by Angela Hunt
I looked up and smiled at the scribbles of clouds overhead. I longed for Urbi’s company, but she had been spending her days with her ailing father. Until her father regained his health, Nuru would have to serve as my companion.
“My father does not understand me.” I sighed as we walked. “Last night he spoke of marriage again—can you imagine? How can I remain at Urbi’s side if I have to care for a husband? Father seems to think I should want a home and children, yet I would be perfectly content to spend the rest of my life as Urbi’s servant. We are practically sisters, and the idea of tearing us apart . . . is unbearable.”
I glanced at Nuru, but her face remained composed in a smooth and implacable mask.
“You may speak,” I prodded, lifting my chiton as we approached a puddle.
“Your father only wants what is best for you, mistress. He worries about you.”
Nuru’s answer was safe and true, and the logic in it halted me in mid-step. Of course! Father was thinking like a protective parent. He thought I would need a husband to protect me, but I would not. Urbi was blood of my blood and heart of my heart, and no one would dare threaten me so long as I stood by her side. Urbi would one day be queen of the richest kingdom in the world, so I had nothing to fear—from anyone.
“Nuru, you are brilliant!” I squeezed her arm. “You have enlightened me. Tonight I will tell Father that he need not fear for me. If something happens to him, Urbi will invite me to live in the palace. I’ll be perfectly safe there.”
My slave’s inscrutable gaze shifted to some commotion on the street. Irritation nipped at me, for only an untrained slave would let her attention stray from her mistress, but curiosity overtook my frustration. I looked down the road and saw that the relaxed pace of pedestrians on the Canopic Way had quickened. Like an undulating wave, news of some event was passing from group to group, leaving a ripple of agitation in its wake.
We did not have to wait long. I overheard the story from a man who turned to his companion with a look of surprised satisfaction on his features: “Auletes has gone to his fathers.”
My throat went dry. I turned wide eyes upon Nuru, then a great exultation filled my chest nearly to bursting. Joy spurred my steps as I hurried toward the Royal Quarter. If the king was truly dead, my best friend had just become queen.
With Nuru hurrying behind me, I went to the Royal Quarter and found the gates closed and heavily guarded. With no other choice, I walked home and told my father the news.
“You should remain here,” he said, placing his hand on my shoulder. “Urbi will not have time for you now. She will be preparing a wedding.”
“Whose?”
The thin line of his mouth clamped tight for a moment. “Her own. She will have to marry her brother.”
I pressed my hand to my temple where a drum had begun to pound. “Why should Urbi have to wed her brother? Omari is an idiot.”
Father loomed over me, his face a thundercloud of disapproval. “Mind your tongue, daughter! The palace has spies throughout Alexandria. Such a statement, falling upon the ear of someone in an exalted position, might result in your execution . . . mine and Asher’s, too.”
“But no one is more exalted than Urbi, and no one is closer to her than me.”
Father lifted his hands in frustration. “Today you say that. Tomorrow—who knows?”
Still stupefied, I pressed my lips together and crossed my arms.
“I know this sort of thing doesn’t interest you,” Father continued, locking his hands behind his back as he paced in the atrium, “but if you had been a better student of history, you might have gained an understanding of this matter. In Egypt, a queen rules by right of her royal birth, but the king rules by right of marriage. The right to the throne is passed down through the female, and whomever she marries wears the crown.”
I frowned. “I do not see why Urbi cannot marry anyone she chooses. She shouldn’t have to wed her stupid brother.”
“She does if it was her father’s wish. Her brother expects to rule Egypt, and Urbi would find it dangerous to thwart the desires of another Ptolemy, even if it is her little brother . . . because he has supporters.” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “The younger the ruler, the more leeches he carries with him into the throne room. The child may not be dangerous, but the leeches are. Urbi must move carefully in the coming days.”
“Still.” I shook my head. “To marry her brother! I would rather marry a pig.”
Father looked at me in patient amusement but did not remark on the insult to Asher.
“The royal family has been marrying their siblings ever since the first Ptolemy fabricated an ancestral link to the pharaohs. That is how they keep a grip on power. And if another relative threatens, they have never been shy about murdering their kin.”
I sank onto a chair and struggled to understand. I felt like a child who had admired a lacy fabric for years, only to discover that it was not made of lace, but the sticky strands of a lethal spider’s web.
“Omari may only be a boy of ten, but he has been groomed to wear a crown.” Father seemed to calm as he watched my face. “He will agree to the marriage with his sister because he must in order to rule. But if she displeases him, or if she takes one step without his approval, he will depose her and marry his younger sister.”
“Why is she the one at risk? Why couldn’t she depose Omari and marry Sefu?”
Father tugged on his beard. “She could, I suppose. Those siblings will be engaged in a delicate balancing act, with their lives resting on the scale. Trust me on this, Chava. These matters are far more complicated than you realize.”
“I—I have never had a reason to think about these things. And Urbi never spoke of them.” I looked at him as confusing thoughts whirled in my head. “How can this be? The Torah says a man who lies with his sister is cursed.”
Father’s brows lowered. “Egypt . . . does not heed the words of HaShem. So long as we live here, you will fare better if you keep quiet, live your life, and accept the way things are beyond the walls of our home. They are not us. We are not them.”
My heart broke in that moment—not because Egypt was such an upside-down place, but because Urbi must have carried this heavy knowledge for years. No wonder she had never spoken of finding a handsome husband! While I dreamed of a carefree life as her lady-in-waiting, Urbi had known that she would have to marry her spoiled younger brother. Even though she would be queen of a land where women enjoyed a rare level of independence, she would be the least free of all.
“I feel sorry for her,” I whispered, more to myself than to my father.
But he heard and patted my hand as he clucked in sympathy. “Adonai’s eyes saw you when you were unformed,” he said, “and in His book are written the days that will be formed—when not one of them had come to be.” He chuckled. “HaShem has written a story for you, and one for Urbi. They are very different stories.”
“How do you know?” I asked. “HaShem has told me—”
“Urbi has been well prepared for the life HaShem has given her,” he went on, his voice a soft rumble in the room. “Do not mention these things in her presence unless she broaches the subject. You must learn to think of her as two people, your friend and the ruler. Trust me, daughter—a great gulf will soon exist between Urbi and the woman you will bow before as queen.”
As the sun sank behind the gleaming Temple of Isis, I slipped out of the house and ran toward the Royal Quarter. Father had gone to his room with a manuscript, and Nuru thought I had gone to bed. The doorman sat on a stool and nodded in sleep, so I crept past him and closed the front door slowly, not making a sound.
No matter what anyone said, I had to speak to my friend.
I hurried to the harbor and found the small gate that led to the docks. Without speaking, I stood before the guard and stared at him until he relented and stepped aside, allowing me access to the boats. He knew me—all the guards did—and he knew Urbi and I were as close as kin.
A guard stood at the ebony doors; I nodded and waited for him to admit me. After slipping inside the deserted antechamber with its marble-sheathed walls, I tiptoed over the tiles and moved silently past a life-size statue of Isis carrying a Canopic jar topped with a statuette of Osiris. A pair of polished granite sphinxes flanked the figure of Isis, and one of them featured the head of Urbi’s late father.
A chill climbed the ladder of my spine as I crept past the sphinx. I couldn’t help but feel that the dead king was watching from some outpost of the underworld.
Moving as silently as a ghost, I glided past the guards on duty, then entered Urbi’s apartment. A heavy quiet filled these rooms, and her slaves respectfully lowered their eyes as I walked through the anteroom and gently tugged at the curtain that opened into Urbi’s private inner chamber.
She was lying on her bed, curled into a ball, her back to me. I approached as quietly as I could and sat on the edge of the mattress. I touched her shoulder. “I am sorry,” I said, modulating my words so they would not startle in the dense silence. “I know how you loved your father.”
She turned, then sat up and threw her arms around me, her shoulders shaking with grief. “I am . . . so glad . . . you came,” she whispered between sobs. “No one . . . no one else understands. Arsinoe and the boys think only of themselves, but I adored my father. He always did what was best for Egypt . . . and for me.” Urbi released me, her tear-clotted lashes fluttering like butterfly wings. “At least . . . now they cannot hurt him. And he will no longer have to beg for their support.”
I bent lower to meet her downcast gaze. “He was a good father. He made certain you would be ready to rule. You are prepared, and you are so clever, you will have no problems.”
“I do not feel ready.” She hiccupped a sob, then swiped tears from her cheek in a surprisingly youthful gesture. “I feel like a child who has lost her way.”
“You know the way,” I assured her. “And you are surrounded by people who love you. They will offer whatever help you need.”
She released a slightly hysterical laugh. “I am surrounded by people who covet the throne. Even those who have no valid claim have gathered around to influence me and my brother.”
“Omari?”
She nodded. “Since I am of age, there are fewer vultures around me, but a flock of them has already encircled Omari. They hover around him, ready to peck out his eyes. Ready to tear me to shreds.”
I folded my hands and carefully stitched words together. “My father told me what must happen . . . how you must wed your brother. I am sorry I did not understand the situation sooner. I thought—I thought the ascension of a new queen would be a simple matter.”
“Nothing is simple in Egypt.” A mirthless smile twisted her mouth. “Yes, I will be married to my brother before I am crowned queen. They might as well marry me to Theodotus, Achillas, and Pothinus, for my brother does nothing without consulting that trio of raptors.”
“If the tutor Theodotus dislikes you, it is because you preferred to be taught by my father, who is the better teacher,” I said, managing a smile. “And the eunuch Pothinus dislikes you because he resents everyone because he is neither man nor woman. As for Achillas the captain—”
“That surly, sag-bellied lout has never forgiven my father for leaving him in Alexandria when he wanted to go to Rome,” Urbi said. “So that is the state of affairs here. And I have no choice in the matter. In this, my father rules even from the grave.”
“When everything is settled, you will feel better.”
“Perhaps. But as for now”—her eyes glimmered with fresh tears, and her voice became husky—“I have lost my father. The scavengers have put distance between me and my brother. And I feel . . . bereft.”
We sat in silence for a long moment, breathing in air thick with the heaviness of despair and the sweet scent of kyphi.
For the first time I had no idea how to comfort my best friend. My impulse was to recite a psalm or whisper a promise from Adonai, but Urbi might not appreciate assurances from a God she did not know. Still, I had to say something.
“I will lift up my eyes to the mountains,” I began, “from where does my help come?
My help comes from Adonai,
Maker of heaven and earth.
He will not let your foot slip.
Your Keeper will not slumber.
Behold, the Keeper of Israel neither slumbers nor sleeps.
Adonai is your Keeper.
Adonai is your shadow at your right hand.
The sun will not strike you by day, nor the moon by night.
Adonai will protect you from all evil.
He will guard your life.
Adonai will watch over your coming and your going
From this time forth and forevermore.”
Urbi closed her eyes as I recited the precious words of the psalmist, and she lay silent for a long moment after I had finished. Then she opened her eyes and managed a weak smile. “Thank you. And now I am weary.”
“I will go so you can rest. But first, when will this wedding take place?”
Hugging her bent knees, Urbi seemed to stare into a dark and uncertain future. “After my father is entombed. We will mourn for seventy days, then he will be laid to rest with the other Ptolemy kings. After the wedding, Omari and I will be seated on the throne.”
I squeezed her shoulder. “You must send for me if you need to talk. I know nothing about matters of government, but I am always willing to listen.”
She turned her face to mine, her eyes softening with seriousness. “At times, Chava, I think you and your father are the only people in Egypt I can completely trust.”
“Really? Why?”
One corner of her mouth dipped in a wry smile. “You have never asked me for anything.”
She clutched my hand for a moment, then released it and called for Charmion, one of her handmaids. I stood, bowing as I walked backward out of the royal bedchamber.
Chapter Five
Ten days after Alexandria buried the twelfth Macedonian Greek to call himself king of Egypt, all the noble families and leading figures of Alexandria gathered outside the Temple of Isis for the wedding of Cleopatra VII and Ptolemy XIII, known to me as Urbi and Omari.
I stood outside with my father and brother as Urbi climbed the stairs to the temple, her dark mane pulled back in the Grecian style, adorned with myriad braids and studded with pearls that had been skillfully sewn into her hair. She carried a bouquet of lotus blossoms, as befitted a virgin bride, and walked toward the wedding canopy, where her brother waited with a priest of Isis.
Charmion and Iras followed her, and behind them walked Apollodorus, a Sicilian mercenary Urbi had recently hired as a personal bodyguard. Even from where I stood, I could feel the broad-shouldered warrior’s power to intimidate. When the man turned to scan the crowd, Asher stiffened. “Does Urbi really need such a brute at her side?”
“She no longer has her father to protect her,” I replied, keeping my voice low. “Upon who else can she depend?”
“A thousand armed guards?” Asher said, lifting a brow. “Or are they only for show?”
“They are commanded by Achillas. And he is allied with Urbi’s brother.”
Father cast us a warning look, effectively stilling our tongues.
We followed the wedding party into the temple. The high ceiling drew my eyes to the painted hieroglyphs on the wall, but Father, who was clearly uncomfortable, kept his gaze lowered. I
had no love for the sculpted images of false gods, but I could not stop stealing wayward glances at the candles, ornate altars, and gilded statues. At the front of the great hall, behind the wedding canopy, stood the goddess herself—a towering granite image that loomed over the crowd, her wide eyes staring at everything and nothing. On her head she wore the sun disk set between the horns of a cow, and in her hands she carried the ankh, the symbol of eternal life.
I shifted my attention to the bride and groom, eighteen-year-old Urbi and ten-year-old Omari, whose head barely reached her shoulder.
“Does Urbi want to marry her brother?” Asher asked.
I sighed. “Would you want to marry me?”
“Then why is she doing it?”
Father hissed, silencing our whispers.
The high priest, a bald man dressed in spotless white, gestured for the bride and groom to extend their hands, then their feet. Omari obeyed, as did Urbi, and to symbolize the purity of their union the priest washed their limbs with fresh water from the life-giving Nile. After the cleansing, Iras stepped forward to offer a corn loaf. The bridegroom took it, broke off a piece, and offered it to Urbi as a visible pledge of support. Urbi held a bit of the bread between her lips to complete the ceremony, then turned away from her brother-groom.
I stood on tiptoe and craned my neck, trying to catch a glimpse of my friend’s face. Had she resigned herself to this farce or was she still upset over her father’s death? I desperately wanted to be with her, but Father had insisted that I stay away on such an important day. Still, of one thing I was certain: this was not the happiest day of her life.
As a priestess waved a stalk of pungent incense, the priest proclaimed that the royal couple would henceforth be known as Neoi Philadelphia or “new sibling-loving gods.” As part of the final ritual, Theodotus of Chois, Omari’s tutor-turned-advisor, gave the prince a jug of wine.