Song Of The Nile Part 9

The emperor would never lose a moment's sleep over the death of my twin or the destruction of Thebes, but he tolerated no rivals. He believed his own propaganda that my father's ambitions had been fueled by Egypt's mystic sands. In making him suspect that Gallus had fallen prey to the same Egyptian grandeur, I aimed a poisoned dart precisely where it would do the most damage.

The courier I found to carry my letter informed me that I should have a scribe make copies. Military dispatches would be sent even during winter, he said, but the seas were treacherous. Messages sent overland from Mauretania might never reach Rome because of the hostilities on the border. "The Garamantes have conducted devastating raids in the countryside, Majesty. They don't want to be ruled by either the Romans or a Numidian king."

I'd heard nothing of recent raids but knew Tala's husband had been killed by Garamantes. I guessed that these were the meaty matters Juba discussed with his advisers when I wasn't present. Appalled, I went straight to the king's study, nearly tripping over the stone threshold, which had come loose. He'd been writing-for Juba was always writing-and he cleared his throat in surprise. "Selene . . ."

From the doorway, I asked, "Who are the Garamantes?"

Juba twirled his reed pen between two fingers. "Have you returned to me as a pupil?"

One should never be too proud to admit ignorance, but his tone galled me. "When dispatches arrive, when you receive advice from Balbus and the others, I should like to be there."

The king gave a bark of mocking laughter. "Should you?"

Though my cheeks burned, I bit back my pride. I'd marched here to make demands, but in some ways I had less influence in Mauretania than I'd had in Rome. Juba had soldiers at his command. He had men who honored his authority, whereas I had only a handful of bodyguards, maidservants, poets, and a mournful old magician. "I want to learn; I'll listen quietly in council."

He snorted. "No, you won't. You'll never hear me disparage your quick wit or even your good intentions, but the fact remains that you'll meddle in everything and you're a girl with no experience in governing anything."

As my attempt to be reasonable failed, my temper flared. "And what experience do you have beyond governing a schoolroom?"

He dipped his pen back in the inkpot with a wry smile. "I'm sure most of the empire is asking the same question. I must pretend that I wouldn't rather be in Rome, debating scholars. I must pretend that I wouldn't rather be writing my books than practicing statecraft. Why not enjoy the freedom you have, Selene, unburdened by these concerns?"

"Juba, I'm a Ptolemy. I wouldn't need to pretend that I'd rather be doing anything else in the world. I was born to rule. I want to be involved with these matters."

Wiping a stray spot of ink from his finger, he shook his head. "The Garamantes are a warlike tribe and their rebellious spirit needs to be crushed. Their leaders need to be captured and crucified. Do you want to be a part of that? War is no proper concern for queens and I should think your mother's example would've taught you that."

His words stung me. I'd quietly endured the disparagement of my family in Rome, but must I endure it here too? "What my mother's example taught me is that but for some bad weather and a lack of concern for her reputation, Cleopatra might have ruled the entire world. How am I to fare in her shadow?"

He let out a long, frustrated breath. "Selene, I don't begrudge your desire to make a mark. Perhaps we can find a building project to interest you . . ." Pondering, he ran a hand through his dark hair, something he did often, and this habit annoyed me almost as much as his attempt to distract me. To send me off to do something somewhere I couldn't be a bother.

But perhaps I could turn this situation to my advantage. "I'd like to build a temple to Isis."

"Selene!" His teeth snapped together. "You know that isn't possible. Your G.o.ddess is out of favor with Augustus. He'll take offense. Put that thought out of your head."

I would never put that thought out of my head, but I could see that I wouldn't be able to change his mind. At least not now. He and the emperor had used me as a game piece since I was a child; well, I had a game of my own and there were several moves to make. "Then I want to build a mausoleum." It was the task that Helios set for me. The Romans think I'm dead. Make them believe it. Build a tomb. Mourn for me. "You said that I could bury Helios in our tradition. Let me carve the name of Alexander Helios in stone, so that the G.o.ds might remember him."

Juba's eyes softened such that I knew he wouldn't refuse, and in the morning he sent architects to meet with me. Their sketches lacked artistry, so I described the kind of tomb I wanted to memorialize my twin. Circular in foundation, with an Ionic facade and a stepped cone like a pyramid on top. Very much like my mother's tomb and not dissimilar to the one that Augustus built for himself. The architects seemed stunned by the scope of it. "I studied under Vitruvius himself," one of them said, puffing out his chest. "So I know it can be done. But this would be something on a much grander scale than we'd envisioned for . . . for . . ."

They wouldn't even say my twin's name. No one would. Helios was neither a traitor nor a hero. His rebellion never mentioned. His fate, not even whispered. Helios had simply vanished from the house of Augustus. He was being erased, which was, in itself, a death of part of his Egyptian soul.

When Juba saw the plans, I thought he'd complain of the expense, but he gave his full-throated support. "We'll make it a royal mausoleum. It'll make a fine statement about our dynastic plans; it'll give the people a sense of our permanence here."

So he believed that I meant to stay here with him. That I'd live and die here in Mauretania. That my mummy would be sealed in this mausoleum. But the remains of my twin wouldn't rest in this tomb, and neither would mine. Isis willing, I meant to return to Egypt, no matter the cost.

IT was a strange thing to see Memnon and his men snap to attention outside my rooms. Holding round Macedonian s.h.i.+elds, each painted red and adorned with my initials, these guards were a fearsome-looking lot, all awaiting my command. "I want to be alone at night," I said to Memnon, remembering the way Livia had come to fetch me in the dark and how I'd awakened the next morning to find her offering me poisoned wine. "Can you prevent anyone from coming into my rooms at night? Even the king . . ."

It was a peculiarity; it wasn't done. Wealthy persons of any station were attended in the night by slaves and servants who slept in niches and on bedding on the floor. What's more, I was a married woman. The king would be expected to visit my bedchambers. My desire for privacy at night, one that I would cling to all my life, was a suspicious thing, so I was grateful when Memnon nodded his understanding without judgment or dispute. "As you wish, Majesty."

Winter in Mauretania was pleasant. The evenings were cool enough to warrant a fire, but the days were warm unless it was raining. For my part, I didn't much mind the rain, for it reminded me of the season of inundation in Egypt. Just as Helios had bathed me in the Temple of Tanit, these rains washed the world clean. For my subjects, they also meant the difference between a full belly and starvation. Without the rain, the grain wouldn't come.

Since winter storms rendered the sea too dangerous for travel, we received few guests and there was time for personal indulgence. I chose planting urns to grace the grounds of my twin's empty tomb and Tala spent her days weaving a beautiful rug. The Berbers were skilled in such things, so it surprised me to see her struggle at the loom. I'd spent the better part of four years toiling in the sewing room with Livia, Octavia, Julia, and the rest of the Roman girls, so I lent my hand to the task. "Try it like this," I said, and all the women startled at the sight of their queen taking up weaving work.

Tala seemed more than startled and actually pushed my hands away. "I must do it."

"It's their way of grieving," Chryssa explained. "Berber widows must make something to remember their beloved husbands and shun the company of men until it's finished."

I too was making a memorial to my beloved so my hands fell away. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

Tala nodded, grunting. "You're still strangers here. Ignorant."

Chryssa sniffed. "At least we're not blue."

I shot Chryssa a glare, but Tala barely glanced up from her work. "Indigo. Like my gown. We spread dye paste on fabric, then pound with stones until it s.h.i.+nes like metal. Powder comes off on skin and stains. Is sign of status."

Chryssa laughed. "A high price to pay for status. You're blue! "

"I wouldn't laugh," I said. "If Tyrian purple stained, royalty would still pay a fortune for it."

ONE sunny winter afternoon, I accompanied the surveyors to the site of the mausoleum. It would have been more comfortable to make the trip in a litter, carried by the matched slaves we'd brought with us for just such a purpose. But whereas oiled slaves dressed in leopard skins inspired envy and respect in Rome, such a sight seemed to engender hostility amongst the native Mauretanians. For that reason, I chose a carriage, which jostled Chryssa and me together as we traversed the mostly unpaved roads. Euphronius trailed behind us on foot, though I hadn't invited him. "Why does he follow me like some beaten dog?"

"What else has he to do?" Chryssa asked. "He's a priest of Isis in a land that doesn't wors.h.i.+p her, going by a name that isn't his own, serving a queen who won't even speak to him."

"I might've known you'd take the wizard's part," I said, lips pressed tight in irritation.

She glanced up at me from beneath fair eyelashes. "You make no secret of the fact that he's out of favor. It rouses suspicion."

I pretended as if her words were of no import, but it's always a slave who knows best how to pierce her mistress with self-doubt. Our carriage stopped below a hilltop upon which there were foundations of some older structure-perhaps some long-abandoned project of past kings. While the surveyors stretched ropes over the hard earth and tied them to pegs, I noticed Euphronius walking strange patterns through the gra.s.s. I'd seen him do this when I was young but didn't realize he was working a spell until I felt a slight tug of heka pull me toward him.

I didn't want to speak to him, but my curiosity overcame my resentment. I stepped over fragrant rosemary bushes to come to his side and asked, "What are you doing?"

He bowed deeply, his eyes alight. "Majesty, I'm searching for evil spells that might have been laid in this place . . ."

"Do I have the power to do this?" I wondered aloud.

He nodded, leaning against his divination stick, the serpentine eyes of which seemed to taunt me. "In Egypt you'd be able to do this and much more. Yet another reason we must see you safely home, Princess. Here, I don't know the limits of your powers or mine."

I bit my lower lip, admitting, "I don't know how to control my powers anywhere. Whenever I use them, the heka sickness comes, except for the last time, when I took a storm into me."

"There's no price to be paid for taking heka into you, but to let it out in a rush? It'll ravage you. Heka flows into your body and wants to remain there. When you release it to work magic, it carves its way out."

"It carves itself... in my flesh?" I wondered. "In blood and symbols?"

"When the G.o.ddess wills it," Euphronius said, seeming to measure the shadow of his staff. "Even if you can't see the wounds, the magic does cut you. You must give it a channel to flow away."

I resented taking instruction from him, but the old mage was my only link to the lost magic of Egypt. Given what little I knew, his words made some sense. "And my amulet. It isn't the source of magic . . ."

"Your frog amulet gives shape to your heka and serves to help you control it, but you could wield magic without it."

"Will you show me? I want to draw a light breeze."

He surprised me by asking, "To what end? Majesty, the heka you draw from the temples is left there by people who seek salvation. The magic is born of their hopes, their fears, their tears. Every bit too precious for experiment."

I didn't want to be lectured. Not by him. "Then how can I learn?"

"Why not commune with this spot? Make sure this is a good place to build a tomb. Let the hill speak to you. If there are curses upon this place, you'll know it. Kneel down." The Romans builders were too busy exploring the foundations to pay much attention to me, so I gathered my skirts and lowered to the ground. "Now," the old man said. "Press your hands to the earth and push a bit of the heka inside you into the soil, then draw it back in again. Let it flow through you, but hold yourself aloof, and when it grows too intense, push the rest into your amulet."

Several ducks flew overhead and the blinding sun turned them to dark dots against the blue sky. I blinked my eyes shut, feeling the tingle of heka at my fingertips. The scent of gra.s.s was in my nostrils. The salt of the sea upon my tongue. I heard the gulls call to one another, and the rustle of stub-tailed monkeys playing on the far side of the hill. The soil beneath my fingers wasn't like the silken desert sand. Not like the black earth of Egypt either. It was something else entirely. I thought about all my wishes for Mauretania, my hopes for its people, and made a narrow channel through which my heka could flow.

"Yes," Euphronius said, and when my heka touched the hill it met no resistance. No hostility. No evil spirits or curses or enchantments. If anything, the soil welcomed me and drew me closer. "No, not so much, Majesty. Not so much!"

I pulled up, breaking the connection to the earth, clutching at my amulet to take the excess of magic. Then my eyes flew wide. All around me the gra.s.s had grown taller, greener, with red flowers woven into its verdant fabric. Caper blossoms opened in all their showy glory. From the tree above, olives burst forth, having ripened from purple to black. The surveyors dropped their tools and Chryssa ran to us, sighing with wonder at the gra.s.s that grew taller with her every step. It was the cusp of winter, but the hill had responded to me as if I were the incarnation of springtime. "Was that supposed to happen?" I murmured.

Stunned, Euphronius drew his white cowl over his head. "Not unless . . . Majesty, I believe that you must be with child."

Thirteen.

RETURNING to my rooms, I called for the midwife. She put her hands on my belly and sniffed at my breath and asked me about my last moon's blood. I could tell her nothing with certainty. My last menses came before my wedding. Before the emperor violated me. Before I'd found my lover in the sirocco. Months ago, I told her. Maybe two. No more than three. I couldn't remember!

She departed, saying it was too early to tell. But I knew. I knew! And it was a calamity. I wanted to believe that what quickened inside me was a gift from Helios . . . that, like Isis revived Osiris, I'd brought Helios back from death in the guise of a babe. But it might well have been the emperor who fathered a child upon me and I shuddered at the very idea that something grew inside, unwanted, a threat to my life. How I regretted taunting Juba about the possibility of carrying the emperor's child. Had I tempted cruel fate by speaking the words aloud? Remembering Tala's ordeal, I wished it away a thousand times! Even if I survived the birth of this child, it would be a living reminder of all that the emperor had done to me and mine. I told myself that I'd never hold against a child the sins of its father, but what if I looked upon an innocent little face and felt nothing but loathing?

With reluctance, I sent for Euphronius and said, "I don't want a child. As a priest of Isis you know the herbs I must take."

"Princess, tread carefully," the old man warned. "What would happen to you if it were discovered you tried to rid yourself of... a royal heir?"

His slight hesitation made me gasp. He was still a mage. Did he know that the child wasn't Juba's? Did he guess at what the emperor had done to me? What if, in the Rivers of Time, he'd seen Helios and me upon a flower-bedecked altar? No, if he'd seen that, surely he wouldn't persist in telling me that my twin was only a ghost. "Royal heir or no, I don't want it!"

"Princess," Euphronius cooed. "There's risk in the herbs that would rid you of the child. Are there so many Ptolemies left in the world that we can do without one more? With the death of our beloved Helios-"

"Get out!" I couldn't bear that he should speak his name and tell me he was dead. Again. "Get out, get out, get out!"

WINTER rains flooded the streets with mud and sometimes forced construction to a standstill. No messages or dispatches arrived from Rome. We were effectively trapped here in this new land-as trapped as I was inside a body that was changing every day. Tenderness swelled in my b.r.e.a.s.t.s and the nipples darkened. My skin burned hot even when others complained of a light chill. My frog amulet, which had so often lain at the base of my throat, lifeless and inert, now gleamed green with expectation. "When will you tell the king that you're with child?" Chryssa asked.

Since the night I'd threatened him with a table knife, matters between Juba and me had been frosty, so I waited until February, when the Romans would be celebrating the Lupercalia, to tell him. I went to the stables, where the king had just returned from a ride on one of his favorite Barbary steeds, and let the words tumble out in a rush. I thought he'd quip something dark and bitter. That he might comment on how pleased Augustus would be. Juba only nodded and, for a moment, I wondered if he'd even heard me. "Are you angry?" I asked, wary of the king's equanimity.

Brus.h.i.+ng his horse, a task he should have entrusted to a groom, Juba shrugged his shoulders. "What purpose would my anger serve? I'd prepared myself for it." It was the reaction that I'd hoped for, but now I wished he'd throw a fit of rage and fling ugly words and accusations. His quiet acceptance of my condition made me feel strangely objectified, as if I were merely a horse who had been ill bred this season but might foal offspring of a more desirable pedigree next time. "Allow that Alexandrian physician, what is his name? Euphorbus? Let him tend to you."

"I don't care for him," I said, not wanting to argue about the old mage. "A midwife will suffice."

Juba went on, my opinion of no consequence. "Euphorbus is a learned fellow of excellent temperament. He's been helping to identify plants for me. He'll deliver you of a healthy child."

"The child will need a proper nursery," I said. "We'll have to displace some of the servants."

"I have a better idea." Juba rubbed the horse's muzzle. "This place is falling apart. We need a new palace. We might as well start building one now. I don't suppose you have any suggestions for it . . ."

I was surprised at how this eased my despair. "Can we build it on the sh.o.r.eline overlooking the harbor? It should have a view of an enormous lighthouse on that island, like the Pharos in Egypt!"

"I don't see why not, but remember that this city is to be like Ostia-a trade port for s.h.i.+ppers and grain merchants."

"That doesn't mean it can't be a cultural center too. How much grain comes through Alexandria? Yet she's the finest royal city in the world. Besides, Iol is beautiful. At least, we can make it beautiful." I wanted to make a fine royal city but not simply because of my Ptolemaic ambition. Iol. Return of the Sun. I wanted this city to be a monument to that.

SERVANTS placed bra.s.s pots underneath holes in our leaky roof to catch the rainwater, while Juba and I sat cloistered with our architects, planning a new palace. I'd sketched what I remembered of my mother's royal enclosure and what I didn't remember, my Alexandrian courtiers described in detail. Juba did nothing to curtail my desire to replicate the palace in Alexandria. In fact, the time we spent together with our architects was unexpectedly pleasant. Juba could be good company and had an eye for expensive things. Hours pa.s.sed in excited discussion of our plans without my remembering to be angry with him.

Augustus had made us rich, so we spared no expense. We wanted green diorite columns polished to a high sheen and agreed that some columns should be carved like women, caryatids like in Delphi and Athens. It was Juba's idea to order pale Luna marble from Italy, white and silvery, but my innovation to accent it with a yellow marble from quarries in Numidia. Moonlight and Suns.h.i.+ne, I mused, my twin brother never far from my thoughts.

Between rainstorms, I shopped in the market, where Berbers haggled over baskets overflowing with nuts and olives and the fleece of shorn sheep. I purchased new tapestries to hang on the walls, lamps and couches too. My ladies pointed to my enthusiasm for a more comfortable home as evidence of my readiness for motherhood. Only Chryssa seemed to know how much I dreaded the coming of this child. If I knew Helios to be the father, perhaps I'd have taken some comfort in it, but fortunate happenstances were rare in my life. Swelling so fat and miserable could only be the result of the emperor's doings.

Everyone whispered about the good fortune of the young king to have already sired a child. Juba took in due course the ribald jests about his virility, and when we were seen in public, I always behaved as if we were happy. In truth, I was only fifteen years old and the prospect of a child clinging to me for its every need struck me near dumb with terror. Tala a.s.sured me that motherhood would come naturally, but what if I was one of those unnatural women who couldn't care for her own child?

The Berbers gossiped that I'd give birth in summer, in the month named after Julius Caesar, a prospect I found detestable, and my resentment seemed to swallow me whole. A time came when only Crinagoras could cheer me. The Greeks loved his cutting wit. The Romans enjoyed his verse. The Berbers admired his spirit and applauded wildly when he told the story of how their young queen defeated the sirocco. The incorrigible jester flattered, fawned, and amused even me on my darkest days.

One afternoon, Crinagoras announced, "Majesty, I've decided to compose a poem comparing you to Kore, the maiden daughter of Demeter. The Romans call her Proserpina."

Unwilling to let him think me ignorant, I said, "I've also heard her called Persephone." I reached for a fig. Since my mother's death, I had a loathing for figs, but now, big with child, I couldn't eat enough of them. Something satisfied me about the texture of the sweet fruit, the seeds against my teeth. I craved them night and day. "If you're going to make a G.o.ddess of me, why not Isis?"

He sliced open a pomegranate with relish. "Because I write whatever inspires me and no person of civilized tastes questions my genius."

Though he had a boyish nature, Crinagoras had lived a very full life. He'd served as an amba.s.sador in Rome when Julius Caesar wooed my mother. He was acquainted with every king from Mauretania to Parthia, not to mention most of the Roman generals since Pompey. He wasn't as afraid of powerful people as he should have been, and I was still too young to appreciate how valuable that made him. "I'm quite civilized," I said, reclining against an embroidered pillow. "I'm a Ptolemy."

Crinagoras grinned. "But have you been initiated into the Mysteries at Eleusis?"

He knew how to p.r.i.c.k at my pride. Every two years, pilgrims from all over the world set sail for Athens to honor Demeter and Kore. Even Isiacs honored the festival, for it was said to have originated from an Egyptian rite. "Some day, perhaps I shall become an initiate, but none of this explains why you're inspired to compare me to Kore."

"Doesn't it?" Crinagoras asked, popping a handful of pomegranate seeds into his mouth and sucking at their red juice. "Kore was the maiden G.o.ddess who was kidnapped by Hades and dragged down into the underworld, bringing such grief to her mother that the earth plunged into winter. She's the youthful incarnation of your Isis. Like Kore, isn't Isis wed to the lord of the dead? Doesn't Isis possess the magic to bring forth our souls into salvation and to rise from the underworld to make all the crops grow?"

He was a cynic, so I couldn't tell if he was mocking my faith, but this syncretism, the merging of G.o.ddesses, was nothing new. Isis had a thousand names and I'd just found her in the guise of Carthaginian Tanit. Still, I found myself arguing, "Isn't Isis more like Demeter, the mother G.o.ddess who searches the world for her lost loved one?"

"They're aspects of the same," Crinagoras said, as if he were a great authority. "You're not yet known for being more than Cleopatra's daughter, a child stolen from Egypt. So I'll compare you to Kore, kidnapped and held prisoner in the underworld of Rome while famine looms-"

"You don't dare!" I cried, knowing full well how it might offend the Romans to hear Augustus compared to Hades. It was also far too close to the truth. Kore had been raped by Hades, who offered her seeds of pomegranate, the fruit of fertility, so he'd always have a hold on her ever after. Though Kore returned in springtime to her mother's realm, she was never free of the lord of the underworld. Just as I would never be free of Augustus. As this child grew inside me, our lives entwined, and nothing would change that now. Like Kore, I had eaten the pomegranate seeds.

THE baby wasn't the only thing moving inside me. In my blood, the sirocco still swirled restlessly. I knew that I should learn how to use my magic, but I was too mistrustful of Euphronius. Though workers erected a tomb to Helios, I wouldn't accept that he was dead, and I refused to have the old wizard near enough to tell me otherwise. To take my mind off my woes, I busied myself overseeing the work of the stonemasons and tile layers in the new palace. The architects liked my aesthetic sensibilities, though I'd become aware that people would flatter me because I was queen. I approved plans for a columned entrance and an enormous fountain in the main hall. A large garden too, with grape arbors and a sea of lavender.

When springtime came it was safe for travel again and every manner of fortune seeker flocked to Mauretania. With them came an infusion of gold and gossip. We learned that King Herod vowed to build a new city in the East simply to keep us from attracting the finest engineers to Mauretania. We also learned that under the most mysterious circ.u.mstances, Cornelius Gallus, the Prefect of Egypt, had been recalled to Rome and forced to commit suicide.

I didn't smile at this news, though it had been exactly what I'd hoped for. Had the emperor ordered his death because of my letter? If so, it had been appallingly easy to convince Augustus to kill on my behalf. Gallus deserved to pay with his life for what he'd done to Thebes, but I was shaken by my own capacity for vengeance, and my realization that Augustus was still my own deadliest weapon.

I only regretted that it changed nothing; the emperor simply sent another Gallus to rule over Egypt-this time, Gaius Aelius Gallus. I learned this from Julia, who wrote, I weep for your loss, Selene. We hear rumor that Helios was killed in Thebes, but my father denies it, saying only that your twin must have perished in a sea crossing. I think he's content to let your brother's name pa.s.s unmarred so that no taint of treason touches you.

I doubted that. Augustus didn't want Helios to be a rallying cry and so wouldn't acknowledge him as a foe.

Julia also wrote that her husband had been elected aedile for the coming year-a public administrator responsible for games and public works. It was a position Marcellus was too young to occupy, so I a.s.sumed that Augustus had rigged the election in favor of his heir or that Lady Octavia had convinced him to do so. Julia also told me that while the youngest of the Antonias wished to remain unwed until she was older, my eldest Roman half sister Antonia had been married off to Lucius Domitius Ahen.o.barbus. I saw Lady Octavia's hand in that marriage arrangement too. As First Woman in Rome, she could arrange the finest marriages for the children in her household. It must have vexed the emperor's wife and I worried that Livia would find some new way of taking revenge.