by LYDIA STORM
Iris would have turned to run, but her knees gave way beneath her, and she found herself once more kneeling at her Queen's feet.
“You are all dismissed.” The voice of the Goddess filled the hall. “All but you, Iris.”
The courtiers quickly emptied the hall, bowing and muttering invocations of blessing as they left, but Apollodorus remained by Cleopatra’s side.
She turned her flashing eyes on him. “You must go too, Apollodorus. I wish to be alone with this child.”
“Yes, Queen of Heaven.” The old priest reverently backed from the room with his head bowed.
Iris’s eyes darted nervously around the empty court. The golden hall seemed impossibly large without people in it and she felt exposed and vulnerable in the cavernous space. Finally, she summoned the courage to look upon the face of the Goddess seated on the throne above her.
“My, my Queen...” she stammered, but Iris was so awed by the immortal presence she could not continue.
Cleopatra’s jade eyes clouded over and a dreamy expression crossed her face. “Nephthys,” came the low melodious voice. “Sister, you have worked dark magic.”
Iris did not know if the Queen spoke to her, or not, but she must voice her crime. She must speak it or let it putrefy her soul forever in the underworld.
“I have done as you say, Lady. I have cast spells to bind Antony to me and I have lain with him disguised as you...and…and,” she faltered, too terrified to go on. But then somehow she found herself continuing her confession, though she watched herself, as if from outside of her own body, and her voice sounded strange in her ears. “I have unleashed a great darkness. Two nights past, Antony consummated his marriage to the lady Octavia in Rome.”
With a rush of breath, suddenly Iris was back in herself. Feeling strangely hollow and spent, she sat with her head bowed, now that the truth was out, not daring to breathe as she awaited her sentence. “Let death come quickly,” she prayed, closing her eyes and once more pressing her forehead to the floor.
But the death sentence did not come. Nothing did. The hall was filled with silence.
Timidly, she peeked up to see a rosy light pouring from Cleopatra, her serene expression emanating love as the Queen knelt down and took the girl’s clammy hands in her own.
At the Goddess’s touch, strength and love poured into Iris, erasing the tangle of fear.
“Iris, you are forgiven.”
Iris gaped in shock. “Queen of Heaven, you don’t understand!”
“It is you who do not understand,” replied the Goddess with a radiant smile. “No mortal fully knows my ways. I was here at the beginning of time and know all until the end. From your limited viewpoint, you cannot hope to fathom even a sliver of my truth. You have dedicated your service to my dark sister, Nephthys. You are now a Keeper Of The Darkness. Serve her well and you serve me too.”
The Goddess pressed a warm kiss on Iris’s brow, sending waves of peace through her mind.
Speechless, Iris stared at Cleopatra as the divine light radiating from the Queen dimmed and slowly faded into the ethers.
Cleopatra sat blinking, her body fell limp against the back of the throne as she returned to herself.
Penitent tears slid down Iris’s face. “My lady––”
Iris jumped as the wide doors to the hall were thrown open and Apollodorus rushed in.
“Cleopatra, forgive me,” said the priest, his usually calm fathomless eyes wide with emotion, “but a courier from Rome has just arrived. He sends word that Antony has signed a treaty with Octavian.” He paused and took a step closer to the throne, his tone becoming more gentle. “To seal the bargain, he has married Octavian’s sister.”
Cleopatra's face turned to ash. The crook and flail, her sacred symbols of divine rulership, slipped from her fingers and bounced clumsily to the floor. Gripping the arm of her throne, she began to rise.
“This cannot be…”
But before Iris or Apollodorus could reach her, Cleopatra’s grasp on the throne faltered. She reached out to a nearby pylon for support, but it was too late, her eyes slid back in her head, her knees buckled and she collapsed to the ground unconscious, her golden robes fanning out around her limp body.
Apollodorus rushed to Cleopatra’s side, feeling for her pulse. He held his hand over her body, deep concentration written across his old face as he slowly moved up the length of her, reading her ka, until he paused just above her belly.
“Call the pharaoh’s surgeons.” His wide all-seeing eyes bored into Iris’s for a moment. “She doesn’t yet know it, has not allowed herself to know it, but the Queen carries Antony’s twins in her womb.”
Iris opened her mouth to speak, but Apollodorus roared, “Fetch the surgeons!”
Iris sprang to her feet and ran from the hall. The last sight that met her eyes before the golden doors closed behind her, was the old priest kneeling at the foot of the throne praying fervently over Cleopatra’s pale motionless body.
BOOK II
“Reverently we stepped in spirit within the temple of Isis; to lift aside the veil of “the one that is and was and shall be”.
–– H.P. Blavatsky
CHAPTER ONE
Winter gloom hung over Rome. It was gray and cold as the hazy sun, soft and dim as a muted pearl, struggled to break through a blanket of clouds for a few brief hours. The meager afternoon light gave little warmth or illumination to Octavia’s chamber as she sat with her daughter perched snugly in her lap. Shivering, she drew her mantle more securely around them before carefully placing the child’s chubby fingers upon the loom, showing her how to weave the wool slowly in and out of its frame.
Antony’s steward approached. His wizen face bore a look of consternation as he glanced back towards the door.
Octavia looked up from her daughter's tangle of thread. “What is it, Maurus?”
The steward hesitated for a moment. “Lady Octavia, Germanicus is here, but Lord Antony gave orders not to be disturbed.”
Octavia felt heat flushing her cheeks. She and the old steward both knew Antony had been alone in his chambers with his wine and those unfathomable scrolls of his since daybreak. When would she cease to feel shame before her own servants?
“Thank you, Maurus, I’ll see Germanicus in the atrium.”
The steward nodded and went to retrieve their visitor.
Octavia pressed her cheek to her daughter’s for a moment. “Antonia darling, you must stay and continue practicing with Crescentia.”
The child, with her charming dimpled cheeks and Antony's deep mahogany curls, slipped reluctantly from her mother’s arms as the old nurse took Octavia’s place at the loom.
Brushing invisible dust from her robes and winding a loose strand of hair more neatly back into its comb, Octavia made her way through the villa in the direction of the atrium. Antony's extravagant taste was responsible for the grandeur of their home, though Octavia would have been happy in less sumptuous surroundings. Like her brother, she preferred spare clean spaces. But as she knew this was the style that would most please her husband, Octavia had commissioned Athenian artists to create brightly colored murals on the plaster walls and filled the villa with costly furnishings and statues from Indus and Persia. Antony had supplied several prize possessions of his own from the shores of Alexandria as well.
Germanicus was already waiting when she arrived in the atrium. Lean and rugged in his uniform, he looked out of place amidst the eastern opulence.
Octavia attempted a smile. “You are welcome, Germanicus. Please sit and rest. I know your duties keep you so often on your feet.”
Germanicus sat stiffly on the edge of a low couch. “It’s always a pleasure to see you, Octavia.”
“Shall I ask the servants to bring some wine and refreshments?”
Germanicus looked at her steadily, his gray eagle eyes seeming to penetrate too
far into her thoughts. “That won’t be necessary, but thank you.” He paused for a moment. “Where’s Antony?�
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Her eyes fastened on her sandaled feet. “We have no secrets from you.” She paused and bit her lip. “Antony is here in his chamber. He’s drunk.”
She raised her eyes and saw the compassion written across the legionnaire’s face. “I’ve tried all I can to help him.” She picked nervously at an errant thread on her tunic, “but he’s in the grip something. He shuts himself up with his obscure mystical texts and pores over them, always with a wine jug in his hand, until he drinks himself unconscious. He’s visited every library, every temple, searching through their archives. He even invited the Roman High Priestess of Isis to come to our villa. He sat with her for hours.” She looked bewildered and frustration creased her brow. “He’s searching for the answer to some mystery.”
Germanicus narrowed his eyes. “Did the priestess help him?”
Octavia shook her head. “I don’t think so. He’s only grown more sullen since her visit and has locked himself in his room again, refusing to come out.”
Germanicus frowned. “What is it he’s looking for?”
“Sometimes late at night, when he’s had too much wine, Antony mumbles to himself about the secret name of God.” Her eyes widened in distress. “Germanicus, I fear for his reason if we don’t do something.”
Germanicus leaned forward, the lines of his face set in a determined frown. “I’ll help you, Octavia. By all the Gods, I swear it.”
She looked grateful, but still twisted her fingers uneasily. “I can’t understand how a man who fought so bravely, and achieved so many great victories, could surrender to a few ancient scrolls and a jug of wine. Or perhaps…” she found the words drying up in her throat and looked away again.
For a moment she thought Germanicus might actually take her hand, but he only said kindly, “You may confide in me.”
Her words came out almost in a whisper. “I know he still mourns for Cleopatra. It’s not proper to say so. But you are our dearest friend and I must speak of it to someone––for Antony's sake. What should we do? I don’t know who to turn to or how to help. I do know, of course, that it’s my own failings that have caused this. If I were a better wife, he would not crave his…his mistress––”
Germanicus’s brow darkened. “You mustn’t blame yourself for that. Any man in his right senses would be honored to have you for his wife. You are so good, so kind and…” he trailed off, looking confused as he began to fiddle with the hilt of his sword.
“At any rate,” he continued in a more businesslike manner, “I think I know how to help Antony. It’s all this messing about with books and priests that have made him lose his spirit. Perhaps the very battles you spoke of can restore new life into him. He’s a general meant for the battlefield, not an acolyte to be wasting his days chasing some God’s words. Let him win glory once more in a conquest, and I assure you, he’ll become his old self again.”
Octavia felt hope for the first time in many seasons. “It would be his salvation to leave here for a while and do service for Rome. But where do you propose to send him?”
“There’s need of a good general in Parthia. As you know, Julius Caesar suffered defeat at the hands of their king. To win a victory over them would be an unparalleled glory and what Antony needs now is a good challenge.”
“But if Caesar failed to the take them, it must be impossible! You can’t want to set him up for defeat?”
“Have no fear,” replied Germanicus. “This is where you may be of some service. If you can persuade your brother to give Antony part of his legions, and make sure he is well equipped before he sets out, the odds will be in his favor.” He paused and his voice softened. “And Octavia, even if he did fall in the heat of battle, could he be any worse than he is now?”
She folded her hands and looked down. It was a grim thought, but death on the battlefield would be more honorable than wasting away one endless day after another in his chamber here in Rome. And if he should be victorious and return home crowned with a laurel wreath parading in a Triumph through packed street of cheering mobs, perhaps at last he would be happy.
She nodded. “Very well. You have my support. You’re the only one with any influence for good on Antony. Use it to compel him to this idea. I’ll speak to my brother and arrange for Octavian to give Antony a portion of his legions for the campaign.”
Germanicus stood, a warm smile crinkling the corners of his sharp gray eyes. “You’re a woman a man would willingly forfeit his life for, Octavia.” He paused and their eyes met.
With a thrill she tried not to analyze, Octavia allowed her gaze to linger for a moment on his, feeling the not unpleasant racing of her heartbeat.
He cleared his throat. “Antony is blessed in his marriage to you. Never doubt it.”
Germanicus looked as if he would say more, but she quickly turned away. “I’ll take you to him now.”
She led him to the door of Antony's room and knocked lightly but there was no reply. Finally, she pushed open the door.
For a moment Octavia caught a glimpse of her husband in the dark untidy chamber. He did not look up from his seat but she could see he was still in his nightclothes, unshaven and on the verge of drunkenness, his head bowed over a crumbling scroll as thin and brown as tea leaves.
Germanicus slipped past her and closed the door quietly behind him.
Antony’s eyes remained fixed on the scroll as his legionary commander entered the chamber. “I’m afraid I am not good company today.” He frowned. “Socrates would have us believe knowledge comes from the recollection of the soul, rather than books and teachers, but my memory seems to be mortally flawed.” His words sounded slurred even to his own ears.
Germanicus came forward and stood in front of Antony with his arms crossed over his leather breastplate. “I’m not here for my own amusement or to discuss philosophy with you, but as a citizen of the Republic who needs aid of her general.”
The ghost of a smile rose up and then faded from Antony’s lips. “I’m afraid I’ve retired from the post. Perhaps Octavian––”
“Octavian is a sickly coward who can no more lead an army than little Antonia. Yet, you would let him take over our Republic and turn it into his own private empire, while you sit here in your chamber chasing demon’s fire or the Gods know what!”
Antony shrugged and took another gulp of wine from the jug grasped in his fist. “Demon’s fire is it?” His eyes grew glassy as if he gazed at worlds beyond this bedchamber. “If only it were that simple,” he mumbled. But pulling himself together, he refocused on his friend, appraising him. “But you’ve never heard The Song, Germanicus. You couldn’t possibly understand.” He took another deep drink of wine and pressed his eyes shut.
Germanicus stepped forward and grasped his friend’s shoulders, forcing Antony to look up. “You speak of songs? How many votes have you attended at the Senate this season? Do you even understand what’s happening? You, of all people, should know what Octavian is capable of and you are the only one who can stop him!”
“Of course I know what he’s up to,” growled Antony, “but what exactly do you propose I do about it? I’m no match for his scheming and plotting. Unless you propose I run my wife's brother through with a broad sword, I’m no help to you.”
Germanicus’s eyes lit up. “It is with your sword that you must defeat him but not by running him through.”
Antony leaned back looking at his legionnaire with narrowed eyes. “Go on.”
“It’s true you might not be able to outwit him. But the citizens have no love for Octavian and you’re still popular. If you were to go to battle for the glory of Rome and then return once more a valiant general of the Republic, it would be a blow to him and your power would increase.”
Antony sat back in brooding silence as his friend pressed on. “The King of Parthia is pushing into our borders. He must be stopped. You could win a great victory there.”
“I haven’t the legions to battle the Parthians and you know it,’ snapped Antony.
“Oc
tavia has agreed to get them for you.”
“Octavia…” Antony laughed bitterly. “And perhaps you’ll conveniently stay here in Rome while I march away to Parthia…to look after my affairs.” He fixed Germanicus with his bleary-eyed gaze. “I don’t blame you. I’ve seen the way you drink her in with your eyes. I may be drunk myself on other things, but I’m not blind…and I know how it is to pine for a woman until there’s nothing left of you.” He clawed his fingers through his shaggy hair.
Germanicus stiffened. “Antony, you have my unfailing loyalty. If you go into battle, I’ll be there at your side, as I’ve always been. I admire Octavia, it’s true, as you would too if you had any sense.”
Antony laughed again at the irony. “Do you think I don’t admire Octavia? That I don’t see all her good qualities? Her exceptional beauty, that somehow leaves me cold?” He shook his head. “Her unceasing kindness and efforts to be a perfect wife only make it worse. If only she would berate me, scream at me, throw something! Why can’t she follow the custom of the rest of Rome's virtuous ladies and take a lover?” he demanded. “But, of course, that’s the last activity which would interest my wife.”
Germanicus's eyes flashed as he fingered his blade. “You do her an injustice––”
Antony, ignored his friend, lost in his own bewilderment. “I’ve tried to please her. I buy her extravagant gifts which she never uses. I treat her with more respect than I’ve ever treated any women, including…at least I gave her Antonia. At least motherhood brings her some true happiness.”
“You have everything you need to be happy too, Antony.”
Antony looked wistfully past Germanicus, as if searching for something in the air around them. “Without the divine light, there can be no happiness.”
Antony caught up the wine jug in his fist for another drink, but Germanicus pulled it from his inebriated grasp. “You won’t find divinity at the bottom of that wine jug––I can promise you that!”