Cleopatra's Moon (24 page)

When I awoke, I lay on my side, curled and naked like a newborn, wrapped in a blanket of the softest linen. My eyes fluttered open. I was in the sanctuary of the Great Goddess, at the foot of her immense painted marble statue. I stared up into her open arms, her head slightly bent with a smile of welcoming. Someone had placed a brilliant blue mantle over the statue’s head, covering her hair. Roses covered her feet, rich, sweet, mysterious.

Isetnofret, the Lady of Isis, stood in front of the statue and drew her arms up toward the Goddess. “Take to your bosom these Initiates who now devote their lives to you, O Great Mother. You allowed them a sip from the cup of death and blessed their return. They are reborn in the light, born again into their new lives under your care.”

I belong to the Goddess now
, I thought. Then I smiled. I always had.

After prayers of gratitude for surviving our journey and donning the saffron tunics of the newly initiated, we feasted and celebrated with the other devotees of the Goddess in a banquet room overflowing with food. I lounged with the other initiates, the three of us smiling shyly at one another.

“Come with us,” Isetnofret said into my ear. I followed her into a room curtained off from the banqueting hall, where a small group of shaven-headed priests and long-haired priestesses waited. She posted a guard to ensure our privacy.

The head priestess turned to me. “Tell me what vision the Goddess sent you, what she said to you.”

“She asked me to choose,” I said hesitatingly.

“And what did you choose?” Isetnofret asked.

“Power,” I said. “I chose power.”

A slow smile broke across the priestess’s face. “Very good.” She exchanged looks with the others.

“Why?” I asked. “What does it mean?”

“It means the Goddess has blessed our plans,” she said. “The people of Isis suffer in the Land of Kemet, for
ma’at
has been disrupted. We finally have a plan to reinstate you on the throne. And now we know the Goddess approves.”

“How? How will we get Egypt back?”

“Cornelius Gallus,” she said.

I shook my head, not understanding. Isetnofret began to pace. “He is the low-ranking officer Caesar left in charge of Egypt. He has been showing a certain restlessness for more control over what Caesar bids him manage. The priests of Egypt have approached him about returning
ma’at
to the land. He is open to our plans.”

“What plans?”

“To marry you. You would rule beside him as the great queen you were destined to be.”

I sucked in a breath. “But … but the Goddess did not show me Cornelius Gallus….” She showed me Juba and Marcellus, but no one else. And she did not show me Egypt, I realized suddenly.

“The Goddess is not always literal, but she makes her intentions clear. She wants you to have power. We needed confirmation, and we got it.”

A thrill surged up my spine. “But marrying Gallus — how would that balance
ma’at
if Rome still rules?”

“Rome rules because of its mighty military. But it does not know how to rule the Ancient Lands.”

“Octavianus would never allow it,” I said. “He would declare another war on me and our people!”

“Octavianus is preparing to go to Spain within the next three months,” Isetnofret said, “where rebelling tribes are destabilizing Rome’s control again. A well-timed rebellion in Alexandria would leave him too stretched, too weak, to do anything about it. And since Egypt controls the grain that feeds Rome, we have only to remind him of his dependence on the bounty of the Mother Goddess.”

“But if I rule as queen, then Cornelius Gallus would be considered king. And no Roman would ever allow another Roman to take that title.”

“True, but Gallus is prepared to claim that he marries you merely to satisfy the priests and the religious classes. As long as he doesn’t name himself king, he breaks no Roman law.” Isetnofret smiled. “And as soon as it is clear that our plans are stable and there will be no war, we would eliminate Gallus.”

Murder him? My shock must have shown on my face, for Isetnofret touched my shoulder and said, “Do not worry. It would not be by your hand.”

Gods, but the murder would be in my
name
, on my behalf! I thought of the rumors and accusations I had heard about Mother in Rome — that she’d had my aunt Arsinoe killed, that she had killed her younger brother too. I always dismissed them out of hand, but suddenly it did not seem so unimaginable. If someone dared take Egypt away from Mother, she would not have hesitated to act in defense of her crown.

Yet Mother never betrayed her Roman husbands. She understood that alliance was the answer. Perhaps Isetnofret did not realize how impossible it would be to do anything without a Roman consort. Besides, murdering a Roman citizen would create a backlash big enough to threaten my rule. No, there would be no murder in my name. When the time came, I would stay their hand. They would see the wisdom of it. I would make them.

I set my jaw and nodded at the priestess.

“The Goddess has spoken,” Isetnofret said. “In my visions, she calls you ‘Queen.’ Do you see? And now your journey with her confirms it.”

The prospect of going home, of stepping into the legacy and the life destined for me … A calm peace settled over me. This was the will of the Goddess. I smiled up at Isetnofret.

She grinned back. “We prepare for revolution.”

When I returned to Octavianus’s complex, I rushed to find Alexandros. The priestess had warned me not to talk to him in detail about our plans — indeed she warned me not talk to him about them at all — but I did not like keeping something so big from my twin. Besides, he might become inspired enough to undergo the rites himself at the next full moon.

Alexandros was in the main garden on a bench under one of the shade trees. At my approach he slammed shut a wax tablet he had been writing on.

“By the Eye of Ra, brother!” I exclaimed, grinning. “One would think you were writing to a secret beloved, the way you closed that!”

“I am doing nothing of the sort,” he replied testily. But the flush that crept up his neck reminded me of his mysterious lover in the woods.

“So who were you kissing in the woods last week?”

He scowled. “You said you knew!”

“Well, I had thought it was Marcellus, but Marcellus denies it.”

“Marcellus!” he nearly barked. “Why would you think that?”

“I saw blond curls and I thought I heard a male voice … never mind. Just tell me who it was!”

He stood up. “Oh, gods! You told him about seeing us? Now he will wonder too. Julia will kill me!”

“Julia?” I squeaked. “You were with
Julia?”

“Not so loud,” Alexandros said as he sat back down.

“But why Julia of all people? Are you
looking
to get us killed?”

“She has pursued me,” he said defiantly.

“Well, of course she has! Nothing would make her father angrier than to see his daughter with the son of the queen of Egypt! She lives to spite him. Are you mad?”

Alexandros shrugged. “Maybe so. But you are mad for bringing it up to Marcellus. He is too close to Octavianus to trust. For anything.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “I will tell her we need to stop. She will see the sense in it.”

I was going to berate him for his poor judgment, but a new thought gave me pause. “Brother, do you — do you
love
her?”

A look of bewildered horror moved over his face. “You do not know me at all if you think I could,” he said in a low tone as he got up to leave.

“Wait!” I grabbed his arm. “Don’t you want to know about the Mysteries? Don’t you want to know about the Goddess’s plan to return us to our rightful throne?” I whispered.

He pulled his arm away from me. “I want nothing the Goddess pretends to offer. She has failed us too many times.”

Once again, he stalked away from me in a rage over the Goddess. I touched two fingers to my heart in the sign of protection against evil as I watched him go.

Later that afternoon, I went to Livia’s
tablinum
. Although I had plenty to read from Isetnofret, my restlessness after talking to Alexandros made it hard to concentrate, and scanning scrolls always calmed me. Even so, my stomach flip-flopped with worry. What would Octavianus do if he found out about my brother and Julia? Why had the Goddess not called him?

“There you are!”

“Marcellus!” I said. “You scared me.”

“Why did you not come see me the minute you came home?” he asked teasingly.

“What did you do to your hair?” I cried. His blond curls were gone, shorn close to his head in the Roman military fashion.

He rubbed his hands over his scalp, more brown than blond now. “Well, I cannot have someone I care about confusing my curls with those of a girl’s, now can I?”

I reddened.

“You don’t like it?” he asked.

“But your beautiful curls!”

He laughed. “Yes, Mother is furious with me too. But I have sacrificed them at the altar of the household gods, which has appeased her.”

The haircut made him look older and more serious, but at the same time, even more handsome. I stared at the strong planes of his face, the blue eyes that seemed even bluer now, the full, sumptuous mouth. He must have noticed me looking at his lips, for he smiled slowly.

“What are you doing here?” I said, quickly turning my attention back to the pigeonhole stacks of scrolls.

“Looking for you,” he said. “I saw Juba, so I knew you were back.”

“I thought you said it would be better if we acted as if what took place between us never happened,” I said.

“Ah! So
that’s
what has upset you.”

I shook my head. Now that my focus was on getting Egypt back through Gallus, I could not afford to risk anything with Marcellus. Better to stop it now. “I am not upset,” I said, crouching to look at the scrolls on the lower shelves.

“What are you looking for? Maybe I can help.” He came closer. Despite myself, I could feel my heart rate quicken. Why did I respond to him this way?

I stood. “Nothing in particular.”

“Come here,” he said, taking my hand lightly by the fingertips. I followed him to a corner of the small study where a row of shelves blocked us from view of the doorway. He turned to me with half-lidded eyes and his signature sensuous smile.

“This is a bad idea,” I said.

“No it isn’t,” he whispered, moving closer. “I have missed you.”

He wound an arm around my waist and pulled me into a kiss. I shivered at the feel of his lips, confused by the disparity between what my thoughts said —
Do not do this; cannot risk plans for Egypt
— and how my body responded to his touch.

I put my hands on his chest. “Marcellus, please.”

He chuckled in my ear after kissing my throat. “I can feel your heartbeat. Your body does not lie.”

“My heart races because I am scared,” I said, trying to convince myself that it was true.

He pulled back. “Scared?” His tone sounded surprised. “Why would I scare you? I will not force you to do anything you do not desire.”

“Do you know what Octavianus would do if he knew his Golden Boy and the daughter of his enemy were together? He would
kill
me! He’s wanted to all these years, and this would be the perfect excuse….” I closed my eyes, thinking of what he would do to Alexandros too if he found out about him and Julia.

“Caesar doesn’t have to know.”

I held my hands firm on his chest. “No.”

“Is it someone else? Did Juba steal you away on your trip?”

I laughed. “Gods, no!” Why would he think that? I remembered then what Juba had said about Marcellus — that it was my reticence he found so compelling. I had become a challenge, a sort of test of his irresistibility. I moved away. I did not want to be a casualty of his narcissism.

He touched my arm. “You have the loveliest skin,” he murmured. “Like honey in sunlight.”

“I really must get back to my reading,” I said, turning my back to him in dismissal.

But instead of leaving, he put his hands on my waist and pressed his body against me from behind. The contact so surprised me, I gasped. He chuckled low against my ear, and I closed my eyes.

“Why do you fight me?” he whispered.

I pulled away again. “Juba said you only found me interesting because you have not yet conquered me — and that you will forget me as soon as you do.”

“Sounds like someone is jealous.”

“He is not jealous! He still thinks of me as a child.”

Marcellus watched my mouth. “Then he is a fool,” he murmured.

I turned toward the door, but he reached for my wrist. “Wait. Need I remind you that Caesar is grooming me as his heir?”

I laughed. “Oh, and is that supposed to make me fall into your arms?”

He shrugged and grinned. “Only if you find power seductive.”

Power. I had none. Not yet, anyway. And he was going to have it all. He would rule the empire one day. I remembered my initiation vision. Was he to play a role in helping me regain Egypt?

I blinked, looking at Marcellus with new eyes. Perhaps marrying Gallus was only a small step. Perhaps I needed a powerful ally in Rome for protection once I was back in Egypt. Suddenly it seemed clear. I could do what Mother had done. I would ally myself with a leader of Rome.

I smiled up at him. This time when he bent to kiss me, I arched up to kiss him back.

Although I had decided to ally myself with Marcellus, I had to be careful. If Juba was right, he would tire of me as soon as he “conquered” me. So I would not let him fully seduce me. My reluctance seemed to add to his fervor, which both excited and frightened me.

I wondered about telling the Priestess of Isis about my connection with Marcellus. Would she approve? Or would she think I was taking an unnecessary risk? I could not ask her, because she had warned me not to discuss our plans, even when I visited Ptolly’s tomb. She would contact me, she had instructed, never the other way around. But the waiting for word from her was agonizing.

Which is why, when I received a tiny note in demotic, a form of Egyptian writing, hidden in the folds of a freshly laundered
tunica
, I could barely keep my hands from shaking. The note was brief:

I
MPRINT OF
C
AESAR’S SEAL
. N
EED FOR
G
ALLUS
. S
TATIM
.

I groaned. The priestess wanted me to steal Octavianus’s seal? But that was impossible! Outrageous! Did she think I could just interrupt him at dinner and ask for his ring? Why did the Lady of Capua think I could do something like this?

I paced inside my
cubiculum
, trying to regulate my breathing. After a time, I saw the sense of creating a counterfeit seal. Gallus — as well as our agents here in Rome — would likely need to forge documents to keep suspicion at bay as plans moved forward. But knowing that did little to reduce my sense of dread over the difficulty of the task.

For several nights, before bed, I lit a small fire in a clay bowl in front of a statuette of Isis Pharia I’d taken from Egypt. I pinched a bit
of incense and sprinkled it over the flames in an offering to the Goddess. I prayed for her help:

On the third night, as I drifted off to sleep, the room still thick with smoke, I dreamt of the day I begged Octavianus to allow us to give Ptolly the Egyptian rites. Over and over again, I saw myself in his
tablinum
as he twisted my arm and pushed me into his desk. How the force made something clatter to the floor. How he swatted my hand away before I could touch it, slamming it back down on his desk. How he had grinned when he told me he’d had his signet ring made from Mother’s gold….

I sat up. The Goddess had shown me. I understood. “Thank you, Great Lady of Light,” I whispered. “Thank you.”

Days after receiving my instructions, I worked a small ball of wax in the palm of my hand as I sauntered toward Octavianus’s
tablinum
. I was in search of a scroll I could not find in Livia’s collection — that was my excuse for being there, if anyone asked.

Octavianus often signed documents between the sixth and seventh
horas
, after the last of his clients completed their morning ritual of kissing his ring and asking for favors. He demanded silence then. So I had paid a young slave boy to release a large snake in Octavianus’s atrium just as a large group of female slaves came by. The uproar, I hoped, would draw the
Princeps
out of his study.

The screams were louder and more frantic than I had imagined. I rushed into the house through the back servant’s entrance, peering
around the hallway just in time to see Octavianus and Thyrsus stalk over to the screaming women. “By the gods, what is the matter?” shouted Octavianus in a fury.

“It is an omen! A bad omen!” one of the women wailed.

I massaged the wax ball more furiously, softening it with the heat of my fear. I snuck into his study. There. His heavy seal ring lay beside the red Samian inkwell, just as it had been in the memory-vision the Goddess had sent me. My heart beat in my ears so loudly, I was sure the sound would call him screaming back into the room.

With shaking hands, I pressed the seal cleanly into the warmed wax. The ring clattered as I put it down, and I winced at the noise. But nobody came. As I rushed to the doorway, I placed the imprinted wax into a small box to protect its design.

Peeking out, I saw that one of the guards was trying to cut off the snake’s head. I bolted out the back of the house, listening to Octavianus call for an Etruscan haruspex to divine the meaning of the snake that appeared below the death masks of his ancestors.

When I finally looked at the wax imprint of the seal, I had to fight the temptation to smash it against the wall. A sphinx. Octavianus had adopted the Egyptian sphinx as his symbol. My stomach roiled with disgust. He had found yet another way to gloat over the destruction of my beloved Egypt. But I did not destroy the mold. I replaced the lid and planned my next excursion to the Temple of Isis in Capua.

Weeks after delivering the wax base of my enemy’s seal, I received another message from the priestess. I was to meet her agents by the central fountain in the heart of the Subura. come in disguise, the note instructed, and wait, our agents will approach you.

On the assigned morning, I shrugged into a slave’s cheap brown wool tunic that Zosima had filched for me and slipped my feet into rough rope sandals. I grabbed a dark mantle to put over my head. Just before I stepped out of my
cubiculum
, Zosima hissed, “Wait!” She handed
me a small bronze plaque hanging from a rope chain. “You must wear this.”

I groaned. The plaque read property of caesar. I shook my head, handing it back to her.

Zosima was adamant. “Girl slaves are preyed upon,” she said, the furrow between her eyebrows deepening. “But nobody dares hurt any of Octavianus’s slaves. Even criminals are afraid of him.”

She slipped the rope over my head. Zosima had seemed hurt that I had not confided the reason for my subterfuge, but I had to keep her safe too. I made my way out of the compound through a little-used path by the stable.

As I passed, a horse reared and whinnied. “Whoa, boy, whoa,” said a familiar voice trying to calm the beast down. Octavianus. I stiffened into stone as if I had looked into the face of Medusa herself.

Footsteps. I moved the mantle to cover my entire face. “You, girl!” he called. “Run back and tell my man to bring me the scrolls I left in my
tablinum
. Now!”

My stomach contracted. What would he do to me if he found me out? I kept my eyes down as I turned in the pretense of obeying.

“Did I not tell you to
run
, stupid girl? Or do I need to take a whip to you?” he roared, incensed at my hesitation.

Footsteps. An intake of breath. “Caesar,” another familiar voice said — Juba? “This is one of your wife’s slaves. Her loyalty is commendable — she defies even you to serve Livia.”

Octavianus growled. “She had better be thankful you recognized her, for I would have beaten her within an inch of her life for not obeying me. Be gone, miserable girl!”

I scurried away as he repeated the order to one of the stable boys, holding the mantle tightly under my chin. I stopped at the far side of the stable and leaned against the wood, shaking with fear. Romans regularly beat their slaves, sometimes even killing them, which was their legal right. Discovering my ruse would have given Octavianus just the excuse he wanted to beat the daughter of the queen of Egypt.

Running footsteps. “
Princeps
! The co-consul just sent a messenger. He wishes to speak with you immediately.”

“Gods!” Octavianus groused. “I leave for Spain in a matter of days! Can I have no peace even for a short ride?”

“His messenger said it was critical, sire.”

The sound of a whip petulantly thrown on the ground. “Fine! Tell my boy to unsaddle my horse,” he commanded as he stomped off.

I closed my eyes in relief. When I opened them again, I cried out in surprise. Juba was standing before me with a thunderous look on his face.

“What in the name of Jupiter do you think you are doing, Cleopatra Selene?” he demanded.