Cleopatra's Secret: Keepers of the LIght (36 page)

Germanicus could not help laughing softly. “I see you are as astute a politician as your brother.”

Her smile faded a bit and she dropped his hands. “No, Germanicus, I only wish to reclaim my honor and survive.”

Germanicus looked grave. “That’s all anyone can hope for now.”

“Then will you wait a few more days and allow me to accompany you with troops and supplies?”

He looked down at her face, pale blue eyes intense with the desire to fight back. He could read it in the flush of her cheeks and determined set of her chin. At that moment he wanted to do and say so many things, but all he would allow himself was a curt nod.

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Very well then, I’ll meet you at the port of Ostia in two days and we’ll set sail for Greece together.”

“I will be waiting,” he promised.

The room seemed suddenly to grow very warm and he was more aware then ever of Octavia standing so close to him, so close he could smell the sweet scent of lavender in her loose hair. Her excited flushed face and flashing eyes were like a current of light…and now she was coming with him to Greece…

His head spun.

Bowing politely, he took her hand to kiss it and bid her goodbye, but instead he found her trembling fingers interlaced with his and when he looked into her eyes again, her lashes were fluttering closed, her breath suspended as she turned her face up ever so slightly to his.

Their lips met, soft and sweet with suppressed yearning. Tender and tentative, before he circled her slim body with his arms and she yielded to a deeper kiss, passionate and warm, her hands clinging to his shoulders, melting together as the depth and heat increased. He could feel her firm breasts and thighs pressing into him, fueling his desire until his blood almost boiled.

If he didn’t stop, he would pull her down on her bed right here and now and ravish her as he’d longed to for so many years. But somehow his rational mind managed to pull him back, just enough, and with great effort he released her, mumbling stupidly, “I’ll await you in Ostia,” and he quickly fled from the room before he lost control of himself all together.

Weak-kneed and giddy, Octavia rushed to the front door and watched him go, his tall lean frame plastered still with wet clothing. She had allowed Antony to leave her, for his wine, his woman and his battles, but now that she had at last been touched by the magic of love’s pure spark, she knew as she watched Germanicus climb aboard his chariot and set his horses galloping away, if she had to follow him to the bowels of Hades itself, she would never let him leave her side again while she had breath in her body.

Cleopatra wandered restlessly along the rocky point overlooking the Ionian Sea as night settled her cloak over the small Roman colony of Actium. She shivered in the damp ocean air as she took in the brooding landscape painted with long purple shadows falling across the promontory where they had set up camp. In the twilight sea below, her ships, armed by Antony's legions, prepared to make a stand once and for all against Octavian.

Antony was in council with his advisors and she was astute enough to realize the meeting with these military Romans would go more smoothly without her presence. She was under no illusions. These men fought for Antony’s sake, not hers. In time, perhaps, when they settled into the rhythms of Egypt, learned a bit of her people’s ways and saw with their own eyes and hearts who she was, perhaps then they would form an allegiance to her. Now all they knew was the slanderous propaganda Octavian spewed night and day from the Senate floor.

As she reached the end of the promontory, her attention was drawn to Apollodorus. He sat silently observing the spectacle of the legionnaires sharpening their swords and polishing their breastplates in the flickering light of the campfires. His eyes looked tired, and his usually proud posture gave way to gravity, as though he carried a heavy weight upon his shoulders.

Cleopatra made her way through the crowd of soldiers to the High Priest, where he sat now with his eyes half closed, separate from the bustle of preparation swirling around him.

She perched on a boulder beside her grandfather. “You’re tired, Apollodorus?”

The old priest opened his eyes. “I will revive presently, Queen of Heaven. I’m afraid, I am no longer young. The sap does not rise in my veins at the call of the pipes and a fresh sea breeze the way it used to.”

“You guide us all with the wisdom you’ve accumulated over the years,” said Cleopatra. “But…something more is troubling you?”

He laughed softly in the darkness. “It’s not possible to keep anything from you.” His laughter faded and his face grew pensive as he stared into the darkening scene. “I’ve had disturbing visions concerning the fate of Egypt.” He turned to meet her gaze with wide troubled eyes.

She could feel in the pit of her stomach the worry that had been eating away at him––the lost hope.

“What have you seen?”

“You have a battle to fight. Dark premonitions won’t help you any when your soldiers need a courageous leader. Besides, you know the visions are not always exactly as they seem. Their meaning shifts, like desert sand, and they trick you so you believe what you see to be one thing, only to look back in hindsight and know so clearly what was the true portent of the signs.”

“Tell me what you have seen and I’ll help you interpret it.”

He shook his head. “Unless you command me, I would rather keep my visions to myself.” He patted her hand kindly and then closed his heavy lids, as though blocking out the world.

“Very well,” she said shaken. “I’ll leave you in peace. But you can’t stop me from looking for myself.”

He opened his eyes again and gazed at her sorrowfully, compassion written in the lines of his aging face. “Do not plague yourself with visions of doom, Cleopatra. If we are to fall, it will happen soon enough.” He nodded his head and looked down at the stones spread out across the dirt, like runes for him to read catastrophe in.

Cleopatra fought down a wave of panic. “You have truly frightened me now. If there’s trouble ahead, it’s my duty to discover it before it’s too late! Never forget, Isis is above fate and at her will, even the designs of the Gods shatter.”

The old priest looked up with his wide all-seeing eyes, but the fear in them remained. “I pray it is so.”

Turning away, she quickly walked through the winding path of climbing ivy twisting round great oaks, past olive groves where fireflies flashed sparks of brilliance against the darkness of the leaves. The flare of torchlight ahead came into view as she reached her refuge. The temple of Isis.

The gentle strumming of lyre and soft scent of damask roses greeted her as she entered the temple. The dimly lit hall was calm and serene, quieting her fear a bit as she stepped inside.

The priestesses gracefully sank to their knees before the living incarnation of their Goddess. Cleopatra addressed the High Priestess of the temple who wore the scarlet robes of Isis and a ring of silver around her flowing hair.

“I’m in need of guidance tonight, Sister.”

The priestess rose from her place at Cleopatra’s feet. “The Queen of Heaven honors us. We have a chamber were you may sleep and perhaps our Lady will send you a dream.”

Cleopatra nodded and the priestess led the way through the temple to a chamber in the back redolent of burnt frankincense and bergamot. A modest bed lay in the room along with a small shrine to Isis and her son Horus. A lamp was lit by the Goddess's feet, casting a comforting rosy glow through the chamber.

Cleopatra unclasped her carved moonstone necklace and presented it to the priestess. “A gift for your hospitality.”

The priestess took the necklace in her hands and examined the carving on the stone. In delicate, expertly carved lines, she made out the head of Isis bearing the crescent crown of the moon. The priestess smiled. “The engraving is exquisite. You are generous, Queen of Heaven. This will be one of the great treasures of our temple.”

The priestess placed the necklace at the foot of the Goddess before turning to Cleopatra. “May Isis bless you with a dream.” Bowing, she presented Cleopatra with a chalice of wine, then departed leaving her alone in the small chamber.

Cleopatra sat on the edge of her bed sipping the wine, inhaling the rich almost bitter scent of the herbs the priestess had sprinkled into the chalice, allowing the worries to fall away as she prepared herself to receive a sacred dream.

Cleopatra’s head felt heavy from the libations as she lay back on cool linen sheets. Her eyes closed and the room shifted beneath her, as though swaying her on the white silk bed of her fabulous barge. She allowed the wine to make her limbs heavy, while her head was light and spinning off into the ethers.

Lady, show me the good in all this. Show me how to save the royal line––your descendants. Show me how to claim victory
....

But slumber had taken her up in its gentle arms and her thoughts trailed off into no more than the quiet sound of her breath flowing in and out of her body.

***

The lamp by the shrine had died down, bathing the Goddess in a warm glow against the darkness of the room. Cleopatra could feel the peaceful sleep of the temple priestesses in their dormitory beyond the main hall. The chamber was all shadows of blue darkness but for the illuminated shrine. The smell of roses filled the room, the sweet scent opening her heart as she inhaled the bloom of Isis. As she focused on the figure of the Goddess cradling her infant son in her arms, mother and child seemed to shift, metamorphosising, yet in their essence still the same.

She blinked and the Goddess, who had been dressed in her Egyptian robes of red and crown of silvery moon and golden sun, now had only a simple white tunic and a pale blue mantle covering her hair and shoulders. No crown graced her head but a ring of stars floated above her like an aerial chaplet of glimmering light. She looked down with a gentle smile at her son, who sat on her knee dressed in peasant’s swaddling clothes instead of the white starched kilt and royal crown bearing the uraeus usually worn by Horus. His smile beamed out at the world and a halo of gold circled the child's head.

An eternal peace shone from mother and child, filling her hungry soul. For a moment she was restored and renewed, as she had not been since she was a little girl, filled with the light and hope and promise of life.

An
Ankh
, the Egyptian symbol she recognized as signifying life and renewal, burned gold light in the baby boy's hand, but as she stared at it more closely, she realized it was only a simple cross. As she gazed at it, the symbol burned brighter and brighter, dazzling her eyes, until it was all she could see. But now a God with a sweet sorrowful face was stretched out upon it and she realized with a burst of sadness this was a crucifixion.

Set, the God of the barren desert, with his hair pale like the burning sun and eyes as vacant and blue as a cloudless sky, stood before the man, hammering sharp nails into the God's tender flesh. Set wore the mask of Octavian’s pretty face, inhuman in its perfection, disconnected, a force of destruction. Lightning shattered the heavens as his hammer struck the spikes.

But instead of crying out, forgiveness poured from the gentle heart of the God towards his executioner. A crown of thorns adorned the dying God's head, like the sharp skeleton of the ivy wreath Antony had worn at the banquet earlier that evening, and as the blood drained from his limp body, it fell into a golden chalice like rich sacred wine.

The God slipped from the cross.

A serpent, the cobra of Egypt with its proud kingly head flared, slithered at the God's feet, but he lifted his glowing foot and stamped upon the coiling scales, crushing the life from it.

The Goddess screamed.

Her shrill cries echoed through Cleopatra’s brain like the ringing of bells through a dark tower room. Naked as Venus, stripped of her crown of shining stars, the Goddess gathered up the crushed serpent and retreated into the deep cool shadows of the woods. Perhaps she could revive the snake with her magic somewhere in the darkness of nature, in some remote cave by a healing lake, where they could be alone and recover from the blow.

She hid so deep, behind walls of mossy rocks, in caverns so black only the bats could go there. Nature grew up around her, the trees winding their tender-leafed limbs together to form a wall, the sharp spikes of the climbing roses tearing at the skin of intruders, the beasts of the forest poised to attack if anyone came too close....

***

Cleopatra opened her eyes. Morning light filled her cell. The shrine lamp had gone out and the room was chilled. She shivered as she sat up and looked at the statue of Isis and Horus dressed in their traditional attire. The shivering rocked her down to her core. She understood now why Apollodorus had asked her not to gaze into the future.

Octavian would not only defeat Egypt––he would destroy the Gods themselves.

***

Pale and tired, Cleopatra threaded her way back along the path through the woods to their camp. She straightened her spine and twined her fingers with Antony’s as she joined him on the promontory. He pressed a kiss on her chilled brow and they gazed silently down at her fleet of warships. Their wide sturdy hulls and proud banners whipped in the dawn winds rising up from the uneasy Ionian Sea. Taking in the spectacle, she marveled at the might of the Roman army manning her ships.