Egypt's Sister: A Novel of Cleopatra

by Angela Hunt

  Forbidden by Father to visit the palace—and, truth be told, I knew Caesar’s guards would stop me at the gate—I had to content myself with imagining what Urbi’s life had become. Ptolemy, Caesar, and Cleopatra were virtual prisoners behind those walls, each in his or her chamber, each frustrated with the others. Nor were those three alone—Ptolemy XIV, Cleopatra’s youngest brother, and Arsinoe, her seventeen-year-old sister, were also confined in the palace complex.

  I had not given much thought to the two younger royals until we learned that Arsinoe had escaped the palace with help from Ganymedes, a eunuch and her former tutor. Delighted by the girl’s escape, the citizens of Alexandria promptly declared her queen. Arsinoe had proved to be exactly what they wanted—a Ptolemy who hated Rome and was clever enough to evade Romans who would force their will on her.

  Arsinoe took her place beside Achillas, who kept skirmishing with Caesar’s army, and together they planned to drive Caesar away. Once the Roman had gone, Arsinoe would marry one of her brothers and rule in Cleopatra’s stead.

  My blood chilled when I heard about their plan. Urbi once told me that she feared her siblings . . . and in that moment I understood why. Arsinoe could not reign unless Cleopatra was dead, and apparently the younger girl was determined to make it so.

  I fretted constantly about my friend. I wanted to write her, but how could I get a message through the blockade? And if my scroll was intercepted, would my family be cast as traitors?

  During the months of unrest, Father urged Asher and I to keep quiet and trust in Adonai. I spent my days copying Father’s Testaments of the Patriarchs and searching the Tanakh for the names of HaShem. Yosef still visited our home, but I was too anxious to listen to poetry, and too preoccupied to be good company.

  One day, miracle of miracles, a slave boy appeared on our threshold and wordlessly offered me a scroll. I recognized Cleopatra’s seal at once.

  I unfurled the scroll and read:

  Greetings, Chava!

  How I wish you were with me! But I am content and secure, knowing my life is guaranteed because you are not here. For this reason, at least, I hope your God keeps his promises.

  The days are long here, and I grow tired of waiting. But I am counting on Caesar not only for the defense of Egypt, but to help me restore Egypt to greatness. Rome’s cavalier treatment of my father and grandfather broke their spirits, but I will not grovel before their Senate.

  History has taught me that any ruler who fights against Rome will be destroyed, so I will not fight. I will cooperate, and by working with the Senate, I will restore Egypt’s former glory.

  As for Arsinoe—for I know you have heard of her plot by now—I have come to believe it is better to trust a Jewish friend than a Greek sister. As Euripides wrote, “One loyal friend is better than ten thousand relatives.”

  Urbi

  I lowered the scroll and held it to my breast. I could not imagine what my friend was enduring, but her spirit seemed strong. Over the following weeks I received other messages, each of them affirming her fondness for me and her conviction that she would soon sit again upon the throne.

  Only later did I discover that Urbi had not suffered from loneliness. In her last message to me, one written just after the conclusion of the war, she confessed that she was expecting Caesar’s child.

  The war ended, finally, when Caesar’s reinforcements arrived.

  Months before, the Roman commander had yielded to the boy king’s pleas and released Omari so he could lead his troops. Though Caesar would later record that the boy wept when they parted, the boy king became an enthusiastic military commander. But when Roman legionaries arrived on Egypt’s eastern border—legions consisting of Asian, Syrian, Arabian, and Jewish soldiers—the tide turned in Caesar’s favor.

  Mithridates, commander of the Roman relief troops, discovered that Ptolemy and his generals had brought their fleet out of Alexandria and were about to confront him with a greatly superior army. He sent an urgent message to Caesar.

  Leaving a small contingent at the palace to guard Cleopatra, Caesar and his men left Alexandria’s harbor and appeared to be en route to meet Mithridates—but under cover of darkness, they doubled back and disembarked west of the city, then proceeded inland to meet the relief troops.

  When the two units combined, the Romans easily routed the Egyptians, who retreated to their camp in confusion. The boy king tried to escape in an overloaded boat, but it capsized. Though his body was never found, most people assumed the king drowned in his heavy armor.

  Arsinoe was captured and imprisoned. With the younger royals out of the picture, the war ended with a victory for Caesar and Cleopatra.

  When Caesar returned to Alexandria, dozens of chastened city leaders brought statues of their gods to meet the victor at the gates. Caesar rode through the sea of stone and metal gods, then went straightway to the palace where Cleopatra waited.

  As the city buzzed with news about the clever commanders who brought an end to the war, I was astonished to learn that Jewish soldiers had been among the relief troops assisting Caesar. After investigating the matter, my father explained that Antipater, a prominent figure at the court of Jerusalem, was directly responsible for the Jewish contingent. Antipater and his men had not only supplied Caesar’s reinforcements with provisions on the journey to Egypt, but swept away the boy king’s army after their arrival.

  Father was delighted to discover that Jerusalem’s high priest, Hyrcanus II, had personally accompanied the relief troops on the journey from Judea.

  “Why would he do that?” Asher asked. “The Jews in Jerusalem disapprove of our temple at Leontopolis. They want nothing to do with us.”

  “You are mistaken.” Father wagged his finger. “We are all sons of Abraham, and we will always be united. They cannot ignore us, for the Jews of Alexandria are the largest Jewish community in the world.”

  “But we are Alexandria’s most neglected community,” Asher argued. “We are exempted from ordinary privileges. No Jew can even be a citizen.”

  Father placed his arm around Asher’s broad shoulders. “Be grateful for what the Master of the universe has given us,” he advised.

  With the community we went to the synagogue and thanked HaShem for an end to the war. We also asked Adonai to bless Julius Caesar.

  I thanked Adonai not only for peace, but for the freedom to return to ordinary life. I had spent very little time with Urbi since she became queen, but now that she ruled securely, I hoped we would once again be able to spend our days together.

  Truth be told, I looked forward to serving her in a new way—I would provide an extra pair of loving arms for her baby.

  I expected my father to be shocked by the report that our queen was expecting a child, but he accepted the news without comment. I expected him to rail against the queen’s behavior, but years of living in Alexandria, where morality was as fluid as the sea, had tempered him. If I had been carrying a child, he would have pulled out his hair and worn sackcloth for weeks. But not so with the queen.

  “We cannot expect those who do not know Adonai to live according to Adonai’s word,” he said, tugging at his beard as he looked from me to Asher. “Even so, Caesar is married to a lady in Rome.”

  “Not so,” Asher said, looking from Father to me. “I heard he divorced the woman.”

  Father tilted his head. “Who can say? I know only what I hear from merchants and friends at the synagogue. But of this I am certain—if Cleopatra rules with Caesar at her side, the pairing will be good for Egypt.”

  “How can you say that?” I had been puzzling over the relationship between Caesar and Cleopatra for weeks. “He’s old enough to be her father!”

  Father’s mouth quirked. “Age has nothing to do with attraction, and attraction has little to do with marriage. I do not know how they feel about each other, but I suspect they enjoy each other’s company. If Cleopatra found the man repulsive, she would not be listening to his advice. From what I hear, she trusts him.”


  “I do not understand why they are still together,” Asher said. “He is a Roman; she is Greek. The Romans and Greeks are said to despise each other.”

  Father smiled. “He is a brilliant man. She is an intelligent girl and able to speak to any topic he might broach. She has charmed men before, so I am not surprised she charmed this one.”

  “He won the war,” I pointed out. “So why doesn’t he go home?”

  “I am sure he will, when he’s ready.”

  “But . . . a baby!”

  Father gave me a slow smile, tinged with wistfulness. “You might have a child, too, if you would consider marriage. Has Cleopatra’s example not convinced you that happiness comes from investing your life in a family? Yosef is a fine young man—”

  I sighed, weary of the familiar argument. “Indeed he is, but he is no more than a good friend because I have invested my life in a queen. My friendship with Urbi is part of HaShem’s plan.”

  Father shook his head. “If you truly heard the voice of Adonai, daughter, I fear you have misunderstood His message. You should be like Rachel and Leah, fruitful and blessed . . .”

  His words fell like the patter of a summer shower, easily dismissed. As soon as the defensive walls and barricades had been cleared from the palace compound, I planned to visit my friend and ask if I could live at the palace.

  Chapter Eleven

  When I was finally able to cross the threshold of Urbi’s chamber again, I found my friend happy, heavily pregnant, and delirious with love. Her appearance, manner, and mien were so changed that for a moment I wondered if a demon had stolen her away and left some sort of changeling in the night.

  “Chava!” Urbi embraced me and welcomed me into her bedchamber, then dropped rather ungracefully onto the bed. “Can you believe this?” She grinned at the protruding mound of her belly. “As Isis carried Horus, I am carrying Caesar’s son.” Tenderly, she stroked her stomach. “My father would be pleased. I have preserved Egypt for another generation.”

  “What do you mean, ‘preserved Egypt’?” Frowning, I took a seat in a nearby chair. “You chose the right champion. Caesar saved Egypt.”

  “How little you know of life.” Though she smiled, her condescension stung. “Yes, Caesar won the war, and in Rome some senators are asking why Rome doesn’t simply declare Egypt a province and place a governor in charge. But I saved Egypt because Caesar knows I can do a better job of managing the land than any Roman. I understand Egypt. I am Egypt. And I will preserve this throne for my son.”

  Who was this woman? I knew Urbi would change during the months we were apart, but I had not realized how different she would seem.

  Somehow, I managed a smile. “I have something for you.” I reached into the silk bag I carried and brought out a wooden box. “I wanted to show you how glad I am for your happiness. And how fervently I believe that we will always belong together.”

  Urbi sat up, her eyes sparkling. Like the girl I remembered so well, she reached eagerly for the box and lifted the lid. Inside, on a bed of black silk, lay a piece of driftwood that had been carved with words in Greek and Hebrew.

  “Chava!” Throaty laughter bubbled up from her chest. “What is this? And how did you get it?”

  “They are the names of HaShem.” A flush warmed my face. “I had it carved by a craftsman.”

  Urbi ran her finger over the fine lettering. “One god has so many names?”

  “He is many things,” I said, leaning forward. I pointed to the outermost edge. “He is YHVH Nisi, our banner who protects us.” I slid my finger to the next group of letters. “He is YHVH Ropheca, who heals our bodies and our souls. He is YHVH Tzva’ot, the Lord of armies, who gives us confidence and courage.”

  “Thank you; this is lovely.” She placed the lid back on the box and set it to the side. “I will have to show it to Caesar when he dines with me tonight.”

  Ignoring another sting—after so many months apart, I had hoped to share dinner with her—I cast about for another subject. I leaned forward, ready to share my news about Yosef. But first I would hear her secrets. “Tell me . . . do you love Caesar? Truly?”

  Urbi lifted both brows, then stretched out on the bed, her belly rising like an obstacle between us. “He is a fascinating man,” she said, rolling onto her side and propping her head on her hand. “Intelligent, strong, and cunning. He has taught me so much over the past few months.”

  “You did not answer my question.”

  Her elongated brow arched. “What is love, Chava? When you can define it, perhaps I can give you an answer. Until then, am I grateful to Caesar for ridding Egypt of my murderous brother and his advisors? Yes. Am I in his debt for saving my life? Certainly. Am I grateful he is holding Arsinoe so she can no longer threaten my life? Indeed I am.”

  “Did you go to his bed willingly?” The words spilled out before I could stop them, but Cleopatra did not hesitate or blush.

  “I did, and would do so again.”

  I lowered my head. “I did not mean to pry. I asked only because I care about—”

  “You might try to care a little less. And believe me when I say that Caesar has been good to me. That’s not to say I haven’t been angry—” Her lower lip edged forward in a pronounced pout. “I was furious when he set my fleet afire and burned so many manuscripts in the library. So many priceless treasures, gone in one thoughtless act! But war always results in danger and destruction. In the end, we did not pay so great a price. And Egypt is finally mine.”

  “Even though you are now married to your youngest brother? I cannot imagine you married to little Sefu.”

  A dimple appeared in her cheek. “Ha! Yes, even so. I shall do my best to keep him away from any would-be advisors. Except Caesar.”

  I grimaced as a sudden thought occurred to me. Of the five royal children, Urbi had always been the closest to her father. At fifty-two, Caesar was nearly Auletes’s age. Had Urbi been driven into Caesar’s arms because of a twisted wish to be reunited with her father?

  “What is that face?” Urbi leaned closer, studying me. “What are you thinking?”

  “When we were younger, you always knew what was on my mind.”

  She batted my words away. “We were children then, with thoughts of nothing but games.”

  “True enough. I was thinking—wondering—if you were attracted to Caesar because you miss your father. After all, they are about the same age . . .”

  Urbi stiffened, her face flushing crimson. “If you are suggesting that my father and I—”

  I gasped when I caught the meaning of her words. “I would never suggest such a thing. But if you miss your father, you might seek out an older man’s comfort and advice.”

  “Caesar alone survived the sinking of his ship, did you know that?” she snapped, her eyes sparking. “During a battle with enemy troops, he saw that his boat was about to founder. Wearing heavy armor, he jumped into the sea, clutching a number of important parchments. He would not let go of them even though he was swimming through a rain of arrows and spears. He traveled a considerable distance using only one arm!”

  I had touched a nerve—or something even more sensitive. I lowered my head and reached out to my friend, palms open, eyes pleading. “Forgive me. I meant nothing evil. And I should not speak of such things, for I do not know the man.”

  “Indeed, you do not.” Urbi lifted her chin and sniffed, then exhaled a deep breath. “Sit up, Chava, that posture is not becoming. I should have remembered that you lack the sort of cunning required to imply anything inappropriate.”

  I drew a breath to argue but then decided the better of it. She had quieted, and I would not risk rousing her temper again. I would not say anything about Yosef. And I would wait to ask her about permission to live at the palace.

  “I should go.” I gestured toward the door. “Father will be worried.”

  Urbi smiled. “I hope he is well?”

  “He is. If he were here, he would offer you his congratulations and a bles
sing.”

  Her smile deepened. “Go in peace, blood of my blood. I will see you again soon.”

  The summons arrived just as I finished breaking my fast. The messenger left the scroll with the doorkeeper, and Nuru brought it to me.

  “I am to go to the palace at once,” I said, reading aloud.

  Father tugged at his beard. “Am I expected to join you?”

  “The queen asks for me alone.”

  Asher grinned. “I do not know how you get anything done. Now that she’s back, she will be sending for you every day.”

  “That is how it should be.” I stood and walked toward the reflecting pool in the atrium. I studied my reflection—the arrangement of my hair was not as elaborate as I would have liked, but Urbi had seen me looking worse. But one never knew when one might encounter Caesar.

  I summoned Nuru and held out my arms while she draped a himation over my linen chiton and pinned it at the shoulder. After another quick glance in the pool to check the drape of the outer garment, I told Nuru to put on her heavy sandals and started for the door. Years of answering Urbi’s summons had taught me that it was never a good idea to tarry if she expected me.

  I found my friend in the innermost chamber of her apartment. She was still abed, one hand propped on her growing belly and the other holding her hair off her forehead. Despite the wide feathered fans plied by three slaves, the queen of Egypt was panting in the heat.

  “Thank the gods you have come,” she said, pushing herself up as I approached. “Quickly, sit. I have news for you.”

  My heart lifted as I sank to the edge of her bed. Despite our sharp exchange yesterday, apparently she had forgiven me. Her eyes glowed with excitement.

  “You challenged me,” she said, grinning as a slave propped pillows behind her back. “I kept thinking about the best way to thank you for your gift.”

  “You do not have to thank me,” I insisted. “You honor me with your friendship. Your family has honored my family for years, and it is enough that I call you friend—”