The Egyptian Royals Collection

by Michelle Moran

  “Domine, do not interfere!”

  “What’s happening?” Marcellus demanded.

  A gray-haired centurion at the edge of the circle studied Marcellus. “Who are you?”

  “Son of Caesar,” Tiberius announced proudly.

  The centurion looked at Octavian’s guards, who stood behind us. “And what are you doing here?”

  “That’s none of your business,” Tiberius snapped.

  “Who is the woman?” Marcellus asked.

  The centurion narrowed his eyes. “A slave. Claims this man is her husband and that the pair of them were freed.” He held up a small leather bag and shook it up and down. Coins clinked against each other. “Obviously stolen gold, probably from Caesar’s caravan.”

  “The one that was attacked last week on its way to the Temple of Saturn?” Tiberius demanded.

  The centurion grinned. “Very good.”

  “And she attacked it?” Marcellus challenged. He looked at the young woman, who made a pitiful sight in her ragged tunic and broken sandals.

  The centurion made a noise in his throat. “If not her, then him. And we have reason to suspect they were working for the rebel the plebs like to call the Red Eagle.”

  “May I see the bag?” Marcellus held out his hand.

  “What are you doing?” Julia whispered. “You’ll get us all in trouble!”

  The centurion hesitated, then passed him the gold.

  Marcellus made a show of inspecting the leather. “She isn’t lying,” he said suddenly. “The gold belongs to her.”

  The soldiers raised their voices in protest, but Marcellus was louder. “This comes from the House of Octavia.”

  The centurion’s jaw tightened. “I believe if you take a better look, you will discover that you are wrong.”

  “No. I’m not.”

  “Are you saying,” the centurion’s voice rose angrily, “that the sister of Caesar gives so freely of her gold?”

  “No, I do.”

  The soldier looked at Gallia, whose face had gone pale, then at Tiberius, who maintained a careful silence. Suddenly, he waved his hand. “Fine. Less work for us,” he announced grandly. “Let them go.”

  The man and woman rushed to thank Marcellus, but he shoved the bag at them and said forcefully, “Get out of here.”

  The group of soldiers dispersed, though I noticed that the centurion cast a suspicious look over his shoulder before leaving. The four of us watched Marcellus, and I suspected that behind us even the guards were passing questioning glances among themselves. It was Tiberius who broke the silence.

  “Well done. Perhaps if we make a visit to the Carcer you can free the rest of the slaves who are imprisoned.”

  “That was incredibly foolish,” Julia said. “Who cares what happens to a pair of runaway slaves? They were thieves.”

  “No. They were a husband and wife who wanted to be free,” I replied, and Marcellus’s light eyes met mine. “I think it was kind.”

  Julia looked from me to Marcellus and said hotly, “Are we going to the temple or not?” She marched up the remaining steps and Marcellus smiled at me.

  “Thank you,” he mouthed.

  “This must be quick,” Gallia cautioned. “One look inside and that is all. Caesar is waiting on the Campus Martius.”

  We hurried up the steps behind Julia, and as we passed beneath the arch, I blinked back tears. It was just like the temple in Alexandria. The cool interior was painted with the familiar images of Isis and Serapis, and bald-headed priests dressed in long linen robes were dispensing incense from gilded balls. A statue of the Mother Goddess, with eyes of sapphire and necklaces of gold, rose at the opposite end of the temple. Marcellus gave a low whistle.

  “Welcome home.” A tall man emerged from the shadows, and I saw Gallia tense.

  “The High Priest,” my brother said swiftly in Parthian. “Is that the one—?”

  I nodded.

  “Prince Alexander and Princess Selene.” The High Priest opened his arms in a gesture of welcome. “And you’ve brought your distinguished friends.”

  “How does he know you?” Tiberius was immediately suspicious.

  “He must have seen us in the Triumph,” my brother said levelly.

  The High Priest stepped forward. “Have you come to see Isis and Serapis?”

  “Yes,” I replied, and I struggled to ignore the overwhelming feeling of homesickness. The towering granite statues and pink-veined marble had all been shipped from Egypt. Even the statues in the cleansing pool had probably been sculpted by Egyptian hands. “Shepsit!” The High Priest snapped his fingers and a young woman appeared at his side. “Show our new friends around the temple.”

  The girl inclined her head dutifully. While everyone followed her, I remained with the High Priest.

  “Aren’t you coming?” Alexander called.

  “I want to place an offering. I’ll join you in a moment.” I saw the hesitation in his face, then Julia took his arm and he was gone.

  The High Priest looked down at me. “You read my note?”

  “Yes. That’s why I came.”

  “Then you understand what Caesar plans for you,” he said, directing me toward a room behind a beaded curtain. Baskets and chests filled the little chamber, and I tried not to think of how similar baskets had adorned our palace in Alexandria. “How long do you think it will be until Caesar decides to do away with the last of Kleopatra’s children?”

  “I—I don’t know. That’s why I’ve come to you. For help.”

  He smiled. “You want to return to Egypt?”

  “If our lives are in danger.”

  “Of course they are!” He moved closer to me. “What happened to your mother? Your father? Your brothers? What happened to the priests of Isis and Serapis in Alexandria?”

  I pressed my back against the marble wall. “They’re gone,” I whispered.

  “That’s right.” He stopped walking. “But I can help you escape.”

  I glanced at the beaded curtain. “To Egypt?”

  “Or India, or any place you wish.”

  “And how long would we be in hiding?”

  “Until your brother is old enough to raise an army and challenge Caesar.”

  “My father failed and he had half of Rome’s legions! What makes you think my brother would succeed?”

  The High Priest narrowed his eyes. “He might not. Perhaps in the very first battle he’ll be crushed along with all of his men. But what do you think Caesar will do if he remains here?”

  “He’s kept my father’s sons by Fulvia alive. I have older brothers—”

  “Who are not the sons of an Egyptian queen!”

  We watched each other in tense silence. Even amid so much incense, I could smell his fetid breath. Men with rotten teeth often smelled this way.

  “Do you value your life?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then escape is your only option.”

  I searched his face. “And who would help us?”

  He reached out and trailed a bony finger along my necklace. “People who would do anything for the right price.”

  My necklace could keep a man fed for the rest of his life. It might very well buy a passage to India. But I could never give away my mother’s pearls. “And if I don’t want to pay the price?”

  The High Priest grabbed my wrist. “Everyone pays something.”

  “Take your hands off of me!”

  “Just give me the pearls,” he hissed. “I’ll have you free of Rome for the rest of your life.”

  “Step away from her!” Marcellus parted the beaded curtain. Julia stood behind him with four stone-faced guards.

  The High Priest dropped my arm and smiled blandly. “Did you enjoy your tour?”

  Marcellus glanced at me. “Has he hurt you?”

  “No.”

  He met the High Priest’s gaze. “Isis is not so beloved in Rome that her priests can afford to abuse Caesar’s guests.”

  “Is that wh
at she is?” His smile widened. “A guest?”

  “Yes,” Marcellus said forcefully. He held out his arm, and I hurried past the High Priest.

  “Think about what I said,” the High Priest warned darkly. “It’s a small exchange for the protection of Isis.”

  Although the priestesses were shaking their gilded sistri in the courtyard outside, all I could hear was Juba’s voice in my head.

  “So was that part of the offering?” Julia asked archly when we reached the steps of the temple.

  My brother gave me a disapproving look, and I said angrily, “Don’t say it!”

  “It might have happened to anyone,” Marcellus said. “You just happen to have a queen’s ransom around your neck. Priests of every goddess are greedy.”

  I tried a smile, but it didn’t come out right.

  “Here,” he said compassionately, and offered me a small square of linen. As I dabbed at my eyes I could smell his scent on the cloth, and wanted nothing more than to weep into his shoulder. But Julia was there. And Tiberius.

  “You see what happens, going into strange places?” Gallia demanded.

  “I thought it was beautiful,” Julia said to be contrary.

  “If you enjoy men dressed as jackals,” Tiberius said.

  “You liked the women well enough,” she challenged.

  Color tinged Tiberius’s cheeks, but no one mentioned the High Priest again, and when we reached the Campus Martius, even my brother forgot his anger at me. “Look at this!” he exclaimed.

  It was hundreds of acres of low-lying plains bordered on the west by the Tiber River, and on the east by the Quirinal hill. There was a space for horses and chariot races, a place where marathon runners practiced, and in a series of grassy fields hundreds of soldiers wrestled, and boxed, and played games with leather balls. I saw men who were oiled and sweaty from their exertions jump into the Tiber, and I thought, They must be brave not to have any fear of the crocodiles.

  “What are those buildings?” my brother asked. He pointed to a number of domed structures dotting the plains.

  “Stables,” Marcellus replied. “The Campus is where wealthy men keep their horses. There are baths inside them as well, for washing and changing. Those are my uncle’s stables.” He pointed to a large building near the river.

  As we drew closer, I could see that Octavia and Livia were already seated in the cool shade of the portico, working on their looms. The younger children were there as well; Antonia and Tonia patiently following their mother’s instructions while Drusus and Vipsania giggled. Octavian stood between Juba and Agrippa; all three men were dressed in short tunics, with thin linen belts around their waists and sandals whose laces crisscrossed up their muscled calves. But only Octavian wore a broad-brimmed hat in anticipation of an afternoon in the sun.

  “Alexander,” Agrippa said in greeting. “Since you are a horseman, we’ve decided on riding. Go and change with Marcellus and Tiberius. They’ll show you where the tunics are, and they’ll find you a sword.”

  But Alexander looked back at me. “What about Selene?”

  “Selene will be enjoying her time weaving,” Juba said.

  “But she doesn’t know how.”

  “What girl doesn’t know how to weave?” Livia demanded.

  “She’s a princess of Egypt,” Octavia replied. “Her mother taught her languages, not how to work the loom.”

  “Then perhaps her mother should have taught her some modesty so she doesn’t end up clutching a cobra to her neck.”

  I saw my brother tense, but Marcellus stepped forward. “Come on.”

  Alexander looked back at me, and I nodded. “Go. There is riding to be done.” I smiled bravely, then watched the men disappear into the stables. I turned back to Octavia. “I could study instead of weaving, if that would please you. Or perhaps I could draw—”

  But Livia snapped, “You will weave like the rest of us!”

  I seated myself between Julia and Octavia, and Julia whispered, “Just do as she says.”

  “Why should she?” Octavia asked suddenly, and her girls looked up from their looms with wide eyes. Vipsania, Agrippa’s seven-year-old daughter, gasped. “There’s no point in teaching Selene how to weave, and even less of a point in teaching her how to spin. When will she ever use those skills?”

  “For her husband,” Livia retorted angrily.

  “Very few men prefer homespun tunics. And I doubt that her future husband will be one of them. I don’t see any reason not to let Selene sketch.”

  Livia dropped the wooden shuttle onto her lap. “What? Silly buildings and painted urns? For what purpose?”

  “Well, if everything must have a purpose, then Vitruvius can train her as an architect.”

  Livia sat forward. “You think he would train a girl?”

  “Why not?”

  “Your brother would never allow it!” she swore. But when Octavian appeared with Agrippa and Juba, I noticed that Livia was silent.

  Swiftly, I took out my sketches, and Julia regarded me with quiet fascination. I knew she was wondering why Octavia would choose to fight for me this way. But I thought I understood. It was her chance to anger the petty, jealous woman her brother had chosen for a wife.

  When my brother emerged with Marcellus and Tiberius, I didn’t dare say anything, even when Tiberius boasted that he was going to teach Alexander how to ride. After they’d left, there was an uncomfortable silence until midafternoon. No one spoke, and when I looked up to make a comment to Julia, she shook her head sternly.

  When Marcellus and Alexander finally came galloping toward us, followed by the others, Julia rose. “They’re back!”

  “Sit down,” Livia commanded, and I saw Octavia pass her niece a sympathetic look.

  Alexander reined in his horse at the edge of the portico. With Marcellus beside him, he looked triumphant. The pair were the first to dismount.

  “Your brother is a fine horseman,” Marcellus announced.

  I looked from Alexander to Tiberius. “Where did you go?”

  “To the tracks, where the horses raced around poles. It was better than anything in Alexandria, Selene.”

  Juba slid easily off his horse. “There’s something in Rome that’s better than Alexandria?”

  Octavian smiled at Juba’s humor. “He’s an exemplary horseman,” he said matter-of-factly, walking toward us. “Finer than Marcellus and possibly even as good as Tiberius.”

  “Yes, but what does he know about tactics on the battlefield?” Tiberius demanded. “You said so yourself. Anyone who hasn’t read Sallust shouldn’t be on a horse.”

  “Well, there’s always time to remedy that,” Agrippa said.

  Tiberius laughed sharply. “You really think he’ll be as good a scholar as I am?”

  Agrippa studied my brother. “You never know.”

  Juba placed his hand on Tiberius’s shoulder. “Come into the Tiber and cool off,” he suggested. “It doesn’t matter who did better today.” But when he moved to lead Tiberius away, I stood.

  “Don’t follow him!”

  Juba and Tiberius turned.

  “You shouldn’t go into the river,” I said. “You don’t know what’s in there.”

  Juba laughed. “What, are there sea serpents lurking beneath the waters?”

  “Of course not,” I said angrily. “There are crocodiles.”

  Juba grinned. “I am sorry to be the one who must tell you this, Princess, but there are no crocodiles swimming in the Tiber.”

  I looked to Tiberius, who smiled arrogantly. “I guess you don’t know everything.”

  Octavian and Agrippa followed them to the river bank, and when I returned to my seat, Julia suggested, “Just ignore him.”

  “But what happened to the crocodiles? Have they all been killed?”

  “There have never been crocodiles,” Octavia replied, putting down her spindle. “There are only fish. And all of them are harmless.”

  I wondered what it would be like to swim in a r
iver, and as we watched Marcellus and Alexander strip down to their loincloths, I asked Octavia, “Will we be swimming, too?”

  “What? In a loincloth?” Livia exclaimed.

  “And a breastband,” I offered, but Vipsania giggled.

  “Perhaps you would like to parade naked as well!” Livia added.

  “She almost did,” Octavia remarked pointedly, reminding her of the Triumph and the beaded dress that Livia had chosen for me.

  Livia sat forward and fixed me in her gaze. “My father committed suicide because of your father. And now your father has killed himself because of my husband. It’s a strange little world, isn’t it, Selene? And I imagine that when your mother came to Rome, she thought it would be only a matter of time before she stood in the Senate and declared herself queen. But Romans don’t accept women who paint their faces, or dress themselves in beads, or swim in rivers. And they won’t accept a little whore from Alexandria who thinks she can come here and take her mother’s place. I know what you want.” She laughed bitterly. “You think my husband is going to send you back to Egypt, but the Greeks will be settling their debts on the Kalends before that ever happens!” In Rome, the Kalends was the first day of every month, but the Greeks had no such day.

  When Livia sat back, Octavia smiled. “Charming as always, Livia. And every afternoon a sweet reminder of why my brother chose you for his wife.”

  I risked a glance at Julia, but her eyes were fixed on the wooden loom in front of her, and for the next hour we worked in silence while the men enjoyed themselves in the river. As the heat rose and it became unbearable even in the shade, no one moved. Octavia wiped the sweat from her brow with a small square of white linen. Julia’s hair had gone limp in the heat. I thought of my brother pushing through the cool waters of the Tiber and felt a mounting anger. My mother had always given the two of us the same opportunities. If Alexander was allowed to swim, then so was I. If he had lessons in the Museion, I went with him. Nothing had ever been forbidden to me simply because I was a girl.

  When the men returned, my brother had the good sense not to look too pleased. Instead, he saw me suffering in the heat and asked uneasily, “So how was the drawing?”

  “Hot,” I said curtly in Parthian. “And your swim?”