At last, when the emperor was actually fidgeting, I agreed to retire with him to a more private part of the house. Agrippa and his wife followed, and I was so genuinely happy to see Marcella that I kissed her on both cheeks and held her hands fast. “How does Lady Octavia fare?”
“Not well,” Marcella admitted. “Of all the children in her nursery, she has only Minora with her now. My mother wishes to retire from public life.” We both sighed together at Octavia’s fall. Then Marcella said, “I’m so sorry, Selene. For Philadelphus. He was always the sweetest little boy.”
She didn’t acknowledge Helios and, given our present company, I didn’t blame her. The emperor pretended that Helios simply never existed, and so we must all do the same. “I grieved for Marcellus too, but let’s not speak of sad things.” I made myself smile. “Your little Marcellina must be growing fast. Perhaps she and my Isidora can play together.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Agrippa said, muttering to himself as if he were stunned to see me in the flesh.
As a servant poured my wine, I asked, “Didn’t you know I was coming, Admiral? I was summoned.”
Agrippa glowered. “Not by me.”
“Enough, Agrippa,” the emperor snapped. That they’d quarreled again was made plain by the emperor’s guarded posture. “Don’t you have something else to do?”
“My wife wished to visit with the queen,” Agrippa said. “I wouldn’t trust any decent woman in Selene’s presence unsupervised. I’m sure she has some new scandalous surprise for us, no?”
“I do not,” I said, more irritated on behalf of Marcella than myself. She didn’t need supervision, like a child.
“You see, Selene?” Augustus said, making notes on a wax tablet. “Your dignified arrival has disappointed those who’d expected to see a seductress upon her pleasure barge.”
My heart sank. Perhaps he had wanted me to answer his summons in ostentatious fashion, to remind all the world of my mother and set the stage for this latest drama. Had I failed this first, vital test? “My mother went to Tarsus on a pleasure barge to please my father, a man of exotic tastes, but I wish to please only Caesar, who is an entirely different sort of man.”
It was my opening salvo, and the corners of the emperor’s mouth twitched as if he were considering a smile. “If you wished to please me, then why did you leave Rome without my permission?”
With Agrippa and Marcella looking on, I could hardly remind him that he’d demanded a son from me. “I was mad with grief for my dead brother, Caesar, and your poor nephew. I beg your forgiveness.”
He cast a baleful look my way. “Why should I forgive you?”
“Because I’ve come swiftly to submit to your will,” I said. “May I ask for what purpose you’ve summoned me?”
The emperor removed a crown of oak leaves from his brow. In Rome, he normally hung the corona civica on his doorpost. Here in Greece he wore it to give the semblance of royalty, but I gathered from the way he tore it from his head that it wasn’t as comfortable as a crown might be. “I’ve summoned you to help with negotiations, Selene. This Kandake of Meroë may respect your authority as a nominal Queen of Egypt.”
About to gulp his wine, Agrippa stopped and his hand tightened around the goblet. “Since when is Selene any kind of Queen of Egypt?”
The emperor snapped, “She is whatever I say she is.”
Marcella put a calming hand on her husband’s wrist, and Agrippa fell silent. I tried to pretend his silence wasn’t dangerous and I asked, “When will we meet with the Kandake?”
“Her emissaries should arrive shortly,” Augustus said. “I want you to convince them to deal fairly with me. Soften them, so that when I give terms, they’ll accept them. I don’t want to worry about Egypt when we’re readying for war on Parthia.”
War was certain, then. Once, I might’ve welcomed the idea of the emperor lying dead in some foreign field, stuck with Parthian arrows, but I still needed him alive. “I’m eager to do all that you ask, Augustus.”
I hadn’t intended a double meaning, but Agrippa slammed his cup down. “So it begins again!”
The emperor’s stormy gray eyes narrowed. “Mind your tone, Admiral.”
Ever one to flinch away from conflict, Marcella rose from her chair, giving me an apologetic look before fleeing. No well-bred Roman woman would allow herself to be caught up in a man’s quarrel, but I stayed where I was. This seemed to enrage Agrippa even more. “What is it about her, Caesar? Is it the ring?” At that moment, the burly soldier grabbed me to expose the carved amethyst. My betrothal ring. My mother’s ring. It wasn’t the first time Agrippa had grasped me roughly. With painful childhood memories coming fresh to my mind, I lifted my free hand to fend him off. Without my consciously having summoned it, heka raced down my arm. The wind ripped past my elbow and slammed into the celebrated general. Agrippa fell back, his chair tipping as he was forced to release me. He clambered for balance, slipped on the tile, and one leg went into the pool. Grasping at the ledge, his big hands too wet to find purchase, Agrippa roared in anger.
To my horror, the emperor laughed. “Maybe a dunk will help you cool off !”
Now was not the time to taunt the man. I rushed to say, “I’m sorry, Agrippa. You startled me. You shouldn’t have put your hands on me.”
“Why not?” Heaving himself up, Agrippa shook like a wet dog and water sprayed me in the face. “You’ve come to play the whore, haven’t you?”
I let the insult slide off of me. If the price for Egypt was that I must give the emperor a son, I’d do it, though all the world might think me a whore. It’s what Egypt would expect from me. But whenever I allowed myself to imagine it, I wanted to throw myself into the sea and drown.
Agrippa turned to leave, puddles on the floor in his wake, and the emperor cried after him, “Where are you going?”
Agrippa turned back only once. “Back to Rome to look after her interests. One of us should.”
I was aghast—stunned in the aftermath of Agrippa’s fading footfalls. Like my father, Agrippa was popular with the legions. He was a hard soldier and a brilliant tactician. He was the emperor’s might. “Are you just going to let him leave? Send someone after him!”
The emperor returned to scratching notes into his wax tablet. “Tell me, Selene, who should I send to fetch Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa back to me like some errant schoolboy?”
“I don’t know, but you need him for your war with Parthia.”
“I don’t need him. I have Tiberius.”
“Tiberius?” Livia’s drone of a son could be counted upon to perform his duty competently, but he was still a young man with little fighting experience.
“Yes, Tiberius. It’s good to have men of your own family at war. Iullus will join us shortly, and I have my legions. Agrippa isn’t the only general in the Roman military, you know.”
“No, but he’s the best,” I shot back.
At last, he looked up at me. “I hadn’t realized you were such an admirer. Agrippa doesn’t seem to share the sentiment when it comes to you. It’ll be far more comfortable for us to conduct our business here without him.”
“And what exactly is our business here?”
“Oh, my Cleopatra. That’s entirely up to you.”
Twenty-nine
HONEST negotiation was never part of the emperor’s game. My mother and Julius Caesar hadn’t haggled. She’d rolled herself into his bed. Augustus wanted that same kind of passion and daring from me. I’d have to find a way to give it to him. I must arouse the emperor’s interest, awaken memories of my body. And I must do all this without ever giving gossip-mongers cause to condemn me as an Eastern seductress. It was a very fine line. One that I was keenly aware of when my servants dressed me for the evening’s entertainment. We weren’t in Rome, where a married woman might cause a scandal if she failed to wear a stola over her gown. Nor were we in Athens, where women were sometimes sequestered away. We were, however, in the heart of Hellenistic society; some l
atitude was permitted.
“Not the chiton,” Lady Circe advised. “Let her wear the Egyptian kalasiris so that she might reveal as much, or as little, as she desires.”
Chryssa huffed with indignation. However, Lady Circe’s recommendation had much merit. This particular kalasiris, spun of brilliant white gossamer threads, covered each breast but its wide straps left my arms and breastbone bare. For the sake of modesty, I normally topped the garment with a pearl-studded pectoral necklace and wrapped my arms in a shawl. Tonight I would be less modest. Donning my gown like a suit of armor, I slipped the sheath over my body, knowing how it accentuated the curve of my hips. With eerily steady hands, I fastened earrings, which glittered above my smooth, bare shoulders. Chryssa draped a strand of pearls over me as I adjusted the straps over my chest, knowing that glimpses of my breasts might be seen if I let my shawl slip away. Then, once my hair was brushed to a sheen so that it resembled mahogany silk, Chryssa divided it into ringlets at the back of my neck and drew patterns around my eyes with the scrape of kohl and the powder of malachite in the ancient Egyptian fashion; I intended to put on a performance that would let everyone in attendance know that I’d come to this island for my mother’s kingdom.
At the banquet that night, Maecenas was so startled by my dramatic appearance that he rose to his feet. “Ah, Queen Cleopatra Selene of Egypt!” A nervous titter alerted him to his mistake. “I meant to say Mauretania, please forgive me.”
“All is forgiven,” I said, as if forgiveness was mine to give. “After all, I’m Mauretanian by way of Egypt!”
The guests laughed, but the emperor scowled. “Perhaps your latest costume confused him.”
“Why, I’m dressed to honor the sea,” I said, touching my pearls. “Mauretania is rich with oysters, and I’d be a poor queen not to boast of that. In fact, I’ve a gift for each of your guests.”
The room was filled with Easterners, all of whom happily accepted my gifts of pearled jewelry and pearled knives. I was to share my couch with Archelaus of Cappadocia and his daughter, Princess Glaphyra, who fastened a string of Mauretanian pearls around her neck and exclaimed, “Why, they’re beautiful. I feared you’d give us garum sauce.”
We all laughed. Especially Terentilla, whose hyena cackle hurt my ears. In full view of Maecenas, she draped herself over the emperor’s knees. I wondered that he allowed his mistress such latitude in public, but with Livia looking on so serenely, who could object?
“Princess Glaphyra, we have more than fish in Mauretania,” I said, describing the olive orchards, the vineyards, and the exotic animals.
“It does sound wonderful,” the young princess said, her eyes wide with admiration. “If I were you, I’d keep it quiet, though, lest one of your rivals invade your kingdom and steal it all.”
I admired her brazen honesty, because she reminded me of Julia. Sometime after the traditional first course of boiled eggs was served, her father, King Archelaus, leaned toward me, his voice not quite a whisper. “There’s something I must say to you, Cleopatra Selene. Your father made me King of Cappadocia. No doubt, you’ve been told that I abandoned him and took up Octavian’s cause. Realize that I did so only after Actium. Only when all was lost and to do otherwise would bring ruin to my kingdom. I know you must count as betrayers those who turned against your parents, but I hope you won’t count me amongst them. I was your father’s true friend.”
Archelaus had come to the Isle of Samos to receive official forgiveness for having sided with my father in the first place; he had nothing to gain by saying this to me. In fact, he gambled. He couldn’t know that I wasn’t every bit as loyal to the emperor as I claimed to be, unless, of course, this was a test. I couldn’t risk a sincere answer. “King Archelaus, if I held Actium against the survivors, I’d have scarcely a friend left in the world.”
The king’s expression hardened, as if he sensed my political artifice. “I support your claim to Egypt, but not every monarch does. You have enemies, and none more implacable than King Herod of Judea.”
That hateful man again. “Is Herod here, on the island?”
The King of Cappadocia shook his head. “No. He sent an ambassador, though. Nicholas of Damascus.”
At this, I brightened. “I remember Nicholas. He was one of my tutors in Alexandria.”
“Don’t trust him,” Archelaus said. “He’s Herod’s creature now and will undermine you. Herod would be here to do it himself except that he doesn’t like to compete for the emperor’s attention.”
Neither did I, but I didn’t have to glance over my shoulder to know that the emperor’s eyes were on me, lustful and contemptuous in equal parts. I shifted, letting my shawl slip over one shoulder so that only he might see bare flesh. But I never looked his way. Instead, I made an excuse and left my dining couch.
“Well done,” Lady Circe whispered in my ear. “You have a stillness about you that conveys purity. Even better, because your face is aristocratic rather than beautiful, you bewitch without seeming as if it were your intent. The emperor can’t take his eyes off you.”
“I begin to regret asking you along, Lady Circe.”
If she was wounded by my reproach, her soft smile didn’t reveal it. In a flutter of silk, I turned from her and mingled with royalty, including Iamblichus of Emesa, who’d just been restored to his throne. “Queen Cleopatra Selene,” he said with a regal dip of his head. “Will you walk with me?” The men were drowsy in their cups and the cooler air of the terrace beckoned, so I followed the swarthy king, my own guards and attendants at a discreet distance. As I made my departure, the emperor’s stare was sharp enough to cut me, but I pretended not to notice.
“I think you met my uncle, Alexander,” Iamblichus was saying, and my attention fell away from all notion of seducing the emperor to remembering the day he dragged me through Rome in chains.
The memory was still vivid. The flower petals, the trumpets, the roar of the crowd. The baying and the crimson pool of blood at my feet. I had to clear my throat to find my voice. “He—the Prince of Emesa was very kind to me . . .” My peers shouldn’t remember me as a humiliated prisoner, so I said nothing more of how Alexander of Emesa marched beside me in the emperor’s Triumph. And died for it.
“My father sided with Augustus,” the king said. “My uncle Alexander sided with your father. They each had their reasons.” It wasn’t unlike the kings of Mauretania, Bocchus and Bogud, brothers who’d chosen opposite sides to preserve their dynasty. Exactly the reason that Juba maintained only one man must rule the empire. “Queen Selene, I was hoping you could tell me of my uncle’s remains. Emesa is a holy city and my people would like to see Prince Alexander of Emesa honorably buried.”
Even now, I could feel the prince’s lifeblood as it poured over my sandals. We fought for the Golden Age, but they fought for an Age of Gold, he’d said. It all seemed so ludicrous now. “His body wasn’t kept,” I said, as gently as I could.
Emesa might not practice embalming, but it was the duty of a monarch to bury his predecessors with due honor, and I could see that this weighed upon King Iamblichus. I wished I could say something to comfort him, but he quickly took his leave.
BEFORE the banquet ended, I went to the emperor’s rooms, where Strabo stood with spear and crested helmet. Having once seen me bloodied with the ecstasy of Isis, the emperor’s praetorian avoided my gaze. He admitted me to the emperor’s rooms and I was certain that he’ d warned Augustus of my presence, but when the emperor arrived to find me sitting at his desk, his steps stuttered to a halt, as if he’d come upon a hooded cobra. “What are you doing here?”
Oh, dear Isis, was I ready to play this game? The bedroom was the battlefield of other women. Women like my mother or Circe or Terentilla. Not women like me. My confidence fled from me like wounded Aphrodite at Troy, but I’d left myself no path for retreat. I glanced up from beneath long lashes. “I’m here to answer your summons, Caesar.”
“I didn’t summon you to my private rooms,” he said, snatc
hing maps and battle plans off the table. Did he suspect me of espionage ? He leveled me with a withering gaze. “I thought surely, by this hour, you’d be sharing a bed with Archelaus or Iamblichus or any of the other petty kings you shamelessly enticed this evening.”
Sensing that my hands trembled, I tucked them beneath my gown. “I’d never humble myself to bed with men such as those. And if those men are enticed, it’s no fault of mine. I’m a vessel of Isis. All men desire her and if they see traces of the goddess in me, they must be forgiven their lust.”
“Must they?” As if he’d been given permission, Augustus stared openly, his eyes drifting to my breasts, down the flat of my belly, and to the curve of my hip as if he were comparing my womanly figure to the body of the girl he’d taken all those years ago. I half worried that he might not feel desire if I didn’t look barely old enough for marriage, but when his lips parted for a deep intake of breath, I knew better. Though he rarely drank after dinner, he turned to fill a silver cup. “You’ve driven me to wine, Selene. You’ve driven me to excess. To drunkenness, I may even predict.” He drained the entire cup and slammed it down on the table with his discarded maps and papers. Thus fortified, he lurched forward as if to ravish me.
I raised my hand.
He knew the defensive gesture that had flung Agrippa into a pool and stopped in his tracks. “Now you toy with me, Selene.”
“Because you love games, Caesar.”
His eyes narrowed. “I don’t enjoy being taunted. It seems that I cannot lay a hand upon you without your consent. But you’ve no right to secrete yourself in my bedchambers, then expect me to resist you from a sense of virtue.”
“True,” I confessed. “Who knows better than I that you only pretend to be a virtuous man.”
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