Song of the Nile

by Stephanie Dray

  “That isn’t true,” I argued. “Without me here, Juba will need your advice more than ever.”

  Maysar snorted, his dark eyes boring into mine. “The Garamantes are a people much like the Egyptians. For months now, I’ve been extolling your virtues to their emissaries, making it known that you’re a queen who honors the same things they do. Can I say the same of King Juba? Once you leave, it isn’t difficult to predict what will happen. Within a year, Lucius Cornelius Balbus will use the legions of Africa Nova to crush these tribes and there’ll be no sanctuary for them in Mauretania.”

  “Perhaps they deserve to be crushed,” I said with a nonchalance I didn’t feel. “They’re rebels. The Romans aren’t always wrong in all things. Perhaps the Garamantes will only respond to a show of violent force.”

  “You don’t believe that,” he said sadly.

  I rubbed my forefingers over the pearled arms of my throne chair. “And you’re not resigning because of the Garamantes. You’re leaving because you’re angry with me.”

  He shrugged his shoulders, throwing his blue-stained hands to the sides. “You’re right. I am angry with you.”

  “Why? How have I offended you?”

  An indignant puff of air burst from his lips. “You’re abandoning Mauretania, madam, where you’re needed. Where you’re loved.”

  There was no pretense to be made about my ambitions, so I said, “I’m loved in Egypt too.”

  He gave a stubborn shake of his head. “Your mother is loved in Egypt. You are merely remembered. Mauretania is the land where the people have turned to you with hope. This is the city you’ve built. The city in which you rear your daughter, our beloved princess. But it isn’t enough for you.”

  What did he want me to do? Who did he think I was? “I belong in Egypt. I’m a Ptolemy.”

  “Yes,” he said, staring more boldly than a subject had a right to. “The last of the Ptolemies; I’ve heard it said. You’ve never forgiven yourself for it. Do you think you can bring your dead to life?”

  “Yes, I do!” Was I not the Resurrection? “My family is dead and I must walk the steps they can’t walk. I must breathe the breath that was stolen from their lungs. Speak the words their silenced tongues can’t speak. It’s a sacred thing. Berbers honor their ancestors, why shouldn’t I?”

  My words changed his expression and for a moment he bowed his head. When he lifted it again, he said, “Because you let yourself enjoy nothing that your mother didn’t enjoy. Love nothing that she didn’t love. You refuse to be content where she couldn’t be content. I think you punish yourself for being alive. That is not sacred.”

  This was too much, and I rose to my feet. “I should have you flogged for speaking to me this way.”

  Contemptuously, he threw the end of his woolen burnoose over one shoulder. “You wouldn’t even trouble yourself, madam. Your mind is on Egypt. You wish for Augustus to make you queen and Pharaoh. If he grants your wish, you’ll live in Alexandria and we’ll never see you again. It’s understood by all. So I bid you farewell.”

  I was appalled. “I haven’t dismissed you. Will you leave Chryssa too? Didn’t you ask her to wed?”

  He paused only long enough to say, “Cleopatra Antonianus has chosen to be at your side, not mine, so I cannot marry her. I’m not so well mannered as our king to sit at the shore and watch my bride go.”

  I sought Chryssa in my rooms but found only a horde of servants packing up clothing, jewels, furnishings, and artwork—all my belongings, as if they too, didn’t expect me to return. In all this bedlam, Tala’s little son, Ziri, and my Isidora ran riot. To their great delight, the yellowish brown monkey was pelting the children with dates. Tala sat nearby, mixing a henna paste for her tattoos, raising no objection whatsoever. When I complained, she gave me a cool stare such as she hadn’t done since I first arrived in Mauretania. “Your brother has already given me an earful of contempt today, Tala. If you plan to do the same, please let it wait until tomorrow.”

  She pounded the mortar down into the henna paste and a headache began to pound behind my eyes. “Perhaps it’s better that we not speak of things upon which we’ll never agree, Majesty.”

  “I have no choice but to go. You were with me in Rome. You know.”

  She stopped stirring the paste. “I know that you suffered in Rome as I’ve never seen you suffer. You were so sad and afraid. I can’t be glad that you’ll return to those people. I go with you only because Isidora must go.”

  Chryssa appeared in my doorway, giving a delicate snort. “Tala’s going with us so she can spend time with her ship’s captain. Hope she doesn’t shame you with scandalous behavior.”

  Tala glared at Chryssa, but as it happened, I cared nothing about scandals with ship’s captains. “Chryssa, you’ve made a place for yourself here as a freedwoman. You have a chance at happiness with Maysar. You don’t have to go with me to Greece.”

  “I’ve always wanted to visit Greece,” she said, checking my strongboxes to make sure they were locked. “Besides, you have too many young, inexperienced girls tending to you. I don’t trust any of them to style you properly.”

  I rubbed at my temples. “You’re not an ornatrix anymore. You preside over a royal monopoly. What you’ve done with the Gaetulian purple makes you as important as any minister in any other royal court.”

  Chryssa’s voice changed then. It went deeper and filled with emotion. “I want them to see me. Livia. Augustus. I want them to see me standing upright and not cowering. I want them to see me wearing jewels that I own. I want them to see me as a freedwoman. Cleopatra Antonianus.”

  I wanted her with me, so why did I discourage her? “Even the well-born cower before Augustus. Slave, freedwoman, or queen, remember that the emperor and his wife can do us harm.”

  But Chryssa wouldn’t be dissuaded. She’d come with me, and Tala would come too. Next, I sent for the hetaera and she dipped gracefully before me. “Lady Circe,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose, for my headache had only worsened, “I’d like for you to accompany me to Greece.”

  This seemed to have surprised her as much as it did my other servants. Her painted eyes went wide, and for a moment, I thought she’d refuse. “Will you leave the king no comfort at all?”

  If she were still my husband’s lover, she’d been remarkably discreet. I dared not leave her behind. “The king’s comfort isn’t my foremost concern. Furthermore, I was led to understand that you’d taken up a vocation as an academic. Will you travel with me or no?”

  We both pretended she had a choice. “Are you sure you wish to have a hetaera in your retinue, Majesty?”

  “I won’t. I’ll have a grammarian. Princess Isidora needs a teacher.”

  “She’s still a very little girl,” Circe said.

  “But already speaking three languages. Ptolemies are educated at the youngest possible age.”

  This was all true, but subterfuge, and Circe wasn’t fooled. “Ah, education. I suppose one can never be too young, or too old, to learn.”

  The pain in my head made me impatient. “I’m going to be the Queen of Egypt.”

  “So everyone says,” she replied. “But very little in life is without a price.”

  So, we understood one another, and I found myself grateful not to have to spell it out. She’d told me that we could learn from one another. Hopefully, in Greece, I wouldn’t be required to put this to the test.

  ON the morning of our leave-taking, I went to my private shrine to pray for a safe journey. Euphronius had taught me to kiss the back of my hand and display it to Isis as a gesture of welcome and to burn sage in offering. I did these things and lit candles too, so absorbed in my devotions I was startled to look up and find Juba standing in the doorway. He never came here, never even acknowledged the shrine—whether it was to forestall criticism from Rome or to leave me a sanctuary, I never knew. Now here he stood, shoulders slumped, head low, his hair unbarbered. “Don’t go, Selene.”

  My senses were still hazy wit
h ritual devotion. “What?”

  “Don’t go,” Juba repeated, coming to my side. “Stay here, in Mauretania.”

  I swallowed. “You, of all people, can’t expect me to defy Augustus.”

  Dark circles under his eyes told me he hadn’t slept. “You’re the only one who can defy him, Selene. Delay. Wait until autumn, when the sea closes, and we’ll say the dispatch arrived too late for travel.” Such deception wasn’t beyond me, but it shocked me that Juba should suggest it, and here in this sacred space no less. I’m afraid my mouth hung open. “Listen to me, Selene. I have a plan. If you were with child, he wouldn’t make you go. If you were with child . . . with my child . . . he might not want you anymore.”

  I remembered the emperor’s reaction to my maidenhead and how much pleasure it gave him to know he was the only man to have me. If I were to give myself to Juba, it might break the emperor’s fascination, and a part of me seized upon this as the solution to everything. Then I thought of those statues I’d commissioned, my mother, my brothers, all those who’d died, and I came to my senses. “It would ruin everything, Juba. I’d lose everything.”

  His head fell back and he closed his eyes. “Don’t tell me that you haven’t come to love Mauretania. Can’t your ambitions be satisfied with this new kingdom we’re building? That’s all that drives you. Ambition. You can’t have conceived a true passion for Augustus, so why can’t you stay? Tell me what stands between me and your heart, and I’ll conquer it.”

  This kind of talk frightened me. “I cannot abandon Egypt. Especially not when she is at war!”

  “You worry needlessly for Egypt. I have it on the best authority that the Kandake of Meroë will send ambassadors to negotiate a peace treaty with Augustus.”

  This news was a lightning bolt, electrifying my blood until every hair stood on end. Tingling everywhere, I scarcely trusted myself to speak. “Meroë will send a delegation to Augustus? To the Isle of Samos?”

  Juba tilted his head, eyes wide with confusion. “So I’m told. The Kandake herself may go.”

  Any hesitation, any doubt, that I might answer the emperor’s summons vanished. For Isidora’s sake, I might embrace a life with Juba, but Egypt and Helios stood between us. If the warrior queen of Meroë was to join Augustus, so must I. I must see her with my own eyes. I must search her retainers for even a glimpse of my twin. I’d leave for Greece today and not all the sincerity in Juba’s eyes would stop me.

  Twenty-eight

  GREECE SPRING 21 B.C.

  EXCEPT for the billowing purple sails on my ship, my arrival on the Isle of Samos was without fanfare. No cherubic children threw flower petals from the prow. No harpists played at the rail. My ladies were all well turned out and sweet-smelling but eschewed the more exotic perfumes. I scandalized no one with my dress, for my voluminous purple cloak covered me from shoulder to ankle. Let no one claim that I’d answered the summons of Augustus with a notorious campaign to seduce him, even if it was the truth.

  Captain Kabyle dropped anchor and my guards escorted me to shore. A deep breath assured me that this place wasn’t like Rome or Egypt or Mauretania. Peeking out between the foliage were beach houses, shops and villas, some painted in washed-out pastels, accented with the occasional blue or terra-cotta. Samos was the birthplace of Pythagoras, that great philosopher and mathematician. There was even a school here to honor him and a contingent of Lady Lasthenia’s colleagues stumbled over themselves to make me feel welcome. They weren’t my subjects, but I was Cleopatra’s daughter. My mother and father visited this island before the Battle of Actium. They feasted and entertained so lavishly on the eve of battle that the people anticipated a great victory. Now I had returned to wage a war of my own. “Great Queen Cleopatra! New Isis, New Isis!” the people cried.

  Could the emperor hear them chant? Would it please him or harden his heart against me?

  As a girl in Rome, my survival had depended upon my ability to predict his moods and guess at his next moves, but my time in Mauretania had obviously dulled my skills, for I certainly never anticipated that he’d send Livia to fetch me. “Welcome to the Isle of Samos, Queen Selene,” she said with her least genuine smile. “I’ve come to invite you to stay at our villa. You and your darling little daughter.”

  Livia’s pleasantries were meant for our audience—the crowds and curious onlookers who gathered near the docks. Even so, her invitation was an honor that I couldn’t refuse, so I took Isidora’s hand and we climbed into Livia’s litter. The moment the curtains shut, Livia’s smile faded. “Listen to them cheer you, the half-wits. I’m the one who asked Augustus to restore this island to selfgovernance, and yet you are the darling of the Hellenes.”

  “Perhaps they cheer me to please you,” I remarked as Isidora nestled against my hip, fists curled under her chin as exhaustion closed her little eyes. “We’re allegedly family, after all.”

  Livia stared at my daughter’s fair curls, not bothering to hide her scrutiny. “She doesn’t even look like him, you know.”

  My daughter seemed to already be asleep, but I wished to forestall this line of conversation at all costs. “Livia—”

  “She’s probably a sailor’s get.” Livia lowered her hands to the crimson cushions beneath us and let her nails dig in. “No matter how modestly you dress, you’re still a strumpet, Selene. Still, Augustus will never see it, because men are fools.” It reassured me to find her still full of petty insults and animosity, for if Augustus intended to punish me, Livia would have been gleeful. Instead, she was behaving like the woman who had stolen the emperor from Julia’s mother and now feared that I’d steal him from her. “Last year, you ran from him, Selene. That was clever. You’ve learned to tease him but that game cannot go on forever. Eventually, you must surrender, and when you do, what do you think will happen?”

  Lifting my chin, I met her gaze. “I think he’ll make me Queen of Egypt.”

  She laughed, throwing her head back. “As if that would be enough for you.”

  It had never occurred to me to want more. I wasn’t like Livia, always jealous of everyone else’s success and happiness. Since we were being candid, I asked her the question that had been burning in my soul. “Did you poison Philadelphus?”

  Her shoulders lifted in a shrug, her voice bored. Indifferent. “I did nothing but wish him dead. Your brother was a sickly boy. Hope that your daughter doesn’t share the same ailments.”

  This was the woman who had placed a cup of poison beside my bed and urged me to drink it; I knew she was a monster, but she wasn’t the only one with a darkly destructive creature inside. At the sound of so casual a threat made against my daughter, molten hatred surged up inside me. My heka stewed in rage, and I scented the metallic notes of iron and blood in my nostrils. The litter jostled as if caught by the wind. “Don’t you know that I could kill you, Livia?”

  She looked up swiftly, head bobbing at the top of her fragile neck. “I’m the emperor’s wife. You don’t dare harm me, you sorceress, you witch, you striga! ”

  I wrapped one arm around Isidora. “You’re right to say that I’m a sorceress. And you’ve seen only the smallest fraction of my powers. If I want to be rid of you, some late night, you’ll stand at the edge of a cliff or at the rail of a ship, and a gust of wind will grab you and drag you down.” These things weren’t in my power, but I enjoyed the way she went white with fear. “I’m not that little girl you bullied in Rome. I’m not the dazed bride that you betrayed on a rainy night. I’m a nightmare of your own creation, so remember this: If you ever harm my daughter, if you so much as put her in fear, I will make you disappear.”

  Livia’s bony hand fluttered uselessly at her neck. “Augustus will hear of this threat. There’ll be consequences!”

  “Do you think so?” I was still hot with ire, my fingers tingling with the heka that I longed to wield against her. “Years ago Augustus watched me throw you to the floor. How did he retaliate? He made me Queen of Mauretania. This time, he’ll give me Egypt.” I sa
id this with utter conviction, but it was false bravado on my part; I had no confidence in my influence over the emperor, and Livia might well be the one to laugh last.

  THE emperor received me publicly sitting upon his ivory curule chair in the presence of his lictors and various staff members. The villa he’d commandeered as his headquarters was large and luxurious, and I was sure that Maecenas had chosen it. Indeed, the emperor’s political adviser was close at hand, scribbling notes. Livia’s son Tiberius was also nearby, the very picture of a military tribune, standing straight in his armor, carved greaves accenting his strong legs. I’d expected these men to be here, but I hadn’t expected Admiral Agrippa, who stood stony-faced, as if he saw in me a gorgon approaching.

  Giving me all the due courtesies of a queen, the emperor greeted me formally. This was to my advantage. It allowed me to measure him before we were alone. I couldn’t tell if he was glad to see me or holding back a year’s worth of frothing rage, but Augustus looked healthy. Robust. As if he’d spent the past year in the gymnasium every day. When he rose to his feet, he even seemed taller, but it was only his sandals, the soles of which had been built up to give him extra height.

  He was a man who meant to make a physical impression on me.

  Once the official forms had been observed, I clutched the hand of my tiny princess as she made a very proper bow. Then I followed suit. The emperor didn’t smile at either of us, and I was grateful when Tala quickly ushered my daughter away. As I’ve said, I dressed modestly for the occasion, but beneath my cloak, I wore my mother’s serpentine armlet, and when I moved to hand over Juba’s correspondence, the emperor must have caught a glimpse of it because a brief spark finally lit behind his otherwise frosty gray eyes. I drew the moment out. I reported in minute detail upon the prosperity of the kingdom he’d given me and gave assurances that there’d be more grain this year. I inquired about the health and well-being of each member of the imperial family.