Hand of Isis

by Jo Graham

  The other half of the door opened, and Sigismund stood beside Emrys, a long spatha in one hand and an ax in the other. “We can hold until you go,” he said in his halting Latin.

  The Queen nodded and I saw her decide. “Yes. Charmian?” She turned to me to order something, but was interrupted by two slaves clattering into the atrium, the chest containing the children’s things carried between them. They put it down next to the one with the books and the library papers.

  “Already done, my Queen,” I said.

  She spun away and ran upstairs, following Iras to the children. I well understood her need to clutch Caesarion to her.

  “You’re packed?” Emrys said to me. Behind him, four other men were walking their horses in the drive, men of the Auxiliaries, all of whom I recognized.

  “Yes,” I said.

  He gave me a smile that was half tears. “How did you?”

  “I’m good,” I said. “Why are you here?”

  Sigismund cleared his throat. “Because honor demands it,” he said. “All we can do for Caesar is guard his son. And that we do right.”

  Emrys nodded. “We’ll see you off. The men are supposed to find a wagon and bring it up here as soon as they’ve got a suitable boat. We’ll cover you all the way. And there’s also a path down the hill from the terrace that comes out in the Grove of Furrina, if it comes to that.”

  Iras came hurrying up. “The diplomatic correspondence! That shouldn’t stay here.”

  “Packed or burned,” I said. “It’s in a trunk in the atrium, ready for the cart when it comes.”

  “Cart?”

  “Emrys has a cart on its way,” I said.

  Iras looked from one of us to the other, blinking. “Do you do this often?” she asked. We were all reaching that point in the middle of horror where there is nothing to do but jest.

  “Only every three hundred years or so,” I said.

  There was a clatter on the drive, and Sigismund shoved me behind him, but it turned out to be a produce cart, driven by a Gaul with cavalry leathers. “I told the farmer I’d bring it back when we were done,” he said, leaping down. “He didn’t mind at all when I said it was for Caesar’s son. So I’ve got to take the cart back, on my word.”

  “Start loading it up then,” Emrys said. “This lady will show you where the trunks are in the hall.”

  I watched them load it, the trunks that were ready and the ones I sent slaves for. Emrys put his hand on my arm and I turned to him, standing for a moment together, our arms about each other. There was so much to say, and suddenly so little time left to say it.

  “Tell Dion . . .”

  “I’ll tell him you love him,” I said, blinking.

  The cart rumbled out in less than an hour, laden with everything packed—the correspondence, the books, the children’s toys and clothes, and Cleopatra’s jewels and state wardrobe that would be hard to replace. Demetria went with the nurse in the cart as well. She was crazy with energy, and Caesarion had gone to sleep, so it was easier to send her first, as the nurse could only carry one. Besides, Demetria and her nurse would not be in danger at the dock. An old Greek woman and a little girl were not on any of the conspirators’ lists.

  Night was falling, the sun setting into a pall of cloud.

  I got a bundle of my things together and went onto the terrace. Cleopatra stood there alone. Across the river fires were burning, flames leaping here and there among the buildings. I thought some came from the Forum, but at this distance it was hard to be sure.

  “They are burning him,” she said quietly. “They are burning him like Achilles.”

  I nodded.

  “Not for him,” she said, “the long sleep in Alexandria, the quiet tomb. You will have nothing to summon him by, Charmian.”

  “I do not think the world will ever need to summon Caesar,” I said, and my throat closed with tears. “He will never be far from us.”

  “I did love him,” she said. “I couldn’t help it.”

  “No one could, when he turned his mind to it,” I said.

  “I know.”

  Emrys hurried onto the terrace. “There are torches on the main road. I can’t tell if it’s a mob or troops. But you must go now, down the path to the Grove.”

  “Praefectus, do you know . . . ,” Cleopatra began.

  Emrys interrupted her. “Now, Lady! We are out of time!”

  I heard them then, and I raced across the atrium calling to Iras upstairs. “Iras! Come on! Bring the child!”

  Emrys passed me, running to the doors. Sigismund already had the bar in place. “Go!” he shouted. “The Queen is already on the path!” He drew his spatha.

  “Iras!” I looked up the stairs. My sister was starting down carefully, sleeping Caesarion clutched in her arms. “Come on! Aurelianus can’t hold them forever!”

  I looked over my shoulder at him, side-by-side with Sigismund, waiting for the first blow to the doors.

  “Here,” Iras said, brushing past me, the child held to her shoulder, his face still in sleep.

  “Go!” Emrys shouted, and for a moment I wanted to take my place on his other side, long knife in my hand. But I should do nothing more than distract him from the business of the moment.

  I turned and ran after Iras. At the top of the path I heard the bang, the first heavy blow on the door. I ran through the darkness. The path was not lit. Of course not. No one wanted to advertise its presence. Behind me there was shouting and the clash of steel.

  I careened into a tree, bounced off, and dodged down the path, hoping I was still on the path. I didn’t see Iras ahead of me, but she could run when she needed to.

  Don’t die for me, I thought. Don’t die for me.

  Not for me. For Caesar. For my queen. For never being less than we are, I thought. We are Companions, he and I.

  The path twisted around some cedars, and suddenly I was in the Grove. Iras was ahead of me, just coming out on the other side, one of Emrys’ men helping her, sword in hand.

  Caesarion, belatedly, set up a long fretful wail.

  I ran after.

  And there was the water, the boat waiting, Demetria on her nurse’s lap looking out over the river toward the city, her hair pulled back in a tail at the nape of her neck, like one of the Gaulish cavalrymen.

  Iras handed Caesarion to the Queen and climbed in. I was right behind her, winded from the run. Above, a flame surged. Torches on the path? Or something catching fire?

  “Shove off,” the Queen ordered, Caesarion in her arms, and we parted from the shore like a child from its mother. Slowly, reluctantly, the oars bit and the boat drifted out to midstream, turning a little in the current.

  With fire behind us on both banks we made our way downriver.

  WE CAME TO OSTIA well before dawn and went aboard our warship that waited in the harbor. The captain was surprised, of course. He had not expected us for several days, and nothing was prepared. Besides, there were all these uncertain rumors. . . .

  “The rumors are true,” Iras snapped. “Caesar is dead. We sail for Alexandria, and we stop for no man.”

  I thought he might hesitate or ask for the Queen, but he did not. “It shall be as you say,” he said, and went to give the orders.

  I went below, looking for Cleopatra. Her cabin was not ready, and the mattress lay bare on the floor. She was sound asleep lying on it, one arm thrown over Caesarion, who slept against her stomach. Gently, I took a cloak and laid it over them. I would not disturb them by going through chests looking for blankets. Sleep was the best balm, I thought. Sleep, and the company of her son. And of course that other Horus, the one who still rode beneath her heart. I supposed she had not told Caesar yet, and now he should never know.

  I went on deck and watched the anchor raised, the five banks of massive oars deployed. The captain was not even waiting for the tide. We sailed immediately, passing through rows of merchant ships, past the dockyard where Rome’s quinqueremes were tied up. They had nearly thirty here, ready to ta
ke on troops for Caesar’s voyage to Syria, and the captain was taking no chances.

  Apparently they had no orders to stop us. I doubted they knew who was in charge in Rome either. Caesar’s son was a bargaining piece for any of them, as was Egypt’s Queen. But perhaps none of them dared.

  The shore faded behind us, a few lights still showing against the dark sea. The breeze freshened, clear and cold. I let it take my hair and stood watching as the winter stars sank into the sea.

  By now Emrys was probably as dead as Caesar, with none to mourn him. I blinked into the wind. Dion, I thought. I will have to tell Dion. I will mourn with Dion. The sacrifice was not my blood and yet Emrys, too, would consider the price fair. The tears escaped my eyes and dried in the sea wind.

  I stood there until the sun rose, until every muscle in my body was stiff, until in all directions there was nothing to see but the Middle Sea. The captain had decided to steer clear of the Campanian coast.

  I should unpack, I thought. I went below.

  “Charmian?” Cleopatra’s voice quivered, and I hurried into the cabin. Caesarion was still sleeping peacefully, but on the mattress where she had lain and on her rumpled skirts I could see the spots of bright blood, too much blood.

  “Oh sweet Isis,” I breathed, and fell to my knees beside her. It was a price I had not expected.

  Amenti

  I bent my head, and could speak no further.

  On Their thrones Isis and Serapis waited.

  At last I lifted my eyes again. “Gracious Ones, Caesar passed through these gates long ago, into the land of the dead, and the world was changed. You know the reasons for that better than I. I do not understand why it mattered to me so.”

  “Or why you even considered leaving your queen and your family to go with Agrippa?” Isis asked, leaning forward, Her chin on Her hands. “Did you love him so?”

  I shook my head. “No,” I said. “I think not. Perhaps I thought I did at the time, but I had not yet learned what love truly is, love that is based upon respect, one Companion for another.”

  “And yet you might have found it enough,” a new voice said. I looked around to see Him standing behind me, a young man with a shaven head glistening with oil, an immaculate pleated shenti around His waist. Behind Him, white wings spread, each feather giving forth its own light.

  Serapis inclined His head. “Mikhael, You are welcome to Our court. Though I must ask why You are here, as Charmian stands before Us and she is not one of Your worshippers, nor a follower of Your god.”

  He stepped forward until He stood close behind me, and His presence was like a heat. “Is not the defendant allowed counsel?” He asked pleasantly. “Charmian has long been a person of interest to Me, since You, Lady, entrusted her to My care many centuries ago. I have come to speak on her behalf, if You will hear Me.”

  Isis smiled, the corners of Her eyes crinkling. “I do remember that, and I know the services she rendered You in the matter of this Great Story in ages past. It is possible Your shepherd boy should have died an outlaw rather than a king if not for her. But what have You to do with Charmian, with the mask she has worn in this life?”

  “I am Dion’s patron, and I have cared as always for Emrys, one of the sons of My heart. Where her story has intersected theirs, there I have been. And thus I will speak on her behalf if I may.”

  I looked at Him with surprise, and I thought incredibly enough that He winked at me.

  “You may,” Serapis said. “And what do You put before Us?”

  “I put before You that Charmian wielded no inconsiderable power in Egypt, as minister and confidante to the Queen. In that capacity, she used her position to benefit all of the Queen’s subjects, Greeks, Egyptians, Jews, and others all alike. She did indeed render mercy to the needy, help to the weak, and safeguard the well-being of all. That is no inconsiderable feat in anyone who rules—to never take advantage of her position to harm those who offended her, or to prefer those who would make her rich.”

  I looked at Mikhael quizzically. “What use had I for wealth, with the Royal Treasury at my disposal? If I needed for something to be done, I could simply sign for it, or if it were too much money, I should speak to the Queen about it. What use had I for bribes? It is true I did not take them, but it was not a virtue, as I had no use for them or desire for wealth.”

  Mikhael spread His hands and grinned, looking for a moment like Dion. “You see? One may search far and wide on this earth to find an incorruptible servant, but You need look no further. Any monarch that ever lived should be glad of one like her.”

  I turned and faced Him. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate You speaking on my behalf, but You are giving me credit that I do not deserve! There was nothing anyone could give me that I wanted. How could I be tempted?”

  “And what was it you wanted, then?” Serapis asked.

  “The only thing I have always wanted,” I said. “To be with those I love and to have good work to do. And as for the rest, justice and mercy and those in need, I didn’t do anything special. I just tried to be fair. I just did my best.”

  “That is all that the gods can ever ask of anyone,” Isis said.

  The Moon Veiled

  Alexandria.

  Home.

  I watched Pharos rising out of the sea at sunrise, glimmering like the evening star, and wept to see it.

  The Queen had miscarried on the ship and she was still weak, so we came ashore without ceremony at the palace harbor. The news from Rome had not traveled faster than we, so no one yet knew that Caesar was dead. No doubt a fast ship would come tomorrow or the next day and the entire city would know.

  Iras hurried off to talk with Apollodorus, muttering something about the effect on grain prices and the grain markets crashing. The crown must be prepared for the market’s reaction when the news came.

  I settled the Queen in her own rooms, clean and pristine after so long an absence, and sat beside her while she bathed, talking of inconsequential things. Worn and exhausted, what was there to say? “I’m sorry” seemed pathetically inadequate.

  “There is Caesarion,” I said.

  She turned on me, her eyes flashing. “And that is supposed to make it better? As though one child were as good as another?”

  “No, of course not,” I said. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “It’s wrong,” she said. “Don’t you see it’s wrong? I was supposed to bear this child, like Isis. After he was gone.” She turned away from me and leaned against the side of the bath. “I failed. And She has deserted me.”

  “No,” I said. “No, my dearest sister. It will all be well.”

  “Can you restore this child to me or bring Caesar back to life? If not, then leave me.”

  “Of course,” I said, and went as far as the door.

  THE NEWS FROM ROME came in bits and drabbles. Antonius had spoken Caesar’s funeral oration, and the mob had risen against the conspirators. No, it was not true. Antonius and the conspirators had made common cause. No, that was error. Antonius and Octavian had made common cause, and Caesar’s will had been read, naming Octavian his heir.

  In Egypt, it seemed very distant. Of course he had named Octavian, and the provinces he would have left to Caesarion had never been conquered, the prizes never won. We expected Cleopatra to be angry in her cool way, to plot furiously. But instead she hardly seemed to care. She slept and ate, bathed and dressed, but her passion was gone.

  “Give her time,” the doctor said to me as he left her. “Her body will mend from the miscarriage soon enough, but the shock to her soul will take a little longer. She is a healthy young woman, only twenty-five years old. Once she has healed, there is no reason she cannot bear many healthy children. Give her a few months.”

  “The business of the kingdom will not wait a few months,” I said.

  “That is what she has you for then,” he said sharply. “She needs the company of her son and a few months’ rest. I should recommend a progress to Philae. On the river h
er business will be limited, and the change of scene will stimulate her mind. It will do her good to follow the Progress of Isis, and to do such other things as will remember him.”

  The doctor had long experience of grief, and his advice was good. If she could not build a tomb, she would build a temple.

  And so it was that we sat down with the plans before the week was out, the Caesaraeum on paper, a temple to the god he had become. It was beautiful, I thought, a square building like the Soma, with a round dome above, pierced to let in the light. Outside there would be a short avenue leading to the Canopic Way, bordered by sphinxes with Cleopatra’s face. Most fantastic of all, there should be four great obelisks of red granite, antiques nearly fifteen hundred years old, brought from Heliopolis. That in itself would be the work of a year, and would guarantee the pay of many skilled workmen.

  “Let it be so,” the Queen said to all the architects might propose. Nothing should be too good or too fair for Caesar, and for her white city by the sea. “And now for my tomb,” she said, gesturing to another set of plans on the table as the architects crowded around.

  I raised an eyebrow. She had never taken an interest in her tomb before, though many Pharaohs began building their tombs as soon as they were crowned. But then, money had been tight when she was crowned.

  “I should like to lie in the Royal Enclosure,” she said, “as near as possible to the tomb of Ptolemy Soter. Can you show me what land there is that is not occupied by other tombs, and where there is room enough underground? I know that Ptolemy Physcon lies near.”

  The architects, sensing a huge commission and ten years of work, all started talking at once.

  “If you will each prepare plans for submission,” the Queen said, “I will review your work when I return from Philae.”

  Iras raised an eyebrow at me from across the room. It seemed the physician knew his business.