Cleopatra's Moon (22 page)

No matter how many times I visited his tomb, I never got used to the sight of Ptolly’s heartbreakingly small mummy. It seemed impossible that his loud, vibrant, intense physicalness could ever have inhabited the tiny shell that was all of what was left of him.

Ptolly’s mummy faced east to welcome the sun, which was reborn every morning in the same way he was reborn in the afterlife. Colorful hieroglyphic spells on the sides of his wooden sarcophagus ensured his safe journey. His image had been painted on shiny, varnished cedarwood and placed atop the body in the sarcophagus. The artist had not captured the mischievous glint of his eyes or the energy that had seemed to vibrate off his compact body. But the likeness — the curly dark hair, the big brown eyes, the hint of a slightly sideways smile — was true enough.

I sprinkled incense and sacred Nile water — brought to the Temple with every boat from Alexandria — around his body. I also arranged fragrant blooms on the offerings tray. And then …

“In honor of the first visit of my fifteenth year,” I announced to Ptolly, unwrapping a linen bundle with a flourish, “I bring you your favorite treats!” Ptolly had always had a weakness for sweets, especially for almond cakes. I smiled, remembering how his cheeks bulged as he stuffed as much of the cake as he could into a single bite.

Even though it had only been a matter of days since I last visited, I began — as I always did — by telling Ptolly about happenings at the compound.

“Octavianus has recovered from his latest sickness,” I started. The leader of the world constantly complained of stomach trouble and of weakness of breath. “Livia is forever brewing new concoctions for him to try. I am hoping,” I added in a whisper, “that she gets her recipes mixed up and accidentally poisons him!

“Sometimes I feel Livia watching me, and I am sure she is wishing me ill. Why she has not tried again to remove Alexandros and me is a mystery. I am convinced that something — or someone — is staying her hand.” I sniffed a lotus bloom. “I suspect, Little Brother, that it is Octavia. Although I know you grew tired of her smothering, she is still the only other person in the household that Livia respects.” I did not add that Octavia continued to refer to him as her “little Marcus,” for I knew his
ka
would find that displeasing.

“Alexandros spends a lot of time writing, but he never shares his works with me. I wonder if he is composing love poems, though he gives no hint of who has caught his eye.” Alexandros, since Ptolly’s death, had withdrawn even further into himself, an ongoing concern for me. Sometimes, as on that day, I could not even inspire him to accompany me to Ptolly’s tomb. But it did no good to remind
kas
of the pain their passing caused, so I said nothing.

I also did not mention that Alexandros continued scoffing at my plans for returning to Egypt. Once, he wheeled on me in an uncharacteristic rage.

“Stop it!” he had hissed. “It will never happen. The gods have abandoned us. I never, ever want to hear any more of your foolishness again, do you understand?”

He had stalked off while I stared after him, feeling as if he had punched me in the chest.

I shook the memory off. “Marcellus spends more and more time shadowing Octavianus, which only makes Tiberius nastier than ever,” I continued. “I am sure it galls Livia that everyone — not just her husband — dislikes her firstborn…. And Tonia is so big now you wouldn’t recognize her,” I said of Antonia-the-Younger, his favorite playmate.
“She sends this for you.” I slipped a small letter she wrote to him in between the blooms.

“Juba is forever researching obscure facts that he hopes to use in future books,” I added. I didn’t dare admit even to Ptolly’s
ka
that my attraction to Juba had never waned. Indeed, it had only grown stronger, though I hid it well. Or, at least, I hoped I did.

Juba often escorted Alexandros and me to Capua. If Juba could not personally escort us, he sent one of his men. He never explained why, but I guessed that he worried about our safety. Traveling was dangerous in and outside of Rome — there was always the chance that we might be set upon by bandits. I often wondered if Livia hoped to take advantage of the travel risks to somehow make us “disappear.” After all, she usually authorized only two spindly stable boys to escort us for protection. Together the boys could not have fought off a one-armed, one-eyed cripple. Juba’s intercession was yet one more way he surreptitiously protected us from the wife of my enemy.

“Zosima is always trying to get me to dress differently. She wants me to cover up with a
palla
all the time, which I do when I travel, but I don’t see why I need to within the compound.” I mimicked her lecturing tone: “
‘You have the body of a woman now. It is indecent for you to show your arms or to wear dresses of such thin fabric!’
Really, I think she has forgotten how we dressed in Egypt. The Romans and all their old-fashioned ways!”

I placed a small pebble on Ptolly’s offering tray. “This is from Sebi,” I whispered, listening to its hollow clink against metal. Even though I had brought his cat into my
cubiculum
, Sebi never seemed the same after Ptolly’s death. A heavy listlessness seemed to cling about him. When he occasionally played like a kitten — in this case, batting a smooth pebble around in my room — I took it as a blessing and brought Ptolly a likeness as a gift.

Gazing into his painted face, I wondered what Ptolly would have thought of the Capuan Lady of Isis. Would she have reminded him of Egypt and brought back good memories? Or would she have only confused him? I recalled how soon after his entombment — in a tomb that
the Lady of Isis had paid for with donations from local believers — I had found myself increasingly furious with her.

I had confronted Isetnofret one afternoon as she exited the Room of Supplications. “We’ve been in Rome for years, yet you have done nothing,” I had accused. “Ptolly might still be alive today if only you had taken some action! If only you had contacted me! Amunet promised me her agents would work on our behalf, but you —”

Isetnofret had grabbed my upper arm and whisked me toward her private rose garden. “You must not speak openly about these matters,” she had ordered in a low voice. “You do not know who is listening!”

It had never occurred to me that there might have been spies even in the House of the Goddess. But once inside her small garden, she had allowed me to pour out my rage and grief in a torrent of hot tears and furious whispers.

When I’d finally finished, the Lady of Isis nodded her head sadly. “I do not like the delays either,” she’d said, “but these things take time. Rome’s plundering has weakened Egypt’s infrastructure to a greater degree than anybody could have predicted. Once things stabilize, we will move forward with our plans to reinstate you. You must have patience.”

“But what
are
the plans? And why can’t you —”

She put a hand up to silence me. “I will not risk anything by speaking too early. And I remind you that Rome is like a snarling beast,” she said. “We must wait until the brute gets distracted or weakens before we act.”

Her assurances soothed my impatience somewhat, but not my guilt. I could not move past the idea that Ptolly would have survived his fever if only I had figured out a way to get us back to Egypt.

I sighed as I gathered my things in Ptolly’s tomb. “I’m sorry, little brother,” I murmured to him, as I always did before I left his side. “I’m sorry I failed you.”

I headed for the priestess’s private garden, where she and I continued to meet. Whenever I visited, the priestess pushed books on me that I could not get in Rome — books on trade practices in Egypt, on the history of my family and its twisted relationship with Rome, on the Nile and its inundations, on anything, really, that might help me understand the politics, trade, and challenges of my kingdom. When my destiny was fulfilled, she swore, I would be ready.

She was waiting for me on a bench under a shade trellis overflowing with pink climbing roses. “Sit,” the Lady of Isis ordered. “I have a question for you.”

I sat on the edge of the cool marble and looked at her expectantly. Sometimes she tested me on my readings. I was ready to show her that I had indeed gained a greater understanding of the complexity of the Nile’s network of irrigation canals.

“Tell me,” she said. “Do you dream about the Goddess?”

I blinked, remembering how Lady Amunet had long ago asked me that question. I had told her the truth, that I had not; in Egypt, I still had the dreams of a child. But lately, I had indeed been dreaming of the Great Goddess. Isis came to me in my sleep, wearing the golden disk diadem on her head, her voice like the murmurs of the waves behind our palace in Alexandria. At the end of every dream, she beckoned to me. “Follow,” she said, before she turned her back to me and disappeared into the blackness, her mantle of stars widening to become the night sky. I always woke before I
could
follow her, and then felt nearly mad with disappointment. So strongly did I want to be with her, I would have gone to my death if she’d asked.

“The Goddess has called you,” the priestess said with satisfaction after I described the dream. “It is time for you to be initiated in the Mysteries of Isis.”

My heart raced with excitement. Hadn’t Mother said I would one day be initiated into her Mysteries? For a moment it was as if Mother were there with us, smiling at me, as if I had pleased her immensely. I suppressed a shiver of pleasure.

“What does being initiated mean?” I asked.

“It means you will consecrate yourself to the Goddess, that you have proven your loyalty and been blessed by her love. It also means that we are moving closer to the time of action.”

I must have looked confused, for she added, “We must take Egypt back from those who oppose the Great Goddess, namely Caesar and Rome. Traditionally, only an initiate of the Mysteries of Isis or Serapis could rule in the Two Lands. Fulfilling this sacred obligation is the first step toward reclaiming your destiny,”

She stood, her face shining with determination. “The full moon approaches. You must return within three days to begin the purification process. Twice you have defeated Caesar over the rites of the dead. Now it is time to claim victory over the rites of the living.”

As soon as I returned from Capua, I raced to find Alexandros, hoping that he would want to be initiated into the Mysteries with me. I planned on then going to Juba and asking him to escort us. I did not want to rely on Livia’s stable boys, for they would certainly report my doings in Capua to their
domina
. The less Livia knew about my connection to the Goddess and the temple, the better.

I found Zosima washing fruit in basins behind the kitchen. “Have you seen Alexandros?” I asked.

“No,” she said, though her eyes flicked in the direction of the back gardens. I grinned at her. “Wait!” she cried as I raced away.

The private gardens were lush and thick with myrtle, cypress, and boxwood. “Alexandros?” I called.

Rustling, in the direction of the grove of trees behind the flowerbeds. I headed that way, calling his name again, then stopped, sure I had heard murmurings. Ptolly’s cat burst out of the bushes with a small green snake wriggling in his mouth.

I jumped. “Gods, Sebi! You scared me half to death,” I said to his retreating backside, his tail high in the air with victory. “Alexandros?” I called.

I heard more murmuring and a sharp breath, so I quietly followed the sound around a copse of tall cypresses.

“Sister!”

I jumped. Alexandros had stepped out from behind a thicket. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his face flushed, his tunic wrinkled and covered in leaves and brush. “I was looking for you.”

“That I can see. Why don’t you head back and I will catch up with you later, yes?” He seemed nervous, distracted. “Is everything all right?” I asked.

“Fine. Just go, please.”

More rustling in the bushes behind him. Alexandros looked alarmed. Then I understood. My cheeks flushed.

“Yes, um. Just … find me soon. I have an important question to ask you.”

He nodded, his attention already shifting to the person he was trying to hide from my view. My chest swelled with curiosity, but I knew now was not the time. As I walked away, I was aware of the look of great relief on Alexandros’s face at my departure.

I knew I should have kept walking, but I could not resist. I turned, trying to catch a glimpse of my brother’s fancy. One of the new servant girls? The nubile young performer who sometimes danced for Octavianus’s banquets? I could barely see through the thick foliage, but I spied a thatch of blond curls, accompanied by a distinctively male whisper and a low-trebled masculine laugh.

I gasped, covering my mouth. Marcellus? My brother’s lover was
Marcellus
? I shook my head in surprise.
Oh, wouldn’t Octavianus love that
, I thought. His Golden Boy with the son of his enemy. Pretty Marcellus! I ran back to Zosima, giggling the entire way.

I caught up with Alexandros on the way to the
triclinium
for dinner, but he was in no mood to talk. When I asked if he would come with me to the Temple of Isis for the Mysteries, he looked aghast.

“The Goddess hasn’t called you?” I whispered, surprised.

He shook his head and continued walking.

“Brother, wait,” I said. “Please don’t be embarrassed about this afternoon.” He groaned.

“If you want to keep it a secret, I will do so too, though I do not understand it.”

“You do not understand why it would be necessary to keep it a
secret?” he hissed. “Then you surprise me, sister, for I thought you would see what a disaster this is!”

He stomped away, the color high on his neck. Gods, perhaps this was more serious than I’d thought. It seemed as if Alexandros had fallen hard!

At dinner that night, Alexandros shared a couch with Marcellus and Juba as he often did, though he seemed to be pointedly ignoring his lover. I reclined with Antonia-the-Elder and Julia. Livia and Octavianus, thankfully, dined alone that evening, leaving us to ourselves. Alexandros’s discomfort and intensity surprised me. I thought it was sweet, though, and I stifled a chuckle.

“What is so amusing?” Julia asked.

“Nothing,” I answered, picturing Octavianus’s face upon learning of Marcellus’s predilections. I suppressed another giggle but not very successfully.

Both Marcellus and Juba looked in my direction. Marcellus grinned. “Well, Selene, you look like Jason when he first set eyes upon the Golden Fleece. What tickles you so?”

I widened my eyes innocently. Juba and Marcellus smiled back at my light mood, but Alexandros seemed mortified.

Julia, who never could stand being excluded, sat up angrily. “What is so funny, Selene?” she repeated. “You must tell us.”

I shook my head. “Not my business to tell.”

“Why not?” she asked with an edge. “What would be so awful if the rest of the world knew? Unless,” she continued, her voice dropping, “you have something to hide yourself. Who is the lover that brings such a flush to
your
cheeks?”

“
My
lover?” I said, confused. But she was not staring at me — she was staring at Alexandros. I bristled at the insinuation. Tiberius and Julia usually found some way to imply that Alexandros and I had an incestuous relationship, simply because of our Ptolemaic ancestry and Egyptian legacy.

“Yes, yes! Do tell us,” Marcellus said, grinning, seeming to miss Julia’s intimation. “We want to know what man is brave enough to dare!”

Julia cackled, and this time, I really did flush at the insult. Gods, one would think he would be extra solicitous to me, the sister of his
lover
! But then my stomach dropped. Maybe it was not a joke. Maybe, like Juba, he saw me as an unattractive gadfly.

Marcellus looked at my face and sat up. “Selene, I jest!”

Julia continued laughing. I looked at Alexandros, but his eyes were on Julia with an expression I could not read. I guessed my expression was easy enough to decipher. I signaled for my shoes and sat up. A slave scurried over and began tying my sandals.

“Wait,” Marcellus said. “I meant no insult.”

“I was not hungry anyway,” I said brightly. “Besides, I feel like taking a walk. Perhaps I’ll flush out and frighten away any poor unfortunate male who happens to cross my path.” I walked out.

I heard footsteps behind me. Figuring it was Alexandros, I kept going. How
dare
he sit back and let his lover insult me like that!

“Selene, wait!” To my surprise, it was Marcellus. I kept walking. He quickly caught up. “Selene …”

“My name is Cleopatra Selene….”

“Cleopatra Selene. Let me apologize. Please. I meant no insult.”

I stole a glance at him as we walked. I could see why my brother would fall for him. He really was beautiful, with his mop of curly blond hair and gray-blue eyes. He looked so sincere and sorry, I wavered, but I did not slow down, heading toward the small fountain at the corner of the gardens.

“Thank you for the apology,” I said coolly, “but I am still surprised you would insult the sister of your lover. Just so it is known, it is not a good strategy for ingratiating yourself with me.”

“What?”

“Unless you are just using him,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him. “Then it would not matter that you insulted his twin. Do I need to worry about that?” I felt a surge of protectiveness for Alexandros.

Marcellus shook his head and laughed. “What in the name of Hades are you talking about?”

We had reached the little fountain and I turned to him, hands on hips. “Marcellus, truly, you can drop the pretense. I saw you together in the gardens this afternoon. There is no sense in my pretending I don’t know. Rest assured I will keep it a secret as long as Alexandros wants me to.”

He ran his hand through his curls, a bewildered look on his face. I crossed my arms, surprised that he seemed at such a loss for words.

“How long have you and my brother been together?” I asked.

To my surprise, Marcellus burst out laughing. “You thought … you think that Alexandros and I … that we are
lovers?”

“Well, yes,” I said, a little confused. “I … I saw you.”

He stopped laughing when he saw my expression. “All right. I am sorry. I will stop laughing. But truly, the irony …” He began chuckling again.

“I
saw
you!” I repeated.

“When? Where? What did you see?”

“This afternoon! Your blond hair …”

“Julia and both Marcellas have blond hair,” he said. “What made you think it was me?”

I made a face. Julia was always so hateful, I could not imagine Alexandros spending any time with her, and the Marcella sisters were as bland as sheep. If my brother had any taste, it could only have been Marcellus!

“I heard masculine whispering and a masculine laugh….”

“That’s it? You jumped to the conclusion that it was me based on a thatch of blond hair and a masculine laugh?”

I nodded, uncertain now. He sighed and sat down on the scalloped edge of the clam-shaped fountain. “Selene, you have noticed that your brother is … well … to be blunt, masculine himself?”

“But his voice … Alexandros’s laugh is higher than the one I heard.”

“You seem not to have noticed that your brother is nearly a grown man. His voice changed long ago! And I spent my afternoon assisting
Caesar with the governance of Rome and not with Alexandros in the woods.”

I flushed. “Well then, who did I see? Who was with him in the woods?”

“I do not know, nor do I care. What troubles me is how quickly you assumed that it was me.”

“Why? Is Alexandros not good enough for you?” I asked defensively.

“That is not what I meant,” he said. He stood, moving closer to me. “It is that you would think me his lover when you hardly notice …” I looked up. “Hardly notice what?”

He bent down and whispered against my lips, “How much I want to be yours.”

I stiffened in surprise. He pressed his mouth to mine, and I panicked. I did not know what to do, how to breathe, where to put my hands. But I did not want to reveal how much I did not know, so I tightened my lips and kissed back.

Marcellus pulled away, chuckling. “You have not done this before, have you?”

I could feel my face burn.

“No, no, don’t be embarrassed,” he whispered. “Let me show you.” He took my face in his hands and said, “Close your eyes.” I did. “Now, just focus all your attention on the sensations. Don’t do or think about anything else.”

His hands were warm on the sides of my face. He kissed the corner of one side of my mouth, then the other. I shivered, finding to my surprise that I was having difficulty breathing normally. He ran his tongue over my closed lips.

“Open your mouth,” he whispered. I did. After a time — I could not tell how long — he murmured, “You are a quick learner.”

I was flooded with warmth, my skin tingling, a heaviness in my lower abdomen. He had wrapped my hands around his neck and pressed himself against me. I was drowning in sensation. I had lived so long
wrapped in my own grief that the feel of his skin, his scent, the taste of his mouth, overwhelmed me.

Marcellus moved his mouth to my neck, kissing it slowly. I shivered again. It was dusk, and the light was almost purple, adding to the sense of unreality. Small circles of brightness burst around us as servants lit torches and lamps in the great house and courtyard.

“Marcellus!” someone hissed.

We jumped apart. Juba was staring at us with a shocked expression. “What in the name of all that is sacred do you think you are doing?”

“What does it look like? Why have you followed us out here?”

“I came to talk to Cleopatra Selene,” Juba said. “I was worried about her.”

“I think I have it covered, friend,” Marcellus said.

The awkward moment lengthened, and I realized they were both waiting for a reaction from me. Only I did not know what to say. I felt like I had stood up too quickly after drinking a great deal of undiluted wine.

Juba cleared his throat and looked at me. “I also came to tell you that I am able to escort you after all. I have made the proper arrangements so that I can be away for several days.”

I smiled in relief. When I had asked Juba earlier to escort me to Capua, he had said he was not sure he could get away on such short notice.

“Leaving? With him?” Marcellus turned to me. “What is he talking about? Where are you going?”

I cleared my throat. “The Temple of Isis on the way to Capua,” I said.

“But why is Juba escorting you? I’ll take you instead!”

“I have already made arrangements,” Juba said. “And I think Caesar would not be too happy to hear that you had ducked away from your duties at the Rostra to attend the rites of the banned Goddess.”

Marcellus looked at me, then back at Juba. “Can we have a moment alone, please?”

Juba hesitated. “Fine.” He looked at me. “We leave at sunrise.” He turned and walked stiffly away.

“Selene — Cleopatra Selene, why do you have to leave right away? Couldn’t you postpone it a bit? You can visit Ptolly’s tomb anytime, right?”

I nodded. But this time I wasn’t just going to visit Ptolly. “Yes, but I
want
to go tomorrow.”

A look of hurt flitted across his face, but he replaced it quickly with his typical charming smile. “Well, I shall wait for you then!”

Looking up at Marcellus, another strange feeling of unreality seized me. Had I just been kissing Marcellus? Pretty Marcellus, the Golden Boy? My enemy’s favorite?

“I … need to get back,” I said. “My nurse will be looking for me….”

“Your nurse? You do not need to account to her. You are not a child!”

I smiled up at him, pleased. “Nevertheless, she will be wondering.”

“Come, I’ll walk you back,” he said.

As we neared the girls’ wing, Marcellus whispered, “You know that we will have to act as if this never happened, yes?”

Was he brushing me off? I flushed with shame.

“That does not mean, however,” he said, “that you and I have to act that way when we are
alone
.” He touched my wrist.

Marcellus, nearly twenty, never lacked for attention from fawning women — or from fawning men, for that matter. Everybody, it seemed, desired the beautiful, charismatic successor to the ruler of the world. But what if this was all a big joke to him — the seduction of the whore-queen’s daughter, as Octavianus would put it? What if Marcellus was dallying with
both
my brother and me in some kind of sick game? I shook my head slightly to clear my thinking.