Cleopatra's Moon

by Vicky Alvear Shecter

  The temple column grew wider, taller, blocking out the sky. “If we don’t perform the sacred rites with the Priest of Anubis,” I said, “Father’s and Mother’s kas will not travel to the Realm of Osiris. Their spirits will haunt you until even Fortuna turns from you in disgust. You do not know the power of the dead in Egypt.”

  Rage and fear fought for dominance on Octavianus’s face. I pressed my advantage. “Without the rites, their restless spirits will call on all of the angry and evil spirits of the dead, deep within the secret burial places of this ancient land, and … and …”

  “Stop!” Agrippa ordered. “Let them have their ceremonies,” he whispered to Octavianus. “You cannot start your reign here by angering their gods.”

  “The ship leaves in three days,” Octavianus said through clenched teeth. “And these bastards will be on it.”

  “Fine, but have them meet with their death priests before they go,” Agrippa urged. “We must at least appear to be respectful of their ancient practices….”

  The two men stared at each other, almost as if they were holding an entire conversation without words.

  “Call for their bestial priests, then,” Octavianus snarled. He turned on his heel and stomped out. Agrippa gave me a quick glance before following.

  It took me a moment to understand what had just happened. I had won a small victory. He would allow us to talk to the priests about the sacred rites.

  But at a huge cost. I had earned the eternal enmity of the man in complete control of my future.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The Priests of Anubis created a special ceremony for us, allowing us to complete our ritual duties despite the fact that my parents’ bodies were not yet ready for entombment.

  We prepared for the rite well before sunrise on the day before our departure. I dressed in my finest white pleated linen gown and golden sandals, and donned a braided ceremonial wig. Zosima applied the moist, thick kohl on my brows and lids. It felt, for a moment, as if she were sealing my eyes shut, like the linen bandages that would forever bind Mother’s. Alexandros and Ptolly dressed in royal garb too, wearing ceremonial kilts and tying multicolored broad collars around their bare chests. They slipped on the striped headdresses of royalty.

  Katep escorted us out of the dark palace. As we neared Mother’s tomb, I swallowed at the sight of the torch-lit ibw, the tented temporary Place of Purification where her body was undergoing its ritual cleansing. Mother is still whole, I thought as my stomach tightened. A part of me wanted to run into the forbidden tent and see her, touch her, before the priests moved her to per nefer, “The House of Beauty,” where they would cut her open and pull out her organs for safekeeping in canopic jars. Only her heart would stay in her body. She would need it for the Weighing of the Heart test judged by Anubis.

  Was it my fault? I wondered. Had the spell for Calling Forth Anubis made him go after Mother? I had asked Amunet that question many times. “No,” she always said. “Anubis shadows you but also protects you. He will help you save the sons of Egypt.”

  Inside Mother’s mausoleum, I stumbled for a moment as I realized Mother took her last breath in that very place. Again, I had to force myself to breathe deeply. To my surprise, the marble-columned room was crowded, not just with priests but with Mother’s most loyal associates — Mardian, Apollodorus, her prime minister Protarchus, and favored scholars and philosophers from the Museion. Alexandros and I took Ptolly’s warm, moist hands as Katep and our nurses left the sacred area.

  At the first light, the Priest of Ra intoned, “Praise to thee, ? Ra, when thou risest. Shine thou upon my face….” The Welcoming of the Sun prayer continued until Ra caressed the high windows, small shafts of light illuminating the gold on the priests’ chests, the wall carvings, the gilded horns of the magnificent sacrificial bull.

  “You will see this golden light again soon, Mother,” I whispered. “I swear it.”

  The Priest of Osiris raked the ceremonial knife across the bull’s throat, and the majestic animal, to my relief, did not fight. This, I knew, was a sign that the gods had smiled on our unusual ceremony. Priests carrying shining silver bowls caught the first blood, and the room grew thick with the sweet metallic scent of it.

  As the animal slowly fell to its knees, then flopped to its great side with a half bellow, half sigh, Priestesses of Isis lit small bowls of incense, rattled their sacred sistrums, and chanted the prayers of preparation. Through the haze of billowing incense, I spotted three golden shabtis, ceremonial statuettes, on an altar beside the Overseer of the Mysteries. I realized that a different face had been painted on each one — Father, Caesarion, and, finally, Mother.

  The Priest of Anubis donned the great gleaming black mask of the Jackal-God. Ptolly whimpered and hid his face in my waist. “We do this so we may we see Tata, Mother, and Caesarion again,” I whispered. “We must not fail them.” He faced the priest but continued to press against me. I rubbed his back, which was slick with sweat in the late-summer heat of the airless tomb.

  Since my family’s bodies were not yet prepared, we held the Opening of the Mouth ceremony over their shabti statues. The Priest of Anubis bowed his great mask over the golden figures, then the Priest of Ptah stepped forward, touched his own lips with a ceremonial adze, and symbolically cut open Mother’s mouth.

  “Mother, open your mouth for the breath of life, your ka, so you may breathe, eat, see, hear, and feel,” I murmured along with the priest as he touched Mother’s shabti. I repeated the prayer for Tata and Caesarion. When the priests finished, the three of us fell to our knees in the traditional posture of mourning — heads bowed, palms in the air over our heads — and prayed for their safekeeping during their Great Journey.

  At the ceremony’s end, I almost wept with relief. We had done it. We had ensured that my family’s passage to the afterworld was safe. I would see Mother again. I would see them all.

  As the Priests of Anubis and Toth removed the shabtis and proceeded out of the tomb, the three of us approached Ma’ani-Djehuti, the Priest of Serapis, and Amunet, the Priestess of Isis. I wanted to offer my gratitude but was interrupted before I could begin.

  “Now that we have ensured the safe passage of the Great Queen, her son the king, and her husband to the domain of the Lord of the West, we have one more ceremony that we must complete,” Amunet announced.

  I looked at Alexandros. He gave a slight shrug. Ma’ani-Djehuti nodded to someone behind us, and I heard the door rebolted. Mother’s inner circle of advisers and scholars, I noticed, had not exited with the long line of priests and assistants. They formed a wall behind Amunet and Ma’ani-Djehuti. My heart raced. What was happening?

  “Egypt must have a pharaoh to maintain ma’at, to keep Set, the God of Chaos and Destruction, at bay,” Ma’ani-Djehuti explained. “Upon your mother’s and brother’s deaths, by the laws of ma’at and Great Horus, you become king and queen, pharaohs of the Two Lands of Egypt. Only through the sacred crowning ceremony set forth by the Great Goddess and the Great God do we ensure the preservation of ma’at.”

  A young man holding two crowns stepped forward. They were going to crown us? But we were leaving for Rome the next day! Ma’ani-Djehuti must have read our confused expressions, for he smiled at us. “The Roman occupation is a temporary disruption in the Great Destiny that is Egypt. When you are crowned, we tie your fates to Kemet. It will not be long before you are returned to us.”

  Amunet bid us sit down on thrones that seemed to appear out of nowhere. Ptolly stood beside us. The old priest intoned the prayers of coronation and regeneration. When he raised his arms, I noticed how the excess skin on his bare brown chest looked somehow both soft and parched at the same time. Ma’ani-Djehuti tied a false beard made of goat’s hair on Alexandros’s chin, identifying him with Osiris. He placed the scepter in the form of a striped shepherd’s crook in one of my brother’s hands; in the other, a fly whip. Amunet handed me a royal crook and whip as well. Around my neck, she tied a brilliant jeweled broa
d collar that identified me with Isis.

  A young priest passed Ma’ani-Djehuti and Amunet the two crowns, which they held aloft. I kept my head immobile but moved my eyes up to study the flanged blue helmet Amunet held aloft before me, adorned with golden discs bearing the sacred snake and vulture on the brow.

  I blinked. I had never seen Mother wear a crown like this. She typically wore either the golden diadem with the three rearing cobras, or the white and red crown of the Ruler of the Two Lands. This was the Blue Crown of War. My stomach tightened at the implication. Pharaohs only wore this special crown, the Khepresh, in times of attack. Did this mean we would actually have to battle mighty Rome at some point?

  Ritual prayers washed over us. Even as I worried, my senses felt overwhelmed by the lingering scent of incense and blood and the rapid Egyptian chanted over our heads. My breathing quickened as I anticipated the moment the crown touched my brow. What would it feel like, this power from the gods that had shone through Mother’s eyes?

  Amunet and Ma’ani-Djehuti named us King and Queen, Brother-Sister, Husband-Wife, as were the first Great Gods and Rulers of Egypt — Isis and Osiris. I closed my eyes as the crown was lowered. It felt heavy and stiff, as if someone had placed a block of marble on my head. I thought of Mother’s last whispered words to me — “You have the heart of a great and powerful queen.” I mouthed the word “Genestho,” just as she had murmured it — “Make it so.”

  Amunet and Ma’ani-Djehuti bowed at our feet as the others chanted the great prayer of Welcoming. Muffled shouts and commands in both Latin and Greek outside the tomb made me jump. I heard the word “Caesar” and knew, with a sinking feeling, that he was outside, demanding entrance. This ceremony would outrage him. But how did he know of it when even we had not?

  The scuffling and shouted obscenities outside the tomb drowned out the beauty of the ancient words within. During the chaos, Amunet raised her head and stared at me with such fierceness I almost jumped in my makeshift throne. She leaned closer to me, speaking with a low urgency over the chanting beside us and the arguing outside. “Our agents in Rome are already at work on plans to bring you back to fulfill your destiny,” she said. My heart sped up in excitement. Were these the same agents Mother had told me about the night before she died? “Someone will appear with instructions when it is time,” she continued. “Do you understand? You must be patient. And trust Isis.”

  Before I could respond — Who will contact us? What should we do in the meantime? — the door burst open with a crash. The chanting stopped as we all looked up, the sudden quiet as disturbing as the harsh sunlight that blinded us in the darkened chamber.

  A figure emerged, as dark and as indistinguishable as Anubis in a tomb. As it advanced, for a wild moment I wondered if it was indeed the Lord of the Dead coming to claim us. But it was the Roman deliverer of death — Octavianus.

  I caught my breath at the look of pure hatred and rage twisting his face.

  “You,” he bellowed, pointing at us, “are guilty of treason against Rome.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  We froze. There was no denying the evidence. Alexandros and I sat on thrones, crowned as Egypt’s new rulers, the head priest and priestess on their knees in front of us.

  Octavianus took it all in, his slight chest heaving. Marcus Agrippa followed him in, his brow furrowed as usual, along with Octavianus’s lictores — the giant Gauls who served as his personal bodyguards. I swallowed as Octavianus walked over to us. “Who is responsible for this?” he growled to Amunet and Ma’ani-Djehuti.

  “It was necessary,” Ma’ani-Djehuti replied calmly, slowly getting up from his knees. “Ma’at must be maintained, or chaos will rule in people’s hearts and throughout the land.”

  “Is that some sort of a threat?” Octavianus asked through clenched teeth.

  “Absolutely not,” said the old priest. “It is merely a statement of fact.”

  With a violence that caught me by surprise, Octavianus backhanded the crowns off both our heads. Ptolly ducked behind my makeshift throne as the crowns clattered and rolled away from us. Blood from the sacrificed bull darkened their brilliant blue, the singular color of Egypt.

  Octavianus turned to Amunet and Ma’ani-Djehuti. “In case this is not clear, let me explain. I am your pharaoh. I am your king. I am your ruler. I am your God. I am the ultimate authority here and in all of Rome’s empire. Do you understand?” He turned and pointed at us. “Never, never, will the spawn of that sorceress bitch you called a queen rule in this land. Do you understand me? I should kill them in front of you so that you barbarians are not tempted to trifle with me again.”

  I swallowed. Ptolly’s breath grew ragged behind me. I wanted to comfort him, but I could not move. If he killed us now, who would conduct the rites for us to join our family in Aaru?

  Agrippa walked up to Octavianus and put his hand on his friend’s back. Octavianus straightened and rolled his shoulders. He took a breath. “But Caesar, you will learn, unlike weak Antonius, never lets emotions rule his intellect. And so I stay my hand.”

  He turned to Ma’ani-Djehuti. “But I need not be so merciful to you. For the priest who dared defy me, I order death by crucifixion.”

  “No!” I stood. “You cannot impose Rome’s barbaric ways on a sacred Priest of Serapis!”

  Alexandros stood up beside me. “The people of Egypt will surely revolt at such a sacrilege,” he added.

  Octavianus smirked. “Oh, they may complain. But they will stop quickly enough when they face the crossbeams themselves. Besides, they must learn that Caesar bows down to no foreign priest.” He lifted his chin in the direction of Ma’ani-Djehuti. “Take him,” he ordered. “Take the priestess too. Take them all.”

  “No!” I cried again, as his lictores grabbed the slight old man and long-haired Amunet by the upper arms.

  Ma’ani-Djehuti looked at us, his face relaxing into a reassuring smile. “Do not worry, little king and queen,” he said in Egyptian. “He cannot undo what has been done. I die knowing I have fulfilled the Goddess’s wishes.”

  I watched them drag away Mother’s lifetime religious advisers. At the door, Amunet turned her face toward Octavianus. She uttered one word: “Telestai.” It is done. At first, I wondered why she used a Greek word and not an Egyptian one, and then I realized: She wanted him to understand her.

  Then the Lady of Isis spat at his feet.

  The next morning, as we prepared for the journey that would take us away from everything we knew and loved, Octavianus came to our rooms. “As you know, I have arranged for my dear sister, Octavia, to take care of you,” he said.

  He arranged it? Mother had indicated that she had made a secret agreement with Octavia. But, of course, he would take credit for the idea.

  “Please send my greetings to my lovely and loyal sister,” he continued. “It will be many months before I will be free enough to return to Rome….”

  Yes, I thought, stealing all of Egypt’s wealth is quite time-consuming.

  “For reasons I will never fathom,” he went on, pacing back and forth, “Octavia truly loved your father. My sister is what every Roman woman should aspire to be.” He stopped in front of me. “Kind, virtuous, beautiful, loyal. You will not hurt her by talking about your father’s relationship with the Queen, understand?”

  I stared straight ahead.

  “Understand?”

  I nodded.

  “Good.”

  I felt his stare as a beat passed. Then he added, “One more thing: Just as it is unwise to disobey Caesar, it is even more unwise to disobey Caesar’s wife.”

  I glanced his way and saw him still watching me. “Yes,” he continued. “I give Livia Drusilla full control over all of my property while I am away. And now,” he added, “that includes you three.”

  Was that some sort of warning? I tried to keep my face impassive, but worry crept up my spine.

  He seemed to sense my growing fear because he broke into a slow Amut the Destroyer smile. �
��Enjoy one last look at your lovely Alexandria on your way out,” he finally said, turning to leave. “You will never see it again. I have asked the litter bearers to take you past the Caesareum on the way to the Harbor of Good Returns so that you may say good-bye.” He gave us a strange smile and sauntered out.

  As we passed the Royal Gardens — dry and brown now since the Romans had both trampled and ignored the precious blooms — I thought again about what Amunet had said to me during the crowning. Was it true? Would Mother’s agents in Rome really help us return? But how? She’d said that someone would appear when the time was right. I had to be patient and to trust Isis. I could do that. I would not let her — or Mother — down.

  When we were out of the royal complex, our litter bearers closed the heavy linen drapes on each side of the litter. Had someone told them to do that? I looked at Alexandros. He shrugged. We began to swelter. I reached out to open them again when the bearer’s hand shot up on the other side of the fabric to stop me.

  “We are hot!” I complained.

  “It must stay this way,” said the bearer. “For … for your protection.”

  Again, I looked at Alexandros. This made no sense. Besides, I wanted to look upon our beloved city one last time. But I would later thank the bearers for their kindness, for on the way to the commercial harbor, we heard an assortment of odd moans and cries.

  Ptolly’s eyes grew big. He began to rock back and forth. “No, no, no, no …,” he murmured. “No more ghosts, no more ghosts.”

  I touched Ptolly’s shoulder, trying to still his rocking. “It is just the servants complaining about carrying our things to the farther harbor,” I said. “That is all. Our packs are very heavy, and we have a lot of them.” It was true — Octavianus had given us no instructions on packing, so the servants had collected almost everything we owned, including our clothing and jewelry. Zosima had even taken some of Mother’s dresses, jewels, and makeup, knowing how much they would mean to me.