Lily of the Nile
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight
Twenty-nine
Thirty
Thirty-one
Thirty-two
Thirty-three
AUTHOR’S NOTE
READERS GUIDE
PRAISE FOR LILY OF THE NILE
“In this account of the fate of Cleopatra’s daughter in the household of Augustus Caesar, Dray reveals the same events we’ve seen in Rome and I, Claudius from a very different perspective, that of a teenage girl. Cleopatra Selene has unusual gifts and problems, but her struggle to understand herself and her destiny is universal. The glimpses of the cult of Isis leave one wanting to know more, and the story keeps you turning the pages until the end.”
—Diana L. Paxson,
author of Marion Zimmer Bradley’s Sword of Avalon
“With clear prose, careful research, vivid detail, and a dash of magic, Stephanie Dray brings true life to one of Egypt’s most intriguing women.”
—Susan Fraser King,
bestselling and award-winning author of
Queen Hereafter and Lady Macbeth
“Lily of the Nile is graceful history infused with subtle magic and veiled ancient mysteries, at a time of immense flux and transition. Cleopatra Selene—regal, stoic, and indomitable daughter of the legendary pharaoh-queen Cleopatra—carries on the spirit of her mother, the goddess Isis, and the soul of Egypt itself into the lair of the conquering imperial enemy. Selene, whose skin speaks the words of queen and goddess in blood, channels the dynastic pride that is her birthright, and seals the fate of the Roman Empire. Meticulously researched, thoroughly believable, this is a different kind of book, and a true achievement.”
—Vera Nazarian,
two-time Nebula Award-nominated author of
Lords of Rainbow and Mansfield Park and Mummies
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This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Copyright © 2011 by Stephanie Dray.
“Readers Guide” copyright © 2010 by Stephanie Dray.
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PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley trade paperback edition / January 2011
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Dray, Stephanie.
Lily of the Nile / Stephanie Dray.—Berkley trade pbk. ed. p. cm.
eISBN : 978-1-101-47832-5
1. Cleopatra, Queen, consort of Juba II, King of Mauretania, b. 40 B.C.—Fiction. 2. Cleopatra,
Queen of Egypt, d. 30 B.C.—Family—Fiction. 3. Rome—History—Augustus, 30 B.C.-A.D.
14—Fiction. 4. Augustus, Emperor of Rome, 63 B.C.-A.D. 14—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3604.R39L55 2011
813’.6—dc22
2010037153
http://us.penguingroup.com
To Adam,
the man who has made this
and everything else in my life possible.
Dear Reader,
In this book, I’ve adopted some conventions that bear explanation. To start with, I’ve embraced the most familiar spellings and naming conventions for historical figures. For example, I’ve used Mark Antony for Marcus Antonius, Octavian instead of Octavius or Octavianus, and Cleopatra instead of Kleopatra. I’ve also used English words for Latin concepts whenever possible. One instance is my adoption of the word lady when the word domina may have been more accurate.
Moreover, I’ve addressed Octavian as the emperor throughout the novel even though our modern understanding of the word differs greatly from the traditional Roman concept of an imperator. I stand by this choice because of Octavian’s nontraditional use of imperator—a title he held lawfully in 43 B.C. and should have relinquished that same year but continued to use in front of his name until he acquired the new honorific of Augustus.
I’ve tried to respect this work as a novel more than as a biography. The historical events, such as Triumphs, battles, dedications, and weddings, actually happened, but I’ve altered the timeline slightly to keep my protagonist at the center of documented events. My choices and changes are explained in the Author’s Note at the end of this book. Finally, this novel’s portrayal of the Romans is skewed by my protagonist’s biases, not my own. Whenever the historical record was in doubt, I’ve unabashedly adopted the slant most favorable to Egypt, Selene, her family, or to the Isiac faith in which she was raised; this is her story, after all.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book was a labor of love and there are a staggering number of people to thank, foremost amongst them: My agent, Jennifer Schober, who believed in this book and in me. Cindy Hwang, my editor at Berkley. All my friends at FiranMUX. My classmates and instructors at Clarion East, 2003. My “Writers from Hell Group” for critiquing an early draft of this manuscript. My intern, Stephanie Wolfinger. My family, for all their support. Rachel Blackman for all her help with archaeology over the years and for her horse sense. And Sabrina Darby for her insight and enthusiasm.
When it came to the academic side of this book, I enlisted the help of Dave Collier, whose keen eye for historical detail forced me to justify my choices. I also consulted with Prof
essor Duane W. Roller. While both men were generous with their time and theories, any errors in this book are mine alone.
I’m indebted to the work of other authors who have also tried to bring Selene’s world to life, including Andrea Ashton and Alice Curtis Desmond, the latter of whom also imagined Selene carrying a basket of figs to her mother. Though this novel was written before the publication of Michelle Moran’s Cleopatra’s Daughter, Michelle’s wonderful book and personal encouragement helped renew my passion. However, it was Beatrice Chanler’s 1934 novel, Cleopatra’s Daughter, Queen of Mauretania, that inspired me most. My work is heavily influenced by her ideas, imagery, and lofty prose. In particular, Ms. Chanler’s book captured my imagination because of its unusual theory—that Cleopatra Selene and her twin brother were religious symbols.
In adopting and modernizing this theory by reimagining Isiac worship, I relied not just upon ancient sources and current scholarship but also upon the worship of Isis as it is currently practiced. M. Isadora Forrest’s Isis Magic was invaluable on that count, as was Ms. Forrest herself, who kindly offered advice on rituals that Selene may have been familiar with. For other magic spells and formulations, I also consulted the classic works of E. A. Wallis Budge, with particular emphasis on his two-volume study of Egyptian mythology, The Gods of the Egyptians.
My idea to explore ancient sexual morality through the lens of mythic Isiac fertility rites is rooted in Merlin Stone’s fascinating book, When God Was a Woman, itself inspired by the work of Robert Graves. While no record of Isiac mystery rites has survived, I drew upon the legend that Isis herself had served as a prostitute in Tyre. I was also mindful of Herodotus’s claim that female adherents of goddess cults gave themselves to a stranger at least once in their lives—an idea echoed by Strabo. And, of course, I must express appreciation for The Metamorphoses of Lucius Apuleius, an Isiac work and the only Latin novel to survive in its entirety.
Additionally, I commend W. W. Tarn’s scholarly paper titled “Alexander Helios and the Golden Age” as well as Duane W. Roller’s The World of Juba II and Kleopatra Selene, Margaret George’s Memoirs of Cleopatra, and the splashy Hollywood film Cleopatra, starring Elizabeth Taylor.
For an understanding of Selene’s home, I relied upon Theodore Vrettos’s Alexandria: City of the Western Mind, and to make sense of the interplay between the Isiac faith and Christianity, I consulted Elizabeth A. McCabe’s An Examination of the Isis Cult with Preliminary Exploration into New Testament Studies.
Translations of Virgil’s works were taken from the public domain, such as Bucolics, Aeneid, and Georgics of Vergil by J. B. Greenough and John Dryden’s translation of the Aeneid. I also acknowledge Henri Frankfort’s scholarship in Kingship and the Gods as the source of Selene’s ascension oath. Lastly, I’d like to thank Normandi Ellis, whose moving reinterpretation of the Egyptian Book of the Dead in Awakening Osirus was my model for Cleopatra’s death prayer.
For additional reading, more of my sources are listed in an extensive bibliography available on my website at www.stephaniedray.com.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Cleopatra’s Court
CLEOPATRA, the Pharaoh of Egypt, Queen of KingsMARK ANTONY, her husband, the Roman triumvir Cleopatra Selene, their daughter, Princess of Egypt Alexander Helios, their son, Selene’s twin, Prince of Egypt Ptolemy Philadelphus, their son, Prince of Egypt Antyllus, Antony’s son by his deceased wife, Fulvia
CAESARION, the queen’s son by the Roman dictator, Julius Caesar
EUPHRONIUS, the children’s tutor, a court mage and priest of Isis
PETUBASTES, the queen’s cousin, a priest of Ptah
MARDIAN, the queen’s eunuch and chief adviser
OLYMPOS, the court physician
IRAS & CHARMIAN, the queen’s handmaidens
The Court of Augustus Caesar
OCTAVIAN, or Gaius Julius Caesar Octavianus, the imperator and victor of Actium
JULIA, his daughter by his former wife, Scribonia, and his only child
LIVIA, his wife
Tiberius, her oldest son by her former husband
Drusus, her youngest son by her former husband
OCTAVIA, his sister
Marcellus, her son by her first husband
Marcella, her daughter by her first husband
Antonia Major, her elder daughter by Mark Antony
Antonia Minor, also called Minora, her youngest daughter by Mark Antony
Iullus, her ward, son of Mark Antony by his deceased wife, Fulvia
AGRIPPA, the Roman admiral and Octavian’s most trusted general
MAECENAS, Octavian’s secretary and a great patron of the arts
JUBA, the children’s tutor, deposed Prince of Numidia
VIRGIL, the revered poet
CHRYSSA, one of the numerous slaves in the imperial household
Prologue
DECEMBER, 40 B.C.
THEY came from Memphis, Thebes, and Heliopolis to see the Savior born. Slaves and freedmen, merchants and artisans, poets and priests—they all came. Babylonian oracles came with their prophecies. Even Romans came, for their mystic poet, Virgil, had foreseen a new era and a worthier race of men. Some came on camels, some in fishing boats, some by foot. And standing wondrously tall in the harbor, the Pharos lighthouse welcomed them all.
Alexandria was the sparkling center of the world—her citizens of all races, religions, and philosophies. Where else could the Savior be born? When else but this auspicious night? It was the eve of the winter solstice, the Feast of the Nativity of Horus, and the crowds swarmed the squares and marble terraces. Wine flowed freely, and lute music mingled with the babble of a dozen different languages. The sweet tang of incense filled the air, heavier than any year in memory, for this was no ordinary celebration.
The people believed a divine child would be born to Queen Cleopatra and her Roman consort, and they waited anxiously, whispering, “The Savior is coming.”
At dawn, the cry went up from the heralds. “New Isis has given us a sun god and a moon goddess!”
Two Saviors, not one. Twins that closed the Isis-Osiris circle, just as foretold. Two children who would change the world. And now that world awaited the Golden Age.
One
SOMETHING coiled dangerously within the basket I carried, but I’d been told not to open the lid nor to ask what lurked beneath its woven reeds. The basket smelled of comforting cedar and lush figs, but it was embroidered with emblems of Anubis—the jackal-headed Guide of the Dead.
Anubis was a kind god, so I should have taken solace, but seeing him only magnified my sense of dread. Since we’d lost the war, Alexandria was quiet and filled with ill omens.
I had once been the safest child in Egypt, but the world held terrors everywhere for me now, and the twisting motion in the basket convinced me that I held treachery in my arms. I came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the avenue, beneath a marble colonnade that cast dusk shadows over the silent street. “I don’t want to carry the basket anymore,” I said.
“Sometimes we have to do what we don’t want to, Princess Selene,” our royal tutor said, daring to nudge me forward with his divination staff. That he’d poked me offended my royal dignity, but I knew better than to chastise Euphronius, for the old wizard was unusually anxious that day. The metallic scent of dark magic clung to his white linen kilt and wafted behind him as he hurried us along. He kept glancing back at the Roman guards who accompanied us at a barely respectful distance, and even though the sun was low and the evening cool, perspiration glistened on his bald head.
Euphronius lifted my littlest brother, Philadelphus, into his arms and urged us to walk faster. “Let’s hurry before Octavian changes his mind about letting you see your mother.”
I tried to keep pace, but the basket was unbearably heavy and my silvered sandal caught on the hem of my pearl-beaded gown. I heard the fabric tear but managed to regain my footing, albeit with a complaint. “I could walk faster if a servant carried the basket. Why shoul
d I have to?”
After all, I wasn’t just a princess of Egypt. Wasn’t I also queen of all Cyrenaica and Libya? I wore a royal diadem embroidered with pearls upon my brow. Why should I carry anything for myself much less something that frightened me?
“I’ll carry it for you,” my twin brother offered.
But Euphronius waved Helios away. “Princess Selene, your mother wanted you to bring the basket as an offering to your father. Will you dishonor Lord Antony by failing to provide for what remains of his soul in this world?”
Our wizard needn’t have used the blunt cudgel of guilt; the reminder that my mother had commanded me was enough to make me obey, but his mention of my dead father plunged me into a grief-stricken silence. My poor, disgraced father.
I first met him when I was four years old. He’d worn a sword on his belt, a tall horsehair-crested helmet, and sculpted armor beneath a bloodred cape; he’d terrified me. When his studded military sandals first thundered on the marbled floors, I’d cowered and cried. My mother had scooped me into her arms and told me not to fear, for my father had gifts for me and my twin, and a marriage proposal for her. The Romans were our friends and protected us, she had said.
But now I knew she had lied.
When the real Romans came—for that’s what Octavian’s men called themselves—they came to conquer. When the real Romans came, not even my father with his mighty sword could protect us, and unable to live with this failure, he plunged that mighty sword into his stalwart heart.
Now, without him, everything was crumbling. Our palace was overrun by enemy soldiers, my two oldest brothers were missing, and my mother was a captive. All I could do was stumble along behind our tutor, silenced by the enormity of our loss.
Conquered Alexandria’s spacious streets were empty. Only the awnings of the marketplace stood as a colorful reminder of the usual bustle of its merchants. Even the gold-domed temples were deserted and I wondered if the gods had abandoned us too.
“Where is everyone?” little Philadelphus asked.
“They fled,” Euphronius said curtly as we passed the rows of statuary inside the royal enclosure. “The people fled when they heard Octavian’s legions were coming. Those who stayed have shut themselves up in their homes, doors locked and bolted.”