Steampunk Cleopatra

by Thaddeus Thomas

  Papyrus 6.30

  The Nile

  The floods returned and brought Amani with them. Teriteqas acted as the lead guide and stood beside Amani at the head of the boat. They waved to the people who lined the lost banks to celebrate their prince and bid farewell to the lady of the books.

  He remained convinced that his dream would come to pass and seemed undisturbed by the horrors that suggested. For Amani to leave Egypt, Cleopatra would have to be dead; that was a possibility she was unwilling to allow. If she did return to Kush, and, assuming they did marry, first his brother and then Teriteqas, himself, would have to die before she could rule as qore and kandake as his dream demanded. Worse than that, their marriage would assume the birth of an heir, and if Amani were to rule alone, what would have become of her child? Finally, if all that were not enough, Roman armies would have entered Egypt, and once it had become their territory, they would have pushed southward, intent on claiming Kush. Teriteqas believed with a calm certainty that all this would come to pass.

  She might have hated him for that assumption, except for the peace with which he faced the necessity of his own death. In the years since she first traveled to Jerusalem, she had come to question what would become of her when she died. Even now, she did not know.

  She had sought to understand from Teriteqas the viewpoint of an educated man of power who also believed. Now she wanted to share with him the one story she truly claimed as her own. Night fell upon the Nile, and they took refuge in an old palace in one of the northern Kushite cities. She told him the tale she once told Cleopatra.

  He listened, enraptured. “Apedemak and Amesemi are gods of the southern peoples and unknown to the Egyptians. The particular tale I've never heard, but it's lovely.”

  “Will I see them when I die?” she asked.

  “What happens to us in the afterlife does not change based on where we live,” he said. “The soul goes to Duat to be judged, and so it must be for all peoples.”

  “Where my heart must be as light as a feather.”

  He studied her face. “That troubles you. Do you fear you'll fail?”

  She saw the concern in his eyes and could not resist touching him. “Shouldn't we all? How can we go through life with no heaviness of heart? No guilt?”

  “What do you think you're guilty of?” he asked.

  She could not answer him.

  “A sensitive soul, no matter how light her heart, will feel its weight. If guilt has hardened that soul, she will feel nothing.”

  “Then how do we know what Osiris's judgment will be?”

  He smiled. “If we could judge ourselves, what need would there be for Osiris?”

  That night, she shared a bed with Iras, who was already asleep when she left Teriteqas and settled in for the night. She slipped beneath the sheet, and for a moment, she imagined she had done so without waking her.

  Iras turned to her. “What are you doing?”

  Amani did not know how to answer.

  “When we get to Swenett, let the rest of us find Cleopatra. You don't belong in Egypt.”

  Amani felt the words just as surely as if they'd hit her in the face. “How can you say that?”

  “He is a prince of our people, and he would have you as his wife if you would let him.”

  Amani said nothing.

  “Do you return for Cleopatra's sake?” Iras asked. “You'd do more good for her as a bridge between countries. When events turn against her, Kush would be a place of refuge.”

  “I can't,” Amani said.

  “Why? Don't you dare tell me again about how you don't love him. No one cares. I need a real reason.”

  “I cannot stay in Kush. I ache to be back.”

  “We are not going home to Alexandria. You know that.”

  “Cleopatra,” Amani whispered.

  Iras looked like she might weep. “You throw all this away because you spent a few nights sleeping with the queen? How do you think she'll repay you? By law, she will have a husband. She will give herself to a man, and she will give him children. What you have cannot last, and the years will only make you irrelevant, a servant like the rest of us. Once, that was as much as we were allowed to dream, but you have a chance for more now. Be a princess of Kush, I beg you. Don't come home.”

  Amani lay still and silent, unable to answer, unable to sleep.

  Papyrus 6.31

  Swenett remained as Amani had left it, one flood to the next, but no word from Cleopatra awaited them. The governor of the city welcomed Teriteqas, as befitting neighboring royalty, but Amani and Iras no longer had any special standing of their own.

  “I had hoped,” the governor whispered, “Cleopatra would have fled to be with you in Kush. Her brother would not follow her there.”

  Amani thanked him for his insight, although she greatly doubted he had any concept of what the pharaoh would or would not do.

  The governor gave Teriteqas the room where Amani had stayed the year before. It felt like such a long time since she had seen it last.

  “Stay,” Teriteqas said. “I would have one more night of wine and laughter before I go.”

  “The moment we entered Egypt, a race began,” Amani said. “I can't spare the night.”

  “He will not harm you, this young pharaoh.”

  “I know,” Amani said. “Your dream.”

  They touched hands. She meant to pull away before the moment could delay her any longer, but he held on.

  He held up the double serpent crown of Pharaoh Tirhakah.

  Amani stared. “Why did you bring that here?”

  “You will see this again, one day. Like you, it represents the union of Egypt and Kush.”

  “It was a dream. That's all it was.” She saw the pain in his eyes and kissed him. “The gods didn't speak to you. I’m sorry.”

  He took a step back, and she fled. Soon, she was back upon her barge and leading the caravan north, to Thebes.

  The Heliopolis of Mantu was smaller than its northern cousin, and the temple of the Buchis cult dominated it. The idea of a war god cult felt out of place along the banks of the peaceful Nile, maybe even more so, now, as the flood engulfed everything not built on man-made islands. The river provided yearly. Planting was easy and its produce bountiful with no greater effort spent on irrigation than the ditches dug to hold floodwaters. If Pharaoh was a god, the gods of Egypt were meant to be like the Nile: calm, peaceful, and benevolent. It seemed fitting to Amani, then, that the name of the war god meant nomad, a desert wanderer, isolated from the civilizing influence of the Nile. Its temple should have been in the wilderness, but the priests wanted comfort.

  She led the procession toward the temple, and Pasherenptah came out to greet them.

  “Be quick to unload your boats,” he said, “and then have men take them down to the harbor at the temple of Amun. Give one your cloak to wear and have them take refuge in the temple. We want them seen. Ptolemy needs to believe that's where you're hiding.”

  “The temple of Amun is awfully close,” Amani said.

  “This is Cleopatra's command.” He hurried back inside.

  Amani gave the orders. The priests and most of the soldiers carried the baggage inside. Iras came alongside Amani as she stood among the columns to watch until the boats pulled away and continued northward.

  “Is she here?” Iras asked.

  “I don't think so.” Amani led the way through the pillared court. She remembered the temple well from the ceremony of the Buchis bull and could picture Cleopatra at every turn. It also brought to mind the temples in which she had worked for the last year.

  Muffled grunts and bellows reached out to them through the temple's empty passageways.

  Iras clung to her. “Where is everyone?”

  Amani followed the sounds to the temple grounds where the bull had predicted the late flood. The sounds were distinct now; it was the vocalizations of camels. “They're preparing a caravan.”

  “We can't be leaving already,” Iras said. “W
e're exhausted and need sleep.”

  “It's too dangerous to stay.”

  “And where's Cleopatra? Where are we going?”

  “I don't know,” Amani said, “but what matters most is getting there, alive.”

  Amani guessed Cleopatra had gone to Syria, and they were to follow her there. She said nothing, in part, because Syria sounded so far away, and she wanted to spare Iras the despair that deepened Amani's exhaustion.

  Papyrus 6.32

  Duat

  In the east, a sea burns. The great sky serpent, Apophis, has arisen to devour Ra. Beneath him, Ammit roars, hungry for another soul. I dread what awaits me, but I continue eastward towards either justification or destruction. High above, Ra charges to meet Apophis, who seeks eternally to destroy him and end the coming of day. The land shakes, and thunder cracks across a cavern as all the lands I ever knew.

  A river runs through the center of Duat. On the northern and southern horizons, the cavern walls rise out of jagged mountains which, themselves, rise out of the sands. As the land moves away from the river and toward the mountains, rock outcroppings become more frequent.

  Something undulates beneath the sand. It tracks my movements and draws closer beneath twisting dunes. I can see the shape of the creature, a lesser serpent than Apophis. At six cubits long, it is large enough to swallow me whole. I have a sense that my journey requires the river, but I turn and run for the rocks.

  The serpent rises out of the sand and calls to me, saying, Our father existed before creation when there was nothing but unity. We seek only to restore what was lost. The gods gave you duality and called it order.

  The rocks are close, but the serpent streaks across the sands like lightning through the sky. I reach the rock and climb. Beneath me, the serpent talks.

  What the gods call chaos is what you long for but cannot name. Without unity, you know only isolation and loneliness. In your heart, you know you are incomplete. We have come to make you whole.

  The serpent strikes, and I feel wind against my ankles. I climb higher until I can rest. The serpent slithers through the sands, watching me.

  Above, the great Apophis opens his mouth wide, like the moon. Below, the lesser serpent moves in circles, like an eddy. Across the sands, I see them in multitudes, undulating ripples beneath the sands, moving west.

  You have no understanding of why you cling to your duality, says the serpent. Your sense of self is bound by what you lack when you could be so much more.

  I look to the east, where Osiris judges and Ammit consumes. If I am to be destroyed, is that any different from what the serpent offers? To return to a unity with all things is the end of existence. It is destruction. Is it not?

  I ask the serpent.

  Ammit? The beast is an agent of order, and order is destruction.

  I nod, thinking I understand. I am filled with the confidence of a drunkard's philosophy. All things are clear before me; all others are incomplete, desolate in their duality.

  I will jump into the serpent's embrace.

  I place my hands upon my thighs. My thighs are wet. My hands are dripping. A thick mucus flows across my tunic and clings to my face.

  Chaos is unity, the serpent says, and I see droplets spray from his mouth, tiny droplets that cling to me like tar. I stumble away. There is nowhere higher I can climb, but though I hear his words, the spray lands where I was sitting. The serpent continues to move in circles, and, when I move further east, it breaks from its eddy and slithers away westward. It cannot follow.

  The light of Ra soon dries away the venom. Clarity returns.

  I must reach the river, but creatures move beneath the sand.

  Papyrus 6.33

  Antioch

  Amani could hear the Orontes river as Syrian soldiers led the caravan across the bridge to Antioch’s island palace. By that evening, she had an open view of the river’s western fork from the palace baths.

  Moonlight alone lit the world, and a kestrel flew in the great arched window. It circled Amani and landed atop the wall between her and the world beyond. It looked away from her to the west, to the land of the dead.

  “Am I here to die?” Amani asked.

  At the soft patter of footsteps, the bird spread its wings and flew away. Amani stood naked and trembling, unable to speak.

  Cleopatra slipped out of her robe and descended the steps. The water met them at the thigh as they embraced.

  “How long have you been here?” Amani asked.

  “I came because I heard your caravan was arriving. The Syrian governor can't offer me official assistance. Whatever support I have, we've picked through the dregs of society to find.”

  “Will it be enough?”

  Cleopatra's lips touched her ear. “It will be now.”

  They collapsed together into the water. Amani ran her fingers through Cleopatra's short hair, feeling the real thing for the first time in their lives.

  “It's been forever.” Amani looked into her eyes. “I thought the floods would never come.”

  “They came right on time.” The statement was rich with meaning. Had the floods come on time the two years before, Egypt would still be hers.

  “I was afraid you might not make it,” Amani said.

  “Philostratos had a plan.”

  “He's here then? And the others?”

  Cleopatra smiled. “As my agent in the palace, he is most likely with my brother’s army. We left Urban in Alexandria. If he survived the first day, he should be safe.”

  “Moira?”

  Cleopatra stroked Amani's cheek and shook her head.

  Amani took a deep breath. “She lived the life of the ancients and treated me well.”

  “The Roman war may soon be over,” Cleopatra said. “Pompey has won a victory against Caesar in Greece, and the time for us to strike against my brother is while they're still distracted.”

  “We're going home?”

  As an answer, Cleopatra kissed her, and Amani held that kiss. They spent the night in Amani's bed, exploring one another. In the morning, Amani woke first and watched Cleopatra as she slept. The sun had not yet risen.

  Papyrus 6.34

  Pelusium

  Many have walked the sands before me, but they left no trace. The war between the Ptolemies delivered them in droves. Nameless men fought and died, both for Cleopatra and her brother. Their souls marched eastward, striving to stand before Osiris and be judged.

  I remember the battlefield, not that my soles ever touched it, not that I ever drew blood.

  I made camp with Ptolemy’s army. The land where we would fight was flat and brown, and our camp covered the protected hills. The city rose out of the distance behind us, and the sea stretched out to the northern horizon. A kestrel flew above the armies, and its screech echoed over the marshland.

  We had more men than Cleopatra and weaponry beyond compare. I begged the gods to tell me why Cleopatra had come; it could not have been for victory.

  When I think of those moments now, I see only dead men.

  Caesar would execute the former tutor, Pothinus, early in the coming siege. Achillas, the commander of the royal guard, led the siege and declared himself pharaoh, but Cleopatra’s sister, Arsinoe, escaped Caesar. Her tutor was Ganymedes. Arsinoe made a show of joining Achillas, only to order Ganymedes to kill him. She gave Ganymedes control of the army and proclaimed herself Pharaoh.

  Years later, even Cleopatra died. Her son, Cesarion, was named pharaoh after her, at least until his tutor lured him back to Alexandria where Octavian had him executed.

  No one survives his own story.

  Theodotus escaped Alexandria and lived another five years until he was found and executed by Brutus, that Brutus whose hands would drip with the blood of Caesar.

  I am reminded again of Amanirenas. She leads her armies from the front and fights alongside her men. They say she lost her eye in combat against the Romans, and, though I wish this were not the case, I believe it.

  If only history
said she had lost her eye to my misguided sword, death might hold some measure of peace.

  Cleopatra led from the back, but none of her earliest casualties were human. She sent in the creations Amani stored in Thebes, machines that moved on their own, and the sight of them as they plunged into battle gave me chills if no hope.

  Ptolemy’s steam-powered machines tore through them, but though Ptolemy’s casualties were small, theirs was the only blood on the field.

  When the last of Cleopatra’s first line fell, another advanced, and arrows rained down on Ptolemy’s position. His men fell back. The arrows opened like a curtain, ushering in the next wave with a precision of timing no human archer could have managed and no human army could have trusted. Ptolemy’s soldiers were off balance and unprepared. Cleopatra’s weaker machines tore into the human operators and littered the field with their dead. In seconds, she had killed them and moved on, requiring no moment to breathe and no thought for the dead.

  For a moment, I dared to hope in a victory for Cleopatra, but Ptolemy had forces in reserve. This next wave charged into battle, and there remained another wave behind them and another wave behind that.

  On Cleopatra’s side, one of Amani's machines ran on two legs like a man. Arcs of fire danced across its shell. It led the attack, having been the first to cut through all that stood before it. The fire upon its shell reached across space, danced along its opponent's machine, and burned the operator alive.

  Ptolemy’s men, operating his machines, saw the horror that befell their brothers and still met the charge. The lead man drove a metal wagon carrying a siege weapon. The driver had no way to shield himself from what came against him, but he never slowed. From the wagon, a weighted pole-arm swung out like a blade of grass caught in a change of wind. Its hammer-like end crashed down upon the fiery runner. It sparked upon the grassy sands and went dark and still.