Cleopatra's Secret: Keepers of the LIght (25 page)

The steward nodded and went to retrieve their visitor.

Octavia pressed her cheek to her daughter’s for a moment. “Antonia darling, you must stay and continue practicing with Crescentia.”

The child, with her charming dimpled cheeks and Antony's deep mahogany curls, slipped reluctantly from her mother’s arms as the old nurse took Octavia’s place at the loom.

Brushing invisible dust from her robes and winding a loose strand of hair more neatly back into its comb, Octavia made her way through the villa in the direction of the atrium. Antony's extravagant taste was responsible for the grandeur of their home, though Octavia would have been happy in less sumptuous surroundings. Like her brother, she preferred spare clean spaces. But as she knew this was the style that would most please her husband, Octavia had commissioned Athenian artists to create brightly colored murals on the plaster walls and filled the villa with costly furnishings and statues from Indus and Persia. Antony had supplied several prize possessions of his own from the shores of Alexandria as well.

Germanicus was already waiting when she arrived in the atrium. Lean and rugged in his uniform, he looked out of place amidst the eastern opulence.

Octavia attempted a smile. “You are welcome, Germanicus. Please sit and rest. I know your duties keep you so often on your feet.”

Germanicus sat stiffly on the edge of a low couch. “It’s always a pleasure to see you, Octavia.”

“Shall I ask the servants to bring some wine and refreshments?”

Germanicus looked at her steadily, his gray eagle eyes seeming to penetrate too

far into her thoughts. “That won’t be necessary, but thank you.” He paused for a moment. “Where’s Antony?”

Her eyes fastened on her sandaled feet. “We have no secrets from you.” She paused and bit her lip. “Antony is here in his chamber. He’s drunk.”

She raised her eyes and saw the compassion written across the legionnaire’s face. “I’ve tried all I can to help him.” She picked nervously at an errant thread on her tunic, “but he’s in the grip something. He shuts himself up with his obscure mystical texts and pores over them, always with a wine jug in his hand, until he drinks himself unconscious. He’s visited every library, every temple, searching through their archives. He even invited the Roman High Priestess of Isis to come to our villa. He sat with her for hours.” She looked bewildered and frustration creased her brow. “He’s searching for the answer to some mystery.”

Germanicus narrowed his eyes. “Did the priestess help him?”

Octavia shook her head. “I don’t think so. He’s only grown more sullen since her visit and has locked himself in his room again, refusing to come out.”

Germanicus frowned. “What is it he’s looking for?”

“Sometimes late at night, when he’s had too much wine, Antony mumbles to himself about the secret name of God.” Her eyes widened in distress. “Germanicus, I fear for his reason if we don’t do something.”

Germanicus leaned forward, the lines of his face set in a determined frown. “I’ll help you, Octavia. By all the Gods, I swear it.”

She looked grateful, but still twisted her fingers uneasily. “I can’t understand how a man who fought so bravely, and achieved so many great victories, could surrender to a few ancient scrolls and a jug of wine. Or perhaps…” she found the words drying up in her throat and looked away again.

For a moment she thought Germanicus might actually take her hand, but he only said kindly, “You may confide in me.”

Her words came out almost in a whisper. “I know he still mourns for Cleopatra. It’s not proper to say so. But you are our dearest friend and I must speak of it to someone––for Antony's sake. What should we do? I don’t know who to turn to or how to help. I do know, of course, that it’s my own failings that have caused this. If I were a better wife, he would not crave his…his mistress––”

Germanicus’s brow darkened. “You mustn’t blame yourself for that. Any man in his right senses would be honored to have you for his wife. You are so good, so kind and…” he trailed off, looking confused as he began to fiddle with the hilt of his sword.

“At any rate,” he continued in a more businesslike manner, “I think I know how to help Antony. It’s all this messing about with books and priests that have made him lose his spirit. Perhaps the very battles you spoke of can restore new life into him. He’s a general meant for the battlefield, not an acolyte to be wasting his days chasing some God’s words. Let him win glory once more in a conquest, and I assure you, he’ll become his old self again.”

Octavia felt hope for the first time in many seasons. “It would be his salvation to leave here for a while and do service for Rome. But where do you propose to send him?”

“There’s need of a good general in Parthia. As you know, Julius Caesar suffered defeat at the hands of their king. To win a victory over them would be an unparalleled glory and what Antony needs now is a good challenge.”

“But if Caesar failed to the take them, it must be impossible! You can’t want to set him up for defeat?”

“Have no fear,” replied Germanicus. “This is where you may be of some service. If you can persuade your brother to give Antony part of his legions, and make sure he is well equipped before he sets out, the odds will be in his favor.” He paused and his voice softened. “And Octavia, even if he did fall in the heat of battle, could he be any worse than he is now?”

She folded her hands and looked down. It was a grim thought, but death on the battlefield would be more honorable than wasting away one endless day after another in his chamber here in Rome. And if he should be victorious and return home crowned with a laurel wreath parading in a Triumph through packed street of cheering mobs, perhaps at last he would be happy.

She nodded. “Very well. You have my support. You’re the only one with any influence for good on Antony. Use it to compel him to this idea. I’ll speak to my brother and arrange for Octavian to give Antony a portion of his legions for the campaign.”

Germanicus stood, a warm smile crinkling the corners of his sharp gray eyes. “You’re a woman a man would willingly forfeit his life for, Octavia.” He paused and their eyes met.

With a thrill she tried not to analyze, Octavia allowed her gaze to linger for a moment on his, feeling the not unpleasant racing of her heartbeat.

He cleared his throat. “Antony is blessed in his marriage to you. Never doubt it.”

Germanicus looked as if he would say more, but she quickly turned away. “I’ll take you to him now.”

She led him to the door of Antony's room and knocked lightly but there was no reply. Finally, she pushed open the door.

For a moment Octavia caught a glimpse of her husband in the dark untidy chamber. He did not look up from his seat but she could see he was still in his nightclothes, unshaven and on the verge of drunkenness, his head bowed over a crumbling scroll as thin and brown as tea leaves.

Germanicus slipped past her and closed the door quietly behind him.

Antony’s eyes remained fixed on the scroll as his legionary commander entered the chamber. “I’m afraid I am not good company today.” He frowned. “Socrates would have us believe knowledge comes from the recollection of the soul, rather than books and teachers, but my memory seems to be mortally flawed.” His words sounded slurred even to his own ears.

Germanicus came forward and stood in front of Antony with his arms crossed over his leather breastplate. “I’m not here for my own amusement or to discuss philosophy with you, but as a citizen of the Republic who needs aid of her general.”

The ghost of a smile rose up and then faded from Antony’s lips. “I’m afraid I’ve retired from the post. Perhaps Octavian––”

“Octavian is a sickly coward who can no more lead an army than little Antonia. Yet, you would let him take over our Republic and turn it into his own private empire, while you sit here in your chamber chasing demon’s fire or the Gods know what!”

Antony shrugged and took another gulp of wine from the jug grasped in his fist. “Demon’s fire is it?” His eyes grew glassy as if he gazed at worlds beyond this bedchamber. “If only it were that simple,” he mumbled. But pulling himself together, he refocused on his friend, appraising him. “But you’ve never heard The Song, Germanicus. You couldn’t possibly understand.” He took another deep drink of wine and pressed his eyes shut.

Germanicus stepped forward and grasped his friend’s shoulders, forcing Antony to look up. “You speak of songs? How many
votes
have you attended at the Senate this season? Do you even understand what’s happening? You, of all people, should know what Octavian is capable of and you are the only one who can stop him!”

“Of course I know what he’s up to,” growled Antony, “but what exactly do you propose I do about it? I’m no match for his scheming and plotting. Unless you propose I run my wife's brother through with a broad sword, I’m no help to you.”

Germanicus’s eyes lit up. “It is with your sword that you must defeat him but not by running him through.”

Antony leaned back looking at his legionnaire with narrowed eyes. “Go on.”

“It’s true you might not be able to outwit him. But the citizens have no love for Octavian and you’re still popular. If you were to go to battle for the glory of Rome and then return once more a valiant general of the Republic, it would be a blow to him and your power would increase.”

Antony sat back in brooding silence as his friend pressed on. “The King of Parthia is pushing into our borders. He must be stopped. You could win a great victory there.”

“I haven’t the legions to battle the Parthians and you know it,’ snapped Antony.

“Octavia has agreed to get them for you.”

“Octavia…” Antony laughed bitterly. “And perhaps you’ll conveniently stay here in Rome while I march away to Parthia…to look after my affairs.” He fixed Germanicus with his bleary-eyed gaze. “I don’t blame you. I’ve seen the way you drink her in with your eyes. I may be drunk myself on other things, but I’m not blind…and I know how it is to pine for a woman until there’s nothing left of you.” He clawed his fingers through his shaggy hair.

Germanicus stiffened. “Antony, you have my unfailing loyalty. If you go into battle, I’ll be there at your side, as I’ve always been. I admire Octavia, it’s true, as you would too if you had any sense.”

Antony laughed again at the irony. “Do you think I don’t admire Octavia? That I don’t see all her good qualities? Her exceptional beauty, that somehow leaves me cold?” He shook his head. “Her unceasing kindness and efforts to be a perfect wife only make it worse. If only she would berate me, scream at me, throw something! Why can’t she follow the custom of the rest of Rome's virtuous ladies and take a lover?” he demanded. “But, of course, that’s the last activity which would interest my wife.”

Germanicus's eyes flashed as he fingered his blade. “You do her an injustice––”

Antony, ignored his friend, lost in his own bewilderment. “I’ve tried to please her. I buy her extravagant gifts which she never uses. I treat her with more respect than I’ve ever treated any women, including…at least I gave her Antonia. At least motherhood brings her some true happiness.”

“You have everything you need to be happy too, Antony.”

Antony looked wistfully past Germanicus, as if searching for something in the air around them. “Without the divine light, there can be no happiness.”

Antony caught up the wine jug in his fist for another drink, but Germanicus pulled it from his inebriated grasp. “You won’t find divinity at the bottom of that wine jug––I can promise you that!”

Antony rose unsteadily and went to his cabinet. He pulled out a fresh supply of wine and smiled bitterly at Germanicus. “Perhaps not, but I might be able to conjure up a few spirits.” His smile faded. “Besides, what else is there to do when you’re imprisoned?”

Germanicus stood for a moment, watching Antony drink. Carefully, Germanicus placed the wine on the table and walked to the door. “It is a prison of your own making. If you will, there’s a battle to be fought for the glory of the Republic. It’s your choice.”

The door closed behind Germanicus with a sharp crack, leaving Antony alone with his libations and a stack of useless scrolls.

He stared out the window at the winter twilight. A prison of his own making, was it? No, it was Octavian who had fashioned this trap for him. In that first year of marriage Antony had wracked his brains for a way out––some plan that would free him from Octavian's golden cage. There was nothing. His brother-in-law had devised a plan that made Antony his prisoner as a surely as if he had bound him in chains and sent him to the dungeons, which had grown so elaborate and bloody of late, under the Palatine Hill.

Many times he made the decision to return to Egypt, but the thought of seeing the accusation and hate in Cleopatra’s eyes stopped him cold.

Intolerable though it was, Antony had resigned himself to this life without her. He thought he could stand it, if only he could somehow recapture that moment of grace he experienced in the Great Pyramid. That celestial Song.

Sometimes, in the predawn hours, when he’d had enough wine and the world was very still, like a hunter chasing the illusive phoenix, he’d catch a brilliant flash of golden light, the trill of a note sung so sweetly it brought tears to his eyes. But his prey slipped away before he could really grasp it, into the dark tangled forests of his haunted mind leaving a longing behind so intense, not even the wine could dull the terrifying emptiness which every day seemed to draw him more deeply into the void.