Lily of the Nile

by Stephanie Dray

  A Golden Age. This was what the Prince of Emesa said before the emperor ordered him killed, before his blood spattered me and the life went out of his eyes. The amphora of wine seemed heavy in my hands. I was unsteady on my feet. “Selene, are you all right?” Juba put a hand at my elbow.

  The crush of people around me was suddenly overwhelming. “I need a breath of air.”

  I left him with the wine and searched for Helios, but couldn’t find him in the crowd, so I slipped away into the gardens. Even there children shrieked and played in the snow, so I receded into the cubicula where the family normally slept.

  The Saturnalia was a celebration of life, but so many members of my family were dead. Julius Caesar, Mark Antony, Antyllus, Caesarion—all gone. My mother was dead too, and I had killed her. Why hadn’t I dropped that basket and let the snake slither away? Because of me, she was dead, and here we were in Rome, being taught lies about our family and expected to smile.

  I fought again to make a mask of my face. If I let myself feel everything in me, I’d scream like I did the day they told me Caesarion was dead. I’d scream and never stop. And that wouldn’t help me find my way back to Egypt.

  As I fought these thoughts, my fingernails digging into my palms, I realized that I wasn’t alone. Outside the emperor’s bedroom, Livia and the pretty daughter of one of the senators stood talking. The girl was rosy and slightly disheveled.

  “You’ll do what he tells you to,” Livia told the girl, softly caressing her pink cheek.

  I knew, even then, that I’d stumbled upon something illicit, but I didn’t understand what. I stayed where I was, in the shadows, paralyzed with curiosity. The girl glanced toward the emperor’s bedroom and trembled all over. “But I wasn’t encouraging him, Lady Livia …”

  Livia’s sweetness gave way to anger as her hand moved from the girl’s cheek into her hair and grabbed a fistful. “Don’t Lady Livia me. I know your kind—what you really want from the emperor, despite what you say. Don’t deny it.”

  The girl tried to look away, and when she did, she saw me. Then Livia did too and turned on me in fury. “Didn’t I tell you to serve the wine, Selene? How dare you spy on me?”

  “I-I,” I stammered in surprise at her anger, but before I could finish, I was rescued by shouting throughout the house.

  “It’s time to choose the Lord of Misrule!” the cry went up, and the guests cheered.

  Taking advantage of the merriment, I gathered my skirts and fled from Livia’s presence. I reached the festivities in time to draw a pastry to see who would be nominal ruler of the emperor’s household for the rest of the Saturnalia.

  I worried when I saw my littlest brother push his chubby fist into the bowl and draw out the pastry with the hidden bean. This pastry marked him as the winner of the dubious honor. The crowd tittered awaiting the emperor’s response. Philadelphus was the son of Antony, as anyone could tell by looking. But he was also the child of Cleopatra, and they hadn’t forgotten.

  A Ptolemy child to be the ruler of the emperor’s household? Even in the jest of the Saturnalia, would that be too much for the emperor’s honor to endure? All eyes were on the emperor as my little brother crushed the pastry between his fat fingers. I could see he was confused by what was happening, but the emperor hovered over him like a doting nursemaid. “Ah, Philadelphus, my child. You’re the Lord of Misrule! What’s your desire? How may I serve?”

  I prayed that my little brother wouldn’t command something insulting. Thankfully, Philadelphus smiled up at the emperor and asked, “May I have another pastry?”

  The emperor laughed and gave Philadelphus a pastry for each hand. “The Lord of Misrule has commanded sweets for all, and we must obey.”

  A cheer went up from the crowd as the emperor took Philadelphus into his arms. It made me cringe to see him holding my baby brother and smiling a smile I recognized. A sly smile like the one I’d seen the day of the Triumph.

  How gracious and noble the emperor was, the guests all seemed to agree. How forgiving and merciful was this ruler of the world, just like his uncle, the Divine Julius. How lucky it was for the children of Cleopatra to be taken so lovingly into Octavian’s family. I knew they’d spread this story on the streets long after the Saturnalia had ended and so did the emperor. To complete the picture, he called me to his side as he told his guests the story of the lying interpreter. “Then she says to me, ‘But Caesar, I know Syrian!’ Isn’t that right, Selene?”

  I bobbed my head and he patted my shoulder with his chilly fingers. His face could affect warmth, but his fingers always revealed his underlying cool. He was generous with his praise of me, telling the story in a way that put us both in the most flattering light and so the Romans could take that story home with them too—how the emperor had so easily won over the loyalty of Cleopatra’s daughter.

  AT last it was time for the poetry reading. So many guests crowded into the salon that they had to line the walls. When Juba saw me, he scooted over to make space on the bench next to him. “Sit by me, Selene. I can’t wait to hear what you think of our Roman poet.”

  I squeezed beside him, our arms tangling briefly. He smelled good, the scents of the Saturnalia mixing with the desert smell that always lingered on Juba’s clothes. I followed his pointed finger to the poet who stood at the front of the room.

  Though Juba had called him the Roman poet, Virgil had the heavily browed features of a Gaul. His mysterious eyes were deep-set and his forehead was creased with intensity. The poet swept a lock of black hair across his forehead when Maecenas asked what tale Virgil would spin and Virgil’s answer came easily in verse:“What makes the cornfield smile; beneath what star

  Maecenas, it is meet to turn the sod

  Or marry elm with vine; how tend the steer;

  What pains for cattle-keeping, or what proof

  Of patient trial serves for thrifty bees;

  Such are my themes.”

  That Virgil could answer with poetry delighted the guests. An awed hush fell over the room as he recited the rest. Virgil’s poem spoke of the land and harvest. He spoke of the farmer’s life with such poignancy that even a Ptolemy princess like me wished to dirty her hands with a plow. He finished to applause, and women held their hands over heaving chests, as if they couldn’t contain their emotion.

  Juba’s eyes twinkled. “Selene, when you hear tales of her fertile soil, doesn’t it make you love Rome just a little?”

  “Egypt is more fertile,” I said quietly, wondering whether the Nile had risen this year. It was the season of Emergence again, and if the Nile hadn’t flooded, there’d be famine. “It’s Egypt I love.”

  Juba’s eyes were sympathetic. “Egypt feeds Rome; that’s why Rome can’t afford to lose her ever again. The emperor has taken Egypt as his own private domain; he’s even forbidden anyone above the rank of an equite to visit there without his permission. You must forget Egypt, Selene.”

  I stared at my hands. “As you’ve forgotten your kingdom of Numidia?”

  Juba smiled sadly. “I haven’t forgotten Numidia.”

  By now, Virgil had finished his reading. Juba stood to congratulate the poet on his work, sweeping me along with him. “Publius Virgilius Maro, I’d like you to meet Cleopatra Selene of Egypt.”

  I lowered my eyes in the way Lady Octavia did when she met new people, waiting for the man to address me before speaking. Virgil smiled. His cheeks were ruddy and he had an unexpected shyness to his demeanor. “Why, my dear, you are the incarnation of your lovely mother.”

  For the first time, someone in Rome had mentioned my mother in a kindly fashion, and I felt myself smile without guile. “You knew my mother?”

  “We did. She once stayed in Rome at Julius Caesar’s estate and was a great patron of the arts. I was painfully young, but had the good fortune to be introduced to her by a mutual friend, Crinagoras of Mytilene, the great epigramist. I look forward to seeing you again, Cleopatra Selene. I’ll make time to visit you again before the end of th
e Saturnalia.”

  I’d been dismissed so I let my lips form the expected words. “Io Saturnalia!”

  Then I turned to see Helios. The urgency of his expression seemed at odds with the jovial red cap he wore upon his head. He grabbed me by the arm and pulled me into a quiet corner.

  “Chryssa has returned from the country,” he whispered. “And she’s seen Euphronius.”

  Thirteen

  IN my room, I lit the oil lamp beside my bed while Helios ushered Chryssa inside and quietly shut the door behind us. Bast looped affectionately around his feet, rubbing her whiskers and muzzle against his legs. All at once, the slave girl fell to her knees. “Forgive me, lady!”

  For a moment, I wondered if we’d been betrayed, but Helios shook his head as if she did this often.

  “What is there to forgive?” I asked her.

  “I was petulant with you the day after the Triumph. Then I saw the marks of Isis upon your hands and I knew you were holy to my goddess!”

  I remembered how she’d fought with me over the bloody dress, but she’d revealed something far more important now. “You’re an Isiac?”

  “Of course,” she said. “Isis is the only goddess who truly cares about the lives of slaves. Her temple admits everyone to worship. Lady Livia would feed me to the lampreys if she knew, but I love Isis more than I fear Livia.”

  “You should fear Livia,” I said, worried. “She holds the power of life and death over you.”

  “Only this life,” Chryssa said, and kissed the hem of my gown. “Euphronius teaches that death is not the end of all things and that you will help us find salvation.”

  She looked at me then as if I were capable of ending the suffering in her world, but I couldn’t even end the suffering in my own. “How do you know Euphronius?” I asked, wondering what else our old wizard had taught this slave girl.

  “Before I tell you, won’t you bless me?”

  Helios motioned for me to go ahead, but I felt every bit the pretender. Chryssa was asking me to convey the blessing of Isis but I wasn’t pharaoh. I was no priestess and this was no temple. How could I?

  “I’ve lain with no man and dedicated my virginity to Isis. I’ve tried to treat others with kindness and compassion. Your brother found me worthy and gave me his blessing. Won’t you give me yours as well?”

  I tried to remember what my mother did. I put one hand upon my frog amulet. With the other, I brushed honeyed wisps of hair out of Chryssa’s eyes. She looked to be fifteen or sixteen; she was older than me, but kneeling before me like a child at her mother’s knee.

  “You’re blessed,” I told her, and felt warmth flow through me like a strong wine—likely the heat of my embarrassment and the flash of fear that Isis would be angered by my fraud. But if Chryssa sensed artifice within my blessing, she didn’t let on.

  Instead, her pupils dilated and she trembled when I withdrew my touch. Helios helped her to rise. “Please, Chryssa. Selene has done as you asked. Now we must know of Euphronius.”

  She nodded quickly. “I met Euphronius at the Temple of Isis on the Campus Martius.”

  “Io Saturnalia!” someone shouted outside, and the three of us were silent until they passed by.

  Only when I heard the laughter of the guests echo in the distance did I speak again. “But why is Euphronius in Rome? Agrippa had him flogged in Egypt. It can’t be safe for Euphronius here.”

  “There are many foreigners in this city, my lady. They aren’t looking for him here. He says he’s come to help prepare for your glorious reign.”

  Could sweeter words have ever been spoken? But where would Euphronius take us? Even if he spirited us away, where in the entire world could we hide from Romans or have a prosperous reign? All of my worldly possessions filled this room. My brother and I were without country or army. We reigned over nothing. It felt vain to hope, and yet, I had to ask, “In Rome, the Isiac temples have no sway. The emperor opposes them. What power could Euphronius have here?”

  “The faith is powerful, my lady,” Chryssa said. “There are thousands of Isiacs within the city alone who are ready to help you. I’m not even the only Isiac within this household.”

  “Who else?” Helios prompted, his eye on my repaired door.

  “Many slaves and one even more important than that. Gaius Julius Juba frequents the temple and has been trying to study minor magics there. Euphronius wants me to ask you if Juba can be trusted to be a messenger.”

  “Juba?” I suddenly understood the scent of the Romanized African prince who was our tutor. It had been magic I had smelled all along.

  Helios removed his red cap and scrunched it in one hand. “Juba has been fair with us. Would you trust him, Selene?”

  I fumbled for my reply. I liked Juba. Sometimes when he looked at me, I felt something flutter inside. I wanted to trust our handsome young tutor, but I still remembered how he once spoke of us as game pieces. I remembered too how he’d beaten Helios until he bled.

  “Juba has been kind to us when he could,” I admitted. “But he performs for the emperor like a well-trained pet. You must tell Euphronius not to reveal himself until we can learn more about Juba’s true loyalties.”

  Helios thumped his hands against my desk in frustration. “That’s all Euphronius wants to know? If he can trust Juba? He appeared to us once, why not again? Tell our wizard we want to see him with our own eyes. Tell him that we command it.”

  “Helios …” I cautioned, though when I looked at his face now, I saw no recalcitrant twin brother, but the face of my king. “You could get him killed.”

  Helios looked away in frustration and my mind whirled around the memory of the emperor’s promise to undermine the Isiacs and accuse them of attacking me with magic. “Chryssa, did Euphronius send me messages upon my skin? If he did, tell him to stop or he’ll give the emperor an excuse to destroy our temples.”

  “Won’t Isis protect her temples?” Chryssa asked.

  I loved Isis, I believed in Isis, and I’d been her conduit in the mortal world, but Octavian had smashed Egypt. He could smash the temples of Isis too. “Just tell Euphronius that I can’t have these messages. They anger the Romans.”

  WHEN Chryssa was gone, Helios turned on me. “How could you say that? Isis spoke through you, and you wish her words away because they might anger the Romans?”

  He made me feel small and unworthy, but he wasn’t the one whose hands bled and burned with pain. “Helios, I don’t want to argue. Not tonight. Euphronius will come for us. That’s good news, isn’t it?”

  Helios shook his head. “I don’t think we should wait for him to free us. I think we should find him ourselves.”

  My heartbeat fluttered beneath my breastbone. “What if we’re caught? To risk such a thing now, just when we’ve achieved some semblance of—”

  “Some semblance of what?” Helios demanded.

  “Safety.”

  The word happiness would not pass my lips, but things had changed a great deal for us since we’d come to Rome as prisoners. Though I never forgot that we were at the emperor’s mercy always, he was starting to show some fondness for me. There might be some way that we could get him to put us back on the throne of Egypt.

  “Safety?” Helios’s lips turned with disgust. “It’s only the safety of a bird in a cage—like the ones Livia keeps.”

  “All I know is that Philadelphus has stopped crying all the time,” I said, worrying at the ribbon of my gown with my fingers. “Octavia treats him well. To see him smile again makes me glad.”

  “And you think I’d rather see him sad and afraid? We can’t just sit here and wait for Euphronius to come to us again.”

  “Why can’t we? He’s a wise man. He knows things we don’t. He asked us to find out if Juba could be trusted as a messenger, so why can’t we be content to do as he asks?”

  “Because every day we’re here, we’re in danger. The emperor could change his mind and kill us at his whim. We’re in his power. And what if we learn that
Juba can’t be trusted? What if Chryssa can’t get to the temple and carry messages for us anymore? Then it will be as before, and we’ll be alone. Egypt will be alone. We should find Euphronius ourselves—it’s worth taking a risk.”

  “I know you’re desperate to do something, anything. But maybe the emperor is right when he says to make haste slowly.”

  I winced at my own words even before they had escaped my lips. Of all the means I had at my disposal to convince him, I’d chosen to quote one of the emperor’s favorite sayings. Infuriated, Helios got up, walked out, and slammed the door behind him. I tried to catch it before it slammed, but was too late, so I wrenched it back open and gave chase. Nearly tripping over my tunica, I caught up with Helios and grabbed him by the arm. “Helios, please. I’m just scared!” It shamed me to say, and I couldn’t remember the last time that fear had not informed my every action. I thought he’d yell at me. He had that thunder in his eyes that made me quake. “Aren’t you scared too?”

  “Kings aren’t allowed to be scared,” Helios said. “Besides, sometimes I think that everything I’m afraid of has already happened.”

  “Just wait a little longer to go looking for Euphronius,” I pleaded. “Just until the snows melt and its springtime. Until we know more. After all, how do we know Chryssa isn’t the emperor’s spy?”

  “She’s not,” Helios said, scowling, but I could see he didn’t want to be at odds with me. “Perhaps you’re right. You’ve always been the clever one. So, we’ll wait until springtime. Let’s hope we have that long.”

  THE last day of the Saturnalia was a time to exchange gifts with the imperial family. Helios found the idea particularly galling, but I convinced him that if we didn’t give something to each member of the family, we’d cause offense and make our situation worse.