“Majesty, your name holds such power that even here, exiled to this outpost, you’ve aroused the envy of other monarchs. King Herod of Judea starts construction on his own harbor city this year. He calls it Caesarea-Maritima.”
It made me smirk. “How original.” Herod was emptying his treasury to imitate me. I could at least take pleasure in that!
Several weeks passed and Iol-Caesaria became my city in truth. I was the highest authority in residence and didn’t need to ask permission for anything from anyone. Why should I care if the king brooded in some far-off city with some other woman? For the first time in my life, no man ruled me. And I ruled a kingdom.
The first thing I discovered is that Juba had been right to chastise me for my arrogance. I knew next to nothing about the day-today administration of Mauretania. It wasn’t as simple as weighing options and saying that this or that must be done. Though I had an aptitude for it, I still had much to learn about governing my kingdom and I swiftly came to appreciate our advisers—even the Roman ones—for their knowledge of law and finance.
As part of my new education, I took my courtiers on an inspection of the city. Everywhere we went, crowds hailed me by name. My advisers said that the people loved me and I came to believe it. Perhaps they loved me because I was a sorceress. Maybe I’d won them over with my eagerness to include Berber chieftains in the royal council or because they thought I was the last of the Ptolemies. I didn’t know the reason; I only found myself profoundly grateful. They would be my protection against the emperor’s wrath.
“They love you because of me,” Crinagoras said. “My poems remind them that you’re a vibrant young queen with a babe at her breast. I quite fear for your reign should you ever allow me to leave your service.”
He may have been right, but the people also seemed pleased with the new cisterns for drinking water. The new markets for trading. The bathhouses and paved roads. These things made their lives better. I took pride in that, but when we came upon an elongated oval structure I was less proud. “Someone tell me this isn’t going to be an amphitheater! Juba means to bring gladiators here?”
“The king and the council thought gladiator games a good idea,” Chryssa said, fanning herself, sharp eyes alert for pickpockets. I hardly thought she needed to worry with surly Memnon and his men guarding us. “Maysar is the only one with sense. He believes the influx of criminals to fight in the arena will disgust the Berbers and goad the Garamantes, specifically.”
I shielded my eyes from the hot African sun. “That’s the second time you’ve spoken of Maysar approvingly.”
A blush reached to the tips of Chryssa’s ears. “For a barbarian, he’s quite sensible.”
“Then maybe he’ll know how to put a stop to this. I don’t want Mauretania stained with gladiator blood.”
We returned to the palace. The scent of roasted kid and spiced vegetables drew us to the banquet hall, where my court assembled for our evening meal. Servants removed my sandals, bathing my feet in rose-scented water, and I summoned Maysar and Balbus to join me. The two men glared and, situated between them, I half feared they’d draw knives on one another. I hoped the servants would heavily water their wine, and only after the meal had been served did I broach the subject. “I’d like to stop work on the amphitheater.”
Balbus paused midbite, nearly choking on a bit of grilled meat. “Stop work?”
Finding my courage, I swirled a lump of root vegetable in the thick yogurt sauce. “I don’t approve of gladiator games. Egyptians would never tolerate any monarch who asked her subjects to fight to the death.”
“This isn’t Egypt,” Balbus said, lamplight illuminating his reddening jowls.
Taking a deep breath of the rose-scented air, I said, “Nor is this Rome.”
Balbus wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “The people must have entertainment.”
“Then let’s give them a hillside theater.” The suggestion came from Leonteus of Argos, our court tragedian.
“Yes,” I decided. “We’ll have plays, comedies, and tragedies.”
Several Romans groaned, bloodthirsty lot that they were. Balbus clenched his teeth, something he often did when he was about to flatter me. “Majesty, your beauty startles all who set eyes upon you and it does credit to your sex that you concern yourself with the gentler arts. If it’s a theater you want, finance one, but work on the arena has already begun. You cannot countermand the orders of the king.”
My temper rising, I sipped my wine to consider a politic answer. “I’m certain the king would approve. He’s actually started writing a history of theatrics, did you know?”
Balbus protested, “Madam, you cannot simply turn an arena into a theater!”
The entire court watched us. The Alexandrians, the Romans, and the Mauretanians. Important ministers and servants all listened with rapt attention, straining to hear what I’d say next. This was a confrontation that I must win or fight to a draw. “I propose only that work stop on the amphitheater for the time being.”
Balbus snorted. “But King Juba—”
“Isn’t here,” I interrupted, an edge to my voice, one that the emperor used when he was vexed. “He’s not here and I am. I’m not questioned in Rome and I won’t be questioned in my own kingdom.”
Balbus slammed down his cup. “You’re only a woman!”
“I’m your queen.” Only the flickering torches were brave enough to crackle. Everyone else was silent. Balbus stewed, his face redder than ever, and I knew I’d let it go too far to be mended. I must cut him down hard and not show the uncertainty that made me wring my hands underneath the table. “I’m your queen and so long as you remain in Mauretania, you will submit to my rule.”
His proud eyes burned black. “Then perhaps I should seek my fortune elsewhere.”
“Perhaps you should.”
“Madam,” he said, rising to his full blustery height. “You go too far.”
I hadn’t studied at the knee of Augustus to be cowed by a man such as this. Always know the most important person in the room, Augustus had told me. This time it wasn’t Balbus. It was me. I didn’t blink. I stood to face him and my Macedonian guards flanked me. Memnon’s hand must have gone to his sword, because the crowd gasped. Lifting a hand to calm them, I said, “Lucius Cornelius, like so many Roman veterans here, you fought for Julius Caesar. You were with him in Alexandria when he fell in love with my mother. And after he died, you joined King Bogud to fight for my father.” Oh, yes, I’d studied Balbus, but this speech was for the other veterans of Actium who had loved my father and could still love me. “I honor your service, Balbus, so if you leave me, let’s not part on bad terms. Let me buy your plantations at double their value.”
Balbus’s piggy eyes grew wide, his rage half forgotten. “Double?”
Thank Isis for the purple dye that would fund such an extravagant gesture. “I’m not stingy with friends, even when we must disagree or part ways.”
“I shall consider your offer,” he said, as his scarlet rage paled to the mere pink of pique. He realized that he was being banished in the gentlest possible way and that I’d won the day.
“HOW proud your mother would’ve been to see that,” Euphronius said as we picked through the scroll racks lining the walls of Juba’s study.
I unfurled some sketches, determined not to be caught unawares by anything else that Juba had put into motion while I was away. “I doubt that. I don’t remember my mother’s council ever questioning her.”
“Oh, they did. When she was your age, the eunuch Pothinus and General Achillas tried to drive her from power.”
“Let’s hope Balbus isn’t planning to do the same.” As I made sense of the sketches, I sat in Juba’s chair, suddenly light-headed. “This is ghastly! It’s a cult for the emperor. Juba means for us to build a temple for Augustus as if he were a god.”
Euphronius peered over my shoulder, one eyebrow raised. “Chryssa tells me you proclaimed yourself a goddess at your wedding.”
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“That’s different,” I insisted, glad he didn’t press me to explain why. This sketch of the cult statue was no accurate representation of Augustus but some idealized version of the emperor, with bare feet, like some Homeric war hero. I might have laughed were it not for the carved cuirass. There, meant in clear relief, would be a celebration of the emperor’s victory over my parents at Actium. As a child, I’d been forced to endure nightly lectures about the failings of my family. I thought I’d left all of that in Rome. Now Juba wanted to bring it to Mauretania? Lucky that he was away!
Perhaps I should have trembled to do it, but I took the sketch and all the accompanying scrolls and threw them into the fire. Euphronius watched them burn. “You’re changed, Majesty.”
He remembered me as a frightened princess. As the girl who refused to run away from Augustus to pursue an uncertain destiny. But now I had run away and I must make myself so powerful that even the emperor couldn’t punish me for it.
BLOSSOMING springtime flowers meant that dispatches from Rome would soon arrive and I’d be held to account. I felt as if I must do everything before the emperor could act against me. With the help of several of my father’s veterans, we recruited and trained marines to guard our ships from pirates—a move that was quite popular with the businessmen in Mauretania. Always, wherever I went in the city, my eyes sought out a place for a temple to Isis. I never forgot her; never forgot that she was the throne upon which I sat. I owed everything to her. Everything. But to build an Iseum would require the services of skilled architects, almost all of whom were Roman and already hard at work. I couldn’t hire more.
As it happened, the King of Judea’s new cities were effectively monopolizing most of the talent in the empire. There was one talent, however, whose artistry I was particularly fortunate to have. Master Gnaios was the only artist at my disposal who had known my brothers. Here in my own kingdom, at long last, I could memorialize them. I commissioned a statue for each of them. Caesarion, Antyllus, Helios, and Philadelphus. I even commissioned a statue of Petubastes, my cousin, the priest of Ptah. “Do you remember him, Gnaios?”
“Yes, Majesty,” the gem cutter said, bowing. “But I’m surprised that you do. You were only a little child.”
Sudden emotion made my voice thick. “I forget nothing.”
Poor Petubastes. What had he done but breathe air with a claim to the throne of Egypt? I never knew how he died, but now I wondered if the emperor had ever intended to leave any male claimant to the throne of Egypt alive. When Augustus fished Philadelphus out of the lake, my gratitude made me forget how deadly he could be. Is that why I’d suspected only Livia of poisoning my brother? Why had it never occurred to me that the emperor would prevent my mother’s son from taking the toga virilis and becoming a man? As this thought occurred to me, the raucous bray of trumpets punctuated some commotion outside the palace. I was so conditioned to the unhappiness of Rome that I asked, “Is there a riot?”
“It’s the king’s caravan,” a breathless Tala answered. “King Juba has returned!”
Twenty-four
WAGONS rolled into the city carrying caged exotic animals. Others were piled high with ivory tusks, minerals, and lumber. Most of the men rode camels, but a team of wild-looking horses galloped at the back of the royal procession and I didn’t see what happened to them after they rode by. A fancifully embroidered palanquin was lowered to the ground by its bearers, and when the curtains parted, a lovely woman stepped out. She was dressed exquisitely in the Greek fashion, her dark hair curled in lustrous ringlets and her shoulders draped with a patterned shawl. “Good greetings, Majesty,” she said, with a grace at once natural and practiced. “I am—”
“I know who you are.” I gave a false smile that could have rivaled Livia’s. It wouldn’t do to let my husband’s whore think that I resented her. For that matter, it wouldn’t strengthen my hand with the royal court if I seemed threatened, so I extended my hands. “We welcome you most gladly, Lady Circe. Where is the king?”
She almost faltered but recovered quickly enough, lowering to kiss my fingertips. “King Juba has gone hunting for hippopotami.”
It surprised me to learn that there were hippopotami in Mauretania. I knew them to be dangerous creatures and would have warned Juba against hunting them, but I doubted he’d welcome my counsel in any matter. “Come into the palace, Lady Circe. The sun grows too hot for your fair skin.”
She gave the impression of delicacy, but I was cautious; I knew that creatures weren’t always what they seemed. Once inside, the hetaera delivered a few messages from Juba—hastily scribbled instructions to his advisers, reminders to do this or that. Several sealed letters addressed to old friends in Rome also featured Juba’s florid script. None were addressed to me. If my husband was even aware that I’d returned from Rome, there was nothing to indicate it. He’d filled scroll after scroll with details about our new kingdom. There were maps too, all of them meant to be sent on to Agrippa, who collected such things. I immediately set about having these copied so that we’d have the originals for our own library when it was built.
When all this was sorted out, I found myself alone in the receiving room with Lady Circe. Quite suddenly, she sputtered with tinkling laughter. “Juba says you’re a temptress who guards her chastity at knifepoint. I thought you’d be a pitiless Artemis, but you’re just a tall, gangly girl!”
It was brazen of her to speak this way to me; I nearly slapped her. “And you’re just King Herod’s spy.”
Circe gave a little shrug of her pretty shoulders. “Herod said that he’d pay me as long as I pleased King Juba. Now that your husband has sent me away, I’m without a contract.”
So, Juba had sent her away. Why was I glad to hear it? With Juba, I never understood myself. “I’m sure there are other wealthy clients for you. Especially in the East. Far away from here.”
Circe smirked. “The wealthiest is currently amusing himself with Terentilla. Is the wife of Maecenas as pretty as they say? Do you think I could compete with her for the emperor’s attention?”
Greek hetaeras were more than simple prostitutes. As educated women of high status, they were allowed access to the most powerful men. It didn’t surprise me that she knew about the emperor’s affair with Terentilla. I said only, “You aim high.”
“So do you,” she said, and this did surprise me. I wondered how much she really knew. Did she receive her information from Herod? If so, how would he know anything about me? Then I remembered his sons, Alexander and Aristobulus. Livia had favored them and they were still in Rome even now.
Circe took one of the incense burners from my table and sniffed at it. “I think we could learn much from one another.”
“I’m a royal queen. There’s nothing for me to learn from a prostitute who befriends King Herod.”
At that, her mask of unaffected glamour fell away. “I’m no friend to King Herod. I hate Herod. He’s mad and I don’t want to return to his service. I’d rather stay here in Iol-Caesaria.”
I was shocked at her nerve. “So that you can reconcile with King Juba when he returns?”
She laughed. “Your husband is an agreeable lover, but like all men, he likes a challenge. Unfortunately, there’s little challenge for him in a woman whose companionship can be purchased.”
I was astonished at her candor, if it was candor and not some ruse. “If not for Juba, why would you want to stay in Mauretania? Go home to Greece.”
“I’ve reached the level of wealth and prominence to which the greatest hetaeras aspire but also the age at which we must compensate for fading beauty. There’s a fortune to be made here in Mauretania.”
“I think you mistake me,” I said, snatching the incense dish from her hands. “I won’t suffer a spy. The moment I catch you corresponding with Herod, I’ll have you put to death. Don’t think I can’t do it. Even if my husband returns to defend you, I’ll make sure some tragic accident befalls you.”
She looked into my eyes as if measuri
ng me, but I’d been measured before. There was a catch in her breath, and then I heard her swallow. “Majesty, I vow never to correspond with King Herod and to make myself useful if you’ll only allow me to stay.”
I wanted her gone, but how would it look if I banished all Juba’s favorites? Besides, I’d learned from the tension between Augustus and Agrippa that it wasn’t always better to have your detractors in some remote part of the world, outside of your reach. At least here in Mauretania, I held power over the hetaera. “You may stay, but you will be watched.”
FOR weeks I’d dreaded the angry letter from Augustus that I’d thought inevitable. I had run from him. He’d be furious. But I should have remembered that Augustus burned cold. Now I worried at his silence. I sent grain, emptying our warehouses and filling the hulls of ships bound for Rome, but still he said nothing. Perhaps he knew—as I knew—that famine still lingered, and if we didn’t have spectacular rains, our next harvest would be a disaster. Adding to my worries, Lucius Cornelius Balbus sold me all of his holdings in Mauretania and accepted a military appointment in the province of Africa Nova. I feared that I’d been prideful and mistaken to make him leave. Thankfully, the exorbitant profit he’d made in our exchange seemed to have sweetened his disposition considerably, and he gave me lengthy advice on how best to profit from his plantations. Still, the king would likely be livid that I’d driven away his most able soldier . . . if Juba ever returned, that is.
As for the Greek hetaera, Memnon reported back to me on all her doings. She didn’t take a new client, but I couldn’t count that against her. As the king’s acknowledged mistress, there was no other man in Mauretania willing to claim her. Besides, she seemed like a vain woman, unlikely to accept less than a king for a lover now. Instead, she made a business of teaching Greek and earned a reputation as a talented grammarian. She was charming, made friends easily with the Alexandrians, and I found myself studying her. She wasn’t the beauty I originally supposed, but skillful cosmetics enhanced her best features. She carried herself as if she were a great beauty, and the act made people believe. She’d said that we could learn from one another, and I began to suspect that was true.
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