Octavia told me that I must pretend to struggle, but I doubted I’d have to playact my reluctance if he should try to take me into his arms. Thankfully, Juba reached first for the laces of my sandals, unfastening the ties and dropping each shoe to the floor. I watched him do it, marveling at his grim concentration. When he was done, he shook his head, whispering harshly, “Who are you?”
“You know who I am, Juba. You’re just angry with me for dressing this way.”
“Do you know what you’ve done?” he snapped, rising to his feet. “You made them think of Cleopatra and Caesar!”
Rebellion swelled in my chest. “So what if I did? The world would be a better place if Augustus were more like Julius Caesar.”
Juba whirled to face me. “Are you so naive, Selene? That was a public and political flirtation. You’ll have Rome gossiping that you and Augustus are lovers.”
Now I recoiled, holding back my indignation with one hand pressed to the base of my throat. “Lovers? What an obscene thing to say!”
“It is obscene.” Juba was usually a man of the mildest temperament, but now he glowered. “All my life I’ve fought to prove that I’m no barbarian. I’ve become a scholar, trained as a soldier, and mastered Roman law so that no prejudice might be held against me for my Berber blood. Yet in one night, you’ve soiled my name. How will Rome believe I’m fit to rule a kingdom if I can’t even rule my own wife?”
It was only because I’d also tried to prove myself to the Romans that I started to reassure him, but he held up a hand as if forbidding me to speak. “I can forgive you for humiliating me, Selene. I’ve suffered humiliations before. But how could you do this to Augustus? You and I both came to this city in chains, children of conquered kings and queens, yet he did us the kindness of making us part of his own family.” No, I thought. He kept us hostage. The emperor never did any kindness that wasn’t rooted in some other motive, but Juba left me no room to interrupt his lecture. “How do you repay him? By putting his life in danger!”
At this last accusation, I sputtered. “Just how could I put the emperor’s life in danger?”
“Think, will you? Julius Caesar was assassinated by men who thought he’d been corrupted. He flaunted a foreign queen as his lover and they wondered if he’d destroy the Republic and name himself king. Now there’s a new Caesar and the senators already whisper about how Augustus will destroy the Republic—”
“With good reason,” I interrupted. “But that has nothing to do with me.”
“Gossip doesn’t deal in truth, Selene. Your performance today may have destroyed the reputation of a moral man!” If I’d ever wondered whether Juba’s loyalty to Augustus was feigned, those doubts were now put to rest. Who else could earnestly describe the emperor as a moral man? It was true that Augustus worked hard, refrained from excesses of wine and food, and could live quite humbly without complaint. It was also true that darker passions swirled in the emperor’s soul. He could be vicious and petty, murderous and cruel. There was an emptiness in him that no victory could fill. I knew all about the helpless girls who were brought to his bedchamber. Girls who left in tears. Having lived so long with Augustus, Juba should have known it too, but perhaps it was easier for him to shut his eyes to such truths. “Do you hate him, Selene? Do you hate him that much?”
Augustus was my mother’s worst enemy, my father’s false friend, and the murderer of my brothers. But at the hour of my death, even knowing that the gods would soon weigh my heart against a feather on the scales of justice, I might deny that I hated him, for he’d spared my life and still held in his hands the fate of everything and everyone I held dear. Yes, I would deny that I hated him, and not even I would know if I lied.
I shook my head. “Augustus showed no hint of fear for his reputation or his life, and if he isn’t displeased with me, why should you be?” In lieu of a reply, Juba’s gaze wandered up to the red and gold geometric patterns carved into the ceiling. He was silent. Brooding. “Juba, I’m sorry to have upset you.”
Pushing a forelock of hair from his brow, Juba sat down beside me, the weight of his body settling on the bed. “Believe me, Selene, I don’t want to quarrel on our wedding night. We were friends once, weren’t we?”
We had been friends and I’d always been drawn to him. Now, in spite of myself, in spite of how I knew Helios would hate it, I wanted to forgive Juba. Maybe it was innocence or youthful pride, but I had married him and I wasn’t like the Romans who so blithely wed and divorced at their leisure. “Juba, what differences lie between us, there are no remedies for . . . but I would like to be friends again.”
“More than friends, I hope,” he said, leaning close.
I closed my eyes and let Juba’s lips touch mine. It was my first kiss. It felt forbidden—alien—to be this close to someone. His breath on my face was like the hot wind of the desert, and his shaved cheek was smooth against my own. There was a cloying sweetness in that kiss that left me wanting both to flee and to draw him closer. Not knowing what to do with my hands, I let them grip the bed linens, and when we broke apart, I made a nervous sound, like the quaver of a harp.
Juba chuckled, his bad temper fading. “You look like a startled hare, Selene. Haven’t you kissed anyone before?”
“Of course not,” I replied quickly, sounding very much like an indignant Lady Octavia.
His finger traced my lower lip, which still tingled from the kiss. “So you come to me untouched?” I let my potent glare be answer enough for him. My mother had been accused of promiscuity, even harlotry, so when I didn’t come to him dressed in the saffron veil, all modest and weepy, Juba had seen me as the Romans had seen my mother: as an Egyptian whore. Taking hold of the edge of the bed linen, my new husband wiped at my face, removing the cosmetics, swiping at my wedjat-painted eyes, my red lips, and rouged cheeks. When at last he was satisfied, he leaned back and said, “Ah, now I can see the maiden in you . . .”
It disarmed me. My mask had been my armor. He kissed me again, and defenseless, I forgot to be angry. Longing welled inside me, a need I couldn’t identify. It was some manner of wanting, one I felt certain I couldn’t satisfy without Juba’s help. We paused and afraid to speak, I bit my bottom lip, the taste of the kiss lingering there. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time,” Juba admitted, his chest rising and falling. “When you first came to Rome, you were such a spoiled little princess, a proud Ptolemy, eager to recite all the languages you knew. I couldn’t blame you for it. You were a clever girl. I knew you’d make a fine royal wife. And you made me nervous. I wanted to woo you with poetry but could never write a worthy verse.”
“I’m sure that isn’t true,” I replied, flattered that he’d wished to woo me with poetry. Astonished that I’d ever made him nervous. Unexpectedly pleased by the way his breath quickened when his eyes trailed down my body. “Everyone says you’re a brilliant writer, Juba, never at a loss for words.”
“Except when it comes to you,” Juba said, drawing close enough to whisper in my ear. “I want us to be more than friends, Selene. Will you let yourself love me?” Over the rush of blood in my ears I wasn’t sure I’d heard rightly. The Romans told me it was my duty to lie beneath this man and be a mother to his children, but it’d never been any part of the bargain that there should be words of love. I tried to hush him, boldly offering my lips for another kiss, but he didn’t take them. “Selene, you count the emperor’s daughter amongst your friends, and in spite of all your mother’s animosity for Octavia, you found it in yourself to love her. Why resist the idea of loving me?”
Because I knew—I knew better than anyone—how dangerous love could be. Love had destroyed my parents. The emperor had also taught me that love could be exploited to make me obey . . . and what of Helios? I loved my twin more than anything in this world or the next, and being apart from him was an open wound. How could I love anyone else? It would be a betrayal, not to mention foolish, to allow myself to feel for Juba any more than was required. Yet he persisted, nuzzling a s
oft spot by my ear that made me shiver. “Say that you’ll love me, Selene.”
It was a strange request. Unnecessary. Un-Roman. I couldn’t say it. My throat tightened. My tongue swelled in my mouth. Where I’d been pliant and curious only moments before, I now went rigid and his expression darkened. “I have a right to you.” I forced myself to perfect stillness as his fingers worked at the knot of Isis between my breasts. He’d expected a different knot and left off after a few unsuccessful tries, a sound of frustration in his throat. It was all going wrong.
“Shall I unfasten it for you, Juba?”
“No,” he said sharply.
I didn’t think my cheeks could get any hotter, but they did. “I forgot to struggle. Is that what you want?”
Muttering a curse, he covered his eyes with one hand and rolled onto his back. “It’s been a very long day, Selene. We’re both overtired. We should sleep.”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. Relief mingled with discontent. I should say something, make some apology, but I didn’t know what to say. When I started to rise, Juba caught me by the arm. “Stay.”
I was bewildered because not even the emperor and Livia shared the same bed at night. “Do you intend for us to sleep together?”
“Does that disappoint you?” Juba laughed, but it was a sound that lacked all merriment. “If you leave now, there’ll be more gossip.”
The wedding had left me weary, but my eyes remained open until the oil lamps burned out. If Juba slumbered, I didn’t know. When sleep finally swallowed me up, I dreamed that I was swimming in the Nile. The god of the river came to me as a lover, singing, his body merging with mine. The god’s limbs were all pale and youthful and I knew he was my true husband, but no matter where I turned my head beneath his reverent kisses, I could never see his face.
Three
I woke to an empty bridal bed.
Without retrieving my sandals, I went to the doorway, intent upon finding Juba. I thought better of that idea when Julia swept into the room with a tray of leftover spelt cakes. She’d been my first and best friend in Rome. Witty and vivacious, with a charming little smirk that she couldn’t even suppress for the artists who painted her portraits, she was prone to spontaneous fits of laughter and mischief. No sense of decorum ever prevented her from flinging her arms around those she loved and some said that Julia and I were as different as two girls could be. The truth was we shared more in common than anyone knew. “So, now you’re the Queen of Mauretania,” Julia said, with a playful grin. “I hope you won’t expect me to kneel for you in obeisance. We Romans don’t do that sort of thing.”
I sniffed in my most queenly manner. “I suppose accommodations can be made.”
This made her laugh. “I wish your wedding breakfast would start already. I’m famished and can’t wait to try the delicacies—it’ll be nothing but the best for you. This morning I had to listen to Octavia make a dull accounting of how they’re loading your baggage train with chests of gold, fabrics, and glassware. I’m told that you’ll want for nothing because Juba has acquired artists and fawning courtiers and a veritable army of engineers and slaves.” These last were bought and paid for by her father so that we could stamp the Roman seal into the untamed lands of Africa. Taking a bite of cake and licking crumbs from her fingers, Julia complained, “You know, if I’d done what you did yesterday, my father would’ve banished me.”
She was probably right. For all that Julia could be impulsive and selfish, vain, and sometimes silly, I couldn’t blame her for her resentment. I hated the way her father treated her and hated even more the idea that she might be displeased with me. “Please don’t take me to task. Juba already scolded me.”
“Did he?” Now Julia looked at me closely. “Oh, Selene, you poor thing. Your eyes! Did Juba hurt you?”
Whatever could be wrong with my eyes? I found a silver mirror upon the dressing table and examined my reflection, only to see that the kohl from the night before had smeared and made it look as if I’d wept. “He didn’t hurt me,” I murmured, reaching for a washcloth from the nearby basin. “He barely touched me.”
Julia’s eyes widened as she glanced at our bed. “Perhaps he’s waiting to claim his rights until he’s sure of a pleasant reception.” I remembered the rush of warmth that had flowed through my body when Juba kissed me. I might have received Juba quite pleasantly if he hadn’t asked me for something I couldn’t give. “Or perhaps your groom hopes to reach some sort of arrangement with you, Selene.”
I arched a brow. “An arrangement?”
At this, Julia snatched the mirror from me to admire her own delicate features. “Marcellus and I have an arrangement.” The hairs at the nape of my neck rose in a way that reminded me of my cat’s reaction to danger. “On the night of our wedding, I told Marcellus that I knew he played the catamite with older men like Virgil. That kind of bedroom play is well enough for a poet or a Greek, but for the emperor’s nephew? Scandal!”
Of all the older boys in the household, Marcellus had always been the most agreeable. Moreover, Virgil, the emperor’s poet, had always been a friend to my brothers and me. It pained me to think of either man brought into disgrace. “What did Marcellus say when you confronted him?”
Julia tossed her head, the green glass beads of her dangling earrings rattling together as she laughed. “Marcellus was actually relieved that I knew. He’s never been with a woman. He can’t bring himself to it. We’ve agreed to put out in public that we’re happily wed and neither of us will interfere in one another’s affairs.”
I wanted to share in her laughter, but I couldn’t even make myself smile. “Julia—”
“Oh, here comes a lecture, and it ought to be rich, coming from you, who just yesterday set every tongue wagging.”
“Your father relies on you to give him an heir!”
“Then he should have married me to Iullus Antonius,” Julia said, defiantly. When I put both my hands over my mouth to stifle my gasp, she said, “Don’t pretend to be surprised. I love your stepbrother. I’ve always loved him. I always will. Besides, you’re the one who prattles on about Egypt, where women are able to choose. You say women are as valuable to the world as men. And look! You’ve persuaded my father to make you a queen. Why shouldn’t I shape the future to my liking?”
Just the day before, I’d proclaimed myself a goddess and Julia wondered why she couldn’t simply be the mistress of her own destiny. Her thoughts were dangerous. Iullus was my father’s son by the fearsome Fulvia, long since dead, but another woman the emperor loathed. Julia would have been hard-pressed to find a more insulting candidate for her heart. “Julia, do you know what your father would do to you if he caught you with Iullus? To both of you?”
She fluttered her eyelashes at me, the very image of innocence. “Why should my father ever find out? Someday the empire will belong to Marcellus. He’d gladly adopt my children as his own. He said so. After being forced to marry, we’ve found a way to be happy. Why can’t you be happy for us?”
“Because I’m terrified for you.” For Iullus too. My Roman half brother had made a misery of my childhood in Rome, but I never wished actual harm to befall him.
Julia poked at me with the hard edge of the mirror. “Don’t give me your solemn expression. You’ll have plenty of time to be solemn after a few years of chasing Juba’s brats in Mauretania. You’ll have to give him a whole litter, and you’ll be so busy with motherhood, you’ll forget all about your loved ones here in Rome.”
At this, I bristled. “I never forget my loved ones.” I didn’t forget my living brothers or the ones that Augustus murdered. I didn’t forget my father, who had fallen on his sword. Nor did I ever forget my mother and how she met her end. Those pains crowded my khaibit, the shadow part of my soul. I didn’t want to make room for more.
MY husband arrived at the wedding breakfast without offering any explanation for his early-morning disappearance, and my attempt to engage him in conversation was drowned out by
the din of the pipers announcing us. Juba stood tall, a hand at my elbow, turning me to the guests as if for display, but there wasn’t anything improper about my ensemble this time. My hair twisted in a modest knot at the nape of my neck and a light blue chiton bloused low on my hips. It was a Greek garment, but it was still considered appropriate. Even so, it didn’t prevent Livia’s caustic appraisal. The emperor’s wife leaned forward to whisper, “Do you expect everyone to forget that you dressed like a harlot for your wedding? Don’t think you can embarrass me, as you did yesterday, without paying a price.”
I detested the emperor’s wife but knew better than to antagonize her. I was mindful that my little brother Philadelphus must stay behind in Rome. There were too many people I loved who would remain at Livia’s mercy long after I left to rule my new kingdom, so I made no reply to the emperor’s wife, giving all my attention to the swarm of guests. Surrounded by speculators and hangers-on seeking our patronage, Juba and I were overwhelmed with gifts. Vivid paintings framed with precious wood, engraved gemstones, expensive Greek sculptures carved from the finest marble. More practical gifts too, including couches with golden feet arched in the shape of eagle claws, tall braziers studded with carnelian, and oil lamps that served as a canvas for fanciful creatures painted in black and ochre.
Amidst all this treasure, Lucius Cornelius Balbus approached us boldly. The Cornelii were a famous patrician Roman family, but this man came from one of its plebeian branches and was an inveterate survivor of the civil wars. He hailed from Spain and had been one of my father’s soldiers—one of the many who deserted. Nonetheless, I resolved to treat Balbus with gracious regard because many of those who would come with us to Mauretania were veterans of Actium. Some of them might remember my father kindly and be well disposed to me. So I said, “Good greetings, Lucius Cornelius.”
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