“What was this spell that they stole?” the younger man asked.
Damkina closed her eyes. “It’s not a spell. It’s a Name that can be used to summon one of the children of the old gods.” She exhaled. “Most of the gods of Sumer and Babylon are dead. Tiamat, the primordial dragon, had many children, however. And one of her sons was chiefly summoned for protection.” She opened her eyes once more. “He has not been summoned in centuries. We of the Magi have been careful not to use the ancient Names. For fear that doing so will draw the godslayers down upon us once more.”
The older man made a flipping gesture with one hand. “The godslayers are a myth.”
“You say that because you still have many gods, Roman,” Damkina told him bluntly. “Young, powerful gods. We have one left to us. And he is old and weary, our Marduk. All the rest are just whispers on the wind.”
“Is there anything we can do, if this protection-demon happens to come here?”
Damkina grimaced. “I could try to banish him.”
Both men laughed. “Oh no,” the older man told her. “Let you invoke power, perform rituals, right here? Without being able to tell precisely what you’re doing? Nice try. You will be locked away, gagged and bound, until we can investigate your story more thoroughly.”
Of course, she thought tiredly. Roman rationalism. “In which case, I will tell you that weapons were said to bounce from the creature’s hide. The ancients carried swords of bronze or copper, which did not so much as scratch him. Your iron may work. But we have better.” She looked at Ehsan. “Give them your dagger, old friend.”
With manifest reluctance, Ehsan slowly drew his dagger, and handed it over. “Silver-inlaid,” Damkina said, her voice distant. “It’s usually effective on spirits, disrupting the bodies that they form. I cannot guarantee that this will work, however.” She struggled to remember the rest of the cuneiform tablet, and shook her head. “The lower half of his body is that of a bull. The upper half, that of a man. He sometimes carries a spear, or a sword.” She offered her wrists now. “Tie your ropes tightly, Romans,” Damkina murmured ironically. “You wouldn’t want the real threat running around loose, now would you?”
She saw their frowns. Expected their fists to descend towards her face in punishing arcs. But that didn’t happen. They did, however, chain both her and Ehsan. Locked them in the storage room together—though there was, at least, the courtesy of a pot to piss in. And she could hear guards outside, talking to each other in Latin.
Exhausted, Damkina found a relatively clean patch of floor, and sank down next to Ehsan. Put her head on her friend’s shoulder, and tried to find sleep. At least they didn’t gag you, she thought. Of course, for you, there’s no need.
_____________
Februarius 12, 20 AC
Cleopatra had sent messages ahead to tell the palace staff to be ready for a royal investiture, and had also sent invitations to every dignitary in Alexandria—indeed, in all of Egypt. They hadn’t been able to set an exact date, due to the exigencies of sea travel and the possibility of rough weather, but they had all known that once they landed, the investiture ceremony—and the attendant additional marriage ceremony . . . their fourth in three years. . . would have to be conducted quickly. Largely because if they waited too long, they would run into the Roman celebration of Parentalia, which took up nine days of Februarius. Since this was a solemn time of the year, spent honoring dead ancestors, marriages and many other public ceremonies were strictly forbidden, Eurydice and Caesarion had opted for setting the investiture for the day before Parentalia would begin—Februarius twelfth.
Eurydice was aware that they had a Magi and her attendant being held in what Malleolus had termed ‘protective custody,’ somewhere in the palace. She thought speaking with the Chaldean woman would be fascinating, and that she might be able to learn a great deal from a Magi . . . but considering the fact that the entire ostensible “plot” that the woman had brought to the attention of the Praetorians could just be an excuse to get close enough to Caesarion or Eurydice to try to assassinate them? Eurydice wasn’t allowed anywhere near the prisoners.
Her time remained well-occupied, however. She spent a substantial portion of each day arguing with her mother, who had clear ideas on how a queen of Egypt ought to appear and behave. Even going out into the city and its outskirts to learn about her new people occasioned disputes. Cleopatra felt that the only proper mode of transportation within the city was a throne-like litter, encrusted with gold-leaf. It had a back, and thus, Eurydice could sit upright in it, but was long enough for her legs to be supported, as if in a bed, and had upright posts and a canopy to keep the sun off her head . . . and curtains, if she didn’t feel like seeing, or being seen. The contraption required six men to lift, due to its weight.
Eurydice, on the other hand, had always been subject to nausea in swaying litters, even in Rome. Added to that, she now had a tendency towards nausea at odd points in the day. Never in the morning. But sometimes, she couldn’t even make it through dinner without having to excuse herself hastily to throw up in another room. She didn’t see a need to add any more reasons to lose her dignity, or what little food she could keep down at the moment. And the ornate carving, gold-leaf, and general ostentation of the apparatus appalled her. For obvious reasons, riding on horseback was not an option at the moment. So she and Caesarion went about by chariot instead. It required a good deal more standing, since the chariot had no seats, but for so long as he was here, he could stand behind her, arms wrapped around her as he controlled the reins.
For better or worse, the chariot was almost as gaudy as the litter, being just as gold-encrusted. But at least in it, she didn’t feel like a particularly venerated religious object when passing people in the streets. And while people turned to stare at the chariot, as such things were relatively rare in Alexandria’s crowded streets, especially ones surrounded by Roman guards, few people seemed to feel compelled to kneel at the sight. Though they did make way, as foot-traffic always did for a horse.
No signs, at least for now, that the attack mentioned by the Magus was imminent, though Eurydice had been disquieted by the physical description of a scribe or priest that had sounded so similar to Tahut-Nefer. Prefect Gallus remained entrenched at Thebes, sending several missives by courier indicating that he didn’t feel able to leave the situation to his tribunes. Caesarion, his face dark, had already stated that as soon as the investiture was complete, they were marching south along the Nile to deal with whatever was going on down there.
And so, on a bright dies Lunae, hundreds of dignitaries arrived at the massive temple of Isis on Pharos Island, under the shadow of the Great Lighthouse. Parthian and Nubian ambassadors. Egyptian nobles and priests from Upper Egypt—though no mage-priests of Thoth had applied to be guests at the ceremony. Hellene nobles, both from Alexandria and from Hellas itself. Roman patricians and wealthy plebeians who made their home in this bustling city. Judeans with heavy beards and expressions of distaste for the temple surroundings. Carthaginians in their white robes and colorful caps, too. All taking their seats on small wooden stools on either side of an open space left as an aisle in the huge central area of the great temple.
Praetorians had been posted at every door, and twenty of them stood on either side of the audience area in a perfect line, their backs to the bulky pillars that supported the temple’s heavy stone roof. Braziers flanked either side of the white marble altar, burning sweet incense, sending smoke swirling up before a twenty-foot-tall statue of Isis crafted of ivory and gold, in Hellene style. The goddess had been depicted seated on a throne, holding the infant Horus in her lap, suckling her young son, while her wings reached out from low on her back to encircle both of them—wings that shone with color, the feathers picked out in lapis, carnelian, topaz, malachite, amethyst, onyx, and white agate. Dozens of other statues, all of black basalt, and in a more traditional Egyptian style, had been built into the walls of the temple, and braziers glowed in front of each of th
em, the flickering light revealing the hieroglyphs and other writings incised and painted on the temple walls and the massive pillars, too.
Eurydice found the temple extraordinarily impressive, but very dim. Lacking in natural light, she felt as if she were entering some cavern or mine deep under a mountain as she walked into the huge chamber, feeling the cool air on skin she didn’t normally expose in public. High, thin lyre music and the rattle of a sistrum began as she entered, letting her time her steps to a ritual pace. But keeping her shoulders back and head up was one of the hardest things she’d ever had to do as she stepped slowly towards the altar where Caesarion and Cleopatra, already in position, waited for her. Antony stood near Cleopatra, but with unusual deference for a Roman man, back by several steps, with his hands folded behind him. His eyes weren’t on her, or her mother, however. They scanned the temple, constantly evaluating the crowd, the Praetorians, everything.
It didn’t particularly help that her mother wore a similar kalasiris to Eurydice’s own, only hers was completely covered in gold embroidery, in contrast to the stark simplicity of Eurydice’s own. Her ample bosom, like Eurydice’s, was completely exposed, other than what concealment a large necklace offered. Cleopatra’s wig was encrusted in gold, but Eurydice had put her foot down on one thing, and one thing only today: she refused to wear a wig. Her natural hair was long, and she’d let it down for the ceremony, like a Roman bride on her wedding night, and that would simply have to do.
It didn’t help that she knew for a fact that both Antony and Caesarion had threatened any man who smiled, leered, or even changed expression at seeing her or Cleopatra dressed so, with immediate expulsion from the Praetorians. She didn’t even want to think about what barracks jokes would be swapped, out of hearing of their commanders, about how every man of them had seen the tits of both the former and current Empress of Rome.
Courage, she told herself, keeping her eyes locked on Caesarion, whose expression was so grim at the moment, he might have been mistaken for a statue, himself. He wore the white shendyt kilt and sandals, along with a solid gold necklace in the form of a Horus hawk, its wings reaching up to his shoulders, and the body covering his sternum, the cost of which would probably have covered the construction of a vast villa on the island of Capri. On his head, he wore the red and white crown of Upper and Lower Egypt. Given the hate with which he’d eyed it this morning, she admired him for not showing it in his expression now.
Reaching the altar, Eurydice numbly turned to face Caesarion, while her mother, as queen and priestess of Isis, faced the assembled crowd. The murmuring stilled as Cleopatra, in regal tones, announced, “Today, I am no more queen in Egypt. Today, I give way to my daughter, Eurydice Julia. Descendent of Ptolemy and of the line of kings going back to Ramses and Khufu.”
That last, Eurydice knew, was a polite fiction. Dozens of Egyptian dynasties had ruled these lands, some wresting it from each other in open combat, with no lineal claims at all. “My beloved son Ptolemy has been my co-ruler for many years. Now, his sister-wife takes her rightful place at his side to rule this great land. The divine union of Isis and Osiris continues in them, as it has for centuries without count.”
As she spoke, Eurydice and Caesarion joined hands, facing one another at arm’s length, and Cleopatra continued in solemn tones, “I give the blessing of Isis to you today, my children, though it has ever been with you.”
Caesarion pulled her to him, for a public, decorous kiss, which still held all the sweetness Eurydice craved. And when their lips parted, Cleopatra lifted a heavy golden diadem from the altar, passing it to Caesarion. Not the crown of Upper and Lower Egypt, which only the ruling pharaoh could wear, but the crown of a queen. A golden hawk with jeweled eyes and feathers formed a sort of cap, its head dipping low over her forehead, its body cupping her scalp, and its wings flaring out around her face, covering her ears.
Eurydice knelt. And as Caesarion placed this heavy diadem on her head, she felt her lips quiver. It felt like a chain. A trap. “Courage,” Caesarion whispered in her ear, bending low enough to do so. “Courage, my queen, my empress, my love.” And then he lifted her back to her feet, keeping their hands clasped tightly as Cleopatra finished her oration.
“And I say to all assembled here, that if any have doubts as to the joy of the gods in their union, that your doubts should wither now. For the gods have blessed them, and the line of the Ptolemies and the Julii will continue, for my daughter carries her brother-husband’s heir.” Clear, flat defiance in Cleopatra’s voice, and Eurydice’s eyes flicked towards her mother. Oh, gods, how did she know? I didn’t tell her—she glanced rapidly at Caesarion, whose face remained impassive, but whose eyes suddenly held rage. And he didn’t either. Oh, gods, Mother, why did you have to announce it!
The Egyptians in the temple surged to their feet, giving voice to startled, ululating cheers of unabashed approval. The various Hellenes applauded with a certain restraint. The Romans and Judeans all muttered among themselves with expressions of horrified revulsion—which all gave way to a shocked moment of silence as something in the periphery of Eurydice’s vision shifted.
She looked away from Caesarion in time to see the statue of Isis turn its head away from baby Horus, and look down at them. The ivory flesh rippled and groaned, and whatever internal scaffolding held it together shrieked under the strain as one of the statue’s hands moved away from supporting Horus to reach out in benediction. And as Eurydice’s knees hit the floor in awe, she heard a whisper in her mind: You have done well, my children. Little hawk, you have so often wondered why I do not speak to you . . . and yet I do. I do not reveal myself often in words, the realm of the rational. I give you dreams, the irrational. Images with which to grapple, mysteries to unfold and interpret for yourself. I give you an idea of what the future may hold, but for me, it is an uncertain business, not the iron-clad fate of Apollo of Delphi. I see myself growing hard and cold in this world, and yet, for the moment, in the two of you, I see hope . . . .
The goddess’ voice faded from Eurydice’s mind. And swimming in exaltation, she hardly even registered the sound of the great wooden doors at the far end of the temple being flung open with a resounding crash. The sunlight streaming into the cave-like dimness. But the first screams cut through her awareness, and her head snapped around at the same time Caesarion’s did, and she saw a huge figure looming in the doorway, shadowed against the brilliant light outside.
At least twice as tall as a man, its shadow stretched like an inky finger into the audience. Curving, forward-swept horns, like those of a bull, protruded from either side of a humanoid head; and whatever it was, it wore antique-looking armor, verdigris bronze in color, with square plates welded together across its chest, but which left its massive arms bare. Below the chestplate, a kilt of some sort of brown wool, concealing the creature’s loins . . . but the legs under that kilt weren’t human, but rather those of a bull, down to the heavy hooves. The hooked sword in its hand was a similar verdigris green, and, in proportion to the creature’s height, looked no larger than a gladius in its massive paw . . . until Eurydice realized that the sword was almost as long as the Praetorians beside the door were tall.
The Praetorians flanking the door, seeing a threat, reacted on instinct and training, lifting both their spears and their shields. One of them immediately paid the price, as the creature, not bothering to lift its heavy sword, reached out with its free hand, seized the scutum by the edge, lifted the man by his shield, and threw him, all in one smooth motion. Flung him twenty feet forward, right into the crowd of dignitaries, landing on two wealthy Hellenes.
That was when the screaming started, and people began to run. Eurydice lost track of what was going on, unable to see through all the flailing limbs, but she thought that the Praetorian to the left of the door closed on the creature. Rapid stabs with the pilum, from behind the shield, just as every legionnaire was taught. But the creature whirled, the green sword rose—and then, behind all the fleeing, screaming,
stampeding people, she could see a spray of dark liquid rising up in an arc to stain the temple’s walls.
Then nothing but confusion. The Praetorians lining the hall racing forward to form a double wall of bodies between the creature and those they’d sworn to protect, fighting their way through the crowd of dignitaries to do it. Lurio racing from his own pillar to Eurydice’s left, throwing himself in between her and the creature, his sword out and shield up. Malleolus racing in from the right, to do the same for Caesarion, but no sword in his hand. Instead, a small, curving dagger was his only weapon. Tiberius and Antyllus, bodily carrying Selene forward out of the crowd to the altar, Antony stepping forward to shield Cleopatra. Caesarion’s face turning into the hard, cold mask of combat. “Give me a sword, Mal! Lurio, get Eurydice out of here—“
“I can help—“ she shouted over the screams and cries of the crowd, all panicking. All streaming towards the two doors at the rear of the temple, guarded by Praetorians, or the two doors at the sides, all of which just led into other rooms of the temple. Storage chambers, meditation rooms, scriptoriums, which might eventually lead out, but through a maze of other rooms. The only real exit was the one which the creature blocked. Eurydice called the fire of the braziers to her hands, feeling an odd sort of chill as she did so. And, over the heads of the Praetorians forming their shield wall, bracing for the creature’s advance, she flung the flame directly at the bull-like demon.
Children of Tiber and Nile (The Rise of Caesarion's Rome Book 2) Page 18
