Egypt's Sister: A Novel of Cleopatra

by Angela Hunt

  “Words are not enough, not between blood sisters,” Urbi insisted. “So I asked myself, what does Chava lack? You have a fine house, good horses, lovely clothes. You have a devoted slave, else I would send Nuru away and buy you a better one. You have scrolls and books. Then it hit me—you lack citizenship. I can make you a citizen of Alexandria. I can bestow citizenship upon your entire family.”

  I stared, caught in the grip of a curious, tingling shock. “I have never asked—”

  “I know you haven’t, and that’s why I am so thrilled to do this. You, your father, and your brother—you shall all be citizens of Alexandria. When we are in famine and there are distributions, you and your family will now be able to receive grain from the storehouses of Egypt. You will be entitled to all the privileges of citizens, even though your people come from Judea. All you must do is worship at the Greek temples. Or—” she laughed—“worship with me at the Temple of Isis, it matters not. But because of your devotion and friendship to me, I stand ready to do this for you. I will change Jews into Greeks with a single command.”

  My throat squeezed so tight I could scarcely breathe. “Urbi, I cannot accept—”

  “Do not be humble. You have been devoted; you deserve this good fortune.”

  “I am not being humble. But I cannot accept.”

  Her brows rose like the wings of startled birds. “I know you were not expecting this, but consider what an honor this is for you! Your father and brother will never be flogged if arrested; your property can never be seized without cause. You need not confine yourselves to the Jewish Quarter—buy a house anywhere in Alexandria, if it pleases you.”

  “My queen . . .” I pressed my palms together and swallowed hard. “I am not unaware of the great honor you are bestowing on us. But my father, my brother, we cannot worship any god but the God of our fathers. We are and always will be the children of Abraham.”

  “Perhaps you could worship your god in our temples. Go to the temple of Zeus, say your prayers, make your sacrifices, and pray quietly to whatever god you like—”

  “I could not. That place is filled with graven images. And HaShem forbids sacrifice on an altar dedicated to any other god.”

  Urbi shrank back, her hands returning to her belly. “I am not asking so much. Worship any god you please, but you cannot worship one god only. No one trusts people who refuse to live like others, and a citizen’s behavior must not be suspect. All citizens of Alexandria worship at the temples, participate in the festivals, observe the feasts of the gods . . . why would you want to be different?”

  “We cannot do these things. We will not do these things.”

  I kept my eyes down as I uttered the words, knowing she would not understand. In all our years of friendship, Urbi had ignored the greatest difference between us—my family’s worship of HaShem, the invisible God who would not tolerate any other gods to be worshiped. Did she not understand that our beliefs about HaShem informed every aspect of our lives? Could she not comprehend that our faith was an elemental part of who we were?

  A dart of guilt pierced my soul. Had I hidden the essence of my beliefs so completely that she could not see how different we really were?

  Stiffening her spine, Urbi regarded me with the cold, impassive eyes of a sphinx. “You would refuse my gift?”

  “Adonai demands that we worship no other gods. I must refuse, and so will my father. But we will never spurn your friendship.”

  “How can you be my friend when you would allow such an insignificant thing to come between us? I am a tolerant queen, an indulgent friend. I ask only that you be like everyone else and acknowledge the gods of our city.” She looked at me, her brown eyes narrow and bright with fury. “If you would be a citizen of Alexandria, if you would be my lady-in-waiting and my friend—”

  “Please.” My voice broke as I choked on the word. “This thing you ask—it is not insignificant. We Jews are not like everyone else; we are unique. Yet HaShem has told me that our friendship . . .” My thoughts stuttered as I summoned the words from memory. “Our friendship lies in His hands.”

  Urbi’s mouth twisted in a smirk. “Then let us leave it there.”

  “I will be with you on your happiest day . . . and your last.”

  “You want to be unique? Then go, and be as unique as you like.” Cleopatra’s complexion went a shade paler, but she did not falter. “You will soon know your god is false,” she said, her voice soft with exasperation. “For my happiest day will be when I give birth to my son, and my last day . . . will not be today, though I will never see you again. Ever.”

  “Blood of my blood.” Tears spilled from my eyes as I spread my hands in entreaty. “Heart of my heart. I will be your friend, your companion, and your servant, so long as you do not ask me to do things I cannot do. I am not Greek or Egyptian, and I must be true to the ways of my father and forefathers—”

  “Get out.”

  She rose onto her knees and pointed to the door, her hand trembling. Slaves cleared a path, and I quaked as I slid off the bed and crouched on the floor. “Urbi, forgive me for insulting your graciousness. But surely you understand! Please, let us go back to the way we were as children. Let us return to being as simple as girls—”

  “You must never speak my family name again,” she said, her voice as cold as iron. “From this day forward, you will not come into my presence.” She jerked her chin at a guard who had looked into the room. “You! Take her away.”

  I stood, took another anguished look at my childhood friend, then turned and left, my heart torn by grief and disbelief.

  Chapter Twelve

  Father?”

  I found him in the library, poring over an unfurled manuscript.

  He lifted his candle and blinked at me. “What troubles you, daughter?”

  A sob rose in my throat, and I was powerless to tamp it down. It came out as a high hiccup, then I began to sob in earnest, shoulders shaking, tears flowing, nose running.

  Father blinked again, then lowered the candle and drew me into the circle of his arms, awkwardly patting my shoulder as I wept.

  “What brought this on?” he said, pulling away. He removed a square of linen from his sleeve and attempted to wipe my face.

  I took the linen from him and sat on a nearby chair. “I cannot believe it, but Urbi and I have—we are no longer friends.” My chin quivered at the memory of our encounter. “She meant to honor our family, but she asked the impossible, something I knew you could never do. So I refused her honor as gently as I could, but she went into a rage. She had a guard drag me out of her chamber.”

  Father leaned forward in a show of concern, but his expression remained calm. “Do you think she will calm down in a few days? This is not the first time you two have argued.”

  “This wasn’t a girlish argument. This felt . . . serious.”

  Father sat at his desk and tented his hands over the soft pouch of his belly. “What honor did the queen offer?”

  I wiped my eyes again and dabbed the end of my nose. “She wanted to give us citizenship, but stipulated that we would have to worship with other citizens from Alexandria. When I said we could never worship before a graven image, she became furious. I have never seen her so angry. I kept hoping she’d relent, but the more we talked, the more furious she became.”

  Father stroked his beard and stared at the open scroll as thought worked in his eyes. “You were right to answer as you did,” he finally said, “and I am surprised she asked this of you. Citizenship would be a great gift, but perhaps we were not meant to be citizens here. Our home is Judea, our capital Jerusalem.”

  I barked a laugh. “Even though we have never been there?”

  “Even though. Because it is the land HaShem chose for us. Because the Temple is there.”

  He leaned forward to pat my hand. “Do not worry, Chava. Women who are expecting a child often behave in ways that are completely foreign to their natures. The queen will calm down once her anger has abated. She probably
has many things on her mind. She has to be on constant guard with Caesar, for at a moment’s notice he could remove her and install a Roman governor. She might be worried about her baby—childbirth is dangerous for mother and child, as you well know. I am certain you will hear from Urbi before too many days have passed.”

  I sniffed. “Should I send her a message?”

  “Don’t stir the embers, but let the coals cool. I have heard that Caesar will soon be leaving, so give the queen time to adjust to his absence. Wait for her. In time, all will be made right. After all, did not HaShem tell you that this friendship was in His hands?”

  He smiled, the creases at his eyes merging into a solid line, and his comment elicited fresh tears. In that moment, at least, he had faith in HaShem’s promise to me, and I desperately needed to know that someone else believed.

  I propped my chin in my hand and studied Father’s face as he returned to his work. The Alexandrian sun had leathered his skin, carving white lines on the wide forehead that always seemed to house dozens of profound thoughts, any one of which might be the answer to whatever problem bedeviled me.

  The sound of pounding at the door disturbed the quiet of the library. “Who would be outside at this hour?” I rose. “Let me see where the doorman is—”

  The pounding ceased, then I heard a scream followed by the slap of sandals on tile. Nuru came running into the library, her eyes wide as she whispered a warning. “Run, mistress! Run!”

  I barely had time to look at Father before a half-dozen soldiers appeared—Roman legionaries, probably from Caesar’s army. “We have orders to arrest three Jews: Daniel the scholar, and his children, Asher and Chava,” the leader said, reading from a scroll. He lowered the parchment and narrowed his eyes. “Are you the residents of this dwelling?”

  Father stood and gripped the edge of his tunic. “I am Daniel.”

  “You are under arrest. Gather what you will, but be quick about it.”

  “Nuru,” I called, turning to her reflexively, “pack a basket for my—”

  The guard cut me off. “Your slaves have been freed by order of the queen.”

  That news shocked me more than the announcement of our impending arrest. Anyone could be arrested and released, but freeing our slaves was . . . permanent.

  Nuru’s face went blank with shock. She staggered backward as the guard grabbed my arm. “Are you Chava?”

  I winced at the strength of his grip. “I am.”

  “And where is—” he glanced at the scroll—“Asher?”

  “I do not know.”

  Before I could say anything else, the guards grabbed Father and dragged both of us onto the street. Though my head filled with a jumble of confused pleas and protestations, one coherent thought rose to the top: Asher was not home. For the moment, at least, my brother would escape the queen’s anger.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Those who play with fire,” Father once warned me, “are apt to be burnt.”

  The words came back to me on a tide of memory, rippling through my mind as scores of curious observers watched the legionaries drag us away from the marble steps of our home. Neighbors in the Jewish Quarter stopped and stared as we stumbled down the street, and more than one man called Father’s name in consternation. I searched the crowd for Asher but did not see him. Like shameful criminals we were led past the synagogue and onto the wide Canopic Way, then through the gate at the city walls.

  Finally we reached the Roman garrison. As a guard untied the ropes around our wrists, I prayed that someone would tell Asher what had happened and help him flee the city. Bad enough that Father had to suffer for my sake, I would not want Asher to be imprisoned as well.

  Once my hands were free, a soldier pushed me toward a room and thrust me inside, then locked the door. At first I couldn’t see in the near darkness, but when my eyes adjusted I saw three other women in the windowless chamber. Father had been taken somewhere else. I hoped he would remain in the same building. Please, Adonai, keep him close.

  The women with whom I found myself said nothing to me but stared at me with faintly accusing eyes. Clothed in the plain tunics of common Egyptians, they wore their hair either in simple braids or hanging free, with no adornment at all. Dressed as I was, in a fine linen chiton and a costly silk himation, I felt uncomfortable and conspicuous.

  Unable to stand the pressure of the women’s eyes upon me, I stood facing the tiny window in the door, waiting for the guard to come tell me that the queen had ordered my release. I stood in that position for hours, then paced, ignoring the other women and trying to keep my chiton clean.

  As the sun set and darkness thickened around me, I sat carefully on the floor with the wall at my back. Resolved to sleep sitting up, I closed my eyes, only to jerk awake every time my body listed and nearly surrendered to sleep.

  I waited for relief that did not come.

  By the time the sun had reached its zenith the following day, I had propped myself against the wall like the others, too weary to stand and too dirty to care about soiling my garments. That night I slept on the filthy floor, using my arms for a pillow and my thin himation for a blanket. Like the other women I relieved myself in a bucket and drank stale water from a communal ladle, grateful that the dim light in the room prevented the others from seeing the stains of humiliation on my face.

  On the third afternoon, all four of us women were led out to face a magistrate. Egyptian justice was swift, and most punishments predetermined—common thieves were beaten, tomb robbers buried alive, and murderers executed. Since I did not know what charge had been laid against me, I had no idea what sort of punishment I might face.

  The first woman had been arrested for stealing from her neighbor; the judge ordered the guards to beat her with a stick and send her home to her husband. The second prisoner had been accused of slandering the queen, but when no witness appeared to testify against her, the judge admonished her to mind her tongue and released her. The third woman, a common prostitute, stood accused of stealing from a customer. The magistrate ruled that she be released—after the guards had cut off her nose.

  I covered my ears as a pair of guards held the harlot against the wall while another carried out the sentence. As my ears filled with the sound of frenzied screams, I imagined myself standing between a pair of guards while a third sharpened an ax to take off my head. Surely insulting the queen could not be answered by a light sentence.

  I stood before the magistrate and lowered my gaze, bracing for whatever was to come. Would Cleopatra come here to testify against me? Surely not. She would never visit a garrison herself, so she would send word about my fate.

  I fisted my hands when the magistrate’s eyes focused on me. “Your case has not been decided.” He gestured toward the door. “Back to the holding room with you.”

  “And my father? Please, sir, what of him?”

  My question seemed to harden the magistrate’s features, but he only pointed to the door. “We have not heard from the palace, so you and your father will remain here. Go!”

  Not heard from the palace? What sort of game was Urbi playing?

  As the guard led me back to my cell, I listened for the sound of familiar names. Father was here somewhere, and Asher might have been brought in. But though I strained to hear their voices, I heard nothing but the sound of rough laughter and belching as the legionaries took their ease at the end of the day.

  By sunset on the third day, I had begun to believe that Cleopatra simply wanted to teach me a lesson. I had endured three full days in that dismal chamber without a change of clothing, a latrine, or my handmaid. I ate only when the Roman guards remembered to throw me a crust of bread or offer a bowl of gruel, and my hair had become a tangled mess.

  She could not intend to leave me here forever. She had arranged for my father’s and brother’s arrest because she knew it would distress me to think of them suffering for my mistakes. But she respected my father, so at any moment we would receive a message from the palace, then w
e would be returned to our home.

  As darkness filled my cell, I braced my back against the wall and picked at my fingernails, which were now mere stubs. By the time the first watch ended, I had to face a cruel reality: the queen had not forgotten my offense, and she did not yet want to forgive me.

  How could Father have been so wrong? He had predicted that Cleopatra would regain her composure and forget about my offense, but she had not. But maybe the command to imprison us hadn’t come from Cleopatra, but from Caesar. Maybe the queen told Caesar that I’d called him an old man. Maybe such honest words were a crime in Rome, and I had committed a serious offense without even knowing it.

  Perhaps I would sit here until Urbi took pity on me and ordered my release . . . or my execution. But surely she wouldn’t execute my father. He had done nothing to offend her, and Alexandria had always prized its scholars. Surely she would release him, if only for the sake of his reputation.

  I worried about Father. He was not a young man, and he had to feel physical discomfort more than I did. He always walked stiffly in the morning, even after sleeping on two feather mattresses. How was he walking after three nights on a brick floor?

  On the fourth day, the sounds of cheering outside the garrison broke the monotony. I begged passing guards to give me the reason for celebration in the street, but they did not respond. Finally, one young guard stopped by my door. “They are celebrating Caesar’s proclamation.”

  My pulse quickened. “What did he proclaim?”

  The guard shrugged. “To reward the Jew soldiers who helped him win the war, he asked the queen to give full citizenship to all Jews in Alexandria.” The legionary crossed his arms. “Oh—and she’s going to build a new synagogue in the Jew Quarter. Nice for them, I guess, but I did not hear any news worth celebrating.”

  I listened to his report in astonished silence. Cleopatra was granting citizenship to Jews without forcing them to worship at the city’s pagan temples? Why had she agreed to do those things for strangers when she refused the same freedom for me and my family?