Cleopatra's Moon (28 page)

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 goodbye,” 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.

“Marcellus, you can’t tell Octavianus about us yet. He would —”

“Do not worry.” He put his arms around me again. “I will explore our options carefully without letting on that I have fallen under your spell.”

I groaned inwardly, hating how men blamed their own lusts on women’s “magic.” But I did not say anything. Instead, I pressed against him harder as we kissed.

“Wait for me, yes?” he breathed. “You will see. I will convince Caesar. He will not deny me anything I want. And I want you.”

I spent the months after Marcellus’s departure generating endless alternate plans should he fail to convince Octavianus that a union between us made good political sense.

At the first sign of Octavianus’s rage or rejection, I told myself, I would steal away to Ostia with Alexandros. Through the network of Isis worshipers in the harbor city, we were sure to find secret passage back to Egypt. But I would not go to Alexandria. Instead, I would travel to Heliopolis. There I would convince the Priests and Priestesses of Ra — who had, according to Isetnofret, promised to financially support our efforts to retake the throne — to melt their hidden caches of gold so I could raise a mercenary army.

This plan, of course, was weak for many reasons. I knew nobody in Ostia; I was gambling that the Isis devotees in Ostia would help us rather than turn us in; and there was no way of knowing if the priests of Heliopolis would trust me enough to fund my efforts. But it was all I had.

After much research, I settled on Nubia as the most viable source for raising a mercenary army. Long known for their skill in warfare, Nubians in general had little love for or interest in the doings of Rome. I wondered if perhaps I could do without having to purchase an army at all. What if I could convince the Nubians that Rome was planning to invade them? Surely then they would see the sense of joining with me in kicking Rome out of Egypt in a preemptive move for self-preservation.

The downside was that Nubia might then demand ownership of Egypt as a price for her help. The Nubians had ruled in Egypt hundreds of years ago. Who could say whether they would not want to do so again?

I even considered contacting King Phraates of Parthia, Rome’s biggest enemy, and offering myself as wife to one of his sons in return for his protection in securing my throne. But Parthian involvement would surely end in war with Rome. It did not help that Phraates was dangerous and unpredictable. He had killed his father as well as thirty brothers to hold his kingdom. Without an army of my own, how could I hope to keep him from taking over Egypt just as Rome had?

And so I went, around and around. As the months flew by, my heart grew heavy with doubt that my alliance with Marcellus would come to anything, especially since I had not heard from him. What did it mean that he did not write to me? Had he found someone new? Tired of me already?

Worse, I noticed that Alexandros occasionally received letters from Juba, who also never wrote to me. I felt his rejection like a slap, even as I understood it. Pondering the meaning of their silence during my regular afternoon stroll around the garden, I stopped when I saw Livia’s lady bustling toward me.

“
Domina
requires you in her
tablinum
,” she called. “Now.”

My stomach dropped. I had managed to turn avoiding Livia into a high art. A direct summons could not be a good thing. I swallowed my fear and followed the lady to the house of my enemy’s wife.

“Ah, Selene. Come. Sit,” Livia said after her lady announced me. She leaned back in her thronelike chair inlaid with mother of pearl; a chair, I knew, that had come from our palace at Alexandria.

I sat stiffly on the low backless bench across from her desk, wondering what she wanted. Livia stared at me as if trying to read my thoughts. She wore a rose-colored gown, pearl earrings, and a golden torque her husband had brought back from his last trip to Gaul. Quite understated, really, for the richest woman in the world.

“Is there something going on between Alexandros and Julia?” Livia asked.

I blinked. One of the house slaves must have talked. I widened my eyes in innocence and shook my head.

Livia arched an eyebrow. “You know, it would be just like my stepdaughter to pick the one person who would anger her father the most. Caesar often complains that he has two spoiled daughters — Rome and Julia. But I disagree. It is only Julia who is spoiled. He has much better control over Rome.”

She seemed to be waiting for a reaction from me. I lifted my chin and held her gaze, even as my pulse pounded. Had she told Octavianus? What would he do to Alexandros?

Livia smiled, looking away for a moment. “I have not brought you here to discuss your brother, though I urge you to ask him to be more discreet,” she said. “I brought you here because I want to show you something.” She pulled out a small basket of letters, some rolled, others folded. “These came for you.”

“Then why do you have them?” I asked, fear and outrage swirling together like smoke from two torches.

“I have your letters because they endanger your life.”

“What?”

“These are letters from Marcellus to you,” she said. “Love letters, I believe.” Then she smirked. “Perhaps it would be more accurate to call them
lust
letters.”

Anger surged up my spine. “You read my private correspondence?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Let’s just say that I hope Marcellus is a better politician than he is a poet.”

How dare she? I put my hand out. “Give them to me!”

“Not yet.” She leaned back and put the tips of her fingers together, studying me. I suppressed a shiver, remembering how Octavianus had placed his hands the very same way before announcing that he was going to marry me off to a wife murderer.

“What are you up to, Selene?” she asked in almost a whisper. “I would think you would have been smart enough to take Juba’s offer. He is, after all, soon to be named king of Numidia.”

I swallowed. How did she know about his offer? Then the full implication of her words hit me. “Octavianus has made him king?”

She tipped her head ever so slightly. “I intercepted his letters too, though I thought you might have heard nonetheless. Yes, Caesar is naming Juba client-king of Numidia, though it is as yet unannounced. A brilliant move, really.”

I stared at her, unable to breathe — not just in outrage at her meddling but in shock that Juba had succeeded. A part of me had always worried he did not have the internal strength to push Octavianus to his own ends. Yet he had done it. He had done it!

“Juba too mentions Marcellus, which is why I kept his letters as well. Really, Selene, you have been a very busy girl. But I am trying to protect Juba. If Caesar learns that he knew about you and Marcellus and did not report the information, I fear he will lose his newly earned command. I have always had great affection for our new Numidian king.”

When I did not respond, she leaned forward in her chair, arms gripping the armrests carved in the shape of papyrus plants. “So I ask you again, Selene. What are you up to with Marcellus?”

“Marcellus has pursued me,” I said, trying to find my footing again.

“Marcellus pursues anything in a
tunica
,” she muttered. “However, he seems to have plans for you. For your future. I find that very curious. Who gave him that idea?”

I said nothing. After a long moment, she said, “You do realize that if Caesar finds out about this, he will —”

“Kill me.”
And we both know it would be by your hand
, I thought. But I did not say anything. There was no sense in further antagonizing her. Finally, I asked, “Does he know?”

“No. But I am concerned about Marcellus’s lack of caution in writing to you about his plans. It shows a certain weakness of character, a naïveté, if you will.”

“Unlike Tiberius, who we both know is much more devious.”

She paused. “I wouldn’t use the word ‘devious’ for my eldest son. The word I would select is ‘cunning’ A type of intelligence that would serve the Roman empire better than innocent stupidity, don’t you think?”

I felt the force of her ambition and power vibrating in the air around me like an unheard growl. Livia hated that her husband had named Marcellus his successor over her own firstborn, Tiberius. That was clear. But to what ends would she go to achieve her aims? And how would she use what she knew to manipulate this situation in her son’s favor? She now had two pieces of information that could cause our deaths — Alexandros’s relationship with Julia and my hopes for a union with Marcellus.

Livia ran her buffed fingernails over the basket of letters. “I have wondered whether I should warn Octavianus about Marcellus’s attachment to you, or let him discover it for himself.”

I felt my heart skitter unevenly. “Why
haven’t
you told him?” I asked. “Then you would finally be rid of us.”

Livia blinked. “I have no desire to get rid of you,” she said. “Indeed, I’ve done everything I could to protect you! Despite what you may think, Selene, I admired your mother. In fact, I always suspected that she and I would have gotten along famously.”

Anger clawed up my chest. How dare she pretend she had not at least once tried to get us murdered? And how dare she imply that she and my mother were alike! Mother would have crushed her with one look.

“To answer your question, I have not told my husband about Marcellus’s passion for you because it appears your lover is doing plenty to incriminate himself. Once my husband discovers it, he will finally see what a foolish choice he has made in naming Marcellus his heir. Tiberius will then be the only rational choice.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked.

“Because I need to warn you against one thing.”

“Which is?”

“Octavia.”

“Octavia?” I laughed.

“Yes. Marcellus is her only son. If she were to discover that her beloved boy has fallen for the daughter of the woman who stole her husband …”

Livia was so transparent, I almost laughed in her face. If she thought she could turn me against Octavia — the woman who had given my mother her sacred oath to keep us safe — she was sadly mistaken.

I said, “I do not understand your meaning.”

She sighed. “Perhaps it is better that way. I believe we are finished here.”

My spine stiffened in irritation. I was not leaving without what was rightfully mine. “The letters, please.”

“Oh, no. They are headed for the fires of the hypocaust.”

“Give them to me,” I demanded, standing. She arched an eyebrow and sat back.

“Then I will take them!” I reached over and snatched at the scrolls. I unrolled one, almost ripping the papyrus in my haste. Blank. I opened another. And another.

“You underestimate me if you think I would keep them for just anyone to find,” Livia sneered. “No. I burned everything as it came in, except for one or two that I can use to incriminate Marcellus.” She stood up. “I hope I do not have to use them, but I am prepared to do so if necessary. Again, you may leave.”

As I turned and left, I felt her stare of hatred piercing my back like an archer-battalion’s worth of arrows.

Livia continued intercepting my mail — or at least I assumed so, since I never received anything from either Juba or Marcellus. But it was Juba’s letters I wanted to read the most.

I was brimming with curiosity. Numidia had been a Roman province run by a Roman governor for decades. How did that governor feel about being replaced by a client-king? What about the Numidians? Did they consider Juba a Romanized traitor or welcome him as a true son of Numidia? Clearly, naming Juba king ran the risk of destabilizing the region. And yet somehow — some way — Juba had convinced Octavianus to take the risk anyway. How?

But whenever I asked Alexandros about it, he shrugged. “He doesn’t give me details,” he said. “Mostly he writes about how the battles are going.”

I knew I should have been proud and happy for Juba, but instead I felt a stinging sense of loss. He had wanted me as a partner in his new adventure. Did I make a mistake in rejecting him? My heart said yes, but my mind always veered back to my initiation vision. I had walked away from Juba and toward Marcellus. How much clearer could the Goddess have been? My destiny was Egypt, not Numidia.

Still, I could not stop thinking about him. Once I dreamt we lay naked under a canopy of white on a terrace facing the sea. The sounds of the ocean, the faint cries of seabirds, the flapping of silk window coverings — it was as if I had returned to Alexandria with him. But it wasn’t Alexandria, because my beloved Lighthouse was not there.

Sleepily, he turned to face me, a smile on his full lips. “My queen,” he whispered. I smiled back, leaning down to press my mouth on his, whispering, “My king.”

I never knew how to interpret these dreams. Were they merely a reflection of my wishes, or was the Goddess reprimanding me for not accepting his offer? How was I to know? Again, I wished that I could have spoken to the Priestess of Isis, but I had continued avoiding her after the Gallus fiasco in order to keep her safe.

But if I did speak to her, I would demand an answer to a question that plagued me night and day: Why would the gods return Juba’s kingdom to him, but not Egypt to me?

As the months wore on, I found it impossible to break the stranglehold Livia had on letters coming from Spain. Most were hand delivered to her by soldiers — whom I dared not approach — but occasionally messenger boys carrying stacks of correspondence arrived at the compound. Those I tried to bribe, but they ran from me with terror in their eyes. What punishment had Livia threatened them with?

Worse, after a time, letters stopped coming altogether. Did it mean the fighting in Spain was not going well? Even though it was not unusual for correspondence throughout the empire to get lost, damaged, or stolen, the lack of any news at all coming from Spain set my teeth on edge.

The only good news I received was that the elder Corbulo — the man Octavianus was planning to marry me to — had died. Word was that his boat sank while he was sailing between his villas in Stabiae and Herculaneum. His body washed ashore near Pompeii. When I took a deep breath after hearing the news, I found that, for the first time since Octavianus’s threat, I could fill my lungs all the way.

Marcellus returned home almost six months after Livia had announced she was intercepting all my letters. We greeted him as a family the morning of his return, but by that evening, I still had not seen him alone, which worried me. Had he changed his mind about me? Had something gone wrong?