem,” she said suddenly, and when I hesitated, she frowned. “It’s just for the sketch.”

I took off the pearl band that had once symbolized my right to rule over the kingdoms of Cyrenaica and Libya, and although Gallia’s eyes narrowed with disapproval, I handed it to Julia.

She nestled it among her black curls. “Is this how your mother looked?” she whispered.

I knew the answer she wanted. “Yes.”

“And are you drawing the diadem?”

“If you stay still.”

“Should I sit or stand?”

I hesitated, looking down at my drawing. “Keep standing. I’ll include your sandals as well.”

I was surprised by how still she could be when she wanted something. She stood patiently while I drew the folds in her tunic, then turned quietly when I asked to see her beaded hair in profile. When at last I said, “Finished,” she clapped her hands together.

“I want to see!” she exclaimed, and when I turned the book toward her, she drew in her breath. She looked first at Gallia, then at me. “Am I really that beautiful?”

I set my jaw. “Ink drawings are always flattering.”

“But you’ll color it, won’t you?”

“With what?”

“I’ll have a slave send over paints. Look how beautiful it already is, and think how pretty it will be in color.”

A sharp knock on the door cut off my protest. “Quick!” I cried. “What if it’s Octavia?”

But Julia didn’t move. “It isn’t. It’s Marcellus. Gallia,” she said merrily, “let him in!”

I stared at Julia. “How do you know?”

She smiled. “Because I told him to come.”

Marcellus and Alexander entered, and when my brother saw Julia in my crown, he paused. “Is that your diadem?”

“Just for a moment,” I said quickly.

Marcellus gave a low whistle, and Julia turned for him.

“Well, what do you think?” she asked.

“As beautiful as Selene.”

Julia’s eyes flashed angrily in my direction. “You mean you think we look alike?”

“Of course. I mean no. You’re the most beautiful princess of all!” But he winked at me when he said it, and I felt a strange fluttering in my chest.

She grinned. “And what do you think of my paints?”

“I hope they wash off,” he said seriously. “Because my mother is coming.”

Julia gave a small shriek of terror, then pushed my diadem at me and fled back into the bathing room. “Hurry!” she cried. “The beads!”

Marcellus laughed while Julia scrubbed at her face. “What did you think would happen?” he asked.

“She’s supposed to be doing charity work in the Subura. Don’t just stand there. Help!”

The four of us rushed to take off the beads, and Gallia hid them in a small jar next to my couch.

“Not with Selene,” Julia complained.
“I
want them!”

“You should keep them here until my mother leaves,” Marcellus suggested. “Everything makes her suspicious lately.”

Julia’s voice was resentful. “What do you mean?”

Both Alexander and I caught Marcellus’s uneasy glance at Gallia. “Something about the Red Eagle,” he said.

“What? Does she think he’s hiding in a jar?”

“No. But trust me, it’s better this way.”

Octavia opened the door to our chamber, then stepped back when she saw the five of us together. “Gallia, what is this?”

“They are preparing for the theater, Domina,” she said lightly.

“Do you like my tunic?” Julia asked. She spun around, and there was no evidence on her face that she had been wearing red ochre just a few moments before.

“Is that a new purchase?” Octavia frowned.

“Yesterday. Selene has one as well. There’s enough material for Antonia, if you like.”

Octavia smiled thinly. “Thank you, but I think something more modest suits her better.”

Julia wasn’t offended. “So what play are we going to see?”

“Amphitruo,”
Octavia replied, her eyes searching the room as if she could sense that something was amiss.

“And do you know who’s coming?” Marcellus asked, taking her arm and steering her from our chamber.

“Agrippa, Juba, Maecenas, Terentilla. And, Julia, you’ll be happy to know that Horatia will probably be there with Pollio.”

Marcellus glanced back at Julia, and his look was pitying.

“Why? Who’s Horatia?” my brother asked.

Julia’s gaze narrowed. “She used to go to the ludus with us. But Livia arranged her marriage last year.”

“So what’s wrong with that?”

“Her husband is a disgusting old man—and she was only thirteen.”

I exchanged a look with Alexander as we left the chamber.

“Why would Livia do that?” he asked nervously.

“Because Horatia was my closest friend. She even taught me to swim,” Julia whispered, and her eyes shone with tears.

“And for that she arranged a terrible marriage?”

“She would have arranged a marriage with Cerberus if he had been available. And now Horatia’s pregnant with an old merchant’s child.”

We reached the portico, where half a dozen curtained litters were waiting, and I shared one with Julia. We had taken an early meal in the triclinium, and the setting sun burnished our curtains red and gold.

“If I were a better person,” Julia said suddenly, “I would never have let you paint my face.”

“Why?”

“Because if Livia ever discovered it, she would do the same thing to you.”

I sat straighter against the cushions. “I would never let that happen.”

Julia laughed mirthlessly. “There’d be nothing you could do. Even Octavia can’t change my father’s mind once it’s made up. And Livia’s there all the time,” she added, “whispering into his ear like Boreas.” I wondered how she knew about the Greek god of the north wind, and before I could ask, Julia said sharply, “I’m not a complete fool. I listen.” We rode the rest of the way in silence, and when we reached the Campus Martius and the litters stopped, Julia explained, “We walk from here. My father thinks it looks better to the plebs if we arrive on foot.”

When the six slaves lowered our litter to the ground, I parted the curtains and was helped up by Marcellus. He saw the look on my face and asked, “A happy ride with Julia, then?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Julia said accusingly.

“Oh, cheer up. Can you remember the last time we went to the theater?”

“Before my father left for Egypt.”

“That’s right. And even if Horatia is married to Pot-Bellied Pollio, at least she has the denarii to come.”

“If she had any sense, she’d use it to buy poison for him.”

Marcellus shrugged. “He’ll be dead before she’s twenty-five. And then she can remarry.”

“The two of you are disgusting,” Tiberius said.

I hadn’t noticed that he was walking behind us with his younger brother. Julia didn’t bother to turn around, but Marcellus said swiftly, “Perhaps your mother can marry you off to some old matron with a sagging
cunnus
, and we can see how you’d like it.”

Seeing my look, Alexander cut his laughter short. “Octavian is in front of us,” I said in Parthian. “And everyone else.” Twenty soldiers were escorting us to the theater, and Octavian was flanked by Agrippa and Juba. Their long togas flapped in the late summer’s breeze, but beneath them, I could see the shadow of chain mail. Immediately, my brother sobered.

We passed beneath a stunning marble arch into the theater, where terraced stone benches had been built into the hill. Behind them stretched a polished mosaic depicting the masks of comedy and tragedy. On either side of the theater were well-tended gardens and colonnades. Everything looked new, or at least well-preserved. “When was this built?” I asked Marcellus.

“Twenty-five years ago.”

“By whom?”

“Pompey. He was Julius’s great rival. Stone theaters were forbidden in Rome, so he built this outside the walls, and even then the people complained. So he added a temple.” I followed his gaze to the Temple of Venus, perched above the seats of the theater. “Notice how the seats are arranged?” he asked. “They’re supposed to look like
a grand staircase to the temple.” He laughed. “It’s how he convinced them to build. The workers were afraid of angering the gods! Can you imagine such foolishness?” He had spoken too loudly, and his mother turned. Marcellus lowered his voice. “And that’s where Julius Caesar was killed.” He pointed to the rear of the theater.

“I thought he was murdered in the Senate,” Alexander said.

“Sometimes the Senate would meet here in the Curia.”

“That’s why my father thinks it’s bad luck here,” Julia said suddenly. “And why he takes so many soldiers.”

I saw no sign of Octavian’s nervousness as we approached the padded benches that had been reserved for us in the first row. Instead, he chatted with Terentilla, and I could see from the look on Livia’s face that a storm was about to break. As I took my place between Alexander and Octavia, I heard Livia suggest, “Perhaps we women should set an example for the rest of Rome and take our seats in the upper tiers.” When Octavian looked uncertain, she continued, “You are Caesar now. Women are not allowed to sit with men in the stadia. Why should it be allowed in the theater?”

“Because we are the ruling family of Rome,” Octavia said, overruling her, “and we know how to conduct ourselves in public.”

“My sister is right. Octavia is an example to all of Rome for charity and virtue. As are you,” Octavian amended.

“And Terentilla?” Livia asked him with a sweetness that was terrifying. “Is she a part of this family?”

Octavian set his jaw. “Anyone married to Maecenas is family.”

A young girl was coming toward us, holding her swollen belly, and suddenly Livia’s mood brightened considerably. “Horatia!”

The girl did her best to return Livia’s smile. Her seat was next to Julia’s, on the farthest end of the bench, but she stopped before Octavian to greet him properly.

“Caesar, it is good to see you in fine health.”

“And you,” he said briefly. “So where is Pollio, your husband?”

“Speaking with a merchant, I believe.”

Octavian appeared displeased. “Doing business in the theater?”

“He would do business underwater in the baths if he thought he could make money,” she said with resignation. “I hope you enjoy the show.”

I inhaled the warm scent of lavender as she passed, and when Pollio appeared, I held my breath.

“Is that him?” Alexander whispered in Parthian.

“It must be,” I replied.

He waddled between the stage and the bench, shaking hands with everyone. His fingers were weighed down with heavy gold rings, and when he came to Juba, he held up his hands. “The Prince of Numidia,” he announced louder than he needed. “Do I shake hands, or bow?”

Juba glanced at Octavian. “I believe we only bow for royalty, Pollio, and as yet, I am not the king of any kingdom.”

Pollio held out his fat hand, and Juba took it without enthusiasm.

“Livia”—Pollio breathed the word like a prayer—“you put Venus to shame.”

The blatancy of the lie made Octavian frown, but Livia beamed. “And you could flatter the thunderbolts from Jupiter,” she said.

Pollio moved to Octavian but didn’t attempt to shake his hand. “Caesar.”

“I hear you are conducting business in the theater. Does this look like a market?”

“Of course not. Forgive me.”

“You are a very wealthy man. But that wealth comes from grain contracts granted by Rome. This is not the Forum. If you confuse it
again,” Octavian said simply, “you will find yourself without any business at all.”

As Pollio passed, I whispered to Octavia, “Is it an offense to conduct business in a place of entertainment?”

“No, but Julius Caesar used to do business when he came to the theater, and it angered the plebs. The people must not come to associate this place with patrician wealth.”

The orchestra began to play, and I glanced down the row at Tiberius, who was telling Vipsania something to make her laugh. On the other side of him, Octavia’s daughters were sitting silently, and I wondered if they had ever done anything in their lives that displeased their mother.

A thin actor in a toga came onstage through the curtained doorway. “We begin tonight as we begin all nights,” he said. “With a speech!” Several members in the crowd booed, and the actor smiled. “Perhaps you naysayers would like to give our orator a challenging topic, then?”

Alexander grinned at me. “Is he joking?”

“No. I think this is really what they do.”

Several members of the audience shouted, “Athens!” Another shouted, “Make him talk about the beauty of baldness.” And when one called out, “The Battle of Actium,” I clenched my jaw. “How about the value of a cheating wife?” someone suggested, and the actor clapped his hands. “We have a subject!”

I looked at Octavian, who seemed to be enjoying himself.

A fat orator appeared from the left of the stage. “The value of being a cuckold,” he began, and the entire audience descended into laughter. “When the horns of cuckoldry grow on your head, think of all the uses they might have. You can defend yourself without a sword.” He made the motion of charging, and the audience
laughed again. “You could impale your enemies—or scratch an itch.” He rubbed his head on his flabby shoulder. “There are a thousand uses for a horned man. Not to mention a horny woman.” He went on to extol the virtues of a well-practiced wife, but as he went on to say that men would have fewer duties at the end of a long day, audience members groaned and someone shouted, “Bring on the bear!”

“I’m not finished,” the orator said angrily, but this only inspired the drunken men to further chants.

“Bring on the bear! Bring on the bear!”