Ave, Caesarion

by Deborah Davitt

“It does. Drought years have become more frequent of late. The floods come later and later. And while Gaul will surely provide Rome with much grain in years to come, there will be starvation in the meantime if Egypt’s crops fail. And Rome’s armies will falter if they are not fed.” Cleopatra sat back, resting her hands lightly on the arms of her backless chair. Every inch a queen.

  “Why are the magics faltering?” Caesarion demanded. “It’s only been a generation, hasn’t it?” Of course, there’s also what Eurydice told me months ago. That most of the gods of Egypt are dead. There might be a reason they need a compact with their human servants.

  Cleopatra’s expression turned grim. “My father—if he was my father in truth—had not a drop of power in his fat frame,” she replied tersely. “Not an iota of the blood of the gods expressed. My mother had a dram of it, and it passed from her, at least, to me, and to you. But the magics were already faltering. Too many generations without any power at all in the hands of the pharaohs. When Rome gave my father back his throne, he tried to renew the compact, and father new heirs. The only way he could. He raped me nightly from the age of fourteen until his final illness.”

  The bronze cup in Caesarion’s hand crumpled as his fingers clenched, and the wine that had been in it poured over his fingers to the floor. Alexander swore under his breath, looking sick. Cleopatra held up a hand, her face white under her cosmetics. “I told your father about this. And Antony, so that he would understand me. He’s far more clever than most people realize,” she added with a note of genuine fondness. “I had struggled to put aside the memories of those years for all your lives. I only thought my father sought new heirs. It was Antony who saw the correlation to the fertility spells.” She sighed. “Even I have my blind spots.” Cleopatra looked away before continuing, “After my father died, I couldn’t bear the thought of accepting my brother in the same fashion.” A pause. “Leave us now, Alexander.”

  Without hesitation, Alexander stood and left.

  And as the door closed behind him, Cleopatra murmured, “Do you understand what you must do, Caesarion?”

  Caesarion dropped the cup that he’d turned to useless metal. “Mother, you just summarized all the reasons I can’t do what you think I need to do.” Horror coursed through him. “You want me to marry Eurydice. Who’s the same age now, as when you became queen of Egypt. When your father—” Caesarion swallowed, and couldn’t finish the sentence for the rage and bile that choked him.

  “My age didn’t signify,” Cleopatra told him bluntly. “Cicero, that dear old man revered by most of Rome, divorced his wife Terentia after she committed adultery after twenty years of marriage. He needed to repay her dowry, so at the age of sixty, he married Publilia, to whom he’d stood as guardian. She was then no older than Eurydice is now. And was scarcely sixteen when he divorced her in turn for her total lack of concern or basic empathy when his daughter died.” Cleopatra sat back, her eyebrows faintly raised. “You are six years older than your sister. Not forty-six. And I cannot count the number of pregnant wives of Senators I’ve seen this year who are all under the age of eighteen.”

  Caesarion spluttered at this plain speaking. This is not at all what I expected to hear on Matronalia, he thought. “Fine. Cast aside the issue of age. Women of Rome marry at her age all the time.” He exhaled. “You yourself said that you couldn’t bear the thought of being touched by your brother. What makes you think that Eurydice will be any less repelled, Mother?” I won’t lose her. I won’t have her fleeing my house, terrified and alone, seeking marriage with some stranger, rather than stay where she doesn’t feel safe. I can’t do that. “Don’t you think she might show a little of your spirit, Mother, and have herself wrapped up in a carpet and delivered to someone else’s house? This one, for instance. Antyllus has certainly made his interest clear.” That shouldn’t irritate me as much as it does.

  Cleopatra’s lips thinned. “The circumstances are entirely different for me, than they are for you and Eurydice, my son. I’d been raped nightly for three years. Eurydice is untouched. My brother? He wasn’t as fat as my father, but that was surely only a matter of time. He also couldn’t close his mouth when he breathed, and lisped due to a deformation in his palate. He was also several years my junior, and was sufficiently stupid that his various favorites manipulated him easily. Frankly, I’m not sure he knew what his cock was for. By all accounts, he preferred to be on the receiving end of such attentions. ” Her expression had become a mask of distaste. “You are none of those things, Caesarion. And besides which,” her expression turned sly, “you love her.”

  Caesarion looked at his hands. “Even if all of that is true,” he said slowly, “how do I explain to them,” and he gestured towards the window, at all of Rome, “that I plan to marry my sister? Romans have strong feelings about incest. And kings. At the moment, I’m merely a dictator for life, like my father. They feel that they can revoke that title—and some of them would like to revoke it in blood. Marrying my sister would be the act of some eastern potentate. Some barbarian despot, and no true son of Rome.” His breath caught in his chest, burning there. “I have two provinces in rebellion, just for being the son of Rome’s favorite general, the god-born of Rome’s favorite god, half-Egyptian, and merely looking like the start of a hereditary monarchy. I’d lose Rome itself if I married her. They’d consider me an infamis. Worse than an actor, worse than a slave, worse than a man who takes it up the ass. The plebeians would burn the Julii villa to the ground, whipped up by people like Rullus, and maybe even Agrippa.”

  Cleopatra closed her eyes, nodding. “I know,” she said, her voice unsteady for the first time. “And yet, if you do not? Egypt falls. Becomes a backwater, where its people will crouch in mud huts in the shadow of crumbling pyramids. Where rich grain and gold come no longer from its earth, but poverty and suffering. And in time? Rome may well share Egypt’s fate.”

  Feeling as if he’d been thrown up into the air, with no assurance of a shield below to break his fall, Caesarion took his leave of his mother, and walked beside Alexander in deep silence back to the Julii villa. “Do you suppose,” Alexander said, once they were close to home, “that you could order our grandfather’s tomb dug up, and his sarcophagus tossed in the Nile? I’d like to disrupt his eternal rest.”

  “Tempting,” Caesarion agreed tightly. “However, the Egyptians feel rather strongly about their tombs. I don’t need riots in Alexandria right now.” I’ll just have riots here in Rome if I do what needs to be done. The entire Empire’s going to go up in flames.

  Alexander gave him a sidelong look at the door of the villa. “Want my opinion? Or should I keep my mouth shut?”

  “Shut, please. My head’s swirling enough as is.”

  The sights and sounds of normalcy here—Octavia nearly in tears in the kitchen, nursing a burned hand, at which Alexander sighed and went to go tend. Tiberius and Drusus had beaten them back to the villa, and Tiberius wore an expression like a thundercloud once more, and even Drusus looked downcast. Selene playing her lyre in a corner of the atrium near the two Claudii brothers, clearly wanting to make them feel better. And Eurydice, running from kitchen to the tables in the atrium, bringing food to the tables around which their servants were seated for the feast. “Oh, thank the gods, you’re back,” she said, smiling at Caesarion and Alexander. “Now we can all finally eat.”

  Once the servants—and their new guests—had finished eating, and the nobles of the house had made their sole meal of the day of the leftovers, they all worked as scullions for a while, cleaning the trenchers, knives, skewers, spoons, and other cooking utensils. “At least it’s not as raucous as Saturnalia,” Alexander told their guests as the servants dispersed to drink and otherwise enjoy their evening of freedom. “That lasts three days now, and quite a few people like wearing masks during it for the thrill of disguise.”

  He’d introduced each visitor to Caesarion before the meal, to avoid having to introduce them to the butler during it. The Hellene woman, a quie
t, timid-appearing mouse, who’d looked decidedly uncomfortable eating in the company of men, had turned out to have the unassuming name of Ianthe . . . and she was a priestess of Hecate. Caesarion had blinked over that information. “I’d expected someone more, ah . . . .”

  “Dramatic?” Alexander supplied. “I’d expected to find a Medea in the backcountry, stewing curses in a cauldron.” He smiled and bowed lightly over Ianthe’s hand. “Instead, Tiberius and I found her. Or rather, she found us.”

  Ianthe’s huge dark eyes lowered to the ground. “My lady reserves curses for those who deserve them,” she whispered. “My primary work for her has been in brewing cures and restoratives. But I can work spells, too. I can cast out spirits, or call them to me. I hope that my skills will prove of assistance to Lady Eurydice’s studies.”

  Caesarion flicked a glance at Alexander. Is she truly that meek?

  And Alexander, behind Ianthe’s head, raised his eyebrows and subtly shook his head no.

  Their second guest proved to be a philosopher and sorcerer from Crete named Kheiron. “We’ve had some good luck in attempting to resurrect the techniques of the ancients. We haven’t quite figured out Archimedes’ ship-burning mirrors yet,” he told them around the dinner table. “But one of my fellows recently found a buried bronze set of armor, inscribed not with pictures, but with words. We suspect that this might be Talos, the bronze watchmen himself. The symbols appear to be some form of enchantment intended to bind a spirit into the frame.” He waved it away, however. “My primary interest doesn’t lie in spirits, however,” he went on, “but in the nature of matter, and how we can affect it. Whether through alchemy or sorcery—the means don’t matter. Everything that is, must react to either in regular and predictable ways . . . except our predictions are so often faulty.”

  The third, to Caesarion’s surprise, turned out to be an olive-skinned Carthaginian from Tyre, with a bushy beard that might have swallowed a sparrow or two in its time. “I’m a scholar of Democritus,” he explained in a booming voice. “I’m fascinated by the notion that if you split every piece of matter, again and again, you’ll eventually come up with the smallest units possible—atoms. Personally, I wonder if every atom is precisely the same. If water, earth, and air have different atoms. If fire even has atoms.” He spread his hands. “I wonder too much. So I’m something of a peripatetic philosopher, and I go wherever they’re willing to pay me to teach.”

  Eurydice sparkled, asking each of her guests questions, in between being called by this servant or that to refill their cups. Caesarion would have found the inversions of Matronalia far more amusing, if he didn’t have so damned much on his mind. He couldn’t get into the spirit of it—and even when the butler chided him for souring the wine in the cups with his dark expressions, he couldn’t laugh.

  Finally, finally, the feast had ended. And Caesarion made his way to his study to stew for an hour or so, staring into the coals of the brazier there, and ignoring the hooting and shouting of the reveling servants as best he could. My personal desires, he thought tiredly, and the long-term interests of the Empire are remarkably similar. However, the political reality is not. And none of that really helps. He unhooked the second leather pouch from his belt and sighed. I bought this, not knowing when or if I could ever offer it to her, and have it accepted. If I’m lucky . . . this conversation might even go well.

  Tapping on Eurydice’s door, he called through it, “It’s me. May I come in?”

  Eurydice, confused, answered, pulling a shawl around her shoulders. Caesarion looked tired tonight, and wore the frown that seemed to have graven itself permanently onto his face. “Is something wrong?” she asked immediately, backing away to allow him entrance.

  Caesarion didn’t answer at first. Just stepped through, letting her close the door behind him. And for a long moment, they just stood where they were, not speaking.

  At last, he exhaled. “I have to apologize,” he told her simply. “You’ve taken the work of entertaining ambassadors and senators and everyone on your shoulders, and done a wonderful job of it these past six months.” He caught one of her hands in his, squeezing it lightly. “You’ve attended to the education of Selene and our young guests when I haven’t had the time to deal with meeting with pedagogues. You’ve corrected Selene’s attitude wonderfully, as well.” He exhaled again, and went on doggedly, “When you’re indisposed, and not at dinner, there’s a gap there like a missing tooth. It makes me not feel like talking with our guests. Or eating, really.”

  Eurydice blinked. She hadn’t missed a family meal in several weeks, though she tended to avoid the dining area during her moon-time. “I’m sorry—” she began automatically.

  “Don’t be sorry,” Caesarion told her. “I’m apologizing to you. You’ve done all the work of a wife, and I haven’t thanked you for it.” His thumb rubbed the back of her hand gently, and warmth welled up in her, making her giddy as his frown faded, becoming a hint of a rueful smile. “All this, while learning to ride and improving your magic and being our eyes in the city.” He released her hand for a moment, opening the leather pouch he held and extracting an item from inside it. “This is to thank you for acting as matron of this house,” he told her gently, setting the pouch aside for the moment, and spilling the gift into her hand.

  Gold, blue glass, and emeralds. A necklace fit for a queen. Eurydice stared at it, wide-eyed. “It’s beautiful,” she told him earnestly. “Thank you! I’ll wear it with great joy.” This is better than great-aunt Julia’s jewels, she thought. This is something he chose to give me, himself. A little laugh as he clasped it around her throat, and then stood behind her, his hands still warm on her shoulders. “You’re honoring me as much as if I were your wife,” she teased. And then her throat closed on the words, and she turned her face to the side, closing her eyes. Oh, gods. He just said as much. I’ve taken on every duty that a wife would. And I love him so very much. But love has nothing to do with marriage. And Alexander’s wrong. I’ve seen no signs of Caesarion loving me, not in all these months.

  And in that moment, with her head tilted to the side, exposing the side of her throat, her skin gilded by the lamplight, and truly alone for the first time in what felt like forever, Caesarion’s will faltered, and he leaned forward, hands still on her shoulders. And nuzzled her just under her ear. A sweet, soft, and very unbrotherly kiss.

  Eurydice sucked in a breath, but didn’t move. Didn’t dare do more than stand still, afraid that if she spoke or shifted, that the moment would end. Let time cease to exist, she thought dimly. Let it just end now, and let this moment exist forever.

  Encouraged by the fact that she hadn’t pulled away, Caesarion closed his eyes and kissed his way down her throat to where the necklace glittered in the low light. Felt her sigh a little, and then she shifted, turning towards him as he released the loose grip of his hands. This is where it ends, he thought, opening his eyes and bracing himself. This is where the trust between us is broken . . . or prophecy becomes reality, and I take the steps that will remove her from my life by a different path. “I love you,” Caesarion told her as her wide eyes met his. He’d been trying not to say the words for so long, that they felt like caltrops, lodged in his throat, refusing to leave his lips at first. “I’ve been fighting it for so long.” He caught her face in his hands, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs. “By every Roman standard, it’s wrong, but I do—”

  Eurydice closed her eyes in the sweetest relief she’d ever known. And then lifted herself on tiptoes, intending to press a kiss on his cheek, but he turned in surprise, and their lips met instead. A shock of sensation, and her eyes flew open. A muffled sound from him, almost a groan, and his hands tightened on her face and his fingers dug a little more into her hair, but he kept the kiss sweet and light, pulling back with naked concern in his eyes. “Eagle,” Eurydice whispered. “Aquilus.”

  And whispering the Name that the house-spirit had given him, months after his own legionnaires had, Caesarion felt the tug of it
once more. “Accipitra,” he whispered in return, against her ear, giving the word for hawk an unusual feminine ending. “My hawk.” Dazed, he kissed her again, having half-expected revulsion and fear, but finding only a fire that matched his own. Oh, gods. This feels right. This feels like when she touched her mind to mine outside the baths. Without regard for rational thought, his hands had already drifted down, pulling her against the length of his body. Curves matching planes, and he realized, dimly, that he’d backed her up so that her knees had just landed against the edge of her sleeping couch. His hands dropped lower, kneading against her lower back, and she arched against that support. Opening her mind to his, even as she instinctively offered her body. Slowly sliding backwards, and he followed her onto the softness of the bed. Tongues meeting. Shocked inhalation from her, and then he settled his weight atop her—

  Stop, Caesarion thought dimly. Stop now. Before you completely dishonor her.

  It took an effort, but he managed to pull his lips away from hers. Managed to make himself pull back and just sit beside her on the bed, dazed. “Why?” Eurydice almost cried, her voice filled with so much longing that it hurt him to hear. “Why did you stop?”

  “Because if I don’t stop now, in less than a minute, you won’t be a virgin anymore,” he snapped, trying to tamp down on the urgency burning in him. “Gods damn it. And not two weeks ago, I personally slapped your hand with a thong at the Lupercalia. If that doesn’t ensure fertility, I don’t know what does, and I don’t want this to end!” That was a shout, not caring for once if anyone else heard him. He caught her hand in his so tightly he thought he heard the bones creak. “If we take this path . . . and there is nothing at the moment that I want more! . . . then inevitably, I will lose you. And if I get you pregnant now, it ends that much faster.” He turned his face aside, realizing that this was at least half the reason he’d resisted the dreams and his own desires for so long. “You know it’s true,” he added harshly. “I want nothing more in this world than to make you mine. Marry you. But Rome will never stand for it. And eventually, that will mean sending you away. For your own safety and for the good of the Senate and the people of Rome.” He felt like spitting those words, and lay back beside her, ardor cooling.