Cleopatra's Secret: Keepers of the LIght (28 page)

As the fog rolled in with the ship, muffling the sound of the oars, the majestic city, as if floating suspended on the mists, rose up into the evening sky to greet him. He disembarked from the creaking vessel, leaving the stench of animals behind, and stood on the dock staring.

Alexandria.

At once so familiar, and yet so fantastic. As if a genie had sprung from damp vapor to conjure an enchanted city of such golden splendor, no human hand could have fashioned it.

He had forgotten.

No fading memory could capture the light of twilight illuminating the palace walls to a luminescent glow, the sweetness of flowering vines of damask roses clinging to the temple columns, the soft air enveloping him in its gentle cloud of sea salt and spices from the palace kitchens or soft lotus blossoms floating serenely in quiet reflecting pools. He inhaled greedily, breathing it all in.

How had he stayed away so long?

But it was not just the beauty of the city which affected him. This place held magic because Cleopatra lived and breathed the same air he was inhaling now. This was where she lit incense at the temple altars and invoked the spirit of the Goddess to fill her with light, her pale green eyes startling against black kohl-lined lids. Where she sat in her gown of splendid gold tissue crowned with the symbols of Upper and Lower Egypt, a shining Goddess to rule over her people in the colonnaded hall of Ma’at. She ate oysters here with dainty pearl-decked fingers in her moonlight garden, redolent with the seductively perfumed flowers that unfolded velvet white petals beneath the light of the moon, their loveliness mirrored in the reflecting pools which caught the nocturnal light and shimmered in silvery ripples into infinity. This was where she lay herself down to sleep at night, the softest linen sheets against her bare skin, her gentle breathing expanding her supple belly and full breasts like the sea's waves rising and cresting, then falling once more in repose.

At the thought of his lover asleep in the bed they had shared, he felt the stirring of desire, but then an unwelcome thought came to him.

Had other men lain in that same carved bed and enjoyed the fullness of her lips, the silken honeyed skin, the melting heat as they joined with her in the night?

He cursed himself. It was his own fault. Of course she had taken lovers. The sensual Queen he knew, who could bewitch any man of her choosing with no more than a casual glance, would not have spent so many years alone.

Did she have a lover now? Would she laugh at him when he came to her, asking for her love, when she already had a strong man in her bed to inflame her nights and whisper to her in the darkness?

He marched down the dock, suddenly not caring who recognized him. He must know before he saw her, before he went to her court and supplicated himself to her, begging for her gold and her love.

He reached the high walls of the palace, as impenetrable and mysterious as Cleopatra had seemed to him so many years before they became lovers. The fog rose up to soften the curve of Lochias’s arched towers, almost hiding the marble stairway that led down to the water’s edge.

Cleopatra's palace, The Palace Of A Thousand Doors, was a maze of buildings and courtyards, flowering gardens and soaring halls, but it also contained secret corridors, hidden doors, private tunnels that only the Pharaoh, and a certain select few, had any knowledge of.

Antony was one of those few.

Under cover of night, with the damp fog making apparitions of the remaining people still finishing up their business on the docks, it would be simple to find his way into the palace.

Pulling the hood of his cloak up, his face was no more than a dark shadowy outline in the ocean mists. He made his way along the shore's edge, his footsteps sinking soundlessly into the wet sand. With tufts of billowing fog shrouding his view, it was difficult to find the entrance he sought. If his memory served him, there was a tunnel beneath the marble stairway.

At last Antony stumbled upon it, its steps slick with the briny moisture which clung to the marble. Like a blind man, he felt along the cold surface until he reached the end of the stairway and turned the corner, his vision now totally obscured by softly swirling mist. There was only the sound of the gently lapping waves, the whiteness all around him and smooth stone beneath his fingers.

Slowly, he walked along the side of the stairway, feeling his way, until his hand touched splintering wood roughened by the salty air. He reached down, found the handle and pulled the little door open. The dank smell of stagnant water and soggy moss reached his nostrils as he entered the tunnel, the only light coming from small airshafts cut into the ceiling above. He hesitated as his eyes adjusted and he could see the limestone walls with green velvet algae clinging to them. The floor was filled with several inches of seawater which sloshed around his sandals.

His nerves tingled with adrenaline as Antony made his way through the dim tunnel, until he came to a sharp turn and several subterranean corridors veered off in different directions.

He frowned, unable to remember where each of them led, but finally chose the tunnel which seemed to have the best light and was glad to feel the ground sloping upwards, until his feet found dry rock.

He paused mid-step at the sound of a women's laughter echoing through the tunnel. Snapping his head around, he squinted in the gloom, trying to see which direction the ghostly merriment hailed from.

Looking up, Antony noticed the thin air shaft spilling in light. He must be below one of the palace’s public rooms from the sound of the chattering voices and the look of the friendly slats of light shining through the grate.

With the aid of the faint glow coming from the room above, Antony was able to make out doors lining the tunnel at varying intervals along the wall. Tentatively, he made his way over to one and gently pulled it open, revealing a narrow stone stairway leading up to where, he couldn’t tell.

Holding his breath, he put his foot on the first step and then the next, until he was almost to the top, where a trap door blocked his way.

What was beyond that door?

If only he knew where he was on the palace grounds. But he could be anywhere, from the kitchen to the royal guard's bunker. What if he should pop up from the earth, like some unwelcome weasel, to a crowd of surprised courtiers? He would be humiliated. The great Lord Antony, whom the Alexandrians worshipped as a God, sneaking up from the sewers.

Still, if he never tried the door, he would not discover if Cleopatra slept alone tonight.

Carefully, he placed his palm against the door and pushed up, just enough to peer through the crack.

He was in luck. It was one of the palace gardens. So much better than, say, Cleopatra's luxurious banquet hall filled with feasting guests. He stood looking through the crack at the garden, listening intently. But all was silent.

Antony sprung open the door and hopped out, allowing the trap to fall softly closed behind him. Pulling his cloak tighter across his chest, he backed into a shadowy corner.

He silently thanked Neptune for the thick fog which kept Cleopatra’s courtiers out of the garden and hid his presence. His eyes darted around the small enclosure. With the mist swirling through the columns, masking any familiar markings around the doorways, he couldn’t get his bearings. Creeping to the closest entrance, he put his ear to the door.

Inside the sound of echoing footsteps grew louder and then recede down the passage.

If only he could get in, away from this fog, he was sure he would remember where he was. But he could not simply wander the palace halls with his unkempt beard and peasant’s clothes. He would be noticed in a moment amidst the well-groomed courtiers in their elegant sheaths and elaborately braided hair.

But he was so close. Cleopatra was almost in his grasp. He could feel her there, somewhere inside, preparing for the night.

He turned the handle and pushed the door open.

The Gods must be on my side
, he thought as he quickly looked around. He was in Cleopatra's private building, where she and her attendants resided. He knew exactly where he was and how to reach her.

Swift as lightning, he dashed down the hallway.

The sound of footsteps and lazy laughter floated up from farther down the corridor.

On instinct, Antony dodged through the closest door. He found himself in an empty chamber, but a bright oil lamp shone cheerfully on the small table in the center of the room. There were also two child-sized chairs and two little beds. It was a nursery.

His children's nursery?

He scanned the room, from the opulence of the decorations it could only belong to the son and daughter of the Pharaoh. Antony ran his hand along the tiny chairs, peered into the little beds with their neatly arranged linen. He picked up a wooden horse covered in gold leaf with bright sapphires eyes.

Even children's toys were tiny treasures here, he thought, before carefully replacing the little horse to its spot on the table.

Would he see them soon? His son and daughter? Would they know him somehow through instinct? They must be five years old. Just old enough to hear tales of their traitorous father. Just old enough to begin to hate him.

Antony’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of laughing childish voices and the lower soothing tones of their nurse. Panicked, he looked around for someplace to hide. His eyes fixed on the terrace and he slipped out into the foggy night.

The sea pounded below him and the damp air clung to his skin. He held his breath, as from inside came the sound of merry laughter and the bustle of the nurse preparing his son and daughter for bed.

After a few moments, Antony began to relax. They had no idea he was there. He peered through the curtains into the cozy room at his children.

They had the dusky complexions of their mother but deep dark blue eyes that could only have come from him. The sight of their healthy little bodies and glowing cheeks filled him with happiness. He watched, fascinated, as they performed the nightly bedtime ritual.

Little Cleopatra-Selene was playing with her dark silky hair, as if it were the most interesting thing on earth. Her twin brother, Alexander-Helios, clutched the golden horse Antony had held in his hand only a few moments before and climbed into bed. Their nurse picked up his sister and deposited her among the snowy sheets too.

“Where’s Mother?” demanded the tiny prince sitting up in bed.

“She cannot come to you tonight, Son of Isis. She is entertaining important guests. But if you’re very good and go to sleep now, in the morning she will come and take you both on a boat ride in the harbor, and you can watch the fishermen pull in your dinner with their nets.”

The children beamed with delight.

“But you must sleep now,” commanded the nurse sternly.

The children dutifully lay back in their beds snuggling into the soft bedclothes.

“You will tell us a story, Weni, won’t you?” asked little Cleopatra.

Weni smiled. “A short one.”

“Tell about how Caesar killed the pirates!” crowed the little boy sitting up excitedly.

“I most certainly will not.” The nurse gave him a disapproving look. “That is not a proper bedtime story. It will give you both nightmares.”

“Tell the Greek story of the mermaids. Won’t you please?” asked little Selene sweetly dimpling up from her bed.

“Very well, Princess, if your brother will consent to lie down, I’ll tell it.”

Reluctantly, the young prince flopped back in his bed and the nurse began her story. Slowly she unwove the tale as the children closed their eyes, only finishing when they appeared to be peacefully sleeping. The nurse put out all the lamps but one. Only the faintest glow filled the room, but as she was about to tip toe out, little Selene's voice whispered to her.

“Weni?”

Turning, the nurse went to the side of the young princess's bed. “Yes, Princess Selene?”

“Is my father coming to see us soon?”

Surprised, the nurse looked at the child more intently. But then a look of pity, which filled Antony with sadness, softened the woman's face. “Your father lives very far away, Princess.”

“Yes,” said the girl, “but I think he’s coming to see us.”

“Well,” replied the nurse, unsure what to say. “We shall see.”

Little Cleopatra-Selene puckered up her tinny rosebud lips and the nurse deposited a quick good night kiss upon her, before quietly leaving the room.

What had prompted his little daughter to ask about him? Did she have the same strong intuition as her mother? Could she feel him standing just outside her room?

It took all Antony's self control not to return to the nursery. He was shocked to discover he felt so strongly for a pair of children he had never met before. Reluctant to leave them, he stood just watching his son and daughter sleep, some of their peace filling him as he looked at them wrapped up so snug in their little beds, forgetting entirely the chill swirling fog and his wet sandals.

At last, Antony turned his gaze away and looked over the side of the balcony. A pale waxing moon rose in the sky, shining through the sea mist which hovered like a blanket of clouds over the ocean's shoreline. But the fog had begun to settle, and as the breeze cleared the air around him, and the cloudy billows shifted and broke apart, the figure of a woman emerged standing on a terrace just a few yards away. She was staring out to sea. As if by magic, the mists fell away completely, and even before the moonlight spilled across her face Antony knew her.