Cleopatra's Secret: Keepers of the LIght (35 page)

Octavian took a chair opposite Agrippa. “What news brings you so early with such a worried expression upon your fat face?”

Agrippa swallowed the insult. “Germanicus has arrived in Rome and has seen to the dissolution of Antony's marriage with Octavia.”

“As expected.” Octavian’s eyes gleamed hard as diamonds. “Is that all?”

“No, Augustus. Antony has taken advantage of his freedom to marry Cleopatra. The news arrived with one of my informants last night.”

“Married to that whore?” asked Octavian in delighted surprise. “Well, he certainly didn’t waste any time! Of course, Roman law won’t recognize an Egyptian wedding––the ceremony was Egyptian?”

Agrippa nodded. “It was. There is also this.” He handed Octavian a scroll sealed with the crimson wax insignia of a roaring lion. Octavian broke the seal and unwound the papyrus.

Octavian,

We can no longer avoid a conflict between us. Rome was not destined to be shared. Resign your title as Caesar's heir in deferment to his son and rightful heir, Caesarion, whom we both know Caesar would have claimed as his own. If you refuse, let us not shed the blood of those soldiers who have already fought so valiantly for Rome. Instead, I propose we settle this between us in hand-to-hand combat. I will meet you at any place and hour of your choosing.

—
Antony

Octavian smoothly rolled up the scroll and slid the papyrus into the fold of his toga, but a quiver of fear tweaked his gut as his nightmare rose up, a serpentine hydra from unconscious depths. He could feel his skin go clammy for a moment as pain shot through his head like the flash of summer lightning. Then it was gone.

Agrippa stepped forward. “Augustus? Are you well?”

Octavian ran a trembling hand across his brow, as if to wipe away the vision. “Perfectly.” He straightened his toga and adjusted one of the folds at his shoulder. He would certainly
not
meet Antony in hand-to-hand combat. Still, Octavian didn’t need word of this communication getting out to make him look like a coward. “I believe the Senate will be anxious to hear the news of Antony’s treason.”

“Will it be enough to make them declare war? Even now, he still has his supporters.”

Octavian put his fingers to his lips in meditation. “It’s time for the masks of civility to fall. Antony is right. Rome, or the world for that matter, cannot be shared. From this moment on, it must be an open fight to the death between Antony and I, and the senators must choose their sides.”

***

Octavian shook the rain off his cloak as he moved quietly across the marble floor of the Temple of Vesta. More sacred than any other holy place on the Seven Hills, this hearth fire, guarded by the most elite sisterhood of priestesses, was the spiritual heart of Rome.

Octavian’s pale eyes darted around the circular hall to see what the pious virgins would do as he tentatively entered into this place forbidden to any man. Dropping their eyes, the priestesses allowed him to pass, quietly murmuring, “Hail Augustus,” as he made his way to the far end of the temple where the records of all the great families of Rome were kept.

As he made to enter the depository, a young woman with placid brown eyes and the white robes of a maiden, blocked his way. “What brings you to the Temple of Vesta, Augustus?”

Octavian let his cool eyes run the length of her. “It’s none of your concern, Priestess. I merely wish to consult some of the records you guard so securely.”

The priestess eyed him with distrust. “Surely, Augustus knows the scrolls kept in this room are sacred. We have sworn to the Goddess to protect them.”

Octavian smiled, all roses and gold. “I come on official business of the Senate. It’s only one scroll that interests me, after all. I would be much obliged if you’d bring it to me.” He held up a purse of gold, dangling it in her face so the coins clinked together.

The girl’s expression hardened. “I have taken vows before Vesta. Do you think I would risk her wrath for a few pieces of gold?”

Still smiling, Octavian thrust the priestess hard against the wall. Her head hit the stone and he pressed the point of a dagger against the soft flesh of her womb.

“Would you risk the wrath of your dictator instead?” Octavian pushed the blade through her robes until the steel point pricked the tender vulnerable skin of her belly.

She met his gaze fiercely, her eyes burning with hatred, but said nothing.

“Do you know the punishment for a sworn virgin of this temple who breaks her vows and plays the harlot?” asked Octavian. “Would you enjoy being buried alive?”

Her voice trembled. “I have never broken my vow of chastity.”

Octavian murmured in her ear, as his free hand reached up to caress her breast, rubbing the tip of her nipple between his fingers through the fine linen of her tunic. “But I say you have sucked my hard cock until I spewed forth all over your pretty face…” he paused to look into her eyes, “unless you give me the key to this door.”

She tried to push him away, but his grip was firm.

“What will it be, Priestess? Are you willing to die for your precious scrolls?”

She shook her head and looked down, tears splashing her cheeks.

Octavian shoved his hand down the front of her tunic and his fingers closed around the key which hung on a chain around her neck. With a jerk, he ripped off the chain, leaving a burning cut across her skin.

She cried out, holding her hand to the wound and glared at him in outrage.

But she no longer existed for him. Now he would get what he came for. He turned the key in the lock and entered the depository.

Thousands of scrolls lined the shelves. Octavian looked around not knowing where to search. He hurried back out and grabbed the young priestess, who stood holding the hem of her tunic to the wound on her neck. He closed his thin steely hand around her wrist and pulled her into the room.

“Find the will of Marc Antony,” he ordered, pushing her towards the shelves.

The priestess spun around, gaping at him. “Lord Antony is much beloved! If I surrender his most private document to you, the people will tear our temple down stone by stone!”

Octavian's hand shot out and grabbed the back of her neck, pinching it sharply, as he pushed her forward. “Have I not already made my position clear to you? Are you willing to die for the sake of a piece of paper?”

Pure hatred burned in her eyes but the priestess reluctantly pulled a scroll from the shelf.

Octavian reached for the document but she flung the scroll at his feet. He looked down at the scroll then back up at the defiant priestess.

Quick as lightning, he slapped the side of her face so forcefully she fell to the floor, a bloom of blood blossoming on her lip. He calmly walked over and kicked her hard in the gut taking her breath away. Then he kicked her again, cracking her ribs. Picking up the scroll from the ground, he left her there, gasping in pain, her arms folded around her center trying to catch a breath.

Two priestesses, drawn by the commotion in the vault, hurried in to aid their sister. Octavian pushed past them before they had time to stop him and marched through the columned front hall of the temple into the cool rain which sprinkled down onto the Field of Mars.

He climbed into his litter, and snapping the silk curtains closed, eagerly unrolled the scroll. He had taken a chance breaking the laws of Vesta to obtain it. Even he could pay a very dear price for his action if things did not go as planned. Octavian scanned the lines of the will until his eyes rested on a single passage. He read it twice, then lay the parchment down.

He pushed open the curtains and called to his guards. “Take me to the Senate as fast as you can.”

Reclining back into the cushions, he looked down at the scroll and murmured a silent prayer of thanksgiving to Apollo. Antony and Cleopatra had lost the war before it even began.

***

Night was closing in and the heavens seemed to pour down in torrents, sweeping the dirt streets with sheets of cold rain as Germanicus burst from the Senate, his cape flaring in the high winds, his sandals sinking in the mire as he rushed to his chariot. With a flick of the reins he flew through narrow zigzagging streets, past the Temple of Mars, his chariot wheels slipping in the mud, the rain plastering his hair against his scalp, his troubled gray eyes matching the stormy skies.

He reined in his horses as he pulled up before Antony's villa.

Antony if only you were still here!

He tossed the reins to a servant and made his way into the house, trailing water on the bright mosaic floor.

He brushed past Maurus. “Where is your lady? It’s urgent!”

“She’s in her chamber,” said the old steward, trotting after Germinicus as the legionary commander quickly turned his steps in the direction of Octavia’s rooms.

When they reached her door, Germanicus paused a moment, then knocked. Maurus pushed the door ajar, poking his head inside. “Forgive me, Lady Octavia, but Lord Germanicus is here to see you.”

“You may let him in,” came her reply from inside the room. As Germanicus stepped past Maurus, he found Octavia frowning before her mirror with her hair unbound, hanging in golden waves all the way down to her waist. She held a small ivory comb in her hand.

Octavia rose and her frown was replaced by a light blush as Germanicus entered the room, drenched to the skin, but still taking her hand for a brief moment in greeting, his chilled fingers dropping hers all too soon.

“Germanicus, you’re soaked!” she exclaimed. “You must have hot wine and dry clothing or you’ll catch a chill.”

“Forgive me for bursting in on you, Octavia, but I cannot stay. I’ve just come from the Senate.” He dropped his eyes. “The news is not good.”

“What has my brother done?”

Germanicus looked up and was somewhat reassured by her calm steadiness. “Your divorce has become public knowledge and…” he hesitated for a moment. “And it has also become known that Antony has married Cleopatra.”

Octavia smoothed the lines of her tunic. “That was to be expected.”

Germanicus walked to the window and looked out over the little garden Octavia had so carefully maintained. “There’s more. Your brother has broken into the Temple of Vesta and stolen Antony’s will.”

Octavia shook her head in disbelief. “Even he wouldn’t dare!”

“He has stolen it. It contains a paragraph in which Antony states his final wish is to be buried in Egypt––by the side of Cleopatra. Antony has also demanded that Octavian give up his right as heir to Caesar in favor of Cleopatra’s son Caesarion, as well as handing over the eastern half of the Roman Republic to Egypt.”

The room was silent for a moment. He finally turned back to Octavia. All the blood had left her cheeks. “There was nothing I could say…Antony has lost all his supporters here in Rome. The Senate has declared war on Egypt.”

“You mean, on Antony and Cleopatra?”

“Yes.” He turned from the window and came back to Octavia’s side. “I must go to Antony immediately. He’ll need my help.”

“You’ll go to Egypt?” she asked quietly, looking into his eyes.

“No, the last communication I received said they had gone to Actium in Greece to prepare for the coming battle.”

“Then Antony knew there would be war?”

“He has forced it, Octavia.”

Anger kindled in her eyes. “I would too, if I were him!”

Germanicus nodded grimly. He didn’t like it. He was a son of Rome and had never fallen for the Mysteries of the East the way Antony had, but Octavian was not to be born.

“Antony will need all the help he can get.” Octavia carefully placed the ivory comb on her dressing table. “I’ll travel with you and bring an army, food and money to be put at his disposal.”

Germanicus gaped at her appalled. “Octavia, you can’t even think of it! You’re a woman and Octavian's own sister. Besides,” the lines around his mouth hardened, “though it grieves me to say it, Antony has deserted you. He doesn’t deserve your support.”

Her face softened and she took his hands in hers, squeezing his wet fingers. “Germanicus, don’t you see that we have all been the playthings of my brother? I bear Antony no ill will. He has written to me asking for my forgiveness and nothing else, but there is nothing to forgive.”

Germanicus could barely speak. “You are too good.” He looked down at her white hands holding his, warming him. “Antony is a fool.”

She smiled and kept her hands pressed into his.

“But I must, once again, protest against you bringing aid to Antony. It’s open rebellion against Octavian. You’ll become his public enemy and he is not kind to his enemies.”

Her eyes hardened, for a moment looking frighteningly like her brother’s. “I’m not afraid of him. I know his games now and I’m as clever as he. Besides, he won’t touch me.”

“How can you be sure?” asked Germanicus worried.

“I can’t explain it, but he’s my blood and I know him. He will not raise a hand against me.” She smiled ruefully. “Besides, if he did, the Senate and everyone in Rome would turn against him so quickly, even he could not plot and scheme his way out of it.”