Hand of Isis

by Jo Graham

  Outside in the summer dusk two servants were trying to lift up a board with Antonius on it, and I heard him groan faintly as they jostled him. Iras leaned so far out I thought she would fall, her arms straining as she tried to take the weight. Somehow, with all three of us pulling and tugging, and the servants below pushing, we managed to get the board in the window.

  I saw at once that it was hopeless. While Cleopatra fell sobbing on his face, covering him with kisses, Iras lifted the cloth away from where it had been pressed against his belly. Her eyes met mine. There was no recovery from a wound like this, though it might take many hours to die. Clearly it already had.

  “Iras, get some wine for the Imperator,” Cleopatra said, and I heard her as she bent over him again. “What happened? The battle?”

  He shook his head, sweat beaded on his lip where he had bitten it in pain. “No . . . did it myself when I had your note. . . .”

  “My note?” She blanched. “I told you to seek me in my tomb. What did you think?”

  Antonius raised his head, his lips stretched as though he tried to laugh. “What should I make of that? That you were dead, of course.” He raised one bloody, shaking hand to her face. “And why should I live then?”

  My eyes met Iras’. Too late.

  Down below Philadelphos cried out, and I climbed down to the children. “Darlings, your father has been badly wounded. He’s terribly, terribly sick.”

  Selene met my eyes, and she knew. And I knew that she knew. I saw it settle over her, nine years old. “We’re going to die, aren’t we?” she asked, her voice perfectly even.

  “We’re all going to die some time or other, dearest,” I said. “It matters less when than how. Come and I will show you where we will be. This is, after all, your mother’s tomb.” We walked across the floor, away from the scaffold, away from the dying man.

  Cleopatra’s sarcophagus was nearby, heavy carved granite waiting for the gilded inner coffin. “Your mother will go right there someday, just like Alexander in his tomb or your grandfather in his,” I said, my hand tight around Philadelphos’. “You see how it’s carved with her royal cartouche here. And over here on the floor behind it are two cover stones, for me and Iras to lie behind her beneath the floor. Here’s mine on the right and Iras’ on the left. And your father will lie there, just beside her on the dais.”

  I blinked, surprised my voice was still completely normal, Selene and I carrying on this act for the boys. And Emrys and Dion? Where did they lie, even now? Would I even ever know?

  “It’s very pretty,” Selene said. “Almost as pretty as Alexander’s.”

  “I think so too,” I said.

  IN THE HOUR before dawn Antonius died. Iras closed his eyes, and she and Cleopatra carried his body down from the scaffolding and laid him out on the lid of the sarcophagus, his limbs neatly arranged, his cloak over him.

  He brought himself to it in the end, I thought, the sacrifice. But it was too late, far, far too late. I could not help but pity him.

  And yet, had he done it sooner we would not have been brought to this pass.

  “What shall we do?” I whispered to Iras as the Queen knelt beside him. “We cannot stay here day and night with no water and a corpse. What about the children?”

  She shook her head.

  Octavian’s men knocked on the door soon after, and the Queen went and spoke with them. I do not know what she said. I sat on the far side of the room, Helios in my lap, telling them stories.

  The lamp sputtered, the oil burning low.

  I didn’t see the men until they jumped down from the clerestory window, three Roman soliders. In an instant one of them had a knife at Cleopatra’s throat. “Nobody move!” he shouted.

  I hardly could, across the room with Helios on me. They unbarred the door and we were taken.

  BACK TO THE PALACE in the morning, back to the rooms we had left less than a day before, under heavy guard. The Queen’s room reeked of roses, where yesterday in our haste we had knocked a vial of scent over.

  “The princes and princess will return to their rooms,” the officer in charge said. “One of you maidservants will accompany them.”

  The Queen nodded at me, and I went out with the children. Please, Mother, I thought, if it is to be done, let it be done quickly so they hardly know.

  But nothing happened. We went into their rooms under heavy guard. It was little different than when Caesar had taken us all before years ago.

  And my heart ached for Emrys.

  “Come, children,” I said. “Let’s wash up and put on some clean clothes.”

  “Our father is dead,” Helios said.

  “Yes, my darling,” I said, kneeling beside him. “So let’s cut a lock of your hair, each one of you, to lay on his breast, and dress like a family in mourning.”

  “Where is Caesarion?” Selene asked. “And Antyllus?”

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  Slaves brought dinner on a tray later, and I let them eat it without waiting for me to eat first for safety. If Octavian wanted to kill them there were easier and quicker ways, and it would certainly not look natural if we all dropped dead at once.

  I went over their lessons with Helios and Selene, and let Philadelphos go to bed on a pallet on the floor of Helios’ room. Selene didn’t want to sleep alone either, and curled up with her brothers in the whispering dark. Outside, the feet of the sentries were the only sound, passing by on their rounds.

  At midnight the guard let in Iras. She looked haggard, and her usually immaculate hair was coming out of its pins. “We’re trading for a while,” she said. I nodded.

  She caught my arm. “Antyllus is dead,” she said. “He took sanctuary in the temple. Agrippa’s troops dragged him from the altar and beheaded him.”

  “Oh my Lady Isis,” I whispered. “That dear, sweet boy.” Demetria. Demetria must have been there, must have seen it.

  Iras squeezed my arm.

  “Come,” the guard said.

  I went in to the Queen.

  Cleopatra was white and drawn, her eyes ringed by huge shadows, but her plain blue chiton was clean, not covered as the other had been with Antonius’ gore. Iras had gotten her to bathe.

  I went to her and took her hands.

  “You heard about Antyllus?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  “How are the children?”

  “Fine,” I said. “They’ve had dinner. I’ve kept them quiet and calm. They’re upset about their father, of course.”

  She nodded, turning away and pacing toward the window. “Octavian won’t hurt them yet. He has a plan for us.” She stopped before the curtains, moving in the harbor breeze. “We’re to march in his Triumph.”

  “Like Arsinoe.” The words escaped me before I could stop them.

  “All of us,” Cleopatra said, her back to me. “You, me, Iras, and the children. Antonius has robbed him of the pleasure of his company.”

  “Octavian could never have done that,” I said, fighting back the nausea that rose in me. Practical, as Emrys said. Practical to the last. “The Romans would turn on him. They would have too much sympathy for their former hero Antonius.”

  “And they have none for me,” she said. “The Great Harlot. The wicked creature out of the East, devourer of men, the monster seducing men from virtue with Greek ideas and evil luxury. They will enjoy seeing me drooling and incontinent.”

  I pressed my hands to my lips. I had no prayers left.

  Cleopatra smoothed her skirts down, and I saw her head lift. “I’ve asked Octavian if I may speak with him at his leisure. There may be something left to bargain with.”

  She turned and I saw the word in her eyes, though she did not voice it. We did not know where Caesarion was. If he had gotten safe to Memphis, we might have one more play. If we could buy time.

  IT WAS THREE LONG and tedious days before the guard came, saying that Caesar Octavian would visit the Queen in an hour.

  “Thank you,” she said gravely, and
as the door closed turned to us. “I need my good clothes. Something modest but seemly, preferably white.”

  “I know the one,” I said, and we prepared her. She looked like a matron in mourning, a beautiful and still not old matron of thirty-nine, but nothing like golden Isis enthroned.

  Octavian was punctual. Exactly on the hour the door opened to admit him and Agrippa. Iras and I stood behind the Queen’s chair, motionless.

  I saw Agrippa’s eyes slide to me, and his face become expressionless. After that he did not look, only kept his glance on Octavian.

  “Imperator,” Cleopatra said gracefully. “You have changed much since we last met. The years have given you distinction.”

  Octavian smiled pleasantly. “Your charm is wasted on me. In fact, this conversation is a waste of time, except that it should not be said that I have not observed the courtesies. Marcus Antonius is being embalmed and will receive a proper burial, as a Roman deserves.”

  Cleopatra stood, pushing off the arms of her chair like a swimmer off the side of a pool. “Then let me come straight to the point. Antonius is dead. You have Rome. You need Egypt. I will offer you the same thing I did your uncle. I can give you grain and gold, treasure and ships. Why struggle to govern Egypt when I can lay its riches at your feet? Leave me as an ally of Rome, and your task will be easy.”

  “I don’t think so,” he said mildly. “You fail to understand your place in this. This is the end. There will be no more Hellenistic kings, no more chaotic successor states with their cities and councils and half-baked democracies, no more tribes with their illiterate barbarian leaders. From one end of the Middle Sea to the other, there will be nothing but Rome.” He put his hands behind his back like a schoolmaster, a trick of rhetoric. “Egypt will become a Roman province, like every other. There will be no more incestuous monarchs. Just orderly Roman rule.”

  The Queen gathered herself up while I glanced at Agrippa. His face was impassive, his dark hair curling across his square forehead.

  “You and your children will adorn my Triumph, and then, after a suitable interval, you will meet your end.” He stopped in front of Iras. “Your women will march as well. It is necessary to demonstrate the result of the unbridled rule of women, licentious and immoderate. A land ruled by a queen, with her coterie of eunuchs, hairdressers, and serving girls, comes to its inevitable end.” He looked into Iras’ face and chuckled. “Treasurer of Egypt. In the end, you’re nothing but a cunt.”

  I saw something in the Queen’s face harden, though her expression didn’t change.

  Octavian looked back to her. “Your time is over. This is the future.”

  “I see,” she said. “And do you think the gods of all peoples besides your own so weak?”

  Octavian smiled pleasantly, as though he addressed a very small child. “There are no gods. Do you think I should go on my knees to a statue of my great-uncle? It’s absurd. State religion is necessary to keep order among the lower classes, and to infuse government with the correct mystique. But only weak-minded fools believe those sorts of things.” He spread his hands reasonably. “Cults are for the silly, and the silly are welcome to them. But for the rest, no more weakening philosophies questioning the meaning of existence, or effete Eastern customs with their pernicious effect on Roman manhood. The rest of the world will learn where it belongs.” He stopped in front of me, his eyes traveling down my neck. “Under Rome.”

  Cleopatra turned, and her eyes were dark, black as midnight skies, though her voice was even. “I know you. You are the enemy of life itself. You are at war with the gods.”

  Octavian laughed. “Then the gods are losing.” He swept from the room.

  Agrippa lagged behind Octavian, his scarlet cape swirling about him as he reached for my arm. “Charmian, I need to talk to you.”

  “I have nothing to say to you,” I gasped.

  He bent close, his grip urgent on my arm. “I swear to you upon my honor that I will not let the children be harmed.”

  “May demons eat your bones,” I spat.

  He took a breath, letting go, and followed after Octavian.

  I sank, unheeded, to my knees. Apophis had won.

  AFTER THAT we were no longer allowed to see the children. Cleopatra paced the length of her room, while Iras tried to read. Slaves brought us meals, and the guards had nothing to say.

  It was several days before the door opened, and one of the guards looked in. “Domina? This man says he is one of your slaves.”

  “Yes, of course he is,” the Queen said. I didn’t even look up from the scroll I was trying to concentrate on until the door closed. It was the sound of Iras’ indrawn breath that alerted me.

  “Dion?”

  His hair was unkempt and he wore a rough woolen chiton, his face clean shaven in the Greek fashion. I had never seen him without a beard before, not since he was a boy. It did make him look remarkably different.

  I threw myself in his arms, but the Queen and Iras were already there. Dion staggered.

  “How did you get here?”

  “Where are the children?”

  “What’s happening?”

  Dion squeezed all three of us tightly, and I felt him shiver.

  “I got in dressed as a slave,” he said. “And of course I have friends who were willing to vouch for me. Your servants are loyal, Gracious Queen.” He stepped back, looking at us, his face solemn.

  “Emrys?” I asked. “What about Emrys?”

  The look in his eyes told me everything I needed to know. “I’m so sorry,” he said, and held out his hand to me.

  I closed my eyes, clinging to it, the tears seeping out the corners. “I know. I already knew.” I had known. I had known when I bid him good-bye that it would be the last time I saw him, only I had thought, had hoped, these past days that it was only my own death I foresaw.

  “He died in the last skirmish. The one they’re calling the Battle of Alexandria. I carried him from the field myself.” His voice only caught a little, as though he had repeated this a dozen times already.

  “Oh, Dion.”

  “I carried him. I brought him home. He’s in one of the rock tombs outside the Canopic Gate, my family’s tomb. He’s with my grandparents and my kin.”

  I heard the tears in his voice, but I could not open my eyes. I shook, and it was Iras’ arms that were around me, her shoulder I put my head on.

  Dion’s voice steadied, as if speaking to Cleopatra gave him strength. “Gracious Queen, I have terrible news.” I heard her breath as Dion continued: “They caught Caesarion. They caught him on the canal. Agrippa’s troops cut his throat.”

  Iras let go of me and I wavered blindly. Cleopatra staggered, half-catching herself on the chair arm, almost falling. The noise that came from her was not even a human cry.

  Dion took her hand and helped her onto the couch, the tears rolling down his face. “Gracious Queen, I thought you should know. I just thought you should know. . . .”

  “My baby . . .”

  “Octavian said there was one Caesar too many,” Dion said.

  Iras clutched at his arm. “The other children?”

  “They’re alive. I can’t get to them. I already tried. They’ve been taken to Agrippa’s flagship. They say you sail for Rome in three days.”

  “On the flagship . . .” In the palace at least there was a chance of doing something, when they were only minutes away, but on a Roman flagship out in the harbor they might as well have been on the moon. “Philadelphos will be so frightened,” I whispered. “Oh Isis, he’ll be so scared!”

  Cleopatra keened, and Dion held her to his breast.

  “Selene will watch over her brothers,” Iras said. “She’ll look out for them. She’s always been the strongest one.” Her face twisted in pain, and her knuckles were white where she held her hands to her face. “I promised Helios I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to him. I promised him . . .”

  I put my arms around her, raised my eyes to Dion. “And Demetria?”
>
  “She’s safe at the temple,” Dion said. “I saw her this morning. She’s fine. She’s worried and of course she’s upset, but she’s fine.”

  Cleopatra raised her head. “Agrippa doesn’t know?”

  I shook my head.

  My sister took a breath. “Then you at least might still get out of this. Surely he will not let the mother of his child be displayed in the Triumph this way.”

  I shook my head again. “I will not trade Demetria’s safety for my life. No.” I looked at Dion. “As far as everyone is concerned, she’s the daughter of the scholar Dion.”

  “Always and forever,” Dion promised. “I’ll take care of her.”

  “Three days,” Iras said.

  “Three days,” Dion said. His eyes met hers, and for a moment in his shaven face I saw again the boy who had pledged himself to a princess’ service. “Gracious Queen, if there were anything I could do for you, I would give my life for it.”

  Cleopatra sat up, and I saw it cross her like the shiver of breeze across water. “Yes, Dion. There is something you can do. One more thing.”

  HE CAME BACK the next morning, and though I sat stiffly while the guard decided if he should let him in, he did when Dion raised the lid of the basket. “Just figs,” he said cheerfully.

  With a shrug, the guard closed the door behind him.

  Dion carefully put the basket on the little table beside the couch.

  Cleopatra and Iras had come from the bedroom together, and now we stood like points of a triangle, staring at the basket, while the warm summer wind blew through white linen curtains.

  “It’s a cobra,” Dion said. “The man I got it from said it ought to be good for three strikes. You die from respiratory failure in about half an hour.”

  Cleopatra looked at the basket, unblinking.

  “Is it painful?” I asked.

  “Not as these things go,” Dion said. “A cobra bite is not a hard way to die.”

  “Thank you, Dion,” Cleopatra said, and smiled at him. “I knew you would choose the best thing.”

  I saw his eyes fill and he ducked his chin. “Must you?”

  She shook her head. “You know I must. And this you swore long ago in my coronation in Abydos, remember? When you played Set’s serpent, out of the desert.”