The emperor’s generosity regarding Chryssa became clear now. She had never been a spy. She was more like a Trojan horse who had infiltrated my brother’s affections, and now the emperor would use her against him. Helios knew it too. His jaw worked slightly, grinding his teeth. Then he nodded his head.
Agrippa growled at Helios. “Don’t nod, boy. Augustus asked you a question. Do you understand?”
“I understand the emperor perfectly,” my twin replied.
THE Temple of Apollo stood complete, pure white marble gleaming in the sun. Rome might be made of mud and brick, but this building and its surroundings were truly magnificent. On the top of the central arch was a carved masterpiece—a chariot drawn by four horses—and it was marvelous even to my jaded Ptolemy eyes. The emperor puffed with pride as he announced, “As of tomorrow, I’ll become chief priest of Apollo. I’ve moved the great books of literature from around the city to this temple. Next, I’ll move the Sibylline Books from the Temple of Jupiter to the sacred vault beneath Apollo’s statue. What’s more, one day, I’ll convene the Senate, when it needs convening, in this temple. This temple, my home, my gift to Rome.”
While the emperor made his pompous pronouncements and the crowd cheered, Helios squinted up at the sunlit chariot, but I was more awestruck by what I saw at eye level. I’d thought the horrid temple doors depicting Apollo slaying the children of Niobe was dark enough warning, but I now took in the red and amber statues between each column. Fifty dagger-wielding women, each looming beside an ill-fated husband. The statues were breathtaking, beautiful, and macabre. For these were the Danaids, daughters of Danaus, a prince of Egypt—who, to make peace with his brother Aegyptus, betrothed his fifty daughters to his brother’s fifty sons. According to the myth, on the night of the wedding, the unwilling princess brides all murdered their husbands with a poisoned dagger; now the scene was reproduced here in marble for all Rome to see.
“Do you know this story?” I asked Helios.
He nodded. “But what does he mean by it? Is he celebrating the murders? Is he saying Egyptian princesses are kin murderers and Egyptian princes are weaklings?”
“He’s accusing our mother,” I whispered. “He’s accusing her of murdering Julius Caesar and Mark Antony just as the Danaids murdered their husbands.”
In truth, I feared it wasn’t just an accusation against my mother but an accusation against all women. These statues mocked the notion that men and women, or neighboring nations, could live together in partnership. The message was: Ally with a foreign power and she’ll betray you. Love an Egyptian princess and she’ll put a blade through your heart. “I hate this temple,” I muttered, and it was true. I hated the sound of the boy’s choir as they sung their dedication. I hated the way Apollo’s statue was slim like the emperor. I hated Apollo the Pythian, Apollo the Torturer. If Apollo existed, I only hoped he wouldn’t see into my heart and strike me dead. “And I hate how it seems like the guests are all staring at us.”
“Of course they are,” Helios replied, leaning toward me to touch his forehead to mine. “Aegyptus and Danaus were twins, like us. The Romans just want to see which of us has the dagger.”
FOR the occasion of these games, I wore a green tunica bloused and cinched at the waist with two blue bands of ribbon embroidered with acanthus leaves. Though Octavia preferred me to wear white, I’d made this dress myself and she agreed it was modest enough. My hair was parted in the middle, with my braids knotted at the nape of my neck, and I kept my eyes low so that Roman wives might compliment Octavia on my behavior.
As we made our way into the arena, I couldn’t help but notice the giant obelisk at the center, a treasure of Egypt that the emperor had stolen from Heliopolis. I gritted my teeth and joined Julia and the rest of the women of the family in the imperial box.
From my seat, I had an excellent view of the emperor when he entered the arena arrayed like a Triumpher, leading the procession of athletes and entertainers in a chariot of gold. I remembered the last time I’d seen him that way, when I’d been dragged behind his chariot in chains. This time, I wasn’t to be displayed as a hated captive but as a member of the imperial family, so I watched the emperor drive his chariot in tight circles and made a half hearted effort at cheering along with the rest of the crowd. In seeing that Apollo’s shield was emblazoned upon the emperor’s armor, I wondered if today he would finally abandon the disguise of a simple Roman citizen and declare himself a god.
But if that had been his intent, he soon thought better of it. The Romans cheered, but there was impatience too. People pushed for better seats in the arena, and I worried that the wooden risers would collapse under their weight; the people had come for games, not to glorify Augustus, and he seemed to know it. When he finally stepped out of his chariot, he didn’t make the speech he’d prepared, but instead, started for the imperial box. His lictors—the ax-and-rod-wielding guards that always accompanied him—had carefully arranged which citizens might be in his path and eager hands reached out for his attention and generosity. I watched him, astonished at how poorly he handled this, in spite of the orchestration.
When my mother appeared in public, she was the New Isis, swathed in black silk and silver stars; the people stood back in awe. My father, by contrast, was a glad-hander, comfortable with beggars and kings alike. He loved to mingle with the commoners and charmed them with his good-natured buffoonery.
The emperor was like neither of my parents. When he spoke with the plebs, his manner was stiff. He cringed when a particularly dirty child touched his toga. He scowled at a flirtatious woman. It sometimes still bewildered me how he’d become the ruler of the world, but then the heralds announced the spectacle he was about to give and it became clear once again.
As the attendants quickly prepared the arena with a maze of obstacles and thatched blinds, the emperor brushed past me and made his way to his seat on the dais where he signaled that the Trojan Games should begin. In previous years, Tiberius, Marcellus, and Iullus had participated too, but now that they had each nominally served in the legions in Spain, they thought themselves too grown up. It didn’t stop them from cheering when the trumpets blared and the boys of Roman aristocracy came riding out in even ranks.
The whole crowd rose to its feet. On prize steeds, the sons of senators and important families were arrayed in every finery, and Helios was amongst them, his hair held back tight. Like the others, he looked like a young warrior, for he carried a glittering quiver on his shoulder and a wooden lance in each hand. But mounted upon a tawny Iberian horse, even in the midst of this proud boys’ army, Helios’s regal bearing set him apart from the rest.
With his knees tightly pressed into the sides of the sleek but sturdy animal, Helios deftly wove in and out of the columned formation with the troops. He performed even the most intricate maneuvers with studied grace, and it was hard to look away. Helios led one squadron of boys, Drusus led another, and the third was led by some Ahenobarbus boy. According to the emperor, this was a Roman tradition that spanned back to the days of Aeneas, but his intent was clear to me. He wanted the flower of the next generation to be accustomed to following the men of his household.
“Helios is quite good!” Juba said, handing me a loaf of bread he’d purchased from a vendor and it was still warm when I bit into it. I tried not to appear too grateful; I’d secretly hoped that Juba and I might sit together, but my pride still smarted from Iullus’s taunts. Was it wrong for me to hope my handsome tutor would notice my new dress today? Did it make me a wanton to hope he might compliment me?
At last, a whip cracked overhead and the squadrons split apart, parading into the maze until the boys were two matched forces readying for a mock skirmish. I knew it was meant only to be a terrifying display, only the mimicry of war, and that their lances were blunted. But the fierce look upon their faces as they galloped over barriers, their weapons lowered for the charge, made me slide forward to the edge of my seat.
It might be only sport to those of us wa
tching, but to the boys in the arena, it became war in earnest. Helios bellowed out his commands as the two sides clashed. Beside me, Minora squealed and Tiberius gave a mighty shout of encouragement to his little brother just as Drusus’s lance caught another boy by the shoulder and threw him from his horse.
I hadn’t seen this kind of display before, so I didn’t know whether or not it was supposed to dissolve into melee, but when it did Helios was grace in motion. Twisting at the torso to avoid the lances that reached for him, Helios was untouchable. What’s more, there were none who could stand against him, and as the thunder of hooves beat the ground and sent clods of dirt into the air, the mood in the arena changed.
All eyes were riveted upon my brother’s skill. Even the emperor leaned forward in his seat for a better view. Agrippa motioned for some dark beer and said, “Look at Helios riding like a Numidian. The boy is a natural-born soldier. If he can harness that talent, he may conquer Parthia yet!”
Livia greeted Agrippa’s statement with serene indifference, as if every bit of praise for Helios came at the expense of her sons. “And have you no admiration for Roman boys?”
Agrippa was never one with a quick reply, so I broke in with, “Oh yes, how very smart Drusus looks upon his horse!”
It was Octavia whose mouth pinched tight as her fingers worried over one another in her lap. She thought these games were too dangerous, I knew. And given the intricacies of these cavalry maneuvers atop frothing war horses who seemed eager for a fight, I couldn’t blame her.
That’s when it happened.
Drusus’s horse reared up under him and Livia shrieked with surprise as her son toppled backward to the ground. I too cried out, because Drusus all but disappeared under the stomping hooves. It was a maze the boys battled in, and some of his own troops didn’t see him in the clash; it looked as if he’d be trampled to death.
“Stop them!” Tiberius cried, his adolescent voice cracking.
But before the emperor could even rise from his seat, I heard Helios bark out orders. I’d sought out a stage for my strengths, perhaps now my twin saw his own part to play because Helios literally leapt into the fray. He flew off his horse, dodging lances and deadly hooves as he ran. His formerly pristine white tunic was instantly grimy with dirt. It looked as if he cut himself leaping over a barrier, but his composure never wavered.
To see him risk his life like this made me weak all over. Losing him would be to lose myself, and I couldn’t bear it. But down in the arena, Helios reached Drusus easily and attempted to pull him up from the ground. As he lifted Drusus, Helios’s golden hair broke free of its tie, flowing behind him like a lion’s mane. His face was red and sweaty with effort as he called out to his horse. The Iberian shook its mane and thrashed its golden tail, but even in the chaos of battle, came at my brother’s command.
With lances aimed for him, somehow my brother still managed to heft a stunned but seemingly unharmed Drusus onto his horse. Then Helios mounted behind him, and rode away from the lashing combat, delivering Livia’s son to safety.
As he galloped off, the mob cheered for Helios as if he’d been their most loyal son. Women clutched at their breasts and men shouted praise for his daring. My brother may have been the son of Cleopatra, but they now remembered he was the son of Antony too. They stomped their feet until the timbers of the arena shook, and I feared the whole thing would come down. And when at last the Games of Troy were called to a close, the mob demanded a wreath be awarded to my brother.
I watched the reluctant emperor stand to make a personal presentation, but I couldn’t read his expression. He can’t have predicted my brother’s acts of valor, but neither did he seem displeased. From the imperial box, he shouted and the heralds spread his word. “I hereby award a wreath for excellence in the games upon my ward, Marcus Julius Alexander!”
For a moment, the arena quieted. Who was Marcus Julius Alexander? Someone laughed. A baby wailed. Murmuring buzzed the crowd like a lazy bee. Then realization dawned. The emperor had just renamed my brother before all of Rome.
“A new family name,” Juba said excitedly. “Not just another Gaius or Lucius. Unconventional choice, but good.”
It was not only unconventional but outrageous. The name recalled three men: my father, Julius Caesar, and Alexander the Great. It did all this without making any overt reference to my mother, the hated Queen of the Nile. What kind of game was this? It can’t have been legal for the emperor to make such a declaration, but he didn’t seem the least bit troubled.
Helios, on the other hand, was more than troubled. Even from the stands, we could see my twin’s anger at being publicly renamed … and his astonishment at the way the crowd roared its approval. How fickle these Romans were. Had they not been baying for our blood only years before? But now, because he’d been the best at a boy’s military game, the Romans wanted to claim Helios as their own!
Marcus Julius Alexander, indeed. With this name, the emperor had declared my brother both a Roman and a child of his house. It was as if the emperor actually believed he could finally heal the wounds of the civil war by claiming Antony’s son as his own.
Meanwhile, another son of Antony, the one who had fought beside the emperor in Spain, glowered. My Roman half brother looked as if he saw himself being supplanted by the very boy who was to blame for his bruised face, and I saw Julia reach out her hand to comfort him in silence.
But if Iullus was angered, it was nothing next to the rage of Helios himself. Beneath the wreath being fastened on him, I saw Helios struggle with his anger. Perhaps mindful of the emperor’s earlier threats, he kept his peace, and when my twin finally rode his fine Iberian horse out of the arena without making a scene, I was grateful.
“This turned out better than I’d hoped,” the emperor said, taking a loaf of bread from a passing slave. “Let the Isiacs see this and take note! Come, Selene and Juba. Sit closer to me. Tell me the names of the animals now being led into the arena.”
Were we to watch the rest of the games as if nothing had changed? I wasn’t the one who’d been renamed but some part of me could feel what Helios was feeling. My hands nearly shook with it as Juba and I rose to join the emperor.
Livia made room for us with a nearly imperceptible sniff of resentment as hordes of African animals were led into the arena. There were wild beasts of all varieties: some in cages, others in yokes. “Ah, Selene, this is a glorious day,” the emperor said. “Don’t you feel the change? I’ve accomplished everything—everything is changing.”
“Yes.” I did feel it, but it wasn’t a good feeling. The emperor was remaking the world in his image and things might never be the same.
Just then, Drusus came bounding up the stairs, sweating but invigorated. It wasn’t his mother, Livia, but his older brother, Tiberius, who reached him first. “Are you hurt?” Tiberius asked. “Drusus, are you hurt?”
“He’s fine,” Livia said. “No doubt, he’s as humiliated by his fall as his mother is, but maybe this will teach him a lesson to practice more.”
“Don’t embarrass the boy,” Augustus said as Helios made his way up the stairs to shouts of gratitude. Marcellus and Tiberius both clapped him on the back as if they didn’t notice my twin’s dark expression.
I threw my arms about his neck, hoping my embrace could convey all that I couldn’t speak. I’d been afraid for Helios and I’d been proud of him. Now I was angry for him too and he seemed to feel it, his hands clasping my waist.
“Well done,” Agrippa said.
Even the emperor nodded graciously. “Yes, well done, young man. I’m very pleased.”
That’s when Helios disentangled himself from me long enough to rip the wreath from his head and crush its leaves in his hands. “My name is not Marcus Julius Alexander.”
“Why shouldn’t it be?” The emperor spread his arms in a gesture of benevolence. “You did me honor today and I honor you in return. I’ve bestowed upon you your rightful place as a Roman. It shall be the start of a new relations
hip between us.”
The strangest thing was I believe he meant it, but his apparent sincerity did not touch Helios. “I’m Alexander Helios of House Ptolemy.”
And with that, the fragile peace was destroyed.
“You are who I say you are,” the emperor hissed. “The House of Ptolemy is no more, so sit down or I’ll feed your slave girl to the lampreys.”
My brother’s nostrils flared, but he took his seat. Meanwhile, the emperor turned back to the arena and unclasped his breastplate; he wasn’t accustomed to wearing even the decorative kind. “What’s that animal there, Selene?”
At this moment, I didn’t dare look back at Helios. For once, I feared him more than I feared the emperor. “That’s a rhinoceros.”
“It looks fierce,” the emperor replied. “And that animal there?”
“A hippopotamus,” I whispered, staring at my hands. “It looks less fierce, but it kills as many each year as crocodiles do.”
“Really?” the emperor asked, astonished. “I admit to being fascinated by creatures that are more than they seem to be.”
The emperor too was more than he seemed to be. That’s how he’d risen so high. My father had mistaken him for a malleable boy. Now the emperor seemed to be making the same mistake when it came to Helios. I felt the heat of my twin’s glare upon my back and I knew better than to spare him a glance.
In the arena, hunters entered with nets and spears. These animals had been captured for a slaughter—like everything else from Egypt—and my throat constricted. The hippopotamus fought best in water. Here in the arena, though, the hippo stood stunned. An ostrich ran past. Then a stately giraffe. I could smell the fear, the musk of terror. The animals, cornered and panicked, fought wildly. Some of them tore into one another. Animals died as the crowd chanted.
Blood splattered and the crowd roared. Hyenas feasted on the gore and let out hideous laughter. The crowd laughed in return. A rhino charged a wood barrier and sent several people climbing over one another to get away while spearmen plunged their blades through its thick hide. The rhino fell to his knees.
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