Cleopatra's Secret: Keepers of the LIght

by LYDIA STORM

  He pulled away slightly and gazed up at her.

  How large his eyes looked in his poor fever ravaged face.

  He was still so weak, but there was worry written across his sunken features. “Mother, I don't want to see any more.”

  His words tore at her heartstrings. She also longed to be plagued no longer with visions of doom. “I know, sweetheart.”

  He shifted a moment and seemed to be considering something, then asked, “If I didn't see things anymore, would you still love me?”

  The question caught her off guard and she studied his little face. She must be careful with him now. His emotions and psyche were still very delicate and Anubis, the Jackal God, not so very far away. “My darling, your visions are a gift from the Gods and part of your royal birthright, but I would love you no matter what. Never doubt it.”

  He seemed relieved and relaxed back in her arms again. “Then I won't let them come anymore.”

  She did not know how to reply. So she simply laid him back in bed and kissed his forehead tenderly. “Sleep now, little falcon.”

  Closing his eyes he drifted off easily. She stood and watched him for a moment. He would be all right, for now.

  Her whole body ached with exhaustion. She had hardly slept in over a week and all the other duties she had pushed away during Caesarion's illness crowded her brain.

  Charmion led Cleopatra to her chamber. With gratitude she allowed her companion to remove her linen tunic and unbind her hair before she collapsed into bed. She pulled the sheet over her and closed her eyes, but to her frustration, found she could not sleep.

  Thoughts of Antony and the warnings of Caesar’s spirit came rushing at her. She had sent her swiftest messengers after his boat to bring him back, but there had been no word at all. Caesarion said he wished to give up his visions. At this moment so did she. What good did it do to see every defeat before it came? With all her knowledge, she had not been able to save Caesar and her beloved child had been so terrified of the visions he saw it nearly killed him.

  She rolled over and squeezed her eyes shut. She would think no more of Antony, Rome, or the fate of her kingdom. She must, like her son, shut her mind to this unsought knowledge for just a little while or go crazy. Let her messengers bring their news when they would. For now she must simply sleep.

  Willfully she shut down her mind to everything but the soft singsong of the waves sloshing against the palace walls. The bone deep exhaustion took over and she drifted off.

  ***

  Cleopatra awoke in the barren hour of the night, the clamminess of sweat-drenched sheets and a nauseous feeling in the pit of her stomach rousing her. Terror gripped her. Images came.

  A fair girl dressed in the scarlet veil of a bride, the emblem of an eagle torn in half, Antony with his back to her, his eyes vacant and lifeless, as if his soul had been siphoned from his large frame and some other spirit had taken hold of his flesh––

  She buried her head beneath her damp pillow and forced the visions from her brain. Let them retreat to the etheric regions from which they came. She would not have them!

  Cleopatra returned to the darkness of unconscious sleep, black and dreamless, where no precognitions could haunt her, no night terror torment her restful hours. She fell back into the void and did not rise again until well after her usual hour the next morning, her vision forgotten amidst the stream of sunshine pouring in her chamber window and the smell of sweet rosewater rising from a steaming tub Charmion had just finished filling for her to rinse away the stale odor of sweat which still clung to her skin.

  As Cleopatra peeled off her sticky linens, Iris entered with a pale yellow silk tunic draped carefully over her arm. She held up the garment for Cleopatra’s inspection.

  “Is this to your liking, Queen of Heaven?”

  Cleopatra found herself looking more at her attendant’s pale cheeks and the dark shadows beneath her eyes than the robe. “Iris, are you well? You look exhausted.”

  Her attendant fastened her eyes to the floor as she answered. “We are all, I think, tired with worrying for the Son of Osiris.”

  Cleopatra caught fear in the timber of Iris’s voice and a spark of her vision from the night before struggled to emerge into her consciousness.

  A scarlet veil fluttered.

  But she resolutely pushed the cloudy image from her mind, and climbed into the bath, turned on the bronze faucet full force and dumped her head under the gushing water allowing the sensation to block out her sight. She was not ready for visions.

  Not yet.

  CHAPTER TEN

  A chill November wind swept across the Nova Via as Octavian’s younger sister, Octavia, followed the steep road leading up the Palatine Hill. She pulled her woolen mantle closer around her shoulders as she quickened her pace, hurrying towards the newly constructed fortress she shared with her brother.

  It would not do to keep Octavian waiting. If with all the urgent matters before him, he had bothered to send a messenger dashing after her as she threaded her way through the market stalls at the Forum, whatever he wanted must be important.

  She silently prayed she had done nothing to bring down his anger upon her.

  Octavia shivered as another stronger gust of wind caught at her skirts. Already the leaves on the oaks had turned brown and begun to decay upon the flint paving stones beneath her feet. Summer had abruptly come to an end and the brooding gray skies forecasted an early winter.

  Though she moved as quickly as she could along the crowded via, Octavia remembered to keep her eyes cast down, as any modest Roman maiden should when she was out in the public streets, and her attendants shadowed her every step.

  When they had first taken up residence at the Palatine, Octavian had made her position quite clear to her. “You must be the guiding star for all Roman women. If only we can convince Rome’s females to use you as their model, I would not have so much trouble with them at every turn. Always I’m faced with some plotting ambitious harlot trying to sell her gaudy wares for money and titles. You must remember there is only you to set an example of obedient, modest womanhood to these wretches. It’s your duty to Rome.”

  Octavia took her brother’s words to heart. In an effort to set the highest possible example, she was on constant watch to make sure her behavior was always correct, her clothes properly simple, her manner humble and subservient to her betters.

  As she hurried through the gates of her palatial home, Octavia looked up at the sturdy stone arches towering a dizzying five stories high. The feeling of being slightly overwhelmed at the scale of the Palatine had not eased during her time in residence there. It had not been so long ago that she lived in a modest villa with her plebian parents. Still, though Octavian's pink Carrara palace was magnificent to look at, her life within its walls was not very different from the one she had before her brother’s transformation into the most powerful man in Rome.

  She continued on in her simple sheltered life of austerity. In truth, Octavia had never so much as heard of many of the delicacies which graced the banquet table at Alexandria and she was kept too busy with her needlework and household management to spend much time dreaming of anything more extravagant than perhaps a new silk handkerchief or some sweet smelling lilies to adorn her small bedchamber.

  As for the rumors jealous people spread of her brother’s cruelty, or unjust behavior, she was not one to listen to idle gossip. Though Octavian was stern with her at times, she knew a good guardian must be if he truly cared for his charge.

  And now perhaps she had done something to displease him.

  She bit her lip, trying to quell the gnawing anxiety and quickly pushed open the ivory-inlaid doors.

  Her old duana, Crescentia, was waiting for her. Slipping the mantle from her shoulders, the nursemaid clucked over Octavia, straightening the folds of her stolla as she lovingly pushed her charge forward. “You must hurry! Caesar is waiting for you!”

  A fresh twinge of nervousness went through Octavia. “He is not
displeased with me?”

  The fat dark woman, who had been her nurse since childhood, smiled dispelling Octavia's fears. “Quite the opposite, tibi. I think he has great news for you!” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “But do not let on. Go as quick as you can and you'll hear soon enough!”

  Octavia hurriedly pulled a few strands of golden hair, which had escaped their pins, neatly back into place and made sure the dust from the streets had not stained the immaculate whiteness of her stolla, then made her way into the study where her brother spent most of his time.

  As the room was not a public one, it was bereft of anything but the most essential furniture. Octavian was pacing the floor, his sunny beauty standing out in contrast to his gruff burly companion, Agrippa. From the large map rolled out before them, she gathered they had been plotting strategy.

  A bright smile lit up Octavian’s face as she entered.

  “Dearest,” he took her paternally by the shoulders and sat her down on a hard wooden bench. “I have happy news for you today. Though it means a personal sacrifice for me. My one pleasure has been sharing your company here. So few people understand me.” He gazed down at her with real affection. “But you see me for who I truly am. When I see myself reflected in your eyes, I know that I’m a good man, who is forced sometimes to take drastic measures to mold Rome into the great empire I would have her be.”

  Octavia smiled shyly at his praise and murmured, “I do only what you yourself have taught me.”

  “Indeed.” He sounded more pleased than ever. “Well, I will not keep the news from you any longer.” He knelt, and taking her hands between his palms, looked straight into those blue pools which mirrored his own. “How would you like to be married to the greatest man in Rome––after myself of course?”

  Octavia could not suppress a little frown of dismay. She had always known one day she would have to leave her home and marry. But the stories she heard of the depravities Roman men required of their women behind the closed doors of their bedchambers sent a nervous twitch through her body. Secretly, she had hoped instead she might be permitted to enter the service of the Vestal Virgins. Or become a priestess in the temple of Apollo, where she needn’t do wifely service to any man.

  She fidgeted with the neatly pressed folds of her skirt trying to smooth it over her knees as she avoided Octavian’s stare.

  “Would that not please you, Octavia?” asked her brother, a slight edge creeping into his voice.

  She quickly forced a smile to her lips. “I am pleased to do anything that you require.”

  Octavian rose and began straightening the map on the table. “I can tell you are not pleased, though it’s to your credit you say you are. But perhaps if you knew the tremendous service it would do me, and Rome, to marry the man I have chosen for you, your feelings would change.”

  Octavia could feel her toes and fingers tingling with anxiety as she waited for the ax to fall. She could think of no man in Rome it would please her to marry.

  “The man I have in mind is none other than the handsome and brave Mark Antony. Half the women in Rome would give their eyeteeth for one night with him!” Octavian leaned forward and looked at her intently, his cold eyes penetrating straight through her. “A marriage to him would seal an alliance between us that would ensure the future peace and prosperity of the Republic. Imagine Rome united, all thanks to you.”

  “But Octavian!” She was so shocked she forgot her gentle upbringing for a moment. “Even I know Lord Antony is in love with Queen Cleopatra! It’s the scandal of Rome!”

  “And who better to squelch this scandal than you?” asked her brother urgently. “Who better to bring dignity back to Antony and our Republic? I promise you, already he has left his Alexandrian whore, filled with remorse. He’s to meet us in Greece on the shore of Brundisium, where we will make a treaty for peace. He doesn’t love Cleopatra any more than the prostitutes who serviced him a hundred times before. I know the devotion of a chaste Roman woman would return his senses and make a man of him such as we have not seen in many years.”

  “But…” she stammered, “I am nothing compared to Cleopatra. She’s the most famously beautiful woman alive.”

  Octavian came to her side, pressing a reassuring hand on her shoulder and fondly curled a lock of her fair hair around his finger. “I admire your modesty, but you do not realize how very lovely you are, Octavia. You are more than a match for her. One hour in your gentle company and Antony will forget he ever knew Cleopatra.”

  The color crept into her cheeks at his compliment and she cast her eyes down embarrassed.

  “Don’t you think,” he continued, “with your virtue and your beauty, you could make a happy marriage with Mark Antony?”

  Octavian looked imploringly at his sister as she sat digesting his words.

  “If it’s true Antony no longer loves Queen Cleopatra, perhaps we might become fond of each other…in time.”

  Though she did not wish to admit it, even she had occasion in the past to feel the charm of the charismatic Roman general. His heroism and handsome face could win the heart of any woman, and she was after all human.

  “I can see by your expression you grow more pleased by my idea.” Octavian smiled and the tense lines of his shoulders seemed to relax.

  “It’s true that any woman would be pleased to have Lord Antony for a husband,” she replied demurely. “Only...as long as he truly does not harbor any attachment to Queen Cleopatra?”

  “Have no fear,” reassured Octavian. “Her eastern magic is no proof against Roman decency.”

  But an unwelcome new thought arose in her mind and her cheeks burned. How could she ever hope to please a man such as Antony, who had romped in the bed of the most exotic and erotically sophisticated woman in the world? And even if she could fulfill him, he was famous for his voracious sensual appetite.

  What would he expect from her?

  Still, she forced herself from constant habit to look at the bright side. She might soon be with child and then he would leave her in peace. A sweet baby to love and care for would be a great joy.

  “What must I do to prepare?” she asked.

  “We’ll leave almost immediately for Brundisium.” said Octavian. “Tomorrow we’ll go to the temple of Apollo and make the necessary sacrifices and the day after set sail.”

  “So soon?”

  Octavian glanced towards his silent legionnaire, Agrippa, and caught his eye for a moment. “If we are to avoid another civil war, time is of the essence, my dear.”

  “I understand,” she replied, her head spinning.

  “Very well. You may go now,” said her brother.

  Her hand was on the door, when Octavian touched her elbow.

  She turned to look at him. He seemed almost nervous, shifting his eyes away from hers as he spoke. “Octavia...I know you did not wish to marry. You are so pure and refined. Perhaps the life of a temple virgin would have suited you better…this marriage may have its difficult moments, but know that you are serving Rome and your act will not be forgotten.” His expression was almost pleading.

  Had she just made a terrible mistake?

  Octavia nodded. “Yes brother.”

  She bowed her head and her skirt whispered against the floor as she passed out of the room.

  After the door closed behind Octavia, and the men felt certain she was out of earshot, Agrippa, who had stood quietly by, his great tree trunk arms crossed over his leather breastplate, spoke up.

  “Caesar, forgive me, but surely you realize Antony has not forgotten Cleopatra and perhaps never will. Once a man is poisoned with that witch, he never gets her out of his blood again. Why even Julius Caesar himself–”

  “That’s enough, Agrippa.” Octavian’s pale eyes glittering dangerously. “Do you think I’m a fool?”

  “No, Caesar, I only thought if this marriage takes place and then afterwards if Antony cannot get Cleopatra out of his heart, he will return to her and Octavia will be disgraced. Rome will have no ch
oice but to declare war on Antony and the East.”

  “You are an astute man. That’s why I favor you with so many titles and honors,” observed Octavian coolly.

  “But, but...surely you wouldn’t use your own sister as a pawn to defame Antony?”

  “She is ready to serve Rome, just as we all are,” snapped Octavian. “When one is above the rest of the world certain sacrifices must be made.” He smoothed the map with his palms, straightening the corners to make them even with the table. “I know my sister will not regret her choice to be a part of creating the glory of Rome.”

  Agrippa’s cheeks had turned purple and he lunged forward into Octavian’s face. “Is it Rome's glory you seek, or your own, Octavian?”

  Slowly Octavian lifted his head to look the giant of a man dead in the eye. “You will address me as Caesar.”

  “No! Caesar would not have been capable of this!”

  “Indeed?” Octavian toyed with the model warships resting on the map. “Perhaps that’s why he was never crowned Emperor. Tell me, Agrippa, would you rather be the friend of the Emperor, or his sworn enemy? The Gemonian Steps run bloody with the traitors I have crucified. Is it your desire to join them?”

  The legionnaire glowered at Octavian for a moment, balling his great paws into white-knuckled fists, then looked down at his feet. “I did not mean to question your loyalty to Rome...Caesar.”

  “It will serve you well to remember that. I won’t be this tolerant again. It’s only because I know you spoke out of sincere affection for my family that I choose to disregard your outburst. You are dismissed.”

  Stuffing down his rage, Agrippa hastily struck his heart with his fist and marched from the room. The door closed with a loud thud behind him.

  Octavian stood still for a moment, every muscle in his body tensed with pent up anger. Was there no other way to accomplish his plan? His quick brain fired, spinning one scenario after another, but no other scheme would ensnare Antony so perfectly.