The Gates of Hell

by Michael Livingston

  She saw the corners of his mouth lift slightly, but still the darkness fell heavy upon him. She was wrong when she imagined that her old Juba had at last come back to her this afternoon, she decided. A part of him was still in Vellica, and might always be.

  “Four Shards of Heaven,” he said.

  Selene saw them all in her mind: the Trident, the Lance, the Palladium, the Aegis of Zeus. Even Alexander never had so many.

  He shook his head. “I would like to destroy them, like he said, but I don’t think that’s even possible.” He took a deep breath. “They must be kept safe. And they must never be used.”

  Selene nodded, though in her mind she felt again the closeness of her mother’s memory as she’d soared with the Palladium. What had that meant? She yearned to feel it once again.

  “Selene,” Juba said.

  Selene blinked her focus back to her husband, her king.

  “They must never be used. We must not let what happened in Vellica happen again.”

  Selene nodded, consciously forced her hand to move away from her belly. “I understand,” she said. “We aren’t meant for such things. We can’t take it.”

  His smile, she thought, was genuine and beautiful. “We will keep them secret and safe. We must hardly even speak of them.”

  Selene swallowed the memories of Tiberius that flashed against her mind, and she agreed, enfolding herself into the warmth of Juba’s embrace for the last minutes before the dark.

  He lingered as long as he could, but his duty called him away. He dressed, kissed her, and was gone.

  Selene rose, too, wrapping herself in a thick robe to ward off the deepening chill. Winter was coming, she thought.

  And then the spring, she reminded herself. A new start. A fresh start.

  It had to be.

  * * *

  It took Isidora less than an hour to procure what she required. The crippled girl had followed Selene and Juba to Tarraco, and she had been given a small room close beside theirs. She had become a kind of maidservant to Selene, content to serve her as best she could on the new crutch that they’d had made for her.

  She sat now upon the seat on the balcony, holding up the little glass vial, her face half shadowed by the flickering light of the oil lamps that had been lit inside the room.

  Selene took the vial, then set it upon the stone rail of the balcony, as if it were hot. Her hand lingered beside it for a moment before it quickly withdrew. She pulled her robe closer.

  The contents of the vial were a dirty green, flecked with spots of brown and yellow. She tried to appear disinterested, but in truth her heart was revolting in her chest. “What is in it?”

  “I don’t think you want to know, my lady.”

  Selene nodded. She had heard tales of such potions. “And it will … expunge it?”

  “She said it never fails, though it will be painful.”

  Isidora let out her breath, long and unsteady, and Selene realized that she, too, was nervous. “Surely less painful than other solutions.”

  “Yes, my lady. But you will be ill before your body begins passing it.”

  Selene looked out to where the lights of the city were flickering. Somewhere out there, her husband was receiving reports, keeping the watch. “Did she say how long?”

  “Before it begins? An hour. Perhaps two.”

  “And it will leave me unharmed for the future? It won’t prevent me from another—with Juba?”

  “She said it would not. I was very clear on the need for that. She said she understood.”

  “Good.” Juba said he wanted a fresh start. A family.

  “Are you sure there is no other choice? You could go away, we could hide it. And then afterward claim it is mine. Give it away. Expose it. The potion … When I was asking around, some said that it can kill.”

  Selene swallowed hard. “I’ve nowhere to go. I’ll stay with my husband. This must be done.”

  “Then drink it all,” Isidora said. “The woman said you must drink it all.”

  “I will.” She looked back at the girl. “I had no one else to trust in this. Thank you.”

  “I owe my life to you, my lady. You know you don’t need to thank me.”

  “And you don’t need to serve me. I didn’t take you from one slavery to put you in another. You are a Roman citizen. You can return home. Juba and I, we can give you enough coin—”

  “There’s nothing left for me there. You did save me from slavery, Lady Selene. For that I thank you, and for that I choose to serve you. Not as a slave, but as a citizen. If you’ll have me.”

  Selene smiled, despite her fears. She reached out and took the girl’s hand. She squeezed it. “And I will indeed. Thank you, Isidora.”

  Isidora bowed her head to kiss her hand. Then, when she let it go, she looked up with a question on her face. “Lady Selene, may I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “What you said before, back in Cantabria, about my name—you said it means ‘gift of Isis.’”

  “I did. Yes.”

  “And you said Isis wouldn’t want me to live in chains. You said it like you knew her.”

  “I suppose I do, in a way.” Selene once again recalled that feeling she’d had when she was flying, that sense of her mother’s presence. “In Egypt, where I come from, Isis is one of the greatest of the gods. She is a goddess of nature and magic. They say that a long time ago her husband, Osiris, was killed by the god of the desert, named Set. The murderer dismembered Osiris and cast the parts of his body across the world. But Isis was loyal to him. She traveled across land, river, and sea until she had brought them all together. And then, with the secret spells of the god Thoth, she raised him from the dead, and together they conceived a child, Horus, who destroyed Set and reestablished peace and prosperity in Egypt. Because of this Isis is the perfect mother and wife.” She smiled at the girl. “She is also a great friend to slaves.”

  “I like this goddess. Do you worship her?”

  Selene wondered what to say. Should she tell her that there had only ever been one God, and that He was dead? That the Lance Isidora had used to kill so many men was one of the Shards, one of the pieces of the throne of God’s unmaking? No, she decided. Not yet. Perhaps not ever; they must never speak of it.

  “In Egypt many people believe that the queen of Egypt is the embodiment of Isis. And that after her death she becomes one with the goddess.”

  “You believe this?”

  There was something like hope in the crippled girl’s voice, and Selene recognized the longing in her eyes. Isidora wanted something to hold on to. Something permanent beyond the world of pain and suffering that she had known. She wanted the gods and goddesses. Selene recognized it, because she wanted it, too. “My mother was the queen of Egypt,” she said.

  Isidora blinked. “Cleopatra? Your mother was Cleopatra?”

  “She was. You have heard of her?”

  The girl’s eyes were wide. “I heard she was very beautiful.”

  “She was. My mother was the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  “And she fought against Caesar. With Mark Antony.”

  Selene nodded. “He was my father.”

  “They say they died together. She killed herself with an asp so that Caesar wouldn’t—” Isidora’s eyes got wide and her face flushed. She lowered her head. “Oh, I’m sorry, Lady Selene. I didn’t mean to talk … I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right.” Selene reached out to raise the girl’s face gently so that she could look her in the eye. “It was years ago. And it is true. My father fell on his sword when our city was defeated. And my mother chose the snake’s poison over a Roman Triumph.” That she herself had brought Cleopatra the asp, she didn’t say.

  “Anyway, my mother was supposed to be Isis, but she was really only a woman. I know why people believe in the gods, Isidora. I understand the fear. And it doesn’t matter to me what you choose to believe about this world, so long as you learn to believe in you
rself.”

  “I do want the gods to be real,” Isidora whispered. “I want to think I will see my parents again.”

  Once more Selene recalled that feeling of closeness with the memory of her mother in the skies above Vellica. It couldn’t have been real, but it had felt so very much like it was, like she could just reach out and touch her, as if her face was just behind the thinnest of veils. Selene felt like she would give anything to see her mother’s face again. “I wish that, too.”

  Isidora blinked in the half-light. “You must hate him.”

  “I have great reason to do so.”

  “But you saved his life.”

  Selene nodded, thinking about what Juba had said. The Peace of Rome. A dream that perhaps existed beyond vengeance. “I did.”

  “I do not understand, my lady. But I will trust you. I will follow you, whatever your choice.”

  Selene opened her mouth to tell her what a fool’s errand it was to follow her, how so little good had come of her choices, but she knew it wasn’t what the girl needed to hear. “We will leave these shores,” she said. “You need to know that. I understand if you don’t want to go.”

  “Is it far?”

  “Not far. Caesar has given us the kingdom of Mauretania, south across the sea. He has given me a great dowry as a late wedding gift, and we will rule there as king and queen.”

  “I will go with you. I told you, there’s nothing for me here.”

  “I’m glad.”

  Isidora smiled, as if she’d never heard such a kindness. Then her eyes widened a little. “So you are a queen.”

  I always was, Selene thought. She smiled and nodded.

  “Then may I ask one more question, my queen?”

  “If you promise not to address me like that in private.”

  Isidora’s smile melded into a blush. Then for a moment she seemed to be searching for the right words. “Is it … was it for this gift that you did not kill him?”

  “It was not,” Selene said, glad that her motives were far beyond wealth. But if not that, then what were they? How could she explain what she herself still didn’t understand? The Peace of Rome. The words had haunted her dreams for weeks. “Nor was it for the kingdom. I didn’t kill him because I think that he’s right.”

  “So you have made your peace with Rome?”

  Selene felt her eyes begin to drift toward the little glass vial for a moment, and she had to force herself to look at Isidora. “Almost.”

  Isidora nodded. “I am glad. I’ve had enough of war.” She leveraged herself up and took her crutch. “Will there be anything else?”

  “No, thank you.” Only now did Selene let her gaze fall upon the vial. She had to do it. And it had to be tonight.

  “I can stay if you need.” Isidora’s voice was a whisper.

  Selene swallowed hard, tried to smile as she looked away from the glass to the girl who would be, she was certain, her friend. “I’ll be fine.” A part of her had hoped that saying it would help her believe it, but it only spiked her fear. “But please stay close, my gift of Isis. I may call upon you if I need help.”

  Isidora’s smile was broken with worry, but she nodded and bowed before retreating to the door. Once there, her hand upon it, she paused. “I remember when I was younger I did believe in the gods,” she said. “I still want to. But I don’t believe in them. I can’t. Not anymore.” At last she turned back to look over her shoulder as she leaned on her crutch. “But I do believe in you, Lady Selene.”

  Selene knew nothing to say, but Isidora only nodded once more and then opened the door, limping out into the growing night.

  When the door was shut, when she was alone, Selene turned and looked out again over the town. Juba was out there somewhere. Her husband. Her king. Her lover.

  He didn’t know what she carried, what Tiberius had given her, what was growing in the dark. It would destroy him if he did. It was vengeance, and it would destroy them both. He couldn’t know. It couldn’t survive.

  She took a deep, long breath of the cool night air. Then, before she could change her mind, she reached for the vial and swiftly uncorked it.

  “Some things we must never speak of,” she said.

  She raised the glass to her lips, and she drank.

  PART III

  THE GATES OF HELL

  21

  THE ASTROLOGER’S ALLY

  CAESAREA, 25 BCE

  Even from out on the waters of the bay, Thrasyllus was stunned by the level of the construction under way in Caesarea. For months the Mediterranean had been buzzing with tales of how the new king and queen of Mauretania had renamed the seat of their kingdom in honor of Augustus Caesar and were engaged in a massive program of public works that seemed destined to make it the jewel of the western end of the sea. All along the shoreline he could see that workers were busy: from the bustling port to the scaffolding that clambered over buildings old and new, which were fast rising, built in a style that Thrasyllus quickly recognized as half Greek and half Roman. It had the feel of a new beginning, and a new beginning was everything Thrasyllus intended to have in his life.

  After his failed attempt at capturing Lucius Vorenus, Thrasyllus had been wracked with guilt and despair. The gods had given him such clear direction in leading him to the Roman outlaw, but then all had been lost. And what was worse, he now had blood on his hands. He’d killed Seker and taken his coins that night beside the canal—slashed at the man with a blind rage that made him feel sick every time the memory came back. Even now he didn’t like to look at his hands, for fear that he would once more see the thick blood upon them, clinging to his skin, dried to grit beneath his nails.

  On the journey back to Alexandria that night, he’d thought about going to the Roman authorities for a reward, to tell them what he knew about Vorenus being at Elephantine—and even the conspiracy of Didymus working with him—but doing so he would have to admit to his own act of murder and his complicity in several more. In the new order of Augustus Caesar’s Rome, such violence would not go unpunished. And even if he somehow went unpunished by the Romans, Thrasyllus was certain they’d never let a murderer lead the greatest library the world had ever seen. All was lost.

  With no other prospects, he’d once more rented his old room in the city, feeling guilty to be using the slain man’s coins but grateful not to be forced to once more beg of Apion and Didymus at the Great Library. To assuage the guilt and pass the time, he’d bought cheap wine by small casks.

  Whatever else he expected of his life, he never would have imagined that a week later there would come a knock at the door, and that he would open it to see Lapis standing in the same hallway where he’d first met Seker and the giant, scarred Roman who had doomed the ambush.

  One half of her face was bruised near to black, her cheek swollen to the point that all he could see of one eye was a pupil surrounded by red. A line of blood had run its way down the side of her head, smeared into hair that clung to her scalp. Her clothes were disheveled and torn. More blood was smeared upon her body. Her one good eye sparkled for a moment when she saw him, the slightest smile turning up like a wince at the corner of her mouth. “Stargazer,” she whispered, and then she’d fallen forward into his arms.

  Thrasyllus looked over to her now, where she stood not far away along the railing of the ship, smiling and talking with another of the passengers, an older woman who appeared to be somewhat wealthy.

  The gods had taken his dreams away, only to give him one that was greater.

  He had given up drinking that night. The money that he’d once spent on wine he now spent on salves and bandages and medicinal aids to help bring her back to health. When her health still teetered, when she fell into a fever that refused to break, he paid for someone to sit with her while he set aside his pride and went to the Great Library, begged for forgiveness from Apion, offering to submit himself to the lowliest work in the inkroom if only he would also be allowed to access the books on medicine. When he’d come home that day
, he’d brought with him a copy of the inscriptions on the Asclepeion at Epidaurus, two texts by Erasistratus of Chios, and a bouquet of fresh flowers from the harbor market that he set in a vase by her bedside.

  Day after day he’d fallen asleep upon the latest medical texts he’d brought home from the Library, and day by day he succeeded where the physicians had not: he stopped Lapis’s internal bleeding, he broke her fever, and he was able to greet her with a smile and the latest bunch of fresh flowers when she at last opened her eyes and smiled at him once more.

  Down along the railing, Lapis laughed: a sweet sound, like the song of a morning bird. She took leave of the woman she’d been speaking with, and she began walking in his direction, a smile that could stop the sun upon her face.

  She still had a slight limp from what the men who’d taken her had done to her legs, but she’d somehow melded it into a sway of her elegant hips that never failed to thrill his heart. Beyond that, there was nothing to show that she had been beaten so close to death upon the streets.

  “My stargazer,” she said, coming up to lean against his side. Her head fell against his shoulder as she joined him in looking out over the waves. The salty breeze off the water raised strands of her black hair, tickling at his cheek.

  “You seem to make friends wherever you go,” he said, smiling into the sunshine.

  She pinched his side playfully. “And you should try talking to people. You can’t learn everything from books, you know.”

  “I know. I just don’t have the knack like you do.”

  “It just takes practice. I wasn’t that good when I first had to talk to strangers. I just got better at it over the years.”

  Thrasyllus nodded, decided to take the conversation in another direction. “So what did you learn from that stranger?” he said, nodding back to the older woman she’d been talking with.

  “Not much. Only how to meet the king and queen.”

  Thrasyllus stiffened and looked down at her. She was still staring out to sea, but he could see enough of the curve of her cheek to see that she was smiling. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”