Ave, Caesarion

by Deborah Davitt

  “Dis! Lepidus, you have three Servilias on this list! Am I not at war with that family?” Caesarion flung the tablet at the broken table.

  “You’re at war with one branch of them, the Caepiones. Which goes back to your father taking Brutus’ mother as his mistress for a short time. She didn’t take rejection particularly well, though her son chose his loyalty to Caesar over his loyalty to her. It’s a very large gens.” Lepidus defended his list mildly. “And a marriage could effect a reconciliation rather nicely.”

  “And how am I to tell these women apart, I wonder? All the same age, all with the same name—”

  “Nonsense. One’s from the Cascae branch, another from the Gemini branch. The third is the daughter of Publius Servilius Rullus, another of Octavian’s friends, though he’s yet to take up arms against you. You could do worse to heal that breach by marrying Servilia Rulla. She’s only ten at the moment, so you have a few years to make up your mind. Pretty thing, though, I’m told. Already weaves and sews well.”

  Malleolus had no idea why Caesarion stared at Lepidus, and started to laugh, clearly attempting to stifle it out of respect for the older man. Lepidus appeared mildly offended, and withdrew, shaking his head. “Sir?” Malleolus asked, as Caesarion finally recovered from his bout of mirth.

  “Come along. I’m going to fetch my sister now. This instant. Before even one more person comes through this door,” Caesarion said, opening the entryway himself and shaking his head. “At least I can depend upon Eurydice not to vex me as sorely as everyone else has attempted to do today.”

  Five minutes later, Caesarion stood at the door of Eurydice’s room, struck speechless. Malleolus peered around the Imperator’s shoulder, and then murmured, very quietly, “I’ll be down the hall, my lord. Looking for anyone else who might attempt to vex you.”

  “Mal? Go.” Caesarion stared at Eurydice, his mind blank at the moment. “Why are you wearing that?”

  That was a yellow kalasiris, not a Roman tunic or stola, which clearly delineated her slim curves. The tight sheath of the dress fell from just under her breasts, which were both covered and contained by wide pleated linen straps that also held the dress up. Standing with her back to the window of her room, the sunlight streamed through it, showing her legs as subtle shadows. The side seams, however, had been opened, almost to the hips, revealing a strip of skin on each side that widened and narrowed as she moved. Caesarion forced his gaze back up, finding Eurydice’s nervous eyes with his own.

  “Mother said that over the years, riding in this chariot or that, on bad roads, she’s discovered that a Roman tunic and crossties, for all its warmth in winter, doesn’t offer much in the way of, ah, support,” Eurydice told him, looking deeply embarrassed. “She told me that the kalasiris tends to keep her breasts from . . . in her words, not mine . . . bouncing from her knees to her eyebrows and back again.” Color rose in her cheeks. “I told her that I couldn’t see how I could sit astride the horse’s back in a kalasiris, and she suggested taking the seams out. I said that would show off too much leg, and she told me that it was at least as much as would show if my stola pulled up, and that I should aim for comfort.” Eurydice’s face achieved a shade of true crimson as she added, in a muffled tone, “She also said that men wear, ah, items under their tunics to prevent chafing from the saddle.” Subligaria, or loincloths, essentially. Women only wore similar items during their moon-flows. “And helped me make something similar.” She swallowed. “So even getting on and off the horse, no one should see, well, anything that they shouldn’t.”

  Caesarion realized that his brain had stopped functioning several moments ago, and managed to clear his throat. “Very practical on all counts,” he replied, his tone tight even to his own ears.

  “Practical?” came a voice from behind him, and Alexander emerged from a stairwell, arching his eyebrows at them both. “Practical is not the word that comes to mind. Eurydice, you look amazing. I’m glad Tiberius decided not to join us. He was afraid he’d ogle you. And now, I think that his eyes might actually have fallen out of his skull. And that’s a terrible, awkward thing, trying to help a man find his eyes on the ground. All covered in dirt.” He came forward, smiling, and took Eurydice’s hand to bow over it slightly. “Tell her, Caesarion. Tell her that she’s a vision of loveliness sent straight from Venus.”

  “Oh, stop it,” Eurydice choked, pushing Alexander’s hand away.

  “Quite lovely,” Caesarion agreed tersely, looking to the side. “Come along. There are horses waiting for us.” I’m going to have to have every stable servant and Praetorian face away from the practice area. It’s . . . all perfectly practical. It all makes perfect sense. But it’s also precisely the right amount of foreign and exotic and titillating all at once. Even knowing that she’s wearing some form of a loincloth under the dress—a perfectly sensible precaution to avoid the leather of the saddle chafing her most delicate flesh . . . just draws the mind, inevitably, towards that anatomy. And gods damn it, Mother must have known. Eurydice can’t possibly know. And it’s not . . . she doesn’t look like a dancer or a whore. She’s still very much a lady. Just one sent by Venus and Isis to torment men’s souls.

  Eurydice found Alexander’s teasing almost as intolerable as Caesarion’s stern expression and fierce glare in any direction but at her. I must look like an idiot, she concluded miserably. At least as bad as if I were wearing men’s clothing. I told Mother this was a bad idea! I did! And here’s the proof.

  Unmistakable. Malleolus wouldn’t so much as look in her direction. None of the guards or servants would, after initially clapping eyes on her. Eurydice’s heart fell to somewhere in the vicinity of her sandals by the time they reached the stables, where a patient old mare waited for her, and Caesarion wrapped his hands around her waist to give her a boost into the saddle. “We’ll work on mounting and dismounting from a block later,” he told her gruffly. “Eventually, you shouldn’t even need the block. But today, I just want you to focus on sitting up in the saddle. Balancing. Moving with her motions. And holding on with your legs for balance—not too tight, or the mare will think you want her to gallop. She’s too old and sensible to do much of that, but I don’t want you falling off on your first attempt, either.”

  “Do I . . . do I do anything with the reins?” Eurydice asked uncertainly.

  “I’ll lead you at first. The fewer things you have to coordinate on your first try, the better.”

  Alexander hopped up on one of the fence’s rails, grinning at her. “It’s odd seeing you on the horse’s back all by yourself,” he called over genially. “How’s riding astride feel?”

  Like my legs are about to fall asleep from the knee down, but I still have to hold on with them for dear life. And my hips ache from having my legs spread so widely. “Odd,” was all she admitted out loud, however. “I’m sure it will improve.”

  “It gets worse before it gets better,” Alexander told her lightly. “I already knew how to ride before Caesarion took me to Germania, but eight hours a day in the saddle? The first week, I walked all askew when I got off the horse at night. Had a centurion ask me if I’d bunked with a Hellene the night before—ah, nevermind.” That last, as Caesarion’s head swung towards him, a frown on their brother’s face.

  “What does who you shared your tent with have to do with riding a horse?” Eurydice asked over her shoulder as Caesarion led the horse around the paddock. Genuine puzzlement in her voice.

  “Nevermind,” Caesarion said sharply. “It’s barracks humor. Alexander was wrong to bring it up. Concentrate on the lesson, and keep your elbows in. You shouldn’t flap them like chicken wings.”

  “You’ll enjoy riding once you get the hang of it,” Alexander called over, sounding apologetic. “It’s as close to flying as I’ve ever come.”

  That was enough to regain her interest, and Eurydice concentrated on the lesson with renewed vigor. After about twenty minutes, Caesarion was satisfied enough by her progress to mount up himself, and she tried n
ot to gape as he swung fluidly up into his stallion’s saddle without a mounting block before catching her mare’s reins again. “We’ll try outside the paddock, in one of the fields nearby,” he said, still not looking at her directly. “Alexander can take up the rear.”

  Unfortunately, it was in the field that the accident occurred. A rabbit, surprised by the hooves of Caesarion’s stallion, bolted left, then right, spinning in its frenzy to reach the safety of its burrow. And Eurydice’s mare, not a trained warhorse, spooked at the sudden movement, rearing on her hind legs, wrenching the reins out of Caesarion’s startled grip. Eurydice clamped her legs as tightly to the mare’s sides as she could, and wrapped her arms around the horse’s neck. And instinctively, reached out with her mind—for the first time, not reaching for a bird’s, but for the mare’s.

  The mare’s mind was simpler than a bird’s, in many ways. No hunting urges. But the eyes were all wrong, looking at the sides of the world, with little forward vision, which made Eurydice’s head ache. Reassurance, from the calm presence of the other horses, particularly the male one just ahead of her, but also panic, from motion where there shouldn’t have been motion. Fear of predator, which the motion could have presaged. “Settle down,” Eurydice murmured, pushing herself further into the mare’s mind. “Settle.”

  And to her surprise, the mare did precisely that, shuddering a little and crowding closer to the stallion for reassurance—who whickered at her irritably and nipped at her neck as she came too close.

  Eurydice shook her head to clear the mare’s skewed vision out of her eyes, and found that both her brothers had moved to either side of her horse. Caesarion had recovered the reins, and Alexander looked poised to leap from his saddle to the mare’s back, if needed. “Silly creature,” Eurydice managed shakily, unwinding her arms from the mare’s neck and sitting back. “Scared of a rabbit.”

  Caesarion regarded her for a moment, the first straight-on look he’d given her in a half hour. “You’re not actually going to need the reins, are you?”

  Eurydice frowned, looking down. “Well, I . . . don’t want to spend every moment in her head. She doesn’t see very well. Birds are much better for that. Better to learn to use the reins, I think. And that way, I can control her even when I need to be paying attention to other things.”

  “Can’t argue with that,” Alexander said, settling back into his saddle again. “Though of all the conversations I’ve had of late, this is by far the oddest.” A wicked grin. “And I’ve heard some strange things lately, mind.”

  Caesarion handed her the reins. “If you can keep your seat on a rearing horse? You deserve to hold the reins yourself. It’s fairly simple. Pull right to go right. Pull left to go left. Pulling back means slow down or stop to her. She’s got a light bit in her mouth. Warhorses have much heavier ones.” He slapped his own horse’s shoulder gently. “This idiot, I have to muzzle in formation, or he starts trying to bite the horses on either side of him.”

  “Could geld him,” Alexander offered.

  “Too good of stock not to breed him. Just ill-tempered and doesn’t suffer fools gladly.”

  “Ah, so like horse, like rider.” Alexander’s tone was carefully bland.

  “Alexander, you have a mouth on you today. Watch it.” Caesarion warned.

  “I was merely referring to the servants’ gossip that Lepidus has a list of prospective brides for you. Too good of stock not to breed, as you said yourself.”

  Uncomfortable, Eurydice urged her mare to a faster walk, still keeping at Caesarion’s side as they rode through the field. There was quite a bit of bouncing and jouncing involved in riding, but it was still better than a carruca—other than the ache between her legs, in her backside, and everywhere else. Still, she was now riding faster than she could walk. The breeze of their motion lifted the sultry, sticky heat, and tugged her hair free of its pins.

  An hour later, as she tried to slide off the horse’s back, her legs gave out and she would have collapsed into an undignified heap on the ground if Caesarion hadn’t caught her, one-armed, and pulled her back into him for a moment. “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice concerned. And the ripple of laughter from the servants in the barn reminded her all over again that she had to look a fright. Only now, with her hair down and hanging in sweaty, sticky tendrils like the gorgon’s snakes, it had to be worse.

  “I can’t feel my feet,” she admitted, embarrassed. “Which means that when the feeling comes back, it will be all needles and fire.”

  “Get a good massage at the baths this afternoon,” he told her, his lips against her ear. “That way, you’ll be ready for the next lesson, tomorrow. Once you start, you have to keep going. Get through the pain, and before you know it, it’ll be gone. And then you get to fly.”

  She nodded, suddenly acutely aware that he hadn’t let her go yet. And that the pins and needles had just started to lace their way up her legs, and she couldn’t have taken a step if she’d tried. “I can’t walk,” Eurydice admitted.

  “Yes, you can. Take a step. I’ve got you. I know it hurts. But take a step.”

  Wobblingly putting one numb foot in front of the other, she staggered back to the house, kept upright by Caesarion’s arm around her waist, while Alexander, chuckling to himself, trailed along behind.

  Once back in the villa, Caesarion released her and moved away. “I’ll have a litter out front for you and the girls in a half hour, so we can go to the baths,” he promised, not looking over his shoulder as he prepared to leave the room.

  Eurydice managed to pull herself upright. “Thank you both,” she said, her voice thin, but trying to hold onto what little dignity she had remaining. “I’ll try to find something more appropriate to wear for tomorrow’s lesson. And I think that I’ll skip the baths today. I can cleanse myself here at home. And Tahut gets so annoyed when I don’t study.” And she wobbled for the stairs, which looked like the Alps to her at the moment. I feel like a ninety-year-old woman with a load of laundry on my back.

  “What’s this?” Alexander asked, following her. “You’re not coming with us? You have to, or else Octavia and Selene can’t come at all.” He made an annoyed sound at the back of his throat as Eurydice gave him a blank stare. “You’re their adult chaperone, sister dear, remember?”

  Oh gods. They haven’t had a chance to get out of the house in weeks, and they’ve been just as hot and bored as I’ve been. More so. I’ve had my studies to occupy my mind. She sighed. “You’re right. I shouldn’t deny them an opportunity for fun. I just . . . feel as if I’ve fallen off a mountain. And Caesarion can’t even look at me, because I’m such an embarrassment to him.” Her voice hadn’t made it above a whisper, and she couldn’t look at Alexander herself now. . “I’ll . . . go clean up.”

  Alexander’s hand caught her shoulder, however. “Eurydice—sister. Couldn’t you hear the pride in his voice?” He sounded baffled. “You held your seat. The first time a pony reared on me, I fell arse over head into a puddle of mud and manure, and couldn’t come back in the house till a servant found enough water in a barrel to sluice me off.” His tone was wry.

  “Oh, no, no, not that.” Eurydice got one foot on the bottom-most tread. She’d lived in the nursery of this house her whole life, but on returning from the campaign, had received one of the tiny bedrooms not far from Caesarion’s on the second floor. He, of course, had taken over their father’s chamber over a year ago. “It’s . . . everything else. Nevermind. I’m coming, aren’t I?”

  Alexander steadied her on the stairs. “You’re not still worried about the dress, are you?” Laughter lurked in his voice. “I told you, you look amazing. The Sabines must have dressed so, just before they were kidnapped and ravished by our Roman ancestors.”

  Halfway up the first flight, and feeling like an old woman, Eurydice couldn’t find words that even approximated her weariness or her disgust with being teased. The best she could manage was an indelicate snort. “Fine, don’t believe me, then,” Alexander said,
laughing. “I’ll just tell Caesarion he needs to apologize for his boorish behavior.”

  Eurydice halted in mid-step. Somehow that sounded worse at the moment than watching an entire battle through the eyes of her hawks. “Alexander, just stop. I think he has many more pressing things on his mind. I don’t need to be told that I was . . . inappropriate. I’ll just take care that it doesn’t happen again. Regardless of what Mother said.” They’d made it to the upper story by now, and she put a hand against the wall, just under a mosaic of Flora dancing with the Muses. “I’ll be down with your betrothed and our sister in a few minutes.” Gods. If I stop moving, I think I’m going to turn to stone.

  Back in a proper stola and tunic, she suffered the stuffy litter ride with Selene and Octavia, while her brothers and Tiberius rode outside. Listened to the two younger girls giggle and natter, Selene asking Octavia innocently what it had been like having Tiberius and Drusus as step-brothers. “Strange, at first. They only came to live with us when I was three or so. And they’d grown up in Hellas, so they had a little bit of an accent at first. And Tiberius was so angry all the time! After the first time he was caned for not showing my father enough respect, he just . . . smoldered inside. Said the right words, in the right voice. But you could just see it in his eyes.” Octavia fluttered her hands.

  “See what?” Selene asked, leaning closer to her new friend, fascinated.

  “The hate. Oh, gods.” Octavia waved a hand in front of her face. “It’s so stuffy in here behind the curtains. Eurydice, I envy you so much being able to go riding with the men!” Longing in her voice. “Now you two have to tell me what it was like growing up with Alexander. I can hardly wait until I’m a woman now!”

  Selene stared at her, wide-eyed at this sentiment. “Because of our brother?”