Cleopatra's Secret: Keepers of the LIght (46 page)

“Where’s Cleopatra?” he asked carefully, wondering who else hid behind these tricky palace walls.

“I will take you to her.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Octavian went for Charmion, gripping her wrist hard in his bony fingers. “I asked,” he repeated, as if speaking to a particularly slow child, “where is your mistress?”

“In The Palace of a Thousand Doors, you could not find her even if I told you where she was,” replied Charmion. “But I
will
tell you, the Queen of Heaven has with her the entire wealth of Egypt. She can set torch to it at any moment she desires––and for any reason.” Charmion stared pointedly at Octavian’s hand painfully gripping her wrist.

With a thin smile he released his hold. “It would be very foolish for her to destroy her treasure. I would be very angry if she did that.”

“You may tell her so yourself,” said Charmion. “If you dare.”

The legionnaires accompanying Octavian struggled to hold back their laughter. A servant girl mocking Augustus––that was not a sight one saw often in Rome!

“I’ll see her now,” replied Octavian with a pretty smile to those around him, as if this were some amusement dreamed up for his pleasure by a friendly monarch and he had no choice but to indulge in the fun. With a sharp snap he motioned for his men to fall in behind him.

But Charmion shook her head. “The Queen wishes to see you alone.”

Octavian eyed her suspiciously. “Is this some kind of trap?”

Charmion did not reply. Before anyone knew what had happened, Octavian held the blade of a short, but deadly sharp dagger against Charmion’s breast. “I’m not a fool. I’ve heard of your people’s deceitful ways, of your poisons which smell like lilies, your clever secretive plots and hidden torture chambers.”

“You speak of your own land.” The warmth of anger lent power to Charmion’s voice.

“Do I? Well, perhaps you will have the opportunity to discover that for yourself. In the meantime, I’m not taking any chances. Go ahead and lead me to your slut mistress and if anything is not to my liking, I’ll disembowel you like a wild boar.”

Clenching her jaw, Charmion gracefully turned away from his blade. She waved her hand over the seemingly solid wall and a doorway appeared before the stunned Roman’s eyes.

Awed, the soldiers fell back, except for Octavian, who once more caught Charmion in his grip from behind and pressed the point of his knife against her kidney with a trembling hand.

“Get going,” he hissed and together they moved forward into the dimly lit passage.

***

Cleopatra was not surprised when Octavian entered with Charmion gripped in his thin arms. She had expected no less, but she never feared for Charmion. The priestess’s magic was more powerful than these Roman’s realized.

Carefully, Cleopatra put down the vial of sacred oil she had been using to anoint Antony’s brow and looked Octavian full in the face.

Now that he truly stood here in front of her, Cleopatra could not help staring. After all these years, and so much that had passed between them, she felt a need to really see deep down and read his soul.

Beneath the golden boyish beauty, which still clung to him like dew on an early flower bud, she perceived the perverted mind of a mad child clinging to a terrible logic it has formed out of sickness over the years. The truth and pure harmony of his God, Apollo, had been warped beyond recognition into something newly evil in his diseased mind. And out of that mind would spring a new civilization which would infect the world for centuries to come.

She shivered, though the air in the tomb was warm.

Octavian stood clutching Charmion’s arm, like a child with his security blanket. He too needed a moment to take in all that he was seeing; the spectacular tomb with walls that gleamed with gold, ceilings so high they seemed to be the true heavens shimmering with blue enamel and encrusted with diamonds in the form of the constellations over Egypt.

His gaze rested on Antony, his strong body now cleaned and dressed in a simple white robe, laying on a marble dais in the center of the room. Beside Antony stood Octavian’s greatest enemy, the woman who had thwarted his efforts and nearly toppled him many times over: first by stealing Caesar’s love, which was the crime he would punish her for now. That was the act he hated her for most.

He looked Cleopatra over with a quick sweep of his eyes, the way he appraised all women. She was taller than he remembered. He had been only eighteen when he’d last laid eyes on her at a banquet held in Caesar’s villa outside Rome. She had worn a green tunic with emeralds that night and he had been eaten up with envy of her beauty. For the way Caesar’s eyes never left her, following her voluptuous form in the softly whispering silk wherever she went, ignoring everyone else whenever she uttered a syllable in that low harmonious voice.

She had not changed. She was still as beautiful. Still as proud. He would break her bones under his chariot wheels when the Triumph was over and then throw her to the lowest leprous thugs in the crowd to have their way with the once mighty Queen of Egypt.

But he kept his appearance pleasant. For his plan to work, she must believe what he told her. “This is a strange place to take refuge, my lady.”

“I remember the last time I saw you. You were a little child trembling behind Caesar’s stool at a banquet, Octavian. Do you remember?” asked Cleopatra.

“I do not,” he snapped.

“Caesar was a great man,” she said, forcing herself to keep her voice smooth and even. “Why haven’t you followed his wishes?”

“But that is exactly what I’m here to do.” Octavian smiled engagingly. “My quarrel was with Antony, who I see is no longer with us.” His eyes rested for a moment on his opponent’s corpse, then flicked back to Cleopatra, who though pale, seemed composed. “I have no wish to harm you, only to take you under my protection, just as Julius did. You may retain your crown and your kingdom. Caesarion may even rule with you, if you will but grant me one favor.”

“What is it?” she asked, sickened by his lies.

“Come to Rome with me. Come and show the Senate, now that Antony’s gone, you have no quarrel with us and wish to be our friend…of course I will require a yearly tithe from you, but Egypt is so rich, you’ll hardly miss it.”

And now she saw the gold ring on his scrawny finger. The ring Caesar had pressed into her own palm the night before he died. The ring she had given Caesarion just before he fled Alexandria. A spasm of grief so fierce she thought she would throw herself on Octavian and tear him limb from limb surged through her.

But he still held Charmion in his grip.

Breathing deeply, Cleopatra steadied herself. This was a battlefield. If she lost her wits now, she would lose more than her life, but she couldn’t help unleashing a bit of her fury. “You believe because your armies rape my women and my land that you have won Egypt, but you don’t even know what Egypt is!” she spat like an angry cobra, her jade eyes sparkling with rage. “Do you think this is the wealth of my country?” She held up a smoldering blood red ruby the size of a human heart in her palm, tossing it carelessly at his feet where it lay kindling reflected light. “You could not understand in ten lifetimes what the real treasure of Egypt is. You’re an ignorant, foolish child playing at kingship and you have no notion of the consequences. Do you think you bring glory and honor to Rome? You bring disgrace! Your name will be hated for thousands of years after your death, and the empire you found will be cursed, not by me, but by you, Octavian! You have cursed the world for millennia to come!”

“I’m not here to argue with you,” replied Octavian coldly, his cheeks were flushed and she could see a small vein throbbing in his left temple. “I offer you a bargain. You agree to come to Rome and I allow you to retain your throne. What’s your answer?”

She looked him dead in the eye. “Swear by your God, Apollo, that my son will rule with me and I will agree.”

Octavian dropped his eyes. “Yes, I swear it.”

“Look into my eyes, so that I know you speak the truth, Octavian, and I will believe you,” demanded Cleopatra.

He looked up; his eyes as cold as steel and spoke distinctly so she might not miss a single word. “I swear, by the God Apollo, that I will allow your son to rule with you after you accompany me to Rome.”

She had felt his lies all around him, like a sickly green gas seeping from his pores, but now she had the proof from his own lips. Her son, whom Octavian had murdered, could never share her throne. He had foresworn himself before his own God. She could not stand his presence a moment longer.

“Very well then. I must ask that you leave now. I’m preparing Antony’s body for the trip beyond. I’m sure you understand.”

Octavian eyed her suspiciously, but all he saw was a woman grieving for her dead husband as she gently touched Antony’s corpse, then dropped her hand away, unwilling to continue with him in the room. Still, he would need insurance.

Octavian nodded at Charmion, whom he still held gripped in his arms.

“I’ll take your girl with me as a pledge of your good behavior.”

“You will let my woman go, or I’ll set torch to all the treasure you see here,” Cleopatra threatened angrily.

Octavian looked at her hurt. “My lady, be reasonable. I mean you no harm, but I fear in your terrible grief over Antony’s death, you might take it upon yourself to…to harm yourself.”

“Let my woman go, Octavian.”

He shook his head. “No.”

Cleopatra pulled a flaming torch from the wall and held it dangerously close to a stockpile of grain. Once the flame caught on there would be no stopping it from setting the entire tomb on fire.

For a moment Octavian panicked and Charmion slipped from his pinching fingers.

“All right, all right. Have your woman,” said Octavian soothingly as he regained his wits and Cleopatra slowly moved the torch away from the sheaths of neatly stacked grain.

“You may keep your woman, but I must have something,” he said, trying to convey to Cleopatra that he only wished her to be reasonable. “I know how you worship your Gods. If you will swear by Isis that you won’t harm yourself, I’ll be satisfied.”

Now it was Cleopatra’s turn to avert her eyes. She could not forswear herself. She was trapped.

Iris, who had clung to the shadows with Apollodorus in the back of the tomb, stepped forward with a dark smile on her pale face. “My lord, look quick,” she cautioned Octavian, “a scorpion is crawling up your leg!”

Octavian looked down, and with the frantic movements of a man trying to beat out a fire, brushed his leg and shook it madly until the offending creature fell off and poised a few feet away. Octavian could not bear the sight of the sharp stinger raised high in alert as if ready to strike.

Ever since his nightmares began…

“You’d better leave now, my lord,” said Iris menacingly. “This tomb is crawling with such creatures.”

Octavian broke into a cold sweat as he scanned the dark nooks and crannies of the tomb and then snapped his attention back to Iris. She was a witch! This was some evil enchantment of hers!

But he felt now as if his entire body was crawling with angry scorpions. He glared at Cleopatra trying to control his panic. “I’ll be back for you in the morning!”

Cleopatra inclined her head a fraction. “Very well. You are dismissed, Octavian.”

Octavian grasped his dagger at the insolence of her remark, but the scorpion scrambled straight for his sandals and a blinding shot of pain tweaked the nerves at the back of his eyes. He doubled over, but catching sight of the scorpion’s stinger just reaching for his big toe, he turned and backed away down the dark corridor, away from the living nightmare that was taking hold of him.

When he had gone, Cleopatra turned to Iris. “Thank you.” She rested a hand fondly on her priestess’s shoulder.

“I wish I had sent him running back to Hades!” Iris declared vehemently.

“He’ll find himself in a worse place than that when his time comes,” Cleopatra reassured them. “But we haven’t much time. Once he finds his way back to the palace he’ll return with his guards and we’ll become his prisoners.” She gazed at her attendants and Apollodorus with sad serious eyes. “The time has come to prepare for our final journey.”

Cleopatra gazed around her tomb. Everything she would need for the journey was in its proper place, from the earthenware jars of embalming fluid and
natron
to preserve her form in eternal sleep, to the stacks of neatly compiled scrolls hidden deep in their secret chambers. These arcane scrolls bore words from the Time Before Time when the Gods still walked the earth and mingled with her ancestors in the dawn of the world. The information carefully copied onto each papyrus by ancient priests would never be revealed to Octavian and the empire he was founding, but perhaps would be discovered in another time, when the wisdom could be used for the benefit of humanity.

She ran her fingers along the rows of hieroglyphics hewn into the golden walls. The Book of the Dead was there, among other things, but the symbols held a much deeper meaning to those who had the key.

Her heart went to Alexander and Selene. Selene with her little copper locket, and held within it, the secret name of God. The key to understanding the true meaning of these rows and rows of sacred writings.