Cleopatra's Secret: Keepers of the LIght (32 page)

Antony looked grim. “I understand that any weapon Octavian can use to cause harm and conquer you he would use.”

Her eyes glittered with an intensity of purpose. “This is why we must fight him––no matter the cost.”

She held her breath, watching as Antony sat back for a moment considering her words. “It’s true I can no longer pretend to any sort of alliance with Octavian.”

“We must consolidate our position, so we’re as strong as Rome,” she urged. “Make no mistake, it’s not enough too simply defend ourselves if they attack. You must publicly name Caesarion the legitimate heir of Caesar and I will name him the next Pharaoh of Egypt. You will grant him all the lands under your control, making our kingdom almost as vast as that of the Roman Republic.”

She took a deep breath, hating the next words she would have to say. “Then we will gather our troops and march on Rome. Once we have our victory, Caesarion will sit on the thrones of Rome and Egypt as the God-King, Caesar. The world will know a lasting peace and our secrets will be protected.”

Antony stood gaping, then a low rumble started in his chest and he threw his head back and laughed. “Am I to understand that you propose conquering
Rome?
” He looked at her as if she had gone completely mad. “Cleopatra, one does not conquer Rome. It’s not possible. Do you really believe this is the best plan?”

“It’s the only plan,” she insisted. “Do
you
really believe Octavian will do anything but try to destroy us both, now that he has the excuse?”

Antony clenched his fists. “May I be damned forever for marrying Octavia! That one foolish act has set us up for ruin!”

“It was as the Gods wished it,” she reminded him gently.

“It was as
Octavian
wished it!” He raked a hand through his hair and for a moment the haunted expression returned to his eyes.

“And if we sit here inactive and allow Octavian to spin another plot, we will truly be lost,” she pointed out. “And my kingdom, which has endured for ten thousand years, will be erased from the earth. Only perhaps a few of our great monuments will stand to remind the world what Egypt was.”

Antony still shook his head, his face haggard.

“Antony,” she grasped his shoulders, forcing him to look into her eyes. “You are a great general! The greatest general in the world! Octavian is no match for you on the battlefield. With your legions and my gold, it’s not as impossible as you think to capture Rome. If there was any other way, believe me, I would try it. I despise war. It goes against everything I hold dear. But it’s the only way to a lasting peace, and we must strike bold and swift as the cobra before Octavian has time to think.”

Antony looked down at her, his expression grave. “As a Roman, I understand the might of the army, Cleopatra, and I tell you we would be crushed. You don’t comprehend the power of the Republic.”

“You, and your legions,
are
the power of the Rome!” she insisted.

He shook his head. “No.”

Exasperated, she turned away and half whispered under her breath, “Caesar would never have spoken thus.”

Antony rose, bitterness written into every line of his face. “Caesar sits in Rome, Queen of Heaven! Because Octavian is Caesar now!”

“Only because you will
not
be.” Her words bit like venom. Antony paled and stood frozen with his hand gripping his sword.

The air vibrated with electricity as they glared at each other.

Cleopatra let out a slow measured breath and closed her eyes for a moment, regaining her composure, forcing her voice to a more gentle tone. “This is our only chance for survival, my love.”

Though still glaring like an angry lion, he allowed her to place soothing hands at his temples. She concentrated for a moment, letting the stormy waves of her emotions still, like a silent pool, as she drew up the memory which lay dormant in his mind. She saw for him again the Land of the Reeds. Heard for him the great Song. Sent the eternal love of the Goddess to him through the tips of her tingling fingers.

He opened his eyes in surprise, then his lids slowly closed in languorous rapture as she watched him drift for a moment in the Time Out Of Time. She pressed her body close to his and sang softly in his ear, the low music of her voice a magic spell.

“We are the guardians of this place. The great Mysteries flow in the blood of my line. In the blood of your children. The knowledge of the Gods is inscribed into the walls of our temples for those who know how to read it. The power of the Song of the universe can alter worlds. This we must protect. This we will fight for, even to death. You have seen enough to understand a little, my love.”

Slowly, she pulled her hands away and his eyes opened, refocused.

Antony ran a hand over his face and stared at her, the light of the Song still lingering a bit in the depths of his eyes. “There are things…I had forgotten,” he whispered.

Antony closed his eyes again and pulled her against him. She willingly released herself into her lover’s comforting arms. For a moment they stood pressed close, the soft unreal magic of the Time Out Of Time still buzzing around them like afterglow.

Cleopatra nuzzled against his neck. “My beloved, can we finish this business swiftly? All I desire is the freedom to be together in peace at last.”

Antony’s eyes opened as he peered out the window at the harbor, the sea dancing in the sunlight on ripples of shimmering waves. “I’ll prepare my men. We’ll set our plans in motion immediately.”

Germanicus was mud-spattered and out of breath by the time he reached the doorstep of Octavia’s villa. Glancing down at his dirty sandals, he wished he had stopped to change his clothes and bathe, but the message he carried was burning a hole in his satchel.

When Antony handed him the missive, Germanicus had not tried to change his friend’s mind. Antony had been Cleopatra’s since he first laid eyes on her. Now it was Germanicus’s task to deal with the storm of controversy which the news of Antony’s impending marriage to the Egyptian Queen would bring here in Rome.

Straightening his cloak, he entered the villa, announcing himself to a surprised Maurus. The steward scuttle off to find his mistress and Germanicus waited as patiently as he could in the library. He ran his hand along a small statue of Dionysus and studied the room lined with row upon row of Antony’s obscure mystical scrolls. There was no doubt this was one of the most beautiful homes in Rome. He wondered if Antony would ever set foot in it again.

Octavia’s presence made him look up. She stood in the doorway, a welcoming smile on her lips. As she came towards him, Germanicus noticed something was different about her. He narrowed his eyes trying to discover what it was. Her shy girlhood obedience had been replaced by a quiet dignity, and though her beauty still made his breath catch in his throat, she seemed far older then when he had bid her goodbye two years ago.

He inhaled the scent of lavender as she leaned closer to squeeze his hands. “Welcome, Germanicus. Your presence has been sorely missed in Rome.”

Her warm palms slipped through his fingers as he inclined his head respectfully. “I am very pleased to see you, Octavia.” He frowned. “Although, in all honesty, I wish I came on a happier mission.”

She looked calm, almost serene. “Antony’s in Egypt.” It was not a question.

“Yes.” Germanicus reached into his satchel and pulled out the scroll. “He sent this for you.”

Wordlessly she took the scroll and read it. He scanned her face for signs of her reaction but her expression was indecipherable. At last, she moved to a small desk across the room and placed the scroll inside. She stood with her back to him, her shoulders hunched, looking down on the desk.

He couldn’t stop himself from going to her, but hesitated before laying a hand on her white shoulder. “I don’t know what to say. I’m truly sorry for you. But you’re still young and…and beautiful. You will marry again in time.”

She had not moved. “I will never marry again.”

“Octavia, you’re distressed––”

She turned around, and to his surprise, her face glowed with happiness, her eyes blazing with rebellious joy. “Germanicus, don’t you understand? At last, I am free!”

***

The magnetism of the full moon cast its silvery spell over the desert of Giza as Caesarion followed Apollodorus into the depths of the Great Pyramid. They came to a stop before the shimmering silver star, which marked the doorway of the innermost sanctum.

The High Priest looked gravely into Caesarion’s eyes. “Are you prepared, Lord Horus, to meet Osiris in the Land of the Reeds?”

Caesarion swallowed. Though he had been trained from birth for this moment, it all seemed futile now. Why go through this ordeal when their world would crumble into ashes anyway?

Apollodorus, clearly reading Caesarion's thoughts, took on a stern tone. “Do you suppose you know the will of the Gods and the fate of the world because you have been given a small gift? A gift which you have turned your back on?”

Caesarion looked down. He would not outright defy the High Priest, but he knew more, perhaps, than the old man believed.

“Caesarion,” Apollodorus spoke more kindly and his eyes filled with something close to pity. “We must all die one day. Better to experience it now, when Isis decrees, than to linger on waiting.”

Caesarion looked up sharply. “Isis decrees it, or my mother?”

“You know they are one, Lord Horus,” said the priest with a bow of obeisance in honor of Caesarion's role as the Falcon God, son of Isis and Osiris.

Caesarion stood for a moment trying to marshal himself. He did not want to die. Not yet.

Apollodorus rose from his kneeling position. “Lord Horus, we will proceed now?”

Caesarion blocked out the fearful thoughts. There was no avoiding this. Not without shaming his mother and all of Egypt before the Romans. The Romans whom he despised!

He nodded to the priest. “Proceed.”

Apollodorus lit the bitter-sweet incense which filled the small chamber with its narcotic tendrils of smoke and laid the heavy pectoral of turquoise and silver upon the offering plate as he performed the ritual to call up Anubis, Guide of the Dead.

Caesarion stood rooted to the floor, sweat dripping down his back in the stuffy shrine as the High Priest finished and a dreadful silence took hold. He waited with his heart pounding in his chest, staring at the statue of Anubis, who stood shrouded by shadows in the back of the chamber, the stillness deepening into something primeval as an unseen force brewed in the darkness.

The torches danced in the rush of a supernatural wind and the Guide’s black marble form filled with the breath of life. His eyes locked with Caesarion’s, taking in the weight of his soul.

This was not the first time Caesarion had faced the Jackal but the Dark God still had the power to send a shudder of pure terror through him.

His training in the temple served Caesarion well as he forced himself to give the order in a strong, clear voice. “Lord Anubis, I Horus, son of Isis and Osiris, require you to open the pathway of death.”

The Jackal God held Caesarion’s eyes a moment longer, the midnight darkness of his gaze drawing Caesarion in deeper and deeper, before the Guide turned away, entering the tunnel which now stood open where only the stone wall had been a moment before.

Caesarion glanced at Apollodorus, then gathering his courage, proceeded into the tunnel. As the light from the entrance chamber behind him suddenly blinked out, he knew that his chance for escape had vanished too.

When they reached the great chamber it was as he had been told. The bare torch lit walls only accentuated the vastness of the hall. The line of his ancestors in their sarcophagi filled one side of the room. Caesarion did not look at them as he walked past each ancient pharaoh. He was trying to forget what lay at the end of the line.

When they reached the empty sarcophagus, he put out his hands to touch the smooth granite. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead and his breath caught in his chest.

“What if I refuse?”

The High Priest stepped forward with an emerald goblet held ceremoniously in his hands. “The fate of Egypt rests with you, Lord Horus.”

Caesarion began to shake. He could not stop the primal dread of death from taking hold of him. He looked up terrified at his beloved mentor. “I’m going to die. I’ll never be Pharaoh of Egypt. Why should I do this?”

Apollodorus’s eyes shone with tears. “The Gods ask terrible things of us, Caesarion. But we must have faith that the pattern of their plan is always, in the end, for the highest and best.” He placed the goblet in Caesarion's cold hands. “I will mourn for your loss.”

Caesarion stared down at the emerald goblet.

Poison. Enough to kill a man
.

“The Dream of the Dreamless,” he whispered.

The High Priest bowed his head, waiting.

Caesarion raised the cup to his lips and closed his eyes tight. “Osiris, do not desert me.”

The potion tasted bitter on his lips and scorched his tongue as he drank it down. It took effect immediately. The emerald goblet slipped from his hands and clattered onto the polished limestone floor. He felt himself collapsing back into the strong arms of Apollodorus.