Cleopatra's Secret: Keepers of the LIght (43 page)

I am truly left with only you now
.

Cleopatra’s haunting face rose before him in his mind’s eye. Or was it the face of the Goddess? After so many years, he still found it difficult to know the difference.

***

The trumpets roused Antony just before dawn and the ominous sound of his enemy’s instruments echoing across the sand to where he stood watching his men prepare for battle awakened a deep sense of foreboding in him.

With his head high and his shoulders thrown back, Antony marched to the front of his legions and mounted his warhorse––the finest in all of Cleopatra’s stables, its glossy black mane and golden ornaments reflecting the rising sun. As the trumpets blared again, his well-trained men fell behind him in perfect ranks.

He called out his command and spurred his horse forward, thundering across the desert with his sword raised, his breastplate shining like fire, and with the fierceness of a wild lion, headed straight at the heart of Octavian’s massive legions.

***

Cleopatra awoke with the remnants of her dreams still clinging to her mind, like wisps of spiderwebs, one thin strand of memory leading to another. Flashes of Antony sitting solemnly in a narrow boat, the Jackal God navigating through the misty Land of Reeds sent a thrill of dread through her.

He’s dead. Or will be
.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she rolled back against the pillow, willing her mind to go blank. She closed herself to the black hole that was opening up inside of her. Later she would admit it, feel it. But not now. Not yet.

She pulled off her covers and went to the balcony overlooking the harbor. The port was bustling with activity as merchants loaded up whatever they could grab and refugees paid exorbitant sums to gain passage out of Alexandria before the Romans arrived at the city gates.

Charmion stood watching the people go. Feeling numb, Cleopatra squeezed her friend’s shoulder comfortingly. “Free all the palace slaves and let my personal attendants have their leave. Tell them to take whatever furniture or valuables they like from the palace. It will be that much less for the Romans to steal and they will need something to sustain them in the days ahead.”

Charmion bit her lip. “My Lady, what of Antony? Are you so sure he has failed us?”

Cleopatra frowned and turned away. “Antony has not failed us,” she snapped. “He simply was not able to defeat Rome’s legions.”

She turned to Iris and Apollodorus as they entered her chamber. Both looked calm but deathly pale.

Apollodorus, never one to dispense with formality, even now at the collapse of the ten-thousand year reign of the Pharaohs, bowed before her. “Queen of Heaven, the people of the city are in a panic. They’re fleeing from Alexandria in droves and those who remain are barricading their doors and stealing food from the bazaars. It’s utter chaos in the streets.”

Cleopatra pressed her fist against her brow. What could she do? She had no army to protect her people. “I can do no more for them. What men I had are with Antony in the desert.”

None of this could be real. Alexandria about to be taken? Antony dead? She shook her head to clear her thoughts but nothing could remove the sick, heavy feeling in her chest. “We must go.”

“Abandon the city?” asked Apollodorus in shock.

“No, never that,” said Cleopatra. “We must go to the very heart of it––to my tomb.”

The High Priest stood silent for a moment, digesting Cleopatra’s plan. Then he nodded.

Tears sprung afresh to Cleopatra’s eyes. How many tears had she shed these past months? But she would not feel what was going on. She turned abruptly and marched down the hall leading from her chambers to the secret passage which would take her to the tomb. Her retinue followed close behind. She wracked her brain as she passed through the labyrinth of Lochias Palace. Was she forgetting anything? But she knew in the place she journeyed to, she would need very little.

Cleopatra’s party made their way through the twists and turns of secret passages and hidden doors, until they arrived in the Temple of Isis where the silver statue of the Goddess greeted them, shimmering and vibrant in the torchlight.

Inside the temple nothing had changed. The priests and priestesses went about their day as usual and the smell of damask roses floated through the dimly lit halls of the sanctuary. Cleopatra’s heart swelled with gratitude and pride. At least Rome, and the fear it inspired, had not touched this sacred place yet. Still, she felt obliged to allow these holy people to seek refuge if they wished.

She turned to Apollodorus. “You are High Priest here. You may give the acolytes permission to depart.”

But before he could answer, a fresh-faced girl dressed in the simple white robes of an initiate prostrated herself before the royal party. “Please, Queen of Heaven, don’t send us away! We have nowhere else to go. Besides, we fear neither Romans nor death!”

Cleopatra looked down at the kneeling girl. She could be no more than eleven or twelve. Did she understand the soldiers she claimed not to fear were capable of beating and raping her for their own low pleasure? Or of selling her into slavery for the rest of her life to serve barbarians? She looked into the girl’s soft brown eyes, glowing with faith, and was forced to drop her own.

In all her life she had never felt so powerless.

Pulling a thick gold necklace from her throat, Cleopatra handed it to the initiate. “A little gold may help you in a time of trouble.” And holding her hands over the girl’s head she blessed her.

When she had finished, willing herself to move forward, Cleopatra swept past the kneeling initiate, followed by her attendants and Apollodorus, as she made her way to the secret door behind the statue of Isis. She ran her fingers along the inlaid ebony wall in the symbolic pattern of an
ankh
and the door sprang open. Pulling a torch from its mount, she led the way into the tunnel.

It was dark and silent when they reached the tomb. The only sound was the softly muffled whisper of the ocean tides lapping against the far wall where the structure had been built into the stone of a sea cave.

Though Iris and Charmion had been in the tomb several times before, they gaped at the splendor of the finished rooms. Every wall gleamed with pure gold and was covered in the most arcane and important magical texts of Egypt. Cleopatra ran her fingertips along the rows of hieroglyphics. The wealth of the written words was so much more valuable than the gold they were carved upon. She had seen to it that all the greatest treasures and knowledge of the kingdom had been brought here for safekeeping, and chests spilling over with emeralds and black pearls vied for space with ancient scrolls bearing magic too powerful to be allowed to fall into the hands of those who had not been properly prepared or who lacked an impeccable moral character.

“You have all the wealth of Egypt here,” gasped Iris, looking around the tomb in amazement.

“Let Octavian search in vain for the fabled treasures of the Pharaohs!” said Charmion.

“But what will we do now?” asked Iris.

Cleopatra sank into a carved chair, her face pale as ash. “We wait for news of Antony.”

“Cleopatra,” said Apollodorus gently, “the news is all through the city. Antony’s men deserted him. He could not have survived.”

For a moment her composure broke. Color flooded her dusky face and her chest contracted in spasms of grief. But she waived her hand as if to brush it all away.

“We will wait for confirmation,” she said, swallowing hard. But her eyes fell on the gilded golden wall across from her with The Book Of The Dead written in exquisitely carved hieroglyphics and she knew he was gone.

Apollodorus quietly indicated the lyre, which stood with several other musical instruments in the corner of the tomb. “Play for us, Iris.”

Iris rose, and picking up the lyre, softly strummed with her expert fingers, its healing vibrations echoing through the vast chamber. She began to sing, her sweet voice carrying them all away from this dark hour, to a land of sun-drenched meadows filled with wildflowers, where lovers played in cool pools scented with lotus blossoms and reclined under shady trees reciting the divine poetry of the Gods.

In this gentle landscape, Cleopatra allowed her weary soul to dwell for a time, away from thoughts of Antony and a hostile invading army. In this moment, all that was beautiful and good in her land flourished in the voice of Nephthys’s priestess, who understood the horrors and fears of the underworld and could bring a merciful relief of her own for those who sought her solace.

If only they could stay here forever, inebriated with the gentle voice of the Goddess, wished Cleopatra, she need never receive the news of Antony’s death. Never greet the hateful hour when Roman legions marched through the gate of Alexandria as conquerors.

But the fine hairs on the back her neck raised as intuition broke through. The image of Octavian’s cold clear eyes flashed into her mind. She could see his pretty face as he narrowed his eyes and turned his gaze towards Alexandria.

Her blood ran cold. Soon she and Octavian would stand face to face. And the world would change forever.

The little caravan of the princes and princess of Egypt made good time as they journeyed across the desert. Caesarion was correct in his argument that a few peasants would not attract much notice, and so far, they rode without incident. Only one day more and they would reach the coast where swift ships and safety awaited them.

They were a quiet group. Even little Selene had reverted to her former hush, propped up on the saddle before Chigaru. Her only movement was to turn from time to time to gaze up at Caesarion, as if he somehow had the answers to all the troubling questions stirring in her young mind.

The sun set over the looming sand dunes, making a forest of shadows in the dips and rises of the desert. The wind, which had been quiet all day, began to pick up from the south, restless and torrid, throwing hot sand in their eyes and clogging their noses and throats with dust. Chigaru pulled a thin linen cloth from his saddlebag and placed it over Selene’s nose and the others followed suit.

The wind began to gather force, whistling its low eerie whine and whipping their headscarves back, snapping them in the scorching air.

Akil, shielding his eyes with his hands, gazed out ahead of them. “I don’t like the look of this. We should stop and try to create some shelter.”

“But we’re so close!” protested Caesarion over the sound of the winds. “If we continue riding, we’ll reach our ships in a few hours.”

Akil frowned as he squinted through the rain of sand. On the horizon, darkness was already spreading out before them with the threat of nightfall.

A jagged streak of lightning tore across the sky and the desert crackled with heat. Selene grasped Chigaru’s weathered hand.

“Don’t be afraid, Princess,” reassured her guard. “It’s only a bit of lightning. It will pass quickly.”

But her tiny ribcage was paralyzed as all the breath left her body and her eyes opened wide to look up at the electric sky. She squeezed Chigaru’s hand tighter, as if somehow this would help her speak.

She must tell them!

Unable to breathe, she kicked at him frantically.

Her guard stopped his horse. “Caesarion, come help. The child’s in a panic.”

Caesarion reigned in his stallion and coming to his sister’s side, swung her into his arms and held her like a baby, smoothing back her hair, all the while a feeling of irrational terror striking at his own heart at the sound of the white-hot currents roaring through the heavens.

Caesarion held Selene so he could look into her frightened face. Her eyes were impossibly large and her cheeks, usually the color of warm honey, had turned pale.

“Selene, tell me what’s wrong!” He searched her face for an answer to this terrible panic that was infecting him too. “Close your eyes and breathe like you’ve been taught in the temple. Close your eyes!” he commanded.

The child obeyed. She closed her eyes and willed her chest to unlock, inhaling a scorching breath of hot sand and she began to choke. Caesarion held the thin linen closer over her nose. She inhaled and began to calm down.

A brilliant fork of lightning, more fantastic in its size than any Caesarion had ever seen, exploded above them, illumining the desert and shaking the ground beneath them.

Selene screamed. “It’s Set, the Evil One! He’s come for us!” Gripped by hysteria, she buried her face in Caesarian’s chest.

Unnerved, the men searched the horizon which had grown unnaturally dark in the sandstorm. The gaudy red sunset was replaced by bruise-colored clouds of earth caught up in the wind as the shadows closed in around them.

“This place is cursed,” exclaimed Caesarion. “We must leave at once!”

With the screaming princess still in his arms, Caesarion mounted his horse. Like one possessed, he charged into the storm as if all the furies of the Greek’s Hades were upon his heals. The others followed quickly behind and they rode like demons through the lashing winds and streaks of lightning until they saw riders approaching out of the darkness.