Cleopatra's Moon (26 page)

My heart raced. This was a trap? To catch
me
? How … how could Octavianus have discovered the plot? Thankfully, it sounded as if they did not know it was me — only that it was someone from the compound. Had he found out about the stolen seal? My breath constricted in my throat.

I looked at the old woman, who’d tied her long gray hair back under a mantle. She seemed serene, unlike the young man, whose face contorted with frustration as he tried to twist out of the soldier’s hold.

“Who were you going to meet here, you witch?” the officer spat at the old woman. When she did not answer, he slapped her.

“Gods, we have to help them!” I hissed. A crowd surrounded the soldiers, murmuring angrily at the officer’s treatment of the old woman.

“Looks like they set up a trap but missed their quarry,” Juba agreed. “I’m going to find out more.”

He walked up to the officer. They seemed to know each other. As they talked, the old woman caught my eye and signaled with her eyes that I should get away. But I could not. How could I leave them to this? What would they do to them? My heart thudded in my ears as I realized they would torture them for information. They would reveal my identity — the priestess’s too. Goddess help us! What would Octavianus do to me? To Alexandros?

The soldier holding the young man must have loosened his grip. In an instant, the young man twisted away and ran off.

“Get him, you idiot!” the officer bellowed when he saw what had happened. But the boy had already melted into the multitudes. Even denser crowds surrounded the soldiers then, deliberately blocking their ability to go after him. The helmeted officer screamed into his cadet’s face, the cords of his neck bulging, spittle bursting like sea spray.
Someone laughed. The furious officer looked at the growing mob of angry Suburanites, his eyes wild with rage.

“Let go of the grandmother!” someone cried.

“Yeah, what’d she do, dilute your wine too much this morning?”

Angry murmurs rippled through the press of people. The soldiers looked at one another. There were only a handful of them against countless bitter locals just looking for any reason to erupt at perceived injustices, including a senseless attack on a sweet old woman. I realized then that even soldiers were scared in the Subura.

“Release her,” the officer said to the man holding the woman. “She is too old to run away.” He turned to the crowd. “We will not hurt her!” he bellowed. “We only want to question her!”

More grumblings. A glint caught my eye as the old woman pulled a dagger from her belt. Was she going to attack the officer?

No. She wrenched the dagger across her throat in one rapid movement, slicing deeply through the soft wrinkled flesh of her neck. Dark, almost black blood spurted forth like the first gushes of a pump being primed. People screamed. I moved forward to help the old woman, but Juba, whom I hadn’t even realized had returned to my side, held me back. The crowds surged toward the soldiers in a rage. The men pulled their swords, standing next to one another as if about to fall into testudo formation. The old woman fell to her knees in front of them.

I moaned in horror, and not just for the old woman. Flashes of Alexandria. Father’s man, Eros. Blood pumping from his slashed throat. Blood, everywhere blood. The heavy metallic-sweet smell of it as it poured out of my father in front of me …

“Selene,” Juba hissed. “Look at me.” But I could not tear my eyes from the woman, now drowning in her own blood as people yelled threats and insults at the soldiers. He grabbed my chin, forcing my face toward his. “
Look
at me.”

I blinked, dizzy, trying to catch my breath, trying to focus on his eyes. I heard the officer barking out orders, the people grumbling.

“Bring the old woman to the Palatine,” the officer barked. “Caesar will want to see the body.”

I shivered. The body. Were they talking about Father?

“Keep looking at me,” Juba said.

His brown eyes locked on mine.

“Gaius, you still around?” the officer asked.

“Right here,” Juba said. I did not want him to turn from me. I gripped his arm, desperate. He lifted the mantle to cover my head as the officer came up to him.

“For the love of Mars, what was all that?” the officer asked. “I hate coming in here — these people are animals!” Sweat poured from his brow. He narrowed his eyes at Juba. “Did Caesar send you here to report on me?”

“What? No,” said Juba, blocking me from the officer’s view.

“You’re not going to tell him we lost the boy, are you?” asked the officer. “I don’t think he was important. He was probably just trying to steal the old woman’s bag of coins. It’s
her
we wanted,” he said, sounding as if he were trying to convince himself.

“You said they were meeting someone from Caesar’s household?”

The officer nodded, his eyes shifting continuously for signs of trouble from the crowd. “Yeah. Caesar’s people in Egypt discovered a counterfeit seal, and he’s convinced someone from the inside made the imprint because the workmanship was so good. But my men jumped too early and we missed em. Gods, where do they get these kids? No discipline at all!” He turned back to Juba. “The traitor probably slid away at the first sign of trouble,” he said. “So, what brings you to this pit of slime anyway?”

Juba must have made some gesture.

“Oh-ho!” the officer said. “I see now. Nothing like a hot tryst in the Subura for a little change of pace, eh?” I stiffened. “I’m going to need a drink before we head back and face Caesar. How’s about a quick nip in that tavern right there? She can join us if you want.”

Juba shifted. “No, Lucius. I really just want to …”

“All right, all right. I know what you want. Never mind. I have to report to Caesar anyway.” The officer finally clomped off in the direction of his men.

Juba turned toward me. “Follow me,” he ordered under his breath, taking me by the wrist.

We moved in the opposite direction from the soldiers carrying the old woman’s body. I looked back at the pool of blood glimmering a thick, dark red. A filthy barefoot boy dipped one hand into the bloody puddle and pulled out the dripping dagger, holding it up to the sun and grinning as if he had found some momentous treasure. A woman waved the boy away, pouring a bucket of water over the blood. Rivulets of red streamed down and around the uneven cobblestones.

Juba gave me a slight yank to keep me moving. I did not recognize any of the streets we followed but caught sight of the Forum of Julius Caesar rising to my left. I tried to twist my wrist away.

“I don’t want to go there!” I said, feeling desperate. The Forum was the heart of Rome’s business and political world. It swarmed with senators and military men — the same men who had betrayed my father.

Juba shook his head. “That is not where we are going.”

I breathed easier when he turned toward the slope of the Quirinal Hill. “Here,” Juba said. He pushed me into a small tavern near the Gardens of Sallust. I stumbled in the sudden darkness; he pulled me to a little table in the corner.

“Whatchu want, sire?” the tavern lady asked.

“Wine,” said Juba. “Your best.”

A man sitting by himself near the door chuckled. “That means don’t spit in it, Tullia!” he yelled a little drunkenly.

I pulled up a short wooden stool, still shivering from confusion. Juba poured wine from a beaker into rough clay cups.

“Drink,” he ordered.

I held the cup to my lips. I had the strange sensation of not being certain where I was. If I walked out that door, would I be back in the
palace in Alexandria? Where was Ptolly — who would tell him about Tata?

“Cleopatra Selene,” Juba said. “Your eyes … you need to stop looking everywhere. Focus on one thing. Look at me.” I stared into his eyes again. “That’s right,” he said. “Breathe deeply. No, no, don’t look away.”

He put his hand on my cheek to keep me focused. His touch was so warm. I closed my eyes, wanting to go away, to sleep forever.

“Shhhhh,” he whispered into my ear. “It is over.”

He wiped my cheek. I had not realized I’d been crying. I nestled into his shoulder, and he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close. Slowly, so slowly, my racing heart began to beat in a more regular rhythm. I came back into myself.

“Better?” he murmured.

I nodded, not wanting to leave his warm embrace, but he pulled back and instructed me to take another sip of wine.

“What happened, Cleopatra Selene? Did the gods send you visions? What did you see?”

“My father. And his man, Eros. Eros slashed his throat like that … and then Tata … He took his sword and he …”

“You were there when your father fell on his sword?” he asked.

I nodded again.

“Gods,” he whispered. “I did not know….”

But why would the Goddess send me such a vision? What was she trying to tell me? Was cutting my own throat to be my fate too? I said another silent prayer for the old woman who took her own life rather than risk mine. I worried for our plans too, as well as for the safety of the Priestess of Isis. Had Gallus betrayed us to Octavianus?

“Now,” Juba said, more quietly, leaning into me. “This is important. Tell me the truth. Are you the traitor from the inside they sought?”

“Traitor to whom?” I asked.

Juba paused. “To Rome, of course.”

I did not answer, but he scanned my face. Then he groaned and cursed under his breath. “Gods! How can you be so … so stupid?”

I stood up, sending my wooden stool clattering. The men in the tavern swiveled in my direction. “I should ask you the same thing. How can you be so
stupidly
loyal to those who took everything from you?”

I turned and headed for the door of the dark little tavern.

“Cleop —” Juba stopped himself from saying my full name. “Wait. Please,” he said, catching up with me as we stepped out into the bright light of the street. “I am sorry. I am just worried for you. Do you realize how close you’ve come to being executed as an Enemy of Rome?”

“What do you know of any of this?” I asked.

“I don’t. But I have put the pieces together. Are you aware of what has happened to Gallus?”

I stopped and shook my head cautiously, my pulse speeding up. Pedestrians jostled us as they wound their way to the taverns and eateries around us.

“We can’t talk here,” he said, grabbing my hand. “Follow me.”

Juba led me down the Via Salaria, weaving in and around the crowded lanes toward the entrance of the Gardens of Sallust. Shaded with porticoes and dotted with small fountains, pools, and temples, the Gardens were one of the more beautiful, peaceful places in Rome. Lush cypress, pine, sycamore, and boxwood absorbed most of the cacophony of the city, dulling it to a muffled roar.

The Gardens were largely unoccupied at this time of day, though judging from the affectionate embraces of the couples in the shaded porticoes, it was a favorite assignation for young lovers. Juba led me to an immense willow tree. We parted the thick, drooping boughs that
surrounded a marble bench like a curtain and sat down. The long silvery green foliage stirred ever so slightly in the breeze. “What happened to Gallus?” I asked.

“What were you
planning
with Gallus?” he returned, almost at the same time.

“You first,” I said.

He sighed. “He has committed suicide.”

“What?”

“Caesar discovered a plot. Gallus was aiming to wrest control of Egypt from him. Caesar exiled him, and he fell on his sword at the dishonor.”

Gallus dead. I could not think. Our plans gone. How much did Gallus reveal?

“Now, tell me,” Juba continued. “What does this have to do with you?”

I hesitated. Could I trust Juba? Or would he reveal what he knew to Octavianus? He had been so good to my brothers and me. But who could say whether Octavianus had put him up to it in order to spy on us?

I shook my head. No. Juba was likely the only reason — besides Octavia — that Alexandros and I still lived. Alexandros! What if they jumped to the wrong conclusion and thought he was the traitor? Gods, had I put my brother in danger?

I stood. “We have to go back. I am worried about my brother.”

“Wait,” he said, grabbing my wrist.

His sudden grip caused a surge of panic, as if I were trapped, cornered. I could not lose Alexandros! I could not — must not — allow anything to happen to him.

“Just listen to me,” Juba said, releasing my wrist and speaking in a soft voice as if he were gentling a horse. “We both want to make sure Alexandros is safe. I have an idea that may help both of you. But first, tell me what you were planning with Gallus.”

“The priestess and her people had word that Gallus was restless in Egypt. They engineered a plan where I would marry him and take control of Egypt….”

“What? And how would you do this? By murdering him? You would have done this?”

“No, though it makes sense to forge a union with a Roman.”
Like Mother
, I thought. “Thanks to you, I have come to accept that nothing can be accomplished without Rome,” I added.

Juba frowned. “But the plan was discovered.”

“I do not know what was discovered or when. Clearly they knew there was a plot and suspected someone from Octavianus’s compound.”

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I’m sure Caesar suspects
you
. Gods. I’m going to have to wait. He will probably be too angry right now to listen to my proposal.”

“Your proposal for what?”

Juba cleared his throat a couple of times, almost as if he were nervous. This surprised me. What could he possibly be nervous about?

“Cleopatra Selene, from the moment I first saw you — even in Alexandria — you have compelled me to question things I had never before questioned. Which, I admit, I did not always appreciate. I would have been happy to live as a Roman scholar for the rest of my life, but … but your challenges haunted me. And your gadfly questions dogged me.”

I looked down, remembering how insulted I felt when he had called me a gadfly that disastrous afternoon under the citron tree.

“So, telling no one, I have been exploring my options for reclaiming my legacy in Numidia.”

My mouth dropped open.

He smiled ruefully. “I have been learning Numidian Punic. And … and I have been exploring what kind of case I can make to Caesar to convince him to let me rule there.” He took a breath. “I was going to propose … I was thinking of asking him about … of asking you … to marry me.”

“What?”

He flushed. “You are a princess of Egypt. The people of Numidia would welcome you as a co-ruler. I need your strength, your determination to rule beside me … and it would be a way to get Alexandros out of Rome and away from Julia too.”

I stared, still shocked. He stepped closer. “But … but that’s not the only reason. I … well, I care for you very deeply. I want you beside me. I want you to be my queen.”

I took a step back. The vision from the Goddess. Juba had called me his queen! But in the vision, I walked away from him — and toward Marcellus. What did it mean? I had wondered why the Goddess hadn’t showed me Gallus. Had she known what would happen to him? Was Marcellus my future? But then why was this happening now?

When I did not say anything, Juba cleared his throat again. “That is why I was with Caesar in the stables this morning,” he continued. “I told him we needed to ride privately. I wanted to present my case to him before he left for Spain.”

“And then I walked by and he spotted me.”

“Yes.”

A bird chirped and sang in the limbs above us before flying off. Light dappled the ground at our feet; the willow’s limbs swayed in the warm breeze.

“Why did you not tell me this earlier?” I asked. “Or include me in the planning?” Was this just another example of a Roman man making decisions and plans that affected my life, my future, without ever consulting me? Even so, I could see the wisdom in protecting me in case Octavianus didn’t take the offer well.

“I … I did not want to say anything in case I did not succeed,” he confirmed. “I have to make a strong case for this. So, I have been doing the research first. I’ve been studying my country’s history, what is happening there now, how Caesar is likely to react to my request, how strongly the governor of the province would fight the change in government, whether the people of Numidia would revolt. There is much to learn and consider.”

“A scholar to the very end,” I muttered.

“Cleopatra Selene …”

I shook my head, trying to understand how we got to this point. There was a time when I would have melted at his offer, and part of me
still rejoiced at the idea that he cared for me. But was he really asking me to forget my own legacy to help him pursue his?

“I did not want to spring this on you this way,” he said. “I wanted to wait until I had a chance to talk to Caesar, to feel him out about sending me back to my homeland.”

“What about
my
homeland? What about Egypt?” I asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Am I simply to abandon my dreams of my homeland to help you recover yours?”

Juba scowled. “You must see that Caesar is going to put an even greater stranglehold on Egypt after this fiasco with Gallus. But in Numidia we can create a new Alexandria….”

“Juba, I cannot turn my back on Egypt.”

“Cleopatra Selene, you must let go of this fantasy that you will ever rule in Egypt. Egypt’s wealth is too important, too valuable to Rome for Octavianus to risk allowing you even to go near it again. But you were meant to rule. Together we will create a kingdom worthy to be Egypt’s successor.”

I sat down on the marble bench, confused. Juba sat next to me. I felt him looking at me. He brushed a strand of hair off my face.

He turned my face toward his. How I had ached for this for so long! He touched his lips to mine, softly, gently. I closed my eyes as a wave of longing and desire for him washed through me. But I pulled away.

“I am no longer a lovesick little girl,” I said.

“I am no longer an idiot denying my feelings for you.”

I stood up, more confused than ever. I remembered the vision of our skin-to-skin embrace under the sweet citron tree, of how right it felt to be loving him. He stood behind me, moved my hair off my neck, and kissed me lightly up to my earlobe. I shivered at the feel of his hands on my waist, his warm mouth on my neck.

“We were meant to be together,” he whispered.

Without thinking, I turned and kissed him back, winding my arms around his neck. Despite what I had told myself, I had never really
stopped wanting him. The feel of his warm skin, his hands on my back, the taste of him … This was different than what I felt when I kissed Marcellus. With Juba it felt as if all my souls — my
ka
, my
ba
, and all my true selves — fused together into a single desire. For him.

“Be my queen,” he murmured against my neck, and I froze, remembering the vision again. I had walked away from Juba. I had told myself,
A queen must sacrifice her personal desires for the good of her people
. Did the Goddess want me to sacrifice my desire for Juba? Is that what this all meant?

“What?” he whispered.

I pulled away. “This … cannot happen.”

He looked baffled. “Why?”

How could I explain?

His expression changed. “Is it Marcellus?”

I did not answer. I did not say anything. I could not ignore the possibility that the Goddess intended me to regain my throne through Marcellus, especially now that Gallus was dead. Didn’t Mother ally with Julius Caesar when her brother tried to overthrow her?

“Cleopatra Selene, you must see that this is a game Marcellus plays. I’ve told you before … You intrigue him because you haven’t fallen at his feet. I have seen it happen too many times. As soon as the girl falls in love with him, he loses interest. Worse, if Caesar finds out …”

“Marcellus is Octavianus’s chosen successor,” I said quietly. “He … he may help me return to Egypt.”

I realized then that I had made my choice. My personal feelings — Juba’s feelings — were irrelevant in the face of a chance to reclaim my legacy. But if that were true, why did it feel as if my insides were being torn from my bones?

“You believe that he pursues you to
help
you?” Juba said, sounding hurt and angry. “It is all a game to him!”

“I cannot walk away from a future in Egypt. If I forge a strong alliance with him, he could reinstate me….”

“He would do no such thing! Are you mad?”

“Maybe I am,” I whispered as my throat clogged. I kissed his lips very lightly before turning away and stepping out from the shade of the willow tree. I did not want him to see my tears. I did not want him to know that despite my bravado, my chest ached with what I’d always known but never admitted, even to myself. I loved Juba. I always had.

But none of that mattered. Egypt came first.