CLEOPATRA’S MOON
VICKY ALVEAR SHECTER
For Bruce, Matthew, and Aliya
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Character List
On A Roman Ship To Africa
Part I: Egypt
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Part II: Rome
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Part III: Two Years Later
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Author’s Note
The Facts Within The Fiction
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
CHARACTER LIST
Egypt
The Royal Family
Cleopatra VIII Selene — The only daughter of Cleopatra VII and Marcus Antonius; twin to Alexandros Helios
Cleopatra VII — The last queen of Egypt. Came to the throne at seventeen; allied with Julius Caesar in the War of Alexandria after siblings tried to overthrow her; married the Roman general Marcus Antonius.
Marcus Antonius — Roman general and politician. Was once married to Octavia, whom he divorced to marry Cleopatra VII. Father of Cleopatra Selene, Alexandros Helios, and Ptolemy Philadelphos, as well as two daughters by Octavia, Antonia-the-Elder and Antonia-the-Younger.
Caesarion (Ptolemy XV Caesar) — Son of Cleopatra VII and Julius Caesar
Alexandros Helios — Twin brother of Cleopatra Selene
Ptolemy XVI Philadelphos, or Ptolly — The youngest son of Cleopatra VII and Marcus Antonius
In Alexandria
Zosima* — Nurse to Cleopatra Selene
Nafre* — Nurse to Ptolly
Iotape — An Armenian princess brought to Egypt as a child and betrothed to Alexandros
Katep* — Cleopatra Selene’s royal eunuch and guard
Euphronius — Tutor to the royal children
Charmion — Queen Cleopatra’s lady, companion, and handmaiden
Iras — Another lady and handmaiden to Queen Cleopatra
Euginia* — Cleopatra Selene’s friend
Olympus — A Greek iatros, or healer
Cornelius Dolabella — A Roman soldier left to guard Queen Cleopatra during Octavianus’s occupation of Alexandria
Yoseph ben Zakkai* — A rabbi in Alexandria
Amunet* — Priestess of Isis at Pharos
Ma’ani-Djehuti* — Priest of Serapis
Sebi, Tanafriti, Hekate* — Cats of the royal household
Gods
Isis — The Great Goddess, Cleopatra’s patron goddess Osiris — Lord of the Dead
Anubis — The jackal-headed god of the mummification process and the afterlife
Horus — The falcon-headed god of the sun, war, and protection
Amut the Destroyer — A monstrous demon with the head of a crocodile, the belly of a lion, and the legs of a hippo. He eats the hearts of those who didn’t live by the rules of ma’at, preventing them from entering the afterworld.
Bastet — The cat-headed goddess of protection, especially of women, children, and domestic cats
Rome
The House of Caesar
Octavianus — Nephew of Julius Caesar, who adopted Octavianus as his successor. Later called Augustus, the first emperor of Rome. Father of Julia.
Livia Drusilla — Second wife of Octavianus; mother to Tiberius and Drusus by her first husband
Julia — Daughter and only child of Octavianus by his first wife
Octavia — Octavianus’s sister. Married first to Gaius Claudius Marcellus, then for political reasons to Marcus Antonius, who divorced her to wed Cleopatra VII. Mother of Marcellus, Marcella-the-Elder, and Marcella-the-Younger by her first husband, and Antonia-the-Elder and Antonia-the-Younger by Marcus Antonius.
Marcellus — Son of Octavia and her first husband
Tiberius — Livia’s elder son from her first marriage
Drusus — Livia’s younger son from her first marriage
Marcella-the-Elder and Marcella-the-Younger — Daughters of Octavia and her first husband
Antonia-the-Elder and Antonia-the-Younger — Daughters of Octavia and Marcus Antonius
Other Romans
Juba II — Born a prince of the African kingdom of Numidia. Captured by Julius Caesar in infancy and raised in Octavia’s household.
Marcus Agrippa — A friend and general of Octavianus
Ben Harabim* — A young Jewish man in Rome
Placus Munius Corbulo the Elder* — A Roman statesman with a reputation for marriages that end under suspicious circumstances
Cornelius Gallus — The Roman officer left in charge of Egypt
Isetnofret* — Priestess of Isis at Capua
*Fictional characters
ON A ROMAN SHIP TO AFRICA
In What Would Have Been the Twenty-sixth Year of My Mother’s Reign
In My Sixteenth Year (25 BCE)
“Get rid of that body now, or my men will mutiny!” the captain yelled from the other side of the door.
A stylus on the floor rolled with the movement of the ship. The flame from the hanging bronze lamp flickered. Still, I did not respond.
“Little Moon,” my old nurse, Zosima, whispered. “Please. You must say something.”
No one had called me Little Moon in so long. The endearment brought a wave of sorrow and grief crashing up from my center, but I swallowed it down. I had to stay in control.
“Talk to him through the door,” I said. “But do not open it.”
The captain must have heard our murmurs. “Do you hear me?” he cried. “The longer you hide in the cabin with the body, the more my men think you practice the dark arts. That you are a sorceress like your mother. Do you understand the danger?”
“Tell him we will do what he wants at sunrise,” I said to Zosima. “Not a moment sooner.”
The captain interrupted her with an explosion of rage. “If we do not act now, I will have full-out revolt! Even the slaves are refusing to man their posts!”
I stood up. “Tell your men,” I said, calling on the voice Mother used to address crowds, “that in Egypt, the spirit of a body not given the full rites is cursed to roam the place of its death for eternity, bringing misery and destruction. For their own safety, they must let me finish.”
No response. Romans in general
were superstitious, but Roman sailors were the worst of all. I pinned my hopes on that.
“But sunrise is yet an hour away!” the captain complained. Despite my best efforts, my irritation bled through. “Surely you can control your men for one hour, Captain?” Silence. Had I gone too far?
“Do you swear to perform the rites at the first light of the sun and be done with it?” he asked, through what sounded like gritted teeth. “Can I promise my men that?”
“You have my word,” I said.
A moment’s pause. Then the sound of angry, stomping feet. I breathed out.
I turned to Alexandros. Surely this was all a big mistake. My twin, the sun to my moon, was merely sleeping. We always joked that he slept like the dead.
But I could no longer fool myself that the grayness of his skin, the sunken hollows of his eyes, were just a trick of the light. My brother drank the poison meant for me. And now the only family I had left was gone.
“I need more cloth strips,” I said to Zosima. “Get me the softest linen you can find for his head. He must be comfortable.”
Zosima handed me a soft, worn shift. It would do. I slashed the fabric with my dagger — the one that had once been Mother’s — then took it between my teeth and ripped the rest with my hands.
“Please. Let me … let me rend this cloth,” Zosima said. “You should not do this.”
With the fabric still between my teeth, I shook my head, feeling like a lioness breaking the neck of a small animal. No. I was the only one who could.
There were no Priests of Anubis on the Roman ship. I could not preserve my brother’s body in the ancient ways, but I prayed that if I bound him well enough and sacrificed his body to Osiris and Poseidon, the gods would take pity and protect him so that his ka, his soul, would be reunited with him in the afterworld. So I would see him again.
I cradled the back of Alexandros’s head with one hand and wound the linen strips around it with the other. When I reached his eyes, I began to cry again. But I did not stop working. I kissed his cold forehead before it disappeared under the wrapping.
Muffled arguing above us. Would the men revolt anyway? I looked up and saw Zosima watching me. “Where is Bucephalus?” I asked.
She looked at me blankly.
“His little onyx horse. The one he brought from Alexandria. Please. I do not want him to be alone.”
She rummaged through his things and brought it to me. A remnant from Egypt, a present from Father. I placed it on the linen between his folded arms. “To keep you company,” I whispered.
Then I reached between my breasts and yanked off the Knot of Isis amulet that had once been Mother’s. I tucked it carefully over his heart. “May your heart be light against the Feather of Truth,” I prayed.
I covered the amulet and horse with one final layer of linen strips.
The captain commanded several oarsmen to bring the body up on deck. Only two agreed to help. The rest of the crew watched, some grumbling, others placing two fingers from their right hands over their hearts, the sign of protection against evil. I raised my chin as we passed.
In the gray light of predawn, the men balanced my brother’s body on the western edge of the boat, for the West was where Osiris, Lord of the Dead, lived. I stood next to the wrapped body of my twin. They waited for my signal. But I could not give it.
“Throw her in too!” someone yelled from behind me.
“Death follows her, just like her mother!”
“She brings bad luck — look what happened to Antonius!”
I stiffened my back and felt Zosima move in closer.
“Quiet! All of you! Let us be done with this,” the captain yelled.
I closed my eyes to pray. But I did not know the ancient prayers for the dead. “Forgive me for not knowing the sacred words, O Anubis, Jackal God of the Dead,” I began. “In the name of Osiris, please protect this son of Egypt so that his ka may live in happy Aaru, with all of those he loved and who loved him. Preserve and lighten his heart so that he may pass your sacred test against the Feather of Truth.”
I heard murmuring behind me and felt the first warmth of the sun on my back. I opened my eyes. It was time. But again, I could not give the order. My throat clenched, allowing only a sliver of breath to claw its way in and out.
Muttering behind me. “What is the witch waiting for? The sun rises!”
May our kas embrace on the other side, brother….
I took a deep breath and nodded. The men released Alexandros. I watched my twin’s wrapped body disappear into the cold waters of the Mediterranean in a slow swirl of white.
I wanted to jump in after him.
“It is done,” shouted the captain. “Every man to his station. We must finish this journey as quickly as possible.”
I stared at the sea, trying to breathe, trying to understand how I came to be here. A motherless daughter, and now a brotherless sister. How was it that I went from a princess of Egypt — the daughter of the most powerful queen in the world — to a prisoner of Rome, and now the bride of a petty ruler in the scrubs of Africa?
I closed my eyes, remembering Mother’s soft breath on my ear as she whispered, “You have the heart of a great and powerful queen.” Her last words to me. I spent my whole life trying to live up to them. But I failed. I lost everything, lost every single person I ever loved.
Why? Why have you cursed me? I asked the gods. Why have you cursed my family?
But no answer came. I heard only the creaking of ropes, the flapping of sails, the splash of water against the hull.
PART I: EGYPT
CHAPTER ONE
In the Seventeenth Year of My Mother’s Reign
In My Seventh Year (34 BCE)
What caused the gods to fall upon my family like starved lions in a Roman arena?
I suspect it began in my seventh year, on a day that I once considered one of the happiest of my life. It was a dazzling, sun-drenched summer morning in Alexandria-by-the-Sea. Outside the Royal Quarter, with the Mediterranean sparkling behind us and rows of date palms swaying before us, my mother and brothers and I sat alongside one another on individual thrones. We waited for my father, the great Roman general Marcus Antonius, to finish parading through the city and join us atop our grand ceremonial dais. The ceremony today would celebrate his victory over Armenia, his eastern enemy. And we — his family and all of Alexandria — would rejoice with him.
Even in the shade of our royal canopy, sweat trickled down my neck and back. The ostrich-feather fans the servants waved over us provided little relief. Strong breezes occasionally gusted from the Royal Harbor, cooling us with the salty bite of the sea.
Despite the discomfort and the glare from the beaten silver platform at our feet, I forced myself to keep still as Mother had instructed, my eyes trained just above the horizon. Zosima, who had carefully painted my face, had forbidden me from squinting in the bright light. I was not to ruin the heavy black kohl around my eyes and eyebrows, and under no circumstances to cause the green malachite painted on my lids to flake off. I was not even to turn my head. I would follow all the rules perfectly, I swore to myself. I would make Mother proud.
But excitement and curiosity burbled in my blood as I fought to stay still, stealing side-glances whenever I could. I especially treasured my glimpses of Mother, Queen Cleopatra VII. She sat on a golden throne, looking as resplendent as one of the giant marble statues guarding the tombs of the Old Ones. Diamonds twinkled in a jungle of black braids on her ceremonial wig. She wore a diadem with three rearing snakes and a golden broad collar, shining with lapis lazuli, carnelian, and emeralds, over her golden, form-fitting pleated gown. In one hand, she held a golden ankh of life, while the other clasped the striped crook and flail of her divine rulership. Her stillness radiated power, like a lioness pausing before the pounce. It left me breathless with awe.
I sat up straighter, trying to emulate her, puffing up with pride at the realization that only Mother and I were dressed as true rulers of Egy
pt — she as the Goddess Isis and I as the moon goddess, Nephthys. After all, was I not named for the moon? My brother may have been called Alexandros Helios, for the sun, but I was Cleopatra Selene, the moon. I wore a flowing dress that reminded me of the liquid metal that the scientists at our Great Library described as “living silver.” A silver diadem of the moon sat atop my own thickly braided ceremonial wig. Even my sandals flashed silver.
I had never seen my beloved city so packed. By the tens of thousands, Alexandrians and Egyptians flooded the wide avenues and byways, desperate to catch a glimpse of us or of Father on his parade route. The richest of the noble Greek families sat on tiered benches in the square before us, while tradesmen, merchants, and the poor spilled into the streets, squirming and jostling for position. Some even shimmied up trees, climbed onto the shoulders of the statues of my ancestors, and scrabbled to the tops of pediments and roofs to get a better view of us.
The roar of the crowd as my father approached in his chariot sounded like waves crashing against the rocks on Pharos Island, home of our Great Lighthouse. When Tata climbed onto the dais to join us — his golden armor gleaming, his face soaked with sweat but shining with joy — he looked like a god. The God of War!
In his deep bass, Father began: “I stand before you as Imperator to the greatest of all civilizations, made even greater by the loyalty and fealty of its allies. Today, we remind the world that it is far, far wiser to be Rome’s Friend rather than her Enemy.”
Our people roared in agreement.
“The foolish King Aatavartes of Medea thought to test Rome’s strength,” he continued, the crowd groaning at the king’s stupidity. “He sought to ally with Rome and Egypt’s enemy in a greedy bid for power and riches. He thought to claim our weapons and weaken us. But he could not, for Rome and Egypt are blessed by the gods, our victory proof of the favor with which the Immortal Ones hold us …”
I lost track of Tata’s speech then and started counting the golden beads on the fan slave’s broad collar. I had gotten up to forty-seven (after having to start over several times) when Father’s voice cut through my reverie.
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