by Jean Rabe
Sahdi had read the exact copies of the memoirs multiple times—and not the museum versions for the foreign scholars, but the secret ones reserved only for relatives of the famous empress written in the original ancient Greek. That’s what Sahdi wanted to read tonight. She would read through a copy of Cleopatra’s first memoir, studying how she considered suicide during the battle of Actium when the outcome was in doubt. If the wind had blown the other way and the naphtha sprayers could not have been used, Antony and the fleet would have been lost. Rather than be paraded through the streets of Rome with a golden chain around her neck like her sister Arsinoë had, Cleopatra would commit suicide. Sahdi liked to think her life would never come to a moment of utter hopelessness. Still, one never knew.
Sahdi reached for a copy of Cleopatra’s first memoir that had been placed on a reading table. Perhaps she could find some clue to how Cleopatra endured the seduction of Julius Caesar when the man that she truly loved, Mark Antony, was only an arm’s reach away. Sahdi began to open the large book when she noticed the guard captain glance at her expectantly, his eyes nervous. She stopped opening the book, sat, and pretended to adjust her dress as she inspected the side of the large tome. Someone had tampered with it. She could tell by the way the pages lay together unevenly. What was inside? An asp? A bomb?
“Captain,” Sahdi asked the stern man who watched her every move, “when will you take us to see Pope Cyril?”
“Tomorrow, Your Highness. It has been arranged.” The captain’s tone and fake smile told her volumes.
“We’re going now,” Sahdi said. “Form our escort.”
“That is not possible,” the captain replied. “Please, Highness, entertain yourself a little longer.”
“We’re going now,” Duke Zander said, as he too eyed the book.
“No.” The captain gestured and nodded to his seven men. “You’re staying here.”
The imperial guards suddenly raised their rifles toward Sahdi as the captain drew his pistol.
Shahkto shot two of the soldiers with his revolver and slashed a third across the throat with a dagger before they could fire. Duke Zander ran one man through with his saber and shot another in the side of the head. The final two riflemen and the captain fired at the Nubian Queen’s chest.
Shahkto lunged forward and shielded Sahdi as the bullets pierced his back. She held up the tall warrior, hugging him as the captain fired another salvo into the dying bodyguard. The bullets did not strike her, but part of her heart would perish with Shahkto, a Nubian tribes-man more noble than any emperor.
“Drop your weapons!” the captain ordered the Duke as Sahdi laid Shahkto’s body on the table. The two remaining riflemen held their guns on Zander, each aiming point blank at the sides of his head. The captain pointed his pistol at Sahdi’s heart.
Zander let his bloody sword and smoking pistol fall to the wooden floor. No alarm went up and no other guards came running to the scene in the wake of the commotion. They must have all been under orders.
Sahdi picked up the heavy book, holding it against her chest like a shield that would stop the captain’s bullets as he stepped toward her. Her pistol, dagger, and even the vial of poison she had hidden in her clothing were out of reach now.
“Put that down.” The captain motioned hesitantly to Cleopatra’s thick memoir.
Sahdi shook her head. “You soldiers should not be afraid of books.” She flipped open the cover aiming the front of it at the captain who dodged too late. Four simultaneous bangs and a puff of smoke exploded from inside as she triggered the trap. A quartet of tiny pocket pistols in a hollowed out cavity hidden behind the first few pages tore into the captain’s body.
Zander stepped back, jerking the barrels of the soldiers’ rifles causing them to pull the triggers, discharge their weapons, and kill each other instantly. The Duke snatched up his revolver as Sahdi lingered over Shahkto’s body.
She kissed her brave bodyguard on the cheek and fought back her tears.
Imperial soldiers closed in around them.
“Please, Your Majesty,” Zander said. “Allow me to escort you to Pope Cyril’s residence. If there is anywhere in this city where we’ll be safe, it’s with him.”
Sahdi picked up Shahkto’s pistol, drew her own, and motioned for Zander to head for a hidden staircase that led into the basement of the library. “There’s a secret way out.” Sahdi cocked the pistols. “We shoot anyone who gets in our way.”
His Holiness Cyril IX, Pope of Alexandria and Patriarch of all Africa of the Holy See of Saint Mark welcomed Sahdi into his private apartment at Saint Mark’s Cathedral on the day of Sahdi’s wedding. Comfortable chairs in front of a gigantic picture window faced the harbor in the elegant sitting room. The pope wore orthodox black robes with twelve golden crosses stitched into the fabric, and the upside down bowl-shaped kolonsoa hat over his head with flaps that covered his ears. Despite his beard being much grayer than Sahdi remembered, he still had the sparkle in his dark eyes that she always loved. After she kissed the ring on his wrinkled hand he blessed her and then sat in a plain padded chair that easily accommodated his small body. A single attendant remained as they spoke of her father and his unfortunate health. The pope held a small bronze cross in his hand as they chatted.
“Your father is always in my nightly prayers.”
“Thank you, Your Holiness. That is most comforting.”
“You have done well in his place. I know it has not been easy for you, but the Church applauds your efforts to live the principles of the gospels in Nubia and beyond. It’s a shame that Emperor Demetrius doesn’t share your vision for reform, or care about the poor and the slaves as you do.”
“Your Holiness, there is much more that I would like to do, if only I had your blessing to remain in Africa.”
“I should imagine your soon-to-be husband will want to live in Athens.”
“Your Holiness, perhaps we could speak, alone.”
Pope Cyril dismissed his attendant and Sahdi waited for the heavy door to close. She wanted the drapes pulled over the window, but didn’t want to prolong this any longer. Confessing to her personal priest was hard enough. Now she planned to conspire with the most holy man on Earth. She took a deep breath and imagined what would happen to Nubia if she failed. “Your Holiness, I must confess my sins.”
“Of course.”
Sahdi made the sign of the cross on her chest. “In the name of the Father, and of His Son, and of the eternal Holy Spirit. My last confession was four weeks ago.” She paused and gave Pope Cyril a chance to recite scripture.
“Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you.”
She recognized it, a passage from the Book of Colossians. He must have known that her confession would involve grievances against the emperor. She thought about the words for a moment and realized she could never forgive Demetrius. God would have to do that. “Your Holiness, my sins are many. In the past weeks I have wished death upon my enemies, especially Emperor Demetrius. I ordered his murder in Luxor after he insinuated that he may have had a hand in my father’s accident. I have also planned to overthrow the emperor and invade Egypt.” She paused, intent on going through with the marriage no matter what. Cleopatra had partnered with Julius Caesar, a man thirty years older than her. She would do the same with Antyllus. The old king had outlived two wives, and she would outlive him. Perhaps Zander would wait.
“Go on, child.”
She bit her lip. “I have lusted after a man who has sworn to protect me, and deliver me safe to his king. I think I may have fallen . . .”
“Continue, please.” The pope was unfazed.
She couldn’t tell him any more about Zander. “Your Holiness, I must ask a favor of you that will save the people of Nubia.”
He nodded.
“Before you marry us, give me the blessing of the Coptic Church and officially coronate me as the queen of Nubia in front of God and all of the foreign k
ings and dignitaries.”
He squeezed his cross, knowing this would make her queen of Greece and Nubia. The emperor would be enraged. “If I refuse?”
“I will take a weak poison and will blame the emperor. I will live, then I will charge Demetrius—fabricate evidence if I must—and when I recover, I will stand with my husband, rally all of Africa and the Middle East against the emperor. There will be a terrible war. Hundreds of thousands will die, and in the end, he will fall.”
“And if I do this for you?” The old man sighed.
“Coronate me, and I will use politics instead of war. To win with words, I must officially be queen of Nubia and Greece.”
“This is wrong.” Pope Cyril furrowed his brow. “There are other ways. Think of your eternal soul.”
“Your Holiness, I have. It’s better for me to sacrifice my salvation than to watch as the northerners starve while the ice slowly buries them. They trade their freedom for chains and a belly full of bread for their children. I cannot abide this when there is land enough for all.”
Sahdi got on her knees, hands in the prayer position. “Your Holiness, I beg you. Coronate me as queen of Nubia and I shall spare Africa the horrors of machine-driven warfare the scale of which the world has never seen. As an act of contrition for this request, I will build Coptic churches in every town in the Empire. The other religions will fade from memory. Every man, woman, and child will hear the gospels from Coptic missionaries.”
The pope closed his eyes and prayed silently. When he opened them at last, he looked at Sahdi with a grave expression. “I will do as you ask. Then you will grant a request to the church once you are empress. You will agree to whatever we demand.”
“Yes, Your Holiness. Whatever you ask.” Sahdi made the sign of the cross and swore to herself, and to God, that this vow would be kept.
The pope suddenly pointed out the window at a vast airship flying over Alexandria’s harbor en route to the imperial palace. “The emperor and his family return from Karnak.” The long, gray artillery-shell-shaped balloon glided slowly through the air, four propeller engines steering it. A grand brass-colored gondola hugged the base of the airship as it approached the landing field.
Her wedding was upon her.
She would meet Antyllus at the altar, officially become queen of Nubia, exchange vows with her aged husband, dance with him at their feast, then conspire with him after consummating their marriage. The only thing she looked forward to was seeing the emperor’s face when Pope Cyril put the uraeus crown on her head.
A flash of light above the gondola made Sahdi blink. The front of the balloon exploded in fire, and the fabric shell disintegrated as the flames spread to the rear with demonic speed, consuming everything as billowing smoke filled the air. Sahdi and Pope Cyril leaped to their feet and stared out the window.
Deep within her soul, Sahdi knew this was no accident. General Nahktebbi had found redemption.
The door to the pope’s chamber burst open and Duke Zander rushed in with a few others as the nose of the airship tipped straight up. The rear of the craft crashed toward the harbor in a ball of flame. In only a brief moment, the airship plunged into the water and the gondola sank into the harbor, dragging the wreckage down. Smoke and pieces of burning airship floated on the surface.
Pope Cyril clutched his cross and fell to his knees gasping in front of the window.
“Your Holiness.” Duke Zander supported the shaking pontiff as the remains of the airship sank into the bay.
“Your Majesty, thank you,” the Pope said.
Sahdi’s brows furrowed together. Your Majesty? There were no kings in the room and the pope wasn’t speaking to her. She turned away from the window and noticed Zander kneeling by the Pope. The old man must have made a mistake. The Duke of Attica carefully helped Pope Cyril stand and led him to a chair.
“Sahdi,” the Pope held out his hand to her, “you were not supposed to meet this way, but let me introduce your betrothed, King Antyllus Alexandros Constantius V.”
“The fifth?” Sahdi asked, her mind reeling. “Zander?”
The pope nodded. “Unbeknownst to the emperor, King Antyllus IV has transferred the marriage contract to his son, the newly anointed Duke of Attica, who has been traveling in disguise these past weeks. King Antyllus will abdicate the throne upon his son’s marriage to you.”
“Your Highness.” Zander bowed lower than he ever had, his amber eyes never leaving hers as he removed his gloves and tenderly kissed her hand. His broad smile stunned Sahdi. She was speechless as the scope of the deception momentarily paralyzed her vocal cords. “Your Majesty . . . I . . . I don’t know what to say.”
“Please, this is a difficult moment,” Zander said. “We are all in shock, but I should hope that to my proposal of marriage, you will say ‘yes.’ ”
They turned back toward the window as surface ships began steaming toward the wreckage while the last of the hydrogen from the airship, and Sahdi’s fear of getting married, completely burned out.
Official word from the First Minister of Egypt arrived a few hours later. He had personally questioned the survivors of the airship disaster. Crewmen confirmed that Emperor Demetrius, Empress Galatia, and all seven of their children were aboard the doomed vessel. They were in the forward observation deck. A day later, all of their bodies were recovered from the submerged gondola. Pope Cyril called for three days of mourning before the mass funeral. It gave time for a temporary tomb to be prepared in the royal cemetery of Alexandria.
Three days after the entombment, the House of Nobles recognized the official line of succession to the throne of Egypt. Pope Cyril crowned Sahdi Empress and Zander Emperor of the Holy Coptic Empire moments after they were married.
On their wedding night, Sahdi poured the poison she was prepared to take into the drain of her bath, and made her blissfully satisfied husband an offer. “We’ll hold court in Athens during the summer—if you insist; then fall in Alexandria. Winter and spring, we’ll live in Nubia.”
“My empress will hold court wherever she desires, and I will be there at her side until the day I die.”
Two days after the wedding, Sahdi and Zander finally left their bedchamber. A servant placed an opened package on their breakfast table and explained it had come from the recently deceased General Nahktebbi himself, the newly appointed military advisor to Emperor Demetrius, and also a confirmed casualty of the airship accident. Inside the package, Sahdi found the pistol she had given to Nahktebbi outside the throne room in Luxor. A note was rolled up in the gun barrel.
My Queen,
Please forgive the surprising nature of my gift, and my absence at your wedding.
I am sure you will understand. Please know that it matters not how I will be remembered.
However, I have no doubt that when the scholars write their histories, you will be remembered as Sahdi the Great.
Your Humble Servant,
General Nahktebbi of Nubia
Sahdi passed her husband the letter, relieved to have confirmation that Nahktebbi had been the cause of the emperor’s airship accident.
“He gave us quite the gift.” Zander made certain the servants were not looking, then leaned forward and kissed Sahdi on the cheek. “He was quite right about what they will call you.”
“I’ve been thinking about Pope Cyril’s proposal.” Sahdi smiled.
“About letting the Jewish refugees live in Palestine and have their own territory?”
“Yes,” she said, knowing that the pope’s demand could not be refused.
“But what about the Germans who live there now?” Zander asked.
“After a time, they’ll learn to live with one another. I’ll personally make certain of it.”
Zander smiled, his amber eyes sparkling. “My beautiful Nubian wife, I have no doubt that you will.”
Opals from Sydney
Mary Louise Eklund
Mary Louise Eklund grew up near Asheville, North Carolina, and frequently went to Bil
tmore House and Gardens on school field trips. Since then she has made pilgrimages back to see more rooms as they have opened. A special thanks is extended to them for their inspiration of daydreams growing up and for Mr. Johnny’s home in Opals For Sydney. Mary Louise now lives in Wisconsin where she’s working on her own multitomaton to shovel snow once her teenage son leaves for college. However, if that should fail she’s attempting to convince her husband on the virtues of a snow blower.
“ I think that covers everything Lady Espear.Is there anything else you’d like to address?” Paul Toiter, a tall, angular man who was overtly proud to be a personal secretary, peered over his half-glasses. Across the large desk sat his employer, the head of Espear Imports and Exports.
Lady Sydney Espear swirled her tea in the bone china cup. Her pale robin’s egg blue gown matched her eyes, and her ebony hair shown as the silk in her gown as she rolled back her chair. She was a Baltic Beauty and a shrewd business woman.
“Actually, there is. I want to visit this man.” She sat down her cup and pulled an envelope from the soft ostrich leather attaché. “I’m interested in pursuing his business proposal.”
Toiter frowned, looking at the heraldry on the envelope. It featured automatons holding a crest of airships crowned by an aviator’s cap and goggles. “I’m not familiar with the family, but then again we’re into seafaring not airshipping.” His face darkened as he read the note.
“Dear Lord Espear,
I have heard of your interest in the development of a multitomaton. I have manufactured a functioning multitomaton that I call Tom, who now performs as my butler.
