Cleopatra's Moon

by Vicky Alvear Shecter

  I’d had no idea that my brother held on to the hope that one day, he and his childhood love would be reunited. While I had been pining for Egypt, he had been pining for Iotape. Alexandros cupped his hands and brought the cool water to his lips.

  “So what happened?” I asked.

  “My letters must have been discovered. I had not heard from her in some time. The slave from Medea told me today that her family forced an early marriage.” Alexandros rubbed his wet palms over his closed eyes. “So you see,” he added wearily, “I don’t care what happens now. Let him discover us and kill me. I will just wait for Iotape on the other side.”

  “Alexandros, please don’t talk like that.”

  He sat on the side of the fountain. “What is left for us, sister? Why are the gods torturing us like this? Perhaps they really did want the end of all the Ptolemies and we are just postponing the inevitable.”

  “You can’t give up!”

  “And do what? We have outlasted the goodwill Octavianus needed by keeping us alive. He can marry you off to someone, but not me. No Roman girl would have me. So what am I going to do, trail after you when he marries you to some fat old Roman? Live with you as a hanger-on, without dignitas, without independence?”

  I had never thought how all of this was for him. Nor considered how his future was even more limited than mine.

  “Alexandros, please don’t give up. I … I have a plan!”

  He gave me a rueful look.

  “With Marcellus,” I said.

  “What can he do?”

  “He is interested in me.”

  “Cleopatra Selene, he is interested in anything that moves.”

  “Still. Perhaps I can convince him to —”

  “To do what, sister? Haven’t you learned not to trust anybody from the House of Octavii yet?”

  “But if there’s a chance … if there is something I can do to convince him to support us in going back to Egypt …”

  “So you are going to seduce the successor to the most powerful man in Rome on the offhand chance that he might help us return to Egypt?”

  I crossed my arms. When he put it that way, it sounded both tawdry and hopeless.

  “Mother tried that already. And look where it got her,” Alexandros sneered, walking away from me. Then, over his shoulder: “And us.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  The golden fabric sluiced down my body like water, smooth and shiny, settling into Egyptian pleats under my breasts. This touched her body once, I thought as I slid my hand down Mother’s dress, which Zosima had saved for me in secret so long ago.

  Zosima combed out my hair and I closed my eyes, thinking of Alexandros. It seemed preposterous to me that he could have thought he would one day reunite with Iotape. And yet, he reacted to my plans with Marcellus with the same sense of disbelief. Was he right? Was I fooling myself?

  I shook my head, causing Zosima to make an irritated noise as the comb lost its grip on my hair. This was different. Unlike Mother, I would be creating a base of support from within Rome, not just from the outside in Egypt. With Marcellus, I had a real opportunity to change the course of our future, of Egypt’s future. I would be a fool if I didn’t seize it.

  And if I wanted others to think of me as a potential queen of Egypt, I needed to start looking and acting like one, which was why I was taking such care with my appearance. Octavianus’s farewell banquet seemed as good a time as any to begin. After all, even if my Egyptian dress irritated him, he could do nothing about it. He would leave for Spain before sunrise.

  Zosima arranged my curls on the top of my head, leaving only a tendril or two at my neck. She wound golden ribbons in my hair and hung a small pair of Mother’s emeralds in my ears.

  “Paint me with kohl,” I directed.

  She paused. “Are you sure?”

  I looked at her. She did not ask again.

  After the kohl dried, Zosima rummaged through our old chest and lifted a small alabaster vial. “Ah,” she said. “Here it is.”

  “What is that?” I asked.

  She took a small brush and dipped it into the jar. “Powder of gold.”

  “What?”

  “The priests saved it for the most sacred ceremonies honoring Ra. It gives the god’s own protection, as if the light of the sun glowed from your skin.”

  I closed my eyes as she brushed the powder across my cheeks, between my breasts, in the hollow of my neck, on my shoulders. I shivered, imagining the soft kisses of Juba’s mouth in those places…. My eyes flew open. No. Marcellus’s mouth. Marcellus.

  Marcellus was my future, not Juba, I reminded myself. As much as it pained me to refuse his offer, I had to follow through with my plans for Egypt. Mother, I knew, would have done the same.

  I waited until the very last moment to enter the tridinium, after everyone had been seated and the lamps lit. I walked in with my head held high. I did not say anything. I did not have to. All conversation hushed as I took my seat, joining my twin on the outer end of the circle. I glanced at the center couch. Octavianus scanned me from head to toe. Livia had one eyebrow up. Octavia paled.

  Despite the fact that I had wanted to draw attention to myself as a princess of Egypt, I wavered in the face of Octavia’s discomfort. She did not like discord. I gave her a small smile of apology.

  On the ends of the most important couch sat Octavianus’s close friends — Agrippa, Maecenas, Virgil, and Horace. Agrippa scowled as usual, but Maecenas’s eyes glittered when he looked at me. Virgil seemed more interested in Octavianus’s response and watched him instead. Horace grinned and winked at me.

  I reclined slowly, then smiled. “Please accept my apologies for my tardiness,” I said.

  “You look like a … like a queen!” Tonia said with excitement. I smiled at her even as I felt the pang I usually did when I looked into her rounded, pretty face. Ptolly would have been close to twelve years old too.

  Julia, sitting with Marcellus and Juba, narrowed her eyes at me but then smirked. She liked being the center of attention, but she liked disturbing her father even more. And she could see that I had done just that. Juba’s expression was unreadable. But then I let my gaze wander to Marcellus and saw that he was devouring me with his eyes. When they met mine, he treated me to one of his slow, sensuous smiles.

  “To what do we owe this magnificent apparition?” he asked.

  I shrugged, allowing the silky fabric to slide down my shoulder ever so slightly.

  “Perhaps she is celebrating that you are leaving for Spain too,” Julia said to him.

  I tried to swallow my surprise. “You are?”

  Marcellus nodded and sipped his wine. “I was going to go next month, but Caesar wants me to join him now.” He looked at Juba. “Juba is going as well.”

  “Why such short notice?” Alexandros asked. “What has happened?”

  “Caesar wants to test my mettle on the battlefield a bit, I think,” Marcellus said, grinning at Octavianus. “A good officer must always be ready to act on a moment’s notice. And Juba, you requested to join us on this leg too, did you not?”

  Juba nodded.

  “I fear someone has broken his heart,” Marcellus continued. “Why else would our resident scholar actively pursue military engagement?”

  Juba worked his jaw, ignoring Marcellus. I concentrated on keeping my face impassive.

  Julia couldn’t resist. “Who, Juba? Who broke your heart?”

  “He won’t say,” Marcellus said, “but Lucius Clovius saw him meeting his mysterious lady-love a few days ago in the Subura!” Clovius was the officer sent to catch the “traitor” from the complex.

  “The Subura!” Octavia gasped. “Juba!”

  Juba stared daggers at Marcellus.

  “Our friend seems to have lost his sense of humor,” Marcellus said. “And he will not divulge the identity of his mystery girl. Clovius said that she seemed vaguely familiar and guessed that she was a noblewoman in disguise so she could sneak away from her husband.�
�

  Octavianus groaned. “Why is it every time I try to pass laws to improve the morality of our great Republic, someone from my own family does something to undermine me? Juba, please remember that under my proposed laws, if the husband catches you, the paterfamilias will have the right to kill you and pay no penalty!”

  It’s a good thing Rome didn’t have those laws when you had an affair with Livia, I thought. He stole Livia away from her first husband while she was pregnant with Drusus. But I kept my mouth shut. Given his threat to marry me to Corbulo, I did not need to antagonize Octavianus any more than necessary.

  “The lady in question is not married,” Juba said.

  “Then what is the problem?” Octavia asked with genuine concern. “And why were you meeting her in the Subura, of all places?” She paused, her eyes growing wider. “Oh, please do not tell me that Marcellus’s friend is wrong and she really is a plebian, Juba! You cannot mix with the lower classes!”

  “I really don’t wish to discuss this right now,” Juba said.

  “Well, nothing like fighting barbarians to shake you out of your lovesickness,” Marcellus said. “We should see plenty of action, should we not?”

  The conversation turned to the war. During dinner, I tried to assess how Marcellus’s quick departure affected my plans. I had hoped to continue the slow seduction to tie him to me. But he was going to Iberia! And now so was Juba.

  Octavianus focused on the poet Virgil. “So, amicus,” he said. “How goes the epic poem I have commissioned?”

  “What epic poem?” Julia asked, sounding pouty as she plucked a flamingo tongue steamed in vine leaves from a plate held by a slave. “I did not know anything about this.”

  “Well, little empress,” Maecenas said, “our gifted poet is writing an epic of Rome’s history to rival Homer himself.”

  I tried not to snort. No Roman could ever match the genius of our Homer.

  “Tell me how it goes, Virgil,” Octavianus repeated, turning back to the poet.

  Virgil, a quiet, slim man in his early forties, shook his head.

  “Oh, do not be shy,” Maecenas said, popping a tiny roasted dormouse whole into his mouth and crunching the tiny bones with relish. “It will be brilliant like all your works.” He gave me a sly look as he licked the honey off his fingers. “In fact, he has been editing the section in which the hero Aeneas chooses duty to Rome over the love of a beautiful queen.”

  Octavianus smirked. “Yes, the story of Dido. A reminder that bedding a foreign queen brings nothing but destruction to good Romans, and that our Aeneas made the choice Antonius should have made — to honor his duty to Rome and leave his whore queen to her own devices.”

  Was he so obsessed with maligning Mother that he would commission an epic poem as a thinly disguised insult to her?

  I felt someone looking at me. Marcellus. I lowered my eyes and smiled coyly, glancing away so as not to draw attention to our flirtation. I caught Octavia’s eye, and for a moment her face was twisted with such venomous hatred I blinked in surprise. But when I looked again, she had composed herself. What offensive thing had Maecenas said this time? Neither Livia nor Octavia, I knew, held the rich, effeminate Etruscan in high regard.

  I turned back to Marcellus to see if he had caught the small drama between his mother and his uncle’s closest associate. But it appeared as if he had never taken his eyes off me. Looking through my lashes, I smiled again.

  “I am not very hungry,” Juba said, standing abruptly. “Please forgive my rudeness, but I must prepare for my sudden departure.”

  With that, he left the triclinium.

  “Poor Juba,” Marcellus said, smiling. “He really does have it bad.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  After dinner, I walked to the fountain, gambling that Marcellus would seek me out there. Instead, I found Juba.

  This was the first time I had seen him privately since our conversation in the Gardens days ago, and I froze in surprise. “Juba, wh-what are you doing here?”

  “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “I am not disappointed. It is just that —”

  “I wanted to say good-bye,” Juba interrupted. “I leave tomorrow for Spain, as you know. With Fortuna’s help, I may not come back.”

  My stomach clenched in fear. “No, that’s not possible! You will come back from the war, I know you will!”

  Juba looked down and chuckled. “No, you misunderstand me. Leaving now gives me traveling time with Caesar to do what we discussed before — convince him to let me rule in Numidia as my legacy.”

  He was pursuing his plans without me. Part of me felt proud of him. It would not be easy, I knew, and I respected the courage it would take to try to convince Octavianus of anything. But another part of me felt confused. Was I making a mistake? Was I really willing to lose him forever?

  “What will you do if Octavianus denies you?” I asked. “Numidia has been run by a Roman governor for some time, has it not?”

  “Yes, but the Romans do not understand Numidians. There has been some unrest. I think my people will embrace me as the bridge between the two cultures. He will see the wisdom of it.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I cannot be sure. But what I do know,” he said, looking into my eyes, “is that I’m not coming back here to see you with … with Marcellus.”

  I looked down. Why was the Goddess testing me like this?

  Juba let out a breath. “I had to see you one last time….”

  I felt my eyes fill. I closed them. Felt him move closer. He took my chin in his hands. “Cleopatra Selene,” he whispered close to my lips, and I felt a shiver move down my chest to my abdomen. “I …”

  Heavy footsteps on the gravel walkway to the fountain. I jumped back from Juba and I saw a look of surprise and hurt flit across his face, just as I had seen it in my initiation vision.

  “Cleopatra Selene,” someone hissed. “Are you there? It’s me.”

  Marcellus.

  “Gods, I should have brought a lamp. This is ridicu —” He stopped when he saw us. “Juba! What are you doing here?”

  “I did not realize I would be interrupting a romantic assignation,” Juba answered coolly. “I will leave so you can be alone.”

  “Yes, why don’t you,” Marcellus said with an edge.

  Juba turned and strode away, his back tense. Why were we always walking away from each other?

  “What was that about?” Marcellus asked. “Is he … is he trying to woo you from me?”

  I laughed nervously. “No, no. I think he wanted some advice for, um … wooing the girl from the Subura.”

  Marcellus breathed out. “Oh, that’s right. Poor fellow.” He turned to me and smiled. “You look like a goddess tonight. Like the glittering Goddess of Love.”

  Yet I felt as cold and remote as Nephthys/Artemis, the Goddess of the Moon. He ran his fingers down my neck, but I pulled away. “You are leaving,” I said.

  “I can think of nothing else but you, Cleopatra Selene. You have bewitched me.”

  I swallowed. Those were dangerous words. Octavianus had convinced all Rome to turn against my father with the claim that Mother had “bewitched” him. “I have done nothing of the kind!”

  He laughed low in his throat. “It is a poetic phrase. Come here. I want to kiss a goddess.” He leaned into me and kissed me softly on the mouth.

  I reminded myself of my plan … to ally with Marcellus … to regain Egypt. I could do this. I kissed him back, and after a time, Marcellus pressed his whole body against mine, running his hands down my back and hips. He made a small groaning noise in his throat, which frightened me. Was I really ready to consummate our affair? What if, in doing so, he lost interest in me as Juba predicted? I could not risk it.

  I tried wriggling away, but Marcellus kept me tight against him. He began pulling my dress up around my hips.

  “No!” I said, finally disentangling myself. “I cannot.”

  “Selene,” he whispered. �
�I am leaving to fight in battle. I may not come back.”

  “Of course you will come back,” I said a bit harshly. That was the second time I’d heard that phrase tonight — only this time, instead of fear, I felt irritated.

  Marcellus seemed to interpret my reaction as nervousness. “My young little virgin,” he said with a sigh. “I keep forgetting. I won’t push you. I will just have to bear the exquisite agony of waiting for you.

  “The question is,” he continued, “will you wait for me?”

  Gods, his leaving changed everything. Would I lose my only chance at extracting some kind of future in Egypt?

  “Is there someone else vying for your affection, Cleopatra Selene?” he asked with suspicion.

  “N-no!”

  “Then why do you hesitate?”

  “Your uncle told me he plans on marrying me off to Corbulo. The Elder,” I said.

  “What? To that murderous old lecher? Why in the world would he do that?”

  “I do not know, but I fear it will happen soon.”

  “It can’t. Corbulo is in Stabiae. And we leave for Spain tomorrow. He has no time to negotiate with Corbulo — and believe me, Corbulo will turn it into a negotiation. Besides, I will not allow it! I … I will marry you first!”

  I did not say anything. We both knew he could not stop Octavianus. And Marcellus may have been a legal adult, but he had no right to rule his own life as long as the paterfamilias lived. That would be true even if he were forty! Still, my heart raced with hope, for the offer was proof of Marcellus’s growing attachment to me.

  Marcellus began to pace. “We … we cannot have a descendant of Alexander the Great treated this way. Corbulo is a murderer! I will convince Caesar that our union could serve as a symbol of the unification of the Roman West with the Egyptian East. He would have to see what a powerful tool that would be in our management of the eastern provinces.”

  I closed my eyes with relief. Yes. That was exactly right. The irony, of course, was that my parents had tried to do that very thing — unite Rome and the East through marriage. But because Marcellus voiced it, rather than a foreign queen, it might sound reasonable to Octavianus rather than power hungry.