by LYDIA STORM
Caesar’s face became grave and he shook his head. He held out the crook and flail of Egypt––the symbols of the pharaohs. “Your role on the earth has not been played out yet.”
Caesarion looked down at the crook and flail. “I don’t want them. I know they’re not for me.”
Firmly, Caesar pressed them into Caesarion's hands, and then reaching up to remove the wreath of laurel from his own silvered hair, he crowned Caesarion with it. “I seized the power I had. You were born to it. You cannot escape your fate, as I have well learned.”
New hope surged through Caesarion. “Can I defeat Rome then? Will they accept me as their king? Are we to have peace at last?”
“Protect the blood of Egypt. Protect the blood of the Gods,” answered Caesar.
“I will protect my mother until my last breath,” promised Caesarion, “But––”
Caesar shook his head. “No.”
‘I…I don’t understand.” Caesarion glanced at the Jackal who sat as silently mysterious as ever.
Caesar leaned forward and pulled his son into a firm embrace. “I give you my ka, my power and my titles. You are Pharaoh now, Lord Horus.”
Caesarion could feel more strength and vitality flowing through him than he could hold. “But my mother?”
His father pulled back and looked Caesarion dead in the eye. “Leave your mother to the fate the Gods have set for her. It is your mother’s children you must protect.”
“Selene and Alexander?”
But the light around them was so bright now. Caesarion could no longer see anything but the pure golden halo streaming around him. It was filling him, every nerve, every cell of his being until his soul took flame, and the light and Song were all there was. His father, the river and Egypt were forgotten.
Yes! Let him stay here. Let him be this always. He opened his arms and abandoned himself completely to the ecstasies of the light.
***
Dawn broke over the sea of sands, its tender rays washing the limestone of the Pyramids in pale amber hues. As the sun God, Ra, appeared over the horizon, the chanting of the priests rose filling the air with thanks for his radiance and protection. The light aligned itself behind the face of the Sphinx, forming a halo around its ancient stone head, as the royal party emerged from a shrine deep within the belly of the monument to greet the solar God with the rest of the pilgrims.
As Cleopatra took her place on the dais, which had been raised up between the massive paws of the Sphinx, she looked out over the sea of people who had come from all across Egypt to witness the ceremony. Courtiers from Alexandria, their elegant jewels glittering in the sunlight, mixed with peasants in their pristine white linens. Temple priests, their shaved heads and lion skins pinned across their breasts waited solemnly at the sides of the priestesses who stood out in their bold crimson tunics. All of Egypt was here to witness the sacred rites.
Cleopatra felt a nervous twinge in the pit of her stomach. What if Caesarion had not made it back from the Land of the Reeds? She remembered with a shudder the words of the Jackal as he stood over the boy’s sickbed years ago:
“You cannot keep me away forever.”
And Caesarion had never been one to embrace his lineage or his destiny. What if the call of the Song had been too great?
Apollodorus caught her eye. “We would know, if something had befallen Lord Horus,” reassured the High Priest in a quiet voice.
Cleopatra nodded. Of course. She would know. Besides, pharaohs had come to this place since the First Time to perform their ceremonies. The force of the Gods was more powerful here where Ra reigned down in his golden glory to bless the kings and queens of Egypt––they had all made it through the initiation in the tomb. Surely her son would too.
As she and Antony took their twin thrones on the dais to await the coming of the new Pharaoh, she glanced at the position of the sun beating down on them with all its brilliant intensity. A bead of perspirations slid down her back. The moment was now. If Caesarion had returned, resurrected as a God after his three days with the dead, he must come now.
Cleopatra fixed her eyes on the blue desert sky and waited…
She nearly jumped out of her skin, despite all her training, when the heavy stone blocking the entrance to the Great Pyramid fell away revealing only velvet blackness within.
Two birds, a falcon and an eagle, soared out of the darkened chamber into the sunlight. She rose in anticipation, barely daring to breathe.
Antony, sensing her unease, stood too, wrapping a bracing arm around her, as the figure of Caesarion, radiant with the light of the God, emerged from the tomb.
The noisy multitude went silent, in awe of the divine light pouring from their Pharaoh as he took his place on the dais. Cleopatra let out a breath of relief as Caesarion boldly took his seat upon the high throne of the Gods of Egypt.
Apollodorus held the double crowns of Upper and Lower Egypt above Caesarion’s head and called out over the leagues of silent expectant people, speaking in a booming voice that filled the echoing desert.
“Pharaoh is a God among Gods! He has become great in heaven and eminent in the horizon! All hail Lord Horus, Pharaoh Ptolemy XV Caesarion Soter, co-regent of Queen Cleopatra VII, Thea Philopater and Lord Marcus Antonius.”
The crowd let out an earthquake of applause as if the Gods themselves had come down from the heavens to the shake the Pyramids to dust.
Antony rose from his throne at Cleopatra’s side. “As proof of my intentions to preserve this ancient kingdom,” he called out in his experienced orator’s voice, “I give to the new Pharaoh, Ptolemy XV Caesarion, all the lands of the East which are in my holding and which I have so recently conquered in battle, and declare, in the name of Rome, that he is the true and only heir of Julius Caesar! “
“All hail Lord Antony and Queen Cleopatra!” cried Apollodorus raising his hands above his head.
“All hail Antony and Cleopatra!” Thundered the crowd taking up the chant, “Hail to Isis! Hail to Osiris! Hail to Horus!”
The sound of the chanting filled the air as the sun reached his apex shining down hot golden light upon the people of Egypt. Cleopatra felt its power flow through her and courage expanded her heart. With the Gods and her people at back her, surely victory would be theirs. She smiled at Antony who squeezed her hand and raised it up before the crowd.
“Hail the Queen of Heaven!” bellowed the crowd in response.
The chanting sang in Cleopatra’s ears as she settled back in her throne for the remainder of the elaborate ceremony which must take place. Inconspicuously, she turned her head a fraction towards Iris, who stood in the background dressed in her dark robes of Nephthys.
Cleopatra caught her priestess’s eye.
Iris barely nodded and broke from the ceremony, slipping unnoticed amidst the radiance of the living Gods on the dais as she moved away from the crowds.
She glanced over her shoulder to make sure she was unobserved, before passing beneath the carved raven, its wings outstretched over the skulls and bones, and crept down the shadowy stairs hewn from granite blocks into the gloomy shrine of the Dark One, where Iris would perform the forbidden magic her Queen could not.
CHAPTER SIX
Though the sun was blinding in the desert above, here, deep in the earth, it was cool and dim, only a few flickering votives lighting the figure of Nephthys. Iris pressed her brow to the ground before Her, as she had done so many years ago when she called upon the Dark Goddess for the first time to perform her ill-conceived magic.
Taking a pinch of powdered kyphi from the pouch she wore around her neck, she sprinkled it upon the smoking brazier. Closing her eyes, Iris inhaled the smoke deep into her lungs and knelt before the Dark One, settling into silent meditation….
The hours passed as the sun God, Ra, sank deep into the western sky, casting long shadows across Giza.
As the powers of night began to wax, Iris felt herself slipping more deeply into the void. Her ka melting into oneness with the s
tarry desert sky, even as she lived and breathed still in her own body. A shiver ran down her spine as the waning moon rose through her, the silver Goddess moving from the darkness of her sex, up her slender waist to her heart center, until it reached her forehead, sending tingling waves through her brow to radiate magic.
Still deep in trance, she removed a small ebony box from the fold of her mantle. Carefully, she slipped open a slat and placed the box before the altar chanting, “Nephthys, Goddess of Darkness and Nightmares, Lady of Death and Mourning, lend your power to my work!”
From her pouch Iris pulled crushed leaves of black locust, white snakeroot and belladonna. Sprinkling them into the box she whispered, “Lady, breathe your life into these deadly ashes of the earth. Dream a dream to cast down even the mightiest of men, bringing them to their knees in the darkness of your night.”
She blew gently into the box, her light exhalation swirling the poisonous herbs together with the breath of life.
Holding the box high before the altar, she commanded, “Let my spell be done!”
Her voice echoed back to her through the subterranean chamber, its power vibrating in the darkness to weave her magic spell from the shivering ethers.
Allowing her lids to fall heavy over her eyes once more, Iris drifted back into the void, her spirit dissolving into moonlight and the blackness of the night sky. The wind whispered through her hair and she looked down on the silent monuments of the Gods in the desert below her, the Pyramids rising up almost to touch the glimmering stars. The wind caught her up and carried her through the firmament, beyond Egypt, over the churning depths of the ocean, her spirit body as light as the sea breeze, until she looked down over the Seven Hills of Rome and the Palatine Palace.
Dissolving into the moonbeams which spilled across the floor of Octavian’s bedchamber, her naked soul stood before his bedside, shimmering in the darkness, translucent as pearl dust. He lay quietly breathing, unaware of The Keeper Of Darkness staring down at him.
Removing the ebony box from her mantle, she carefully opened the slat. A delicate scorpion emerged, its needle-like venomous stingers making her flesh tingle as it crawled across her open palm. She held the creature to Octavian's ear and gently blew, opening the way for the scorpion to crawl into the narrow passage leading to the dictator’s brain. Octavian's face tensed, but he remained asleep, caught in the grip of the dream Iris incanted in his ear.
“Octavian, if Lord Antony ever reaches you, know he will be the instrument of your death. Know he will tear out your intestines, bit by bit, and feed them to the jackals while you still live. He will leave your rotting corpse in the barren desert for the vultures to feast upon, ignoble, vanquished, forgotten….”
She placed her hands lightly over his fluttering eyelids.
“See it now. See it whenever you close your eyes to dream. By the Lady Nephthys, let it be done!”
Once more she blew softly into his ear to seal the spell before her spirit decomposed back into moonlight and shadows. She left no trace behind but the spectral scorpion waiting in the darkness of Octavian’s mind to unleash its poison and sharp stinging claws.
***
Octavian clutched his head as a bolt of pain shot through his scull. The sound of his own shrieks jarred him into consciousness. He blinked in the darkness. A horrible nightmare and now this blinding pain! He curled into a ball in the corner of his bed hardly able to breathe.
His steward burst into the room. “Caesar, your screams!”
“Get my physician,” Octavian gasped and twisted the coverlet as a fresh surge of pain went through him.
“Yes Caesar.” The steward bolted from the room leaving Octavian alone in the black looming shadows.
If only Octavia were here with her gentle voice and cool soothing hands. “May the Gods curse her and punish her for eternity! ” he thought. “I’ll crush her too for abandoning me! ”
He caught his breath as another searing pain went through his head and the image from his nightmare resurfaced.
Antony stood above him thrusting a sword deep into Octavian’s gut. Octavian watched in horror as his intestines spilled out in a flood of freshly pumping blood and those foul Egyptian creatures, which were not dogs but some creatures of Hades, began to chew on his internal organs as Octavian sank to the ground. He looked to the heavens for mercy, only to see the shadows of evil-looking vultures swarming down on him to rip out his eyes with their sharp beaks and talons.
Octavian buried his head beneath his arms to blot out the nightmare vision….
The dawn arrived, and with the first chirp of birdsong and the brightening of the sky, the pain began to recede. Slowly, he sat up in bed and took a deep breath. It was only a night terror after all. The priest and physician came, but no longer in pain, Octavian waived them away and rose to dress.
As he entered his reception room, Agrippa was awaiting him, a worried look on his giant warrior's face.
“Hail Augustus Caesar,” bellowed Agrippa, striking his heart.
Octavian had taken to the idea of being called Augustus, meaning Holy One. It sounded more imperial, and if he was to be Emperor, he must play the part. Little did he know, the citizens of Rome had also bestowed a new name upon him in honor of the reign of terror he had initiated––The Executioner.
Octavian's cruelty was coming into full flower and senators now held their tongues for fear of being tossed down the Gemonian Steps, where the crumpled bodies of so many of their brethren had been left to die. The healing women were forced to cease their trade or leave Roman territory, for fear of being tied in a sack of live rats and tossed into the Tiber––Octavian's punishment for breaking the new anti-witchcraft laws he had instituted. And lest anyone forget for a moment the fate of those who displeased Augustus, he lined the roads with dying men nailed to crude wooden crosses, their blood dripping into the sand, their eyes rolled back in exquisite pain, the sun beating down on their dying bodies without the hope of a drink of cool water even to ease their agony before they expired.
Octavian took a chair opposite Agrippa. “What news brings you so early with such a worried expression upon your fat face?”
Agrippa swallowed the insult. “Germanicus has arrived in Rome and has seen to the dissolution of Antony's marriage with Octavia.”
“As expected.” Octavian’s eyes gleamed hard as diamonds. “Is that all?”
“No, Augustus. Antony has taken advantage of his freedom to marry Cleopatra. The news arrived with one of my informants last night.”
“Married to that whore?” asked Octavian in delighted surprise. “Well, he certainly didn’t waste any time! Of course, Roman law won’t recognize an Egyptian wedding––the ceremony was Egyptian?”
Agrippa nodded. “It was. There is also this.” He handed Octavian a scroll sealed with the crimson wax insignia of a roaring lion. Octavian broke the seal and unwound the papyrus.
Octavian,
We can no longer avoid a conflict between us. Rome was not destined to be shared. Resign your title as Caesar's heir in deferment to his son and rightful heir, Caesarion, whom we both know Caesar would have claimed as his own. If you refuse, let us not shed the blood of those soldiers who have already fought so valiantly for Rome. Instead, I propose we settle this between us in hand-to-hand combat. I will meet you at any place and hour of your choosing.
—Antony
Octavian smoothly rolled up the scroll and slid the papyrus into the fold of his toga, but a quiver of fear tweaked his gut as his nightmare rose up, a serpentine hydra from unconscious depths. He could feel his skin go clammy for a moment as pain shot through his head like the flash of summer lightning. Then it was gone.
Agrippa stepped forward. “Augustus? Are you well?”
Octavian ran a trembling hand across his brow, as if to wipe away the vision. “Perfectly.” He straightened his toga and adjusted one of the folds at his shoulder. He would certainly not meet Antony in hand-to-hand combat. Still, Octavian didn’t need word of t
his communication getting out to make him look like a coward. “I believe the Senate will be anxious to hear the news of Antony’s treason.”
“Will it be enough to make them declare war? Even now, he still has his supporters.”
Octavian put his fingers to his lips in meditation. “It’s time for the masks of civility to fall. Antony is right. Rome, or the world for that matter, cannot be shared. From this moment on, it must be an open fight to the death between Antony and I, and the senators must choose their sides.”
***
Octavian shook the rain off his cloak as he moved quietly across the marble floor of the Temple of Vesta. More sacred than any other holy place on the Seven Hills, this hearth fire, guarded by the most elite sisterhood of priestesses, was the spiritual heart of Rome.
Octavian’s pale eyes darted around the circular hall to see what the pious virgins would do as he tentatively entered into this place forbidden to any man. Dropping their eyes, the priestesses allowed him to pass, quietly murmuring, “Hail Augustus,” as he made his way to the far end of the temple where the records of all the great families of Rome were kept.
As he made to enter the depository, a young woman with placid brown eyes and the white robes of a maiden, blocked his way. “What brings you to the Temple of Vesta, Augustus?”
Octavian let his cool eyes run the length of her. “It’s none of your concern, Priestess. I merely wish to consult some of the records you guard so securely.”
The priestess eyed him with distrust. “Surely, Augustus knows the scrolls kept in this room are sacred. We have sworn to the Goddess to protect them.”
Octavian smiled, all roses and gold. “I come on official business of the Senate. It’s only one scroll that interests me, after all. I would be much obliged if you’d bring it to me.” He held up a purse of gold, dangling it in her face so the coins clinked together.