Cleopatra's Secret: Keepers of the LIght (17 page)

It was all Cleopatra could do to keep a brave front before her people, and more importantly, Antony. She knew the only hope they had for a peaceful life together was for him to settle matters with the ever more aggressive Octavian, yet her unsettling premonition that Antony’s departure would bring disaster had only grown stronger.

As Charmion placed a goblet into her hands, Cleopatra looked down at the cup of Nile water. She forced a smile and held it to Antony’s lips. “It is said that if you visit Egypt and drink the holy water of the Nile, you will be sure to return to her muddy banks one day.”

Antony accepted the goblet. “I don’t need this water to call me back, as long as you are here, but I drink as my pledge to return as quickly as possible.” His voice softened and he looked at her as if she were the only person standing in the midst of the crowded dock. “And when I do, I will never leave your side again.”

She watched him gulp down the Nile water. She had lived her life without Antony for many years, but now, as she looked up at his beloved face, she wondered how she would even get through the night without his good humor to wash away her cares, his enthusiasm for life to inspire her, his warm body to cling to in the darkness.

Germanicus was calling him now. Antony pulled her into a crushing embrace and for one moment his lips met hers and he was there with her––alive, hers, so deeply hers.

Like a physical loss, she felt his warm hands unclasp her, and turning his back he stepped aboard the galleon becoming a part of the ship’s life.

She walked quickly towards the palace. The hem of her silk tunic swished across the marble floors of the long halls of Lochias. The ebony doors to her chamber slid open and she took her refuge behind them. She motioned for Charmion to stay out. Pharaohs must shed their tears alone.

***

Cleopatra’s bed felt cold and empty that night. In truth all of Lochias seemed suddenly too big, a hollowed shell without the vibrance of Antony to fill it and bring it to life. She stared at the hieroglyphics which lined her walls, magical protection etched into every line.

Suddenly she felt the prickle of fear run up her spine and before she even realized it, she was sitting upright, clutching her sheet to her breast.

Someone was there in the darkness.

She scanned the room. “Who’s there? Reveal yourself at once!” she commanded.

The moonlight pouring from the balcony began to play tricks on her as a silhouette emerged from the nebulous stuff of shadow and beams. She caught her breath as a familiar figure, looking careworn and tired, hovered just an arm’s length away. His robes were stained with blood and his eyes held a haunted, empty look they never had in life.

She shook her head. This was… this was… “Caesar?”

She could barely get his name out.

He met her gaze.

Cleopatra’s limbs wouldn’t move, the time marked only by the loud thumping of her heart against her ribcage.

Caesar was here.

Lunging forward, she tried to clutch at his robe but he seemed to float just out of reach.

“Caesar,” she whispered fervently, “Caesar…” Tears flooded from her heart and rolled down her cheeks unchecked as the longing and pain she had felt at his death came back with breathtaking, bittersweet sharpness. “I can’t believe you’re here! You don’t know what it’s been to live on without you these years!”

She could feel his understanding as she wept her heart out before him. Though he said nothing, he raised his hand, as if in benediction, over her drooping head. A gentle flow of comfort washed through her, but then the urgency of his visit communicated itself and she looked up with swollen eyes at her beloved mentor.

Caesar’s face was twisted with fury and some of his old fire flew off him like sparks of electricity in the dark room. “Treachery surrounds you at every turn, Cleopatra. Watch over our son and do not allow Antony’s ship to reach the shores of Brundisium!”

Fear gripped her. “Caesarion? Why? What’s coming?”

She had a thousand questions, but his form was wavering. It was clear he no longer had the strength to manifest. Desperately, she clutched at the air where his flickering spirit hovered.

“No!” she cried, “
Please
don’t go yet! Please, I must know more! I’ve been denied you for so long. Stay with me, I beg you!”

For one moment his spirit brightened. Caesar stood in all his glory, looking strong and victorious, as he had when his fleet first landed on Alexandria's shore. She was engulfed in a wave of love so powerful her sobs melted and a smile of pure bliss spread across her tear-glistened face.

There was one last burst of radiance and he was gone.

Cleopatra put her hands to her breast, as if to cradle her heart, holding in the effusion of love that made her glow like a lantern from within.

But with Caesar’s light gone, the glow in her heart faded too and she was left only with his words of warning to watch over their son hanging in the darkness around her, more chilling than any phantom.

She threw off her covers and with her heart racing, ran through the maze of halls to the nursery. She rushed past the guards, pushing open the doors to her son’s chamber. She pressed a hand to her heart as a sob of relief caught in her throat.

He was there. Safe. Peacefully dreaming in his little bed.

His nurse bowed as Cleopatra entered the room but now raised her eyes questioningly as she took in the Queen’s distressed appearance.

With her breath still coming fast, Cleopatra gently scooped her son into her arms and held him against her, drinking in the softness of his cheek pressed to hers, the smell of his freshly washed hair, the feel of his heartbeat like a small bird’s fluttering against her breast. She pressed a kiss to his dark head. So precious. So much more dear than all the massive wealth of her kingdom.

Cleopatra opened her eyes. “The Son of Osiris will sleep in my room tonight,” she informed the nurse.

“Yes, Queen of Heaven,” the nurse bowed again as Cleopatra carried her sleeping boy back to her chamber.

Just before Cleopatra closed her ebony doors, she whispered to the guards who stood sentry outside her chamber to double their number and keep extra vigilance tonight.

She could bear Caesar’s loss. Antony… she took a sharp breath, but Caesarion was her very life incarnate. Nothing must ever happen to him.

Caesarion clutched Charmion's hand as they passed through the austere temple gates and entered the dim hall. The cavernous temple felt enormous and frightening. He had come here with his mother every morning to chant hymns to Isis for all of his young life. But today was different.

If only his mother were here now. The gloomy space seemed less solemn and forbidding when her bright light transformed the chamber into something luminous and magical.

Caesarion had seen halos of light around everyone he met for as long as he could remember. He knew the rainbow of green and blue surrounding Charmion meant she was peaceful and content. The gold emanating from Apollodorus displayed his wisdom. Everyone had their own colors, which shifted and swirled around them, depending on their health or moods, but he had never seen a halo to match his mother’s.

In the evening, as dusk settled around the palace, he could see his mother’s glow approaching the nursery before she came to touch his cheek with her cool hand and wish him pleasant dreams. Happily he would reach out his thin nut colored arms and snuggle up to her, smelling the sweet rose oil behind her ears and clutching at her long dark hair until she gently laid him back in his bed, holding his hand in hers while she spun stories of the Gods or sang quiet songs in her rich low voice lulling him to sleep.

“Why couldn’t Mother come with me today?” Caesarion demanded, turning his eyes up to Charmion.

Charmion gave his hand a comforting squeeze. “I have already told you, the Queen of Heaven has important matters to attend to this morning.”

“She’s sending her spies after Lord Antony, to try to get him to return to Egypt, but he won’t come,” declared Caesarion grumpily. He was angry with Antony for leaving them just as he had promised to take him on a real lion hunt in the desert and teach him to use his broadsword like a Roman general––like his father, Caesar.

Charmion’s face remained impassive. “Never mind about that, little falcon. The important thing is it’s high time you begin your formal training in the temple. After all, you are not a baby anymore.”

Caesarion frowned, trying to hide his growing apprehension at being left alone with his imposing great-grandfather for his lessons.

With his hand gripped firmly in hers, Charmion led Caesarion along the colonnade, through a bright courtyard with still pools of water threaded with lily pads and lotus blossoms, until at last they came to a small building, its exterior as simple and elegant as any Egyptian architect could wish. The only marking was an inlay of hieroglyphics in bright turquoise above the door. Caesarion glared mutinously at the writing which represented the symbol of Thoth: ruler of the written word and the transmission of knowledge.

Caesarion blinked his pale green eyes as they entered the dim temple. In an alcove at the far end of the room, Apollodorus was tending the altar of Thoth. Though the old man's back was to them, he called out, “You may leave Caesarion with me.”

Unwrapping Caesarion's grasping little fingers from her own, Charmion gave him a kind nod of encouragement before slipping into the courtyard.

Apollodorus turned to Caesarion, beaming proudly. “Well, my boy, your first lesson! It seems not so long ago your mother stood there in your place.”

Caesarion shrank back into himself, looking up warily at the imposing priest with his tiger skin clasped around his shoulder and his deep all-seeing eyes.

But Apollodorus smiled and patted his thin shoulder. “Caesarion, you have nothing to fear from me or what you learn here. Do you understand?”

Caesarion nodded, feeling somewhat relieved by Apollodorus's warm smile and the two sat down cross-legged on the floor.

“Before I teach you anything, I think it would be good to have a little chat. How does that sound?”

“Very well,” murmured Caesarion, shyly.

“First you must always remember you are to be pharaoh one day and pharaohs do not mutter their words. They hold their heads up proudly and speak in clear voices for everyone to hear.”

Caesarion straightened his slender back and allowed the older man to cock his chin up a notch. He spoke up as loud and clear as he could. “Very well!”

“Excellent,” Apollodorus smiled encouragingly. “You will practice that.”

Caesarion warmed under the priest’s approval and grinned up at him.

The priest grew serious and gave Caesarion a long considering look. “Tell me, do you ever seem to know things without being told before they happen?”

“Oh yes, all the time. Often I know what’s for dinner before Iris brings me my tray.”

“But couldn’t you have smelled it cooking? Your nursery is fairly close to the kitchens.”

Caesarion shook his head. “No, I
see
it, not smell it. I see lots of other things too. Like when Charmion hurt her ankle walking down the stairs.”

“Indeed.” Apollodorus nodded thoughtfully. “What else have you seen?”

“I knew my mother was going to give me a lion cub for my birthday this year.” Caesarion was starting to enjoy his meeting with the priest. If this was all tutoring was, maybe it would not be so bad.

“Let us try an experiment,” suggested Apollodorus taking out a polished bronze mirror. “You say you see things sometimes, but can you call up the visions at will? A pharaoh must be able to look into the future and see what is coming. Now sit quietly with your hands in your lap.” Apollodorus demonstrated the posture.

Caesarion easily mimicked him and sat waiting expectantly.

“Very good. Now I'm going to burn frankincense. It will help your visions manifest more clearly.”

Moving to a wall of small drawers, the old priest pulled out the aromatic resin and placed it carefully into a brazier next to Caesarion. As he lit the incense, its bitter aroma rose up through the smoke and the acrid smell seemed to almost singe the inside of Caesarion's tender nostrils. He made a face but Apollodorus corrected him.

“A pharaoh must maintain a calm expression, even if his nose is on fire.”

Sniffling, Caesarion forced his face into the same serene lines as his teacher.

“Now we will say a simple prayer to Isis, Lady of Magic, who grants visions to her priests.”

When the invocation was finished Caesarion peeked up at Apollodorus.

“Relax,” instructed the priest, “and rest your eyes on the mirror. When you see something you may tell me.”

Caesarion sat silently gazing at the polished bronze, the incense swirling around him making him slightly lightheaded. The familiar dreamlike feeling that came when he was going to have a vision washed over him and the mirror’s surface began to shift and darken.

His body stiffened. He could see the palace where he and his mother lived, but the white walls had bloody handprints smeared across the marble and the lovely statues and elegant vases lay smashed to dust on the inlaid floors. The smell of black churning smoke caught at his lungs, choking him, but this time it was not the incense. Clouds of smoldering ash and molten licks of flame caught at the long swathes of silk curtains that lined the back of his mother’s throne, sparks flying, catching on the climbing roses and the carved ebony furniture, blackening the walls, smoking until fire flared and fed on Lochias like an all consuming beast, the inferno roaring through the deserted chambers of the palace complex destroying everything in its wake.