All through her first pregnancy—of course there was sex; nothing was more erotic than brains, friendship, and shared ambition—the queen and general worked. All was calculation and study before they could return to Rome, together. Oracles were scrutinized to see if they truly had the Talent. Philosophers were consulted, their studies of nature examined to find the origins of the Fanged and the Talented.
By the time their second sons—twins—were born, the civil war in Egypt was won and Caesar declared they would make no further progress learning about the Talented Ones. “It’s time. We must leave.”
Cleopatra nodded. “But our news must precede us. Such an upheaval of everything they know—men and women with the powers of gods—is dangerous. We must start slowly, and the news must appear to arise from the people themselves.”
Caesar frowned. “I agree, but how?”
“Let our agents speak to potters and painters about a new style said to be favored by the great General Caesar himself, and all the rage in foreign parts. Graffiti might appear, made by unseen hands in the night, with wolf- or snake-headed men and women, with some of the happier classical references to the gods and their servants. From Ovid, perhaps.”
Caesar’s brow cleared, and he nodded. “I have had good success using poets. Let us hire a few to compose on the theme of heroic shape-shifting.”
She took his hand, smiling. “The surest way to a welcome reception is to create the fashion before it is announced. We will secure the foundation of Rome, and heal her after this civil war.”
As they traveled from Alexandria, they continued the search for other Talented within the army. Caesar proposed the idea of finding a convicted rapist and walking him through the ranks. Those who responded, compelled to attack the murderer, were chosen to form the new vanguard of each legion, and these were called “Victorious Janus.”
In every city they passed through, they stopped first at the temples. They offered up sacrifices and prayers, and then conducted a brief meeting with the priests and priestesses who guarded the treasure. In key cities, one or two of the newly discovered Fanged ones were left behind, and the priests and priestesses given strict instructions to obey them as if they were Caesar himself. The serpent-headed Ones’ special trick of persuasion and delusion proved especially helpful.
The gates of Rome were thrown open with wild adulation. After a decent interval, Cleopatra met with Calpurnia, Caesar’s wife, at a reception. After the two exchanged formal greetings, they moved to a quiet room and got to business.
“My husband has appointed Octavian his heir,” Calpurnia said briskly, arranging her veil around her.
“My sons are very young and will inherit Egypt,” Cleopatra said. “I have no designs on either Rome or Caesar.”
“Excellent. Then we have no quarrel.” She paused. “I have foreseen Caesar’s murder; you must help me prevent it. I hear no one can resist your arguments.”
It was then Cleopatra realized the first lady of Rome was born with the Talent of prognostication. She had kept her abilities quiet, a secret protection for her husband.
The Egyptian queen nodded. “I shall prevent it.”
Thus, encouraged by his wife’s “dream,” Cleopatra’s skill at politics, and their joint efforts at bringing the senators and their wives to their side, Caesar assumed the role of dictator for life. He gave the volatile Brutus the governorship of Asia and dispatched him at once. Octavian commenced a campaign against Parthia. While Parthian chariots were nigh-on invincible over the open ground, the Victorious Janus units, with their fleet wolves and the terrible venom attacks of the serpents, helped ensure a Roman victory.
Two months later, disaster struck. Caesar was struck down, not by assassins, but by the illnesses that had plagued him all through life. Falling insensible, he hit his head upon a marble table and died. Cleopatra was distraught, not only for the loss of her love and her children’s father. If she had been there when it happened, she might have used her healing powers to save him. But now…
Almost overnight, Brutus turned on Cleopatra. Those legions loyal to Brutus seized and held Rome, claiming this was a chance to rid Rome of the Egyptian witch and her heresies.
Cleopatra, devastated by Caesar’s death, now found their plan for peace threatened by Brutus on one side and the vanquished Pompey’s sons on the other. She dispatched the bulk of her household with her two young sons, and sent for Octavian, now Caesar. After, she fled to the small temple housing copies of the Book of Talent. She would not allow Brutus to destroy such valuable work.
She raced ahead of her guard detail, her own Talent alerting her that there was someone nearby, waiting to ambush her. Cleopatra, tired of diplomacy and politics, thrilled to the idea of battle.
She gasped. The runaway priest, Manetho, crouched there, clutching a basket of her scrolls.
The queen felt the ecstatic rush of righteousness filling her as she transformed. Her mouth grew sharp, sharp fangs, her fingers grew into claws, and her reactions became quick as lightning. She spat and lunged at him.
Manetho was powerful, and much larger than her. When the venom hit the flesh of his neck, she could smell the burning flesh. He roared and slammed his fist against the side of her head. The queen was knocked from her feet, but instinct, rather than training, informed her speed and power. She rolled out of the way, and leaped up.
He did the unthinkable. He thrust a torch down into the basket of scrolls, then threw it at one of the walls of shelves.
With a cry to her guards, who were now arriving, the queen began to pull at the flaming baskets in an attempt to curtail the conflagration. “Find the priest, the one called Manetho! He’s been wounded, but we need him alive! He is in league with Brutus, and I would interrogate him!”
In her half-Changed form, the queen suffered little injury, but many of the scrolls were lost.
The guard came back with the body of the priest. Rather than be captured, he had killed himself, but not before he had spoken a terrible curse against the queen and her kind. Cleopatra he took the hand of one of the seers among the guard, and she saw a vision of a fire devouring everything from Gaul to Parthia, the flames reflected in bloody streets.
“And now? What do we do?” the captain asked, shaken.
“We go north,” Cleopatra said. “I need an army. I’ll find it among the German and Gaulish legions loyal to Caesar.”
AND SO IT WAS THAT, a month later, Erminia, queen of the Chatti tribe, entered Cleopatra’s tent.
“Does it ever stop raining in this pestilential country of yours?” Cleopatra asked.
“Do you weak-shouldered Asians ever stop whining about the weather?” Erminia retorted.
They both smiled and embraced warmly, as much for reassurance as for formality. Today would be a test of them both. The fate of the world depended on the outcome.
“I’ve heard from my spies; the pro-Julian legions are holding well along the Rhine, but the Parisii are threatened from Brutus’s legions in Hispania.”
“I’ve heard from mine. Brutus’s generals are building up his forces along the Black Sea and Rome is swaying dangerously in his favor.” Cleopatra paced. “Octavian is holding Egypt, but we need to break the lines.”
“So you think Brutus will take Byzantium, before returning to Rome?”
“I would.” Cleopatra took out a map. “I think we have to go to Byzantium and stop him there.”
Erminia shook her head. “I cannot go so far. My time is too close.” She spread her hands over her swelling belly. “I will not leave the safety of my people nor my family; I will go only as far as the borders of Pannonia.”
Cleopatra nodded. “If the worst comes, I’ll try to bring the survivors to aid you at the Rhine. We must protect the copies of the Alexandrian records of the Talented, especially if Egypt falls.”
“That must not happen,” Erminia said. “And what about our plan to preserve the Book of Talents? It’s far too dangerous to attempt it now.”
“I
t’s the danger that makes it necessary to go ahead with the plan now,” Cleopatra said. “No matter what the outcome, we must preserve our lore.”
“It is risky to act, or to stay.” Erminia shrugged. “Very well. I shall send word to Anglesey—the farthest outpost of our kind from Rome—and to our kin in the other tribes between here and there.”
“Thank you. If I fall, I shall hold out as long as I can to ensure you have as much time as possible.”
“We’ll pray that doesn’t happen.” She paused, an idea suddenly blossoming. “Our priests have long spoken of a secret. A weapon, a warrior, I know not what, but something to be called in desperate times. I do not guarantee success—it may be naught but a legend—but your arrival put it in my mind. I will speak to them and see what can be done.”
“These are the most desperate times. I thank you, sister.”
They embraced again, and went to prepare the baggage trains.
THE INTERVENING DAYS EN ROUTE from Germania to Byzantium blurred together in a nightmare of fire, iron, and blood. The renegade priest’s dying curse seem to follow them everywhere, and Cleopatra worried her view toward the gods, the priests, and the revelation, was terribly wrong.
The battle at Athens was particularly brutal. The citizens were pro-Julian allies but the nearby legions were rabid followers of Brutus. At the last, Cleopatra’s tribal allies and the faithful legions had to abandon hope, as the priests at the vaults of the Acropolis refused to turn over their history scrolls to either army. Blood flowed down the marble steps, as the Talented forces tore at other Roman soldiers, now their enemies. The ability to heal quickly that Cleopatra and her Talented family enjoyed was a double-edged sword. Though she was always ready to fight again—having insisted on training as a soldier—the toll on her mortal soldiers and citizens was disastrous.
But the defeat at Athens helped Cleopatra’s cause a little, even as her army retreated. Her ranks were swelled by sympathizers and more of the Talented deserted the opposing troops. It was only these successes that kept spirits up, and by excruciatingly small increments, Cleopatra’s army made their way to the far coast of the Aegean, where it was by great good luck that a wealthy merchant league pledged them ships to carry their troops to Byzantium. They had beaten Brutus’s forces by just a day.
The queen made her headquarters at the acropolis on the near side of the river and sea harbor. The hill gave an excellent view all around, and a shout soon came from the lookout, echoing against the stone walls. “Ships! Ships coming from the northern sea!”
The enemy fleet soon covered the river so completely that they obscured the water itself. The hilly terrain made it possible to hold their position for a while, but the enemy’s great numbers made defeat inevitable. Indeed, Brutus was so sure of his victory that he himself had arrived, his flagship and standard visible at the back line of vessels.
“Will you retreat, my queen?” an African general, Rebilius, asked. “Best to escape and choose another battle.”
“I will not.”
“It is a miracle we have survived this long. This attack will be the end of us. Better to get you to safety; we have no more tricks left.”
“I do.”
Taking her bow, Cleopatra climbed to the roof of the acropolis, followed by other archers, and soldiers who were instructed to carry as many bundles of arrows as possible. Assuming her half-serpent form, she nocked an arrow, selected a target, and invoked her many gods. Each time it was the same prayer.
“Isis and Anubis, Athena and Hermes, Visucius and Sulis and Ahura Mazda, may all the gods, any god, hear me! Brutus and his army kill my people, undoing a peace I hoped to make eternal. They destroy learning, and other of your gifts, out of fear. Aid me now. My people built the foundations of this upstart empire; I will tear it down, if need be! Help me now! I call on you directly, o gods!”
She pulled and shot until her arms shook with fatigue, even in that powerful, holy state of the Change. With each pronunciation, the other archers also drew, until bows splintered and bowstrings snapped. Those around her, even those who understood the nature of her transformation and power, marveled at her persistence and courage, and took heart, redoubling their efforts. Her voice grew hoarse and still the names flowed from her serpentine tongue.
But good will and stout hearts could not match an onslaught from sea and land by a well-rested force. When the last arrow flew, and found a mark, it was still not enough. Brutus’s troops had landed and now advanced up the hill of the acropolis.
There were no more gods to call on.
“Bring every one of our people into the fortress,” Cleopatra ordered. Her hand still clutched the heavy bow, though she’d never been so exhausted. Her eyes were distant, her words almost rote, as if she was still in the thrall of her prayers. “If we are to fall, it will be here, fighting as Caesar and I planned, as one nation.”
Screams from below. She could smell the edge of the city burning. The queen turned away, her eyes closing for a moment against the knowledge that her doom had come.
A terrible roar enveloped them like a flood. Cleopatra looked up, and saw what had until this day only been the stuff of poets’ songs and cartographic warnings.
A beast like the giant serpent Ladon who guarded the Hesperides, or Python, the enemy of Apollo, appeared in the sky. Brilliant bronze and golden eyed, teeth like spears, a neck as long and sinuous as a river, and iron-boned wings that were like those of the Erinyes, the monster stooped like an eagle. It landed on the largest ship at the beachhead, and the weight of the beast tipped the galley over, blocking the next ship’s way to the beach.
The great, thick dragon roared again, vanishing only to reappear at the next largest ship. Claws like swords raked the decks and rent the sails, scattering rowers and archers alike, some jumping overboard to escape the dreadful beast. The dragon picked up a smaller ship and hurled it at two others.
By this time, some of the ships were fleeing, breaking ranks, and the assault had largely ceased against the city. The dragon amused itself by slowing their attempted escape, dropping wreckage of one ship upon another. The more clever rowers unshipped their oars and used them to float away from the wreckage before the dragon seized it.
Suddenly the queen’s rapture at this unexpected ally was shattered. A booming voice, speaking in an ancient and unintelligible language, erupted in her head. She looked around, but none of her soldiers or advisors seemed to be affected. She sank to her knees, screaming, “Speak more quietly, or else you shall kill me!”
An image of Brutus, on the beach and fleeing, filled her mind, along with the irresistible urge to chase him down and kill him. She signaled her generals, but could not wait for them to join her. She would hunt him herself.
Seizing a discarded sword—her arrows had all been spent in answered prayer—she all but flew up the stairs to the highest tower. Indeed, it seemed as if Hermes, Iris, Isimud, and Pappsukal aided her flight. The power of Sekmet, the lioness, and Inanna the Warrior suffused her being.
“To me! To me! Help me slay this traitorous pretender!” she cried to the dragon.
She hoped the dragon would pick her up and carry her down to the shore, but suddenly, she experienced an overwhelming sense of being…nowhere. She found herself alone in the streets along the river. She heard her guards shout with amazement, far above her.
As the fires raged through the streets, the queen felt the heat rising, heard the thunder-claps of great stones cracking. Past the temples, and down alleys into the heart of the city, she found Brutus’s trail. The sound of his passing footsteps seemed to loiter, hanging in the air for her to follow.
She could smell his desperation as easily as she could follow his tracks, and a part of her delighted in that. And then she saw him.
Brutus ran in a panic, discarding his armor as he fled. The fire cut him off, and he was forced to choose between the dragon circling overhead and the strong current of the river below. Brutus dove from the quay.
Cleopatra followed him in. Of course she could swim; Alexandria’s wealth came from water, Egypt’s life came from water. Her half-reptile form lent speed and strength to her strokes, as if the crocodile god Sobek himself had blessed her and Father Poseidon aided her against the strong current. The cold, dark water smelled of stone and decay, but she could see easily enough.
When she broke the surface, gasping for air, the queen felt a sharp biting pain above her left breast: Brutus’s dagger had found her heart. Locking eyes with him, she pulled the dagger from her chest. His jaw dropped as he watched the wound close instantly, and the blood washing away. She threw the dagger back at him, and he ducked away terrified.
Cleopatra dove back under the waves and swam as quickly as she could, until she saw the bottom of the wrecked ship Brutus had climbed upon. Summoning the full Change, she became a serpent and slithered up the side as silently as the crocodile god himself. She darted, looping strong coils of her body around Brutus’s arms, and rearing back, sank her fangs into his neck. Not to kill—no, the crone in the desert had taught her well. She had to bring Brutus back to Rome in chains.
The beneficence of every god from every pantheon seemed to flow through her for a moment. Cleopatra finally felt him cease to struggle. She Changed to her half-serpent form, then threw Brutus into the water and dove in after him, pulling him to the shore. She hoisted herself to the quay, dripping and exhausted, but exhilarated.
The guards had arrived and swarmed around her. She accepted a cloak from one of them, and pointed. “Fetch that out of the water. I have subdued the man who roused the people against the lawful empire and would have killed me. He will live, and return to Rome, but not as he imagined.”
The guards regarded their slight queen with reverence and awe. “It’s true! The gods came upon her and aided our cause!”
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