Ave, Caesarion

by Deborah Davitt

  Her face flamed, and she covered her cheeks with her hands. “I can’t tell you,” she choked out. “I don’t even think it works! I think Mother was just having fun.”

  “So, there is something. And you’ve tried it,” Alexander pressed as one of the servants entered, bringing more food. “Do we dare ask who the intended target of your dire sorcery was?”

  “I’d be rather interested to know that, myself,” Caesarion allowed, sounding more distant than teasing.

  Eurydice put her head on the table. “Do you think the gods might be willing to take me to the underworld now?” she asked, her voice strangled. “I’d prefer that to any more teasing.”

  Her brothers both laughed. But every time she tried to eat anything else, one or the other of them would look at her with raised eyebrows, and her stomach promptly twisted and she couldn’t swallow so much as one more bite.

  An hour later, with the sun just peeking over the horizon, she rode out with both her brothers, a detachment of Praetorians, and Tahut, once more securely positioned ahead of Caesarion’s saddle. Once they’d gotten a fair distance from camp, well behind the lines, Eurydice took her first lungful of air this morning that wasn’t tainted with the smell of smoke, and found a smile coming to her lips in spite of her nerves, and in spite of the horrible things she’d seen through the eyes of the owl just a day ago. She was alive, and the world, while it could be a terrible place, filled with sorrow and horror, also held wonders.

  However, once they drew to a halt, and Caesarion helped her slide to the ground, tension gripped her stomach once more. Her brother hopped to the ground, turning to address the legionnaires who’d marched alongside their horses, “Tenth Legion! Assemble!”

  The men stiffened to attention, forming a line, their faces stolid under their white-crested helmets—many of which were missing plumes today, or had been scorched and hacked during the fall of Brundisium. Caesarion paused a moment, and then went on, his face impassive, “You’ve all witnessed what my sister is capable of in the past months. Her birds have given us detailed reconnaissance at least as good as any scout’s . . . and without the danger to men’s lives. She’s passed messages between the divided halves of our forces. Today, this priest of Thoth hopes to be able to ascertain if her gifts, like mine, come from the gods. And perhaps even which god it is that favors her. So do not be dismayed by anything you may see or hear today, and show the courage of true Roman men. For she needs your support and courage today, as perhaps on no other.”

  Eurydice blinked. She’d never thought of it like that. It would have been hard to miss Caesarion’s hope that she was god-born, but she had yet to hear any god’s voice speak in her heart. She suspected, truly, that she just carried the gift of magic, and nothing more. And yet, this priest says I can do things that are impossible for a magician. So perhaps I’m wrong. And the gods have just chosen to . . . wait to reveal themselves? Perhaps I need to make a few more sacrifices when we return to Rome, and beg the gods to reveal themselves to me in more than muddled dreams and visions?

  She could see an easing in the faces of the legionnaires, and relaxed a little, herself. Caesarion had that effect on most people—their sister Selene notwithstanding. And of course, if her powers came from the gods, that would be far more acceptable to Romans than if they were merely witchcraft. As practiced by the Hellenes, Egyptians, and the far-off Chaldeans and Persians. “Are you ready?” Caesarion asked her as Alexander slipped off his own horse, and took Caesarion’s reins from their brother’s hand.

  She tried to swallow, and felt breakfast threatening to rebel in her belly. “As I am ever likely to be,” Eurydice replied quietly as Tahut tossed the reins of his short pony to one of the legionnaires and approached. The stocky man was, she realized, about two inches shorter than she was, which somehow surprised her.

  Tahut sniffed, and began to speak in Egyptian now. “Your mother, the queen, demonstrated some minor control of fire last night—”

  “Latin,” Caesarion insisted firmly. “These men are deaf to other tongues.”

  Tahut grimaced. “My lord, all of my spells are written in Egyptian! I cannot deviate from them by so much as a syllable—”

  “Let your explanations be in Latin, then. Your spells you may speak in your mother tongue.” Caesarion moved to stand behind Eurydice, putting a hand lightly on her shoulder.

  Clearly nettled, Tahut swept a hand over his shaved scalp, which glistened with some sort of wax. “Very well. Princess, as I was saying, the spell demonstrated last night by the queen your mother is the most basic summoning of fire that exists. To begin, you must rub your hands together, so.” He demonstrated, rapidly rubbing his palms together. “Imagine that you are starting a fire using a stick-augur, boring into a wood plank. Feel the heat building between your palms, and focus on that.”

  His words had become extremely precise, and yet bordered on the monotonous, as if he had intoned them a thousand times before. “Try to see the heat in your hands as a glow, and know that as even the Hellene writer Aristotle understood, that this world is made up of five elements, four base and one pure. And everything around us is made up of those elements, in differing quantities. Thus, even in the stone under our feet, there is not just Earth, but Fire. In the wind, not just Air, but also Fire. In our flesh? Water, Earth, and yes, Fire, strung through us. But even the Hellenes understood that there is a fifth element, pure and uncorrupted. But they did not understand that their quintessence is no physical thing, but the ka.” He didn’t pause; he simply droned on, “You will use your ka, your living spirit, as the focus. You will concentrate all of your ka on that heat in your hands, and bring it out of yourself, and into the world around you, and do it by blowing on your palm, giving it the kiss of your own life, breathed from your own body. And as you blow out, say these words: Khet, the brazier in which blazes the sacred flame of the Eye of Ra, manifest yourself through me, and extend Ra’s power before me.” Now, at last, a pause, and the priest smiled slightly. “Do not expect much on your first try. As you saw from your revered mother’s example last night, most people fail at even the most rudimentary of spells, particularly at first.”

  Eurydice had felt her body tense at the condescending tone, and the droning, rambling lecture had made her mind cloud over, rather than allowing her to focus. “Try!” Tahut encouraged now, raising his eyebrows expectantly, and crossing his arms over his chest.

  She closed her eyes, struggling to see the glow between her moving palms. But she simply couldn’t. Her brows knitted in concentration, and the weight of all the eyes on her—particularly those of the legionnaires still standing in a row not twenty feet away—seemed heavier than a millstone.

  Caesarion put both of his hands on her shoulders, and warmth stole through her from that light touch. He leaned forward, and whispered in her ear, “Take the information, but ignore the source. How do you feel when you reach out to the birds?”

  “Relaxed. Happy. Free.” That last came out in an unintentional tone of longing.

  His hands tightened slightly on her shoulders. “Then try to feel that way now. Nothing different about this. You’re reaching out the same way. Just not for a bird. Try.”

  And that made it easy. All the words about her ka—her anima, by another name, really—hadn’t made much sense. But saying that there was a little fire in everything? That made sense. And she could feel the heat in her, her own vital fire. The heat between her hands—another kind of fire. She reached out for that incipient glow in her hands with her mind, opened her eyes, and blew on her outstretched hand, not using any words at all.

  She caught a brief glimpse of Tahut’s smug smile fading into what looked like genuine alarm. And then the fire exploded out from her hand, not in a shower of tiny sparks, as when her mother had performed the same spell, but in a wide fan of flame, ten feet long and ten feet wide at its outermost edge. She could feel the air around the flame wavering upwards with the heat, and a concomitant backblast of cold came towards h
er—and she caught it with her mind, directing it with a flick of her other hand, and the air under the billow of flame solidified into shards of ice, flicking out in a second, equally deadly fan.

  Behind her, the horses reared, startled by the flames. Alexander shouted in consternation, and Caesarion had to spin to catch the reins and control the beasts with all his considerable strength. At her feet, the grass and sedge smoldered, and twenty feet away, the cohort of legionnaires had all taken a prudent step or two back. To a man, they looked shaken and pale.

  “Are you all right?” Caesarion called to her, once he’d gotten the two panicking horses in line.

  Eurydice wiped her soot-stained hand off on the edge of her palla. “No burns,” she said, examining the skin minutely. “Also, I don’t seem to have turned myself into a statue made of ice.” Her knees felt shaky, and her stomach still fluttered, but there was also a delicious sensation to having used the power in her. It coiled in the pit of her stomach now, and made her want to purr like a stroked kitten.

  “That was a possibility?” one of the legionnaires muttered, just loudly enough to be heard. “Gods above and below.”

  Tahut promptly began waving his hands and spluttering. “The entire point of this basic exercise is to demonstrate control!” he exclaimed. “Not to use as much power as possible, all at once!”

  Eurydice frowned. “I didn’t,” she replied, softly, and then, as Tahut didn’t seem to hear her, she repeated the words more forcefully, “I didn’t use as much power as possible. I followed your directions. I focused on the warmth in my hands. I reached out with the fire in me. And then I blew.” And I didn’t need a ritual phrase to do it. How interesting.

  “And the ice?” Tahut spluttered on. “What was that? Why did you cast a second spell, when I had not even finished teaching you the first? You will make a very poor student, if you cannot even follow simple directions, princess! The order of training is exact and specific, for the safety of both the learner and the teacher! You must not improvise or move ahead of the lessons! You must not question the order, or the rules, or I will teach you nothing more!”

  Eurydice had been taught by the finest pedagogues in the entirety of Rome. Over half of them had come from Hellas, and many of them had depended on the Socratic method of asking the student questions meant to provoke thought, and further questions of their own. Rote memorization had been required, but that had been reserved for subjects like poetry and language. And for the first time, she suddenly had an inkling that her education had been somewhat atypical for a Roman woman.

  Most patrician women were educated in poetry and could read and write well. But she’d been exposed to philosophy and history and politics. She’d read the works of the great orators at the same time that Alexander had. Eurydice licked her dry lips, and staring at the fuming Egyptian, said in a mild, respectful tone, “Mage-priest, please. You spoke of magic just moments ago in terms of Aristotle’s natural philosophy. Natural philosophy depends on questions to illuminate the universe that the gods have given us. Questions are not only necessary for understanding, but holy, in their own way, as we seek to understand both the universe and the gods.” She drew herself up, still feeling the power coiling inside of her. Spreading now, through every part of her, a curious, bubbling sensation. “How then, can you expect to teach magic in terms of natural philosophy, and not expect someone to ask questions? Natural philosophy is not dogma. It is not a question of belief. It is . . . questions. And the search for answers, which beget new questions.” She spread her hands.

  Tahut stared at her, and then swung towards Caesarion. “Tell the princess that she must obey. Or I leave, and she remains untrained.”

  At that clear, flat ultimatum, Caesarion came forward, the reins of one of the horses still in his hands, and leaned down to murmur to her softly, “As I said . . . take the information. Learn everything that you can. And discount the source.” He grimaced a little as she raised her head to meet his eyes. “The first day the strength of Mars came to me, I didn’t realize it, and I damned near killed my swordsmanship trainer—a man twice my age, and a retired gladiator. Respect for power is important.”

  Stung, she whispered, “I do respect it, brother. I didn’t try to do anything wrong. But I could feel the cold coming back, and I had to do something with it. Should I have let it cover us both in frost?”

  Something changed in his eyes then. A flicker of what might have been memory, or fear, or both. “No. Definitely not that.” He grimaced again, and then raised his head to regard Tahut. “You may continue her lessons. Eurydice, I’d like to see what that spell looks like with all of your effort behind it. It has intriguing military applications. Though I think I’ll move the horses further away before you try.”

  Tahut flung his hands up. “My lord. Such spells have been used for military purposes in Egypt. This is how we have kept the Numidian herders and other would-be conquerors out of our lands for centuries.” He sniffed.

  “Oh?” Caesarion asked mildly. “Amazing how Alexander conquered Egypt, then—”

  “We did not take the field against him,” Tahut replied instantly. “We considered him a lesser evil than the Persians—”

  “Who, under Cambyses, had conquered Egypt about two hundred years before,” Caesarion pointed out, looking into the mid-distance.

  “They had the assistance of the Magi, and we met them in pitched battle on many occasions—”

  “Didn’t the Assyrians and the Nubians also conquer Egypt at some point?” Eurydice asked softly.

  “Yes,” Caesarion told her, amusement in his eyes, though his expression stayed carefully blank.

  Tahut swelled like a frog’s throat, almost visibly quivering in outrage. “My lord. Princess. Over the three thousand years in which Egypt has existed, we have never lost our culture or our way of life, in spite of any brief periods of foreign rule.”

  Eurydice glanced at Caesarion, whose lips twitched, once. And they both forbore to mention that their ancestors, Hellene conquerors though they were, had ruled Egypt for three hundred years. Not such a brief time, Eurydice thought. One-tenth of the three thousand years of which he is so proud.

  “We have been the bulwark that has kept the Chaldean Magi and their ranks of ghul and evil spirits from marching westward,” Tahut swept on.

  “And nothing at all can be attributed to the good efforts of the armies of the pharaohs?” Caesarion said, again, quite mildly.

  “They are very useful,” Tahut returned evenly. “The problem has always been, and remains, getting a group of mage-priests close enough to do the damage without losing the magicians to a concerted enemy attack. Once the enemy knows who we are—” his smile thinned, “they become quite assiduous about trying to eliminate us. And for good reason.” He nodded emphatically.

  A wave of shudders passed through the legionnaires, and several of the men made fervent gestures to turn away the evil eye. Chaldean Magi had been at the terrible defeat of the Roman forces at Carrhae, before Caesar’s ascent to the throne, where the Parthians had slaughtered four thousand wounded men left behind by the retreating legions . . . and the Magi had reanimated hundreds of the Roman dead and sent them after their former compatriots.

  But Eurydice thought to her history lessons, as Caesarion had just reminded her of them. And bit her tongue, though she resolved to discuss magic and warfare with Caesarion later. Away from Tahut’s ears. For the moment, there was nothing she could do but practice the flame spell, again and again, until the field in which she stood had become at least as much of a smoking ruin as the city at their backs.

  Chapter VI: Freedom

  Quintilis 18, 16 AC

  It had taken a month for the Tenth, Seventh, and Second Legions to wend their way back to Rome; the Third had been left to ensure that Brundisium started its rebuilding efforts without any backsliding into rebellion. Caesarion had left the other legions outside the precincts of Rome, and had slipped around the outskirts of town with an honor guard of
Praetorians to protect his family.

  Today, Caesarion had taken his dozens of scrolls to read them on a bench in the peristylium, the garden inside one of the two open areas of the villa, where there was at least a breeze to lift the sultry heat of Rome in the middle of Quintilis. And there his mother found him, and said, without preamble, “My year’s mourning is finished. I would not have wished to shock the good people of Rome by taking Antony as my consort a year to the day after your father’s death . . . but the wedding must come soon, I think.”

  Caesarion raised his head from his latest scroll, his eyebrows rising at the same time. “Do I have a younger brother or sister on the way, then?”

  Cleopatra snorted. “At my age, that is unlikely. Not impossible, mind, but unlikely.” She took a seat on one of the marble benches in the shade of a cypress tree and fanned herself lightly. “No, there are reasons to move on with it. Several of them, really. Politically, he’s held up his end of his bargain with you. He’s moving the plebeians firmly behind you, and the Senate can’t ignore that. He’s spoken in favor of your proposal to give retiring legionnaires land outside Brundisium—”

  “Eurydice thought of that,” Caesarion put in, quickly.

  “So she did, but she can’t speak in the Forum. So it’s your proposal, regardless of whose mind formed the thought first.” Cleopatra meticulously corrected the position of the white feathers on her fan before drifting them through the air in front of her again. “Regardless, Antony has, in every way, held up his end. It’s time we held up ours.”

  Caesarion’s forehead crinkled in concern. “And the other reasons?” he asked. “People will consider it hasty, Mother. It’s been a year, yes, but Father was . . . revered. And people being people, some will accuse you of scarcely being able to wait till the pyre ashes were cold before, ah . . . .” He trailed off. He didn’t know how to finish the sentence without sounding condemning, himself. He set his stylus down, and rubbed at his eyes.