Lily of the Nile

by Stephanie Dray

  From the emperor’s household on the Palatine Hill, I could see the Forum Romanum, where plentiful Egyptian gold sparked a buying frenzy. What’s more, the hillsides were dotted with columns, obelisks, and statues—the plundered spoils of Egypt. They looked like mismatched ruins—captured and displaced, just like me.

  On clear autumn days I could make out the aqueducts that linked the Alban Hills and the Sabine Mountains to form the walls of my prison and I was acutely aware that I was not the only prisoner. Here in Rome, slavery was an overwhelming presence in my life for the first time.

  There had been slaves in Alexandria too, of course, and I told myself that I had no cause to be disturbed by their presence in Rome. But in Egypt, treating a slave well was a moral duty because the status of a slave was temporal—he was a valued member of the household and could eventually buy his freedom. This was supposed to be true also in Rome, which boasted that the sons of slaves could even become citizens. But in practice, this was a dream realized by too few. Whereas labor was scarce and valuable in Egypt, slaves here in Rome were plentiful and cheap. Livia herself owned more than two thousand slaves and this was quite beside the number owned by the emperor, or by the state. Many slaves lived in abominable conditions and I even heard talk that some Romans fed their slaves to pet lampreys for entertainment. I didn’t doubt it because the suffering that etched itself on the faces of these subjugated peoples was haunting.

  It made me realize how much worse off my brothers and I could have been. How much worse off we could still be if we couldn’t find a way to turn our situation to our advantage.

  Still, in everything we did, we were watched. It wore Helios down like wheat on a grinding stone, but as the Romans watched me, I studied them too. I knew that both Livia and Octavia loved the emperor and fretted over his health all while putting on a public face that he was tireless and immortal. In return, the emperor doted on each woman. If he praised his wife he’d find something nice to say about his sister too. If he gave one a gift, he would give a gift to the other as well. I searched for some crack in the unity of the adults, some fissure to exploit. But I found none.

  I was the emperor’s bitterly resentful captive but grateful that he let us live. Grateful too that he’d reunited us with all the remaining members of my family. He’d gathered here all my surviving half siblings and in spite of myself, I wanted to know them.

  Unfortunately, they didn’t want to know me.

  My half brother, Iullus, seemed to think we were tainted—that being seen in our company would remind people that he was also Antony’s son. My little half sister Minora sometimes stared at me curiously, but she took her cues from her older sisters, who shunned me without regret.

  In light of this, I clung to Helios and Philadelphus. Before bed each night, Helios and I would remove the brick from the wall between our rooms, and say our good nights. Sometimes I woke with nightmares of carrying that basket to my mother’s tomb. Then, in bed, I’d trace my hands, trying to memorize the symbols that had cut themselves into my flesh, and I couldn’t decide if I should wish them away or pray for them to return.

  Each morning we woke at dawn to do our chores. My task was to fill all the oil lamps, and I relished this time because it allowed me to whisper my morning prayer to Isis as I had in Alexandria. After chores, while the emperor received his many clients, we children were ushered through the crowds of favor seekers and loyal partisans, to the classroom.

  There Juba rewarded correct answers with figs. Helios refused to answer and went hungry, but I usually answered correctly and gave away all my figs when Juba’s back was turned. Since my mother’s death, I had a loathing for them.

  Occasionally, the emperor himself stopped by our classroom and though his visits always disturbed Juba’s lesson plans, the emperor enjoyed moralizing above all. “For the good of the empire, I expect you children to work just as hard as I do,” he’d say.

  And in that, at least, Octavian was no hypocrite. My mother had said that rulers write their stories in blood, sweat, or tears. It seemed to me that the emperor used all three. He read scrolls, signed papers, and discussed politics with his intimates from dawn to dusk. He had to work so hard, he said, because the civil wars had cost Rome her best leaders and he couldn’t wait for our generation to grow up and take the burden from his shoulders.

  The emperor’s nephew Marcellus barely had hair on his chin but already carried responsibilities, and he wasn’t alone. The emperor had no sons, so it was understood that even Livia’s boys from her first marriage, Drusus and Tiberius, must do everything possible to prepare for public office. The girls were to be educated and useful wives—political bargaining chips in marital alliances. This was drummed into us every day.

  In the afternoons we broke for sport and baths. The boys learned hunting, riding, gymnastics, and wrestling. And whereas Helios was always so quiet during class, he could not suppress his physical talents. He was a powerful wrestler and could beat even the older boys. Once, he pinned Iullus while Agrippa happened to be passing and the admiral said, “Aye, get it all out, boy. Get it all out.”

  I had no such outlet. I had danced in Alexandria but dancing, Octavia insisted, was what men did when drunk and women did in brothels. Instead, she insisted that we sew. So every day, after our afternoon meal, I’d retreat with the other girls to spin thread and weave fabric for the family clothing and linens. Meanwhile, in the courtyard beyond, the boys trained in the art of war.

  For the emperor’s wards, nothing less than Agrippa’s expertise would suffice. On a semiregular basis, the celebrated soldier was actually obliged to interrupt his business to attend to the sword craft of boys not even old enough to join a legion. Afterward, Agrippa would join us for our evening meal, which we took together with the emperor. Almost always present was the emperor’s wealthy advisor, Maecenas—a shrewd little man who kept the emperor’s papers and schedule. He was officious and extremely influential; he looked at my brothers and me the same way he looked at the trade goods he purchased for Rome.

  I didn’t like him, or his pretty wife, Terentilla, but they both had exquisite taste in clothing, and I was given leave to believe that most of the attractive artwork in the household had been acquired by the two of them.

  In my mother’s court, royal children had always been welcome to join in the discussion. Here, the emperor expected us to impress his dinner guests with our quiet solicitude. There were rarely lavish feasts; the emperor preferred simple fare. In fact, Julia sometimes mocked her father’s habit of picking at his meals, jesting that nervous guests probably left hungry.

  Then, before bed, the emperor lectured. Oh, how he loved to lecture, spouting priggish platitudes about chastity, virtue, and austerity. Helios wasn’t exaggerating when he’d said the emperor was obsessed, and these speeches always seemed to be for my special benefit. Helios would roll his eyes, but he didn’t interrupt a lecture again.

  Meanwhile, I began to envy the affection the emperor bestowed on my half siblings. He doted on the Antonias and seemed fond of Iullus. It made me feel like a caged animal, pulling on my chains while the domesticated pets roamed free.

  I wondered what my mother would have done in my place. She won Julius Caesar and Mark Antony to her cause with charm, wit, and faith. She could discuss in many languages the subtleties of Plato or jest with bawdy soldiers. She could hunt all day and throw dice all night or play the lyre to soothe tempers.

  Perhaps I too could make the Romans love me, change the way they saw things, open their eyes to the beauty of the Isiac faith. My mother had done it. She hadn’t just preached partnership and trust as a political creed; she’d lived it. Two Roman generals had taken her as a wife. In so doing, they proved by personal and political example that women and men could work together as rulers and equals, just as East and West could come together in peaceful partnership.

  If my mother could do all that, I resolved to try to do the same. If we were to ever return to a land where Isis was loved
and magic was revered, I would need to win allies to our cause.

  “IT’S market day,” Julia whispered to me one morning as I tried to help her with her Greek. “We’re going shopping.”

  “Where?” I asked, trying to keep the excitement out of my voice; anything that interrupted the routine of the emperor’s household was a welcome change.

  Julia tucked a strand of errant brown hair behind her ear, and copied some poetry into the wax tablet with her stylus. “We’ll probably visit the Forum and browse shops along the Via Sacra.”

  I remembered being dragged through the streets of Rome in chains and suddenly this trip didn’t sound as enticing.

  “What are you whispering about, girls?” Juba asked.

  “Greek.”

  The way Juba smiled, he must have known I was lying, but he left a fig on my desk anyway, prompting Julia to tease, “You’re his star pupil. He’s inordinately fond of you.”

  I thought often about all he’d said to me the night we learned of Caesarion’s death and remembered how he had said I would control my brothers. However, I’d seen the way flirtatious slave girls looked at him and I wasn’t immune to his charms either, which made me desperate to talk about something else before Julia saw the blush upon my cheeks. “Never mind Juba, what will we shop for?”

  Julia’s lower lip jutted out. “Probably nothing interesting. My father just likes the citizenry to see us doing ordinary things. But maybe I’ll be able to show you the Temple of Venus Genetrix.”

  The Temple of Venus Genetrix is where Caesar had famously installed a statue of my mother. Now both of them were dead, but the building remained, a stone ghost of my family’s past.

  “Don’t be so glum, Selene,” Julia said, as if reading my thoughts. “Iullus always buys me a sweet cake when we go shopping and I’ll share it with you.”

  Was the daughter of the emperor really so deprived that such a simple thing could make her happy? Then again, I realized that my mouth watered for cakes too.

  After class, Octavia lined us up for inspection while Agrippa insisted that we take a larger retinue of soldiers with us. Octavia laughed warmly at his concern. “There’s no need for a retinue. The emperor wants us to mingle in the crowds like the humbler citizens.”

  “With this city infested with gangsters and thugs?” Agrippa growled low in his throat and shook his head. “Order isn’t yet fully restored. Murders take place in broad daylight, even in the temples. There should be no mingling.”

  Lady Octavia ran her fingers through Philadelphus’s unruly auburn hair as if to make it straight. “Is it still that bad, Agrippa?”

  Agrippa’s hand worked at his side. “I’ll go with you.”

  It was nonsense that a man of Agrippa’s importance should accompany us like some lack-wit bodyguard, but Octavia took him up on the invitation at once, lowering her eyes submissively to say, “As you wish.”

  A flush worked its way onto the big man’s features. There was a dynamic between the two that I was proud of myself for noticing because something, however small, might be used to win them over. In fact, I’d have liked to watch more of the exchange, but Livia interrupted.

  “Children, I’ll give you each some coins,” the emperor’s wife said, jingling a pouch of gold. “But spend them only at the windows of respectable merchants and friends of the family. And keep close to the walls so as to avoid the sewage the plebs dump from their upstairs windows.”

  Julia and Iullus giggled, though whether it was at the idea of dumped sewage or at some secret joke shared between them, I couldn’t tell. In any case, their merriment annoyed Livia. “Julia! Keep your eyes down and don’t attract the attention of men passing by. That goes double for you, Selene.”

  Why she’d singled us out, I didn’t know, but I just bobbed my head. I was too eager to escape our prison, even for just a few hours. My last trip through the streets of Rome, I’d been a captive. Now I traveled with the Julii; I wondered if anyone would spit on me this time. We descended from the Palatine Hill on foot, following the winding road past green hillocks and twisting trees. It had none of the beauty of Alexandria, but there were lovely villas and serene landscapes along the way. Only once we entered the narrow streets of the city proper did I sense a restlessness that made me strangely glad Agrippa was nearby.

  The population of Rome seemed to be twice, maybe even three times, that of Alexandria. And it was overcrowded. They said Alexandria was home of the mob, but Rome showed that to be a lie. Some streets still had toppled debris and litter from old riots. Graffiti was everywhere, and some of it was lewd enough to make me blush. Crowds gathered quickly and menacingly. The traces of anarchy remained.

  Perhaps they thought Octavian was just one more dictator who would soon be challenged by the next. I could see why he worried about the public reaction to destroying temples. He may have conquered Egypt, but he had not yet fully conquered the hearts and minds of Rome—and that was a battle Agrippa couldn’t fight for him.

  Though the people had hailed Octavian in his Triumph, the Romans seemed to hold no awe of his family now. We were jostled like the rest of the citizenry as we made our way with the never-ending traffic. I furled my nose, for in spite of its sewage system, Rome was still dirtier and smellier than Alexandria on its worst day. Meanwhile, Helios and I held hands as I gazed up at the tall crooked insulae that lined the road and shadowed the narrow streets.

  “Some of these buildings are going to blow down in a strong wind,” I said.

  “Or burn up in a puff of smoke,” Helios replied.

  Whatever I was going to reply went unsaid because two young men shoved past us, stealing a basket of bread from a merchant before running off. Seeing this, my foolish twin actually let go of my hand and bolted forward to pursue the thieves. Luckily, Helios didn’t get far.

  Agrippa caught him by the back of the tunic and let out a belly laugh. “You’re full of fire, boy.”

  “But they’re thieves,” Helios said. “They stole right in front of me.”

  “These days everyone is a thief. Let the tresviri capitales handle it,” Agrippa said, letting Helios go, and diverting our party down another street.

  Crowds pushed from behind, and Helios and I, unaccustomed to moving with the flow of pedestrian traffic, soon found ourselves surrounded by strangers. We’d been separated from the others and now gaunt faces blocked our path. Hands reached out at us from every direction.

  “Bread or coin, please!” begged one woman. She had a filthy face and two little boys at her knees.

  There were throngs of citizens in rags, demoralized and desperate. There were rich and poor in every society, even in Egypt, but we’d never seen poor such as this. Crowds would never dare approach me in Alexandria in this way, nor be so demanding. After all, I was the daughter of Pharaoh then. Now I was merely a well-fed child with money.

  My brother took the coins that Livia had given us and gave one to the woman with the children at her feet. “Thank you, my lord!” she said. “Thank you. Whose name should I praise?”

  “Isis,” Helios said to the woman. “Praise Isis who understands suffering.”

  Then he gave the rest of his coins to the others and still they pressed him for his name. I wondered what he would say, for I wasn’t sure it was wise to admit we were Cleopatra’s children. Helios seemed to worry too, because he lowered his green eyes, as if summoning all his courage. “I’m King Alexander Helios,” he said.

  I turned to gape at him. The crowd seemed just as astonished and pulled back. Such was the power of the word rex to the Romans.

  Someone tittered nervously. “But he’s just a boy.”

  Another man in rags spit at the ground in front of Helios. “You aren’t King of the Parths anymore. You never were.”

  Helios stared at the man, as if memorizing his face. “Perhaps not. But I’m the rightful King of Egypt now … and my sister is its queen.”

  Cyrenaica, Libya, Parthia … all those lands we’d ruled only in name
. They meant little to us beyond Ptolemy avarice. Egypt, however, was in our blood, and it was a calling beyond mortal aspiration. Egypt was a mantle that had fallen, and I could see now that Helios was determined to take it up, whether we were prisoners or not.

  In the end, the beggars did not care about thrones or boys claiming to be kings. It was all a blur as people kept pushing and crowding. “Selene, give them your money,” Helios said.

  I frowned at him and my fingers curled around the edges of the coins possessively. The money in my hand was all I owned in the world except for a frog amulet and a hidden bloody dress. “After these people spit at us and threw rocks at us?”

  “You don’t know that any of these people did that,” Helios said. “And even if they did, Isis teaches us forgiveness. Please?”

  Why this small, futile gesture was important to my brother I didn’t know, but Helios so seldom pleaded that I could do nothing but surrender the coins to his hand. Something in me lightened as I did so. I watched Helios give away every single coin, then hold his hands up to show they were empty.

  “Praise you, my young lord!” an old woman said to Helios.

  “Praise you, Holy Twins of Isis, for her followers are always with you and watching you,” another man said in a voice I thought I knew. My eyes snapped up at the familiar sound. I thought I’d imagined it, but there he was!

  Cloaked beneath a white cowl was the face of our wizard, Euphronius. At my look of shock, the old man brought a finger to his weathered lips to silence me. A range of emotions passed over me in an instant, from fear to joy. I’d last seen Euphronius in Egypt and thought I’d never see him again.