The Egyptian Royals Collection

by Michelle Moran

  I dressed as quickly as I could and simply pushed back my hair with my diadem. When I looked in the mirror, only the golden bulla stared back at me. I had traded my mother’s last gift for Gallia’s freedom. In everything he did, Juba was swift. Surely by now some woman was placing my mother’s pearls around her neck, admiring them in a large bronze mirror without ever knowing what they had meant. I closed my eyes to keep the tears from falling, and wondered whether Octavia had accepted the denarii.

  I opened my door and listened for Marcellus, but the halls that were normally filled with his laughter were silent. When I peered into the library, I saw Octavia and Vitruvius sitting together. As soon as Vitruvius saw me, he rose. “Octavia would like to speak with you,” he said quietly. I searched his eyes for some indication, but his face was a mask. When he shut the door behind us, I looked at Octavia.

  She motioned for me to sit, then she folded her hands and heaved a heavy sigh. “A terrible thing happened last night.”

  “Yes. Very terrible,” I said quietly.

  “But you may have helped save Gallia from death.”

  “I did nothing. It was Juba,” I said, just as it had been Juba who had saved Octavian from assassination.

  She studied me with her soft eyes. “And it was Juba who came this morning with enough denarii to manumit Gallia.”

  I lowered my gaze to my lap.

  “So I freed her.”

  I looked up swiftly.

  “I am ashamed to say that for all my charity, I was not as generous as you were to Gallia.”

  “It was my fault she went with Gaius. I should have stopped her!”

  “And defy Livia’s command?” Octavia laughed mirthlessly. “There’s nothing you could have done.”

  “We could have found her sooner!”

  “You found her before Gaius strangled her, Selene. And if he had succeeded, there would be no one in Rome to tell the tale. Do you think his guards would have given him away? His slaves?”

  “Where is she?” I whispered.

  “She will live with Magister Verrius now.”

  “And you aren’t angry?”

  Octavia didn’t say anything. She clasped her hands, then unclasped them. “I am sad that I had to tell Gallia she was free when it wasn’t my generosity that freed her. And I am sad that I will be losing my closest friend. I have been selfish in wanting to keep her a slave. Perhaps I have been selfish in many things.”

  “No. You are the spirit of Empanda,” I said earnestly, thinking of the goddess of charity. “And even Empanda must have coveted something.”

  “At the expense of a life?” She stood, and I wasn’t sure whose life she meant. That of Gaius, who had died by Juba’s sword, or Gallia, whose life had been given to slavery. “It is possible that Gallia will return,” she said. “But not before she has recovered.” I rose from Vitruvius’s chair and followed her across the room. At the door, she paused. “However, if there are other slaves you wish to free, Selene, I would save your denarii. Gallia may be a friend to me,” she warned, “but I am no Red Eagle.”

  I missed the Festival of Lupercalia. While Alexander and Marcellus sacrificed a goat in Romulus’s cave and watched while young men were putting on the skins of the sacrifice, running down the Palatine, and whipping anyone in their path with strips of goatskin, I sat alone in my chamber and sketched. From my room, I could hear the shrieks of the women. They were the ones who stood in the path of the whip to ensure fertility over the coming year, and when there was no more screaming, I heard Marcellus’s voice and assumed that everyone had returned.

  Alexander was the first to enter the chamber, and when I saw his face, I jumped from my couch.

  “What happened?” I cried.

  He laughed. “It’s not mine. It’s goat’s blood.”

  “What for?”

  “The Lupercalia! And if you hadn’t been sleeping, you could have come. But I felt too sorry to wake you.”

  “Sorry for me, or sorry for Gallia?” I demanded, and immediately he sobered. “You think you’re going to be King of Egypt someday, acting like this? After you saw what endless feasting and drinking did to our father?”

  “It isn’t endless,” he said quietly. “It’s just one morning.”

  “Which happens to come after a night of bloodshed!”

  “I heard what you did,” Marcellus whispered. “My mother said you bought Gallia’s freedom.” Behind him, Julia and Alexander both exclaimed, “You freed a slave?”

  “And Octavia let her go?” my brother pressed.

  “It appears that way.”

  “Do you think Gallia will return?” Marcellus asked.

  “Your mother said it was possible. If I were Gallia, I would leave Rome altogether.”

  “Livia was happy this morning. But when she hears what you’ve done, she’ll be beside herself,” Julia said fearfully.

  “Then no one will tell her,” Marcellus replied firmly. “Gallia doesn’t know who it was, and Livia won’t either.”

  But my brother scowled at me. “You never cared about the slaves in Alexandria.”

  “And in Alexandria, we had a kingdom. Here, what’s the difference between us and Gallia?”

  “Citizenship,” Julia said.

  “No,” my brother said. “A roll of the dice. We could just as easily have been made slaves.”

  “The children of a queen?” Julia exclaimed.

  “Wasn’t Gallia the child of a queen?” my brother asked.

  She made a face. “The Gauls are barbarians.”

  “And what if tomorrow your father decides that Egyptians are barbarians?” I asked.

  Marcellus and Julia were silent.

  “Please promise you won’t say anything,” I begged, but even though Julia nodded, I wondered whether she could keep such a secret.

  That evening, as we walked to Octavian’s villa, Marcellus waited until my brother was ahead of us to whisper, “You have a very kind heart, Selene.”

  I was glad there was only a sliver of moon. That way he couldn’t see the rush of blood to my cheeks.

  “I had always hoped to set Gallia free when I became Caesar. I wasn’t sure how my mother would take it. You’ve done what I was afraid to do.”

  “It was nothing.”

  “I don’t think so,” he said tenderly.

  Our eyes met, and I wondered for a moment if he was going to kiss me. Then Julia, in one of her new silver tunics, appeared on the portico, waving to us. Marcellus turned, and we said no more.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  June, 28 BC

  GALLIA RETURNED before our summer progress to Octavian’s palace in Capri. With the entire villa in a state of upheaval, she appeared one morning at Octavia’s salutatio and asked whether she still had need of an ornatrix. Her blue silk tunic was sewn with seed pearls, and her long hair was swept back with a tortoiseshell band that gleamed in the bright light of the atrium. The bruises Gaius had left her with were long gone, and in their place shone healthy, pampered skin. As soon as Octavia saw her, she began to weep—tears of joy, and probably relief. She celebrated Gallia’s return that evening with roasted peacock from Samos and rare oysters from Tarentum.

  “Does that mean you will be coming with us to Capri?” Marcellus asked. We were sitting together in the triclinium, where Gallia had never been allowed to eat with us before.

  Gallia fanned herself with her hand. “You think I want to stay behind in this terrible heat?” she teased. Freedom suited Gallia: from the gilded ornaments in her hair to the expensive silk stola embroidered with gold. No one mentioned what had happened with Gaius, and Juba had not been punished for the killing.

  But when Gallia and I were alone together on the morning of our departure, I asked her quietly, “Have you been well?”

  She seated herself on my traveling chest, considering my question. “I have healed,” she said. “And, of course, it is good to be free. There is no one who can give me orders now,” she said firmly. “Only Caesa
r.”

  “And does Octavia pay you?”

  She smiled. “More than Magister Verrius makes at the ludus. And I no longer have to sneak away at night to see him. We are married.”

  I was shocked. “Since when?”

  “Since the week Octavia gave me my freedom.” But she put a finger to her lips. “It would not go well for his teaching if Livia discovered this. Caesar respects him, but Livia.…” Her blue eyes narrowed into slits. “She does not approve of freedwomen marrying born citizens. I will try to keep it from her as long as possible.”

  “And will Magister Verrius come to Capri?”

  “Of course. Who would spend the summer here if he could escape it?”

  We left the crushing heat of Rome on the first of July, and it occurred to me that only a year ago Ptolemy had been alive. I thought of his dimpled smile, and the way his cheeks used to look like little apples when he laughed. But thinking about him only brought me pain, and I tried not to remember. Instead, I focused on the journey. It would be a long ride to the shore of Naples. We were setting out at night so that a formal send-off wouldn’t be necessary. This way, Octavian could leave without drawing attention to the fact that while the plebeians were suffering in the searing heat, the wealthy were escaping to their cool villas by the sea. Agrippa and Juba rode on horses ahead of the Praetorian Guard, and the sleeping carriages that followed behind them bumped along the cobblestones. We were the only people using the actual road. Few horses were shod, and to save the unshod horses’ hooves, most carriages traveled on the grassy shoulder of the Appian Way.

  Alexander and I shared a carriage with Marcellus and Julia. I watched with rising envy whenever Marcellus’s leg brushed against hers or he arranged a pillow behind her back. They played games with their eyes when they thought that no one was looking, and Julia smiled more than she ever did in Rome.

  “Wait until you see Capri,” Marcellus said as we left the stagnant air of the city.

  “Is it like the Palatine?” Alexander asked carefully. The last time Marcellus had been excited about a journey, we had arrived in Rome, where smoke belched from the cooking hearths and the temples were covered in graffiti. Now, I no longer noticed the crude drawings scrawled across the steps of the Senate.

  “There’s no comparison,” Julia said. “On the Palatine, my father pretends to be the humble servant of Rome. In Capri, we actually live like the ruling family.”

  “It’s my uncle’s Sea Palace,” Marcellus explained. “There’ll be a beach and horses, and we’ll take you to the Blue Grotto.”

  “Are the buildings beautiful?” I asked eagerly.

  “You’ll be sketching all day,” Marcellus promised. “Why do you think Vitruvius is coming?”

  “Possibly for your mother.”

  Marcellus laughed. “And for the beauty, too.”

  It was three days by carriage, but at twelve years old, we thought the journey endless. We made up games to pass the time, but mostly we looked out the windows and watched the sleepy towns and roadside shrines go by. Several inns advertised bread, wine, and a girl for the night, all for one denarius, but we never stopped in any of those places. I tried to read some of the scrolls that I had packed. I chose The History of Naples and The Guidebook to Troy, but reading made me sick, and even the fresh sea air couldn’t quell my nausea.

  When we finally arrived on the shore of Naples and stepped onto the ships that would take us to Capri, it was my turn to feel strong while the others held their stomachs and moaned. Alexander and I raised our faces to the crisp morning wind and closed our eyes.

  “It feels like home, doesn’t it?” he said.

  I sighed. “Yes.” The high calcareous cliffs with their lush vegetation plummeted into the sea, creating grottoes and bays where children were swimming or fishing along the rocks.

  “Someday, when we return to Egypt,” my brother promised, “we’ll commission a new thalamegos and sail like this up and down the coast of Alexandria. I’ll never get enough of the water.”

  Vitruvius came up behind us. “There it is,” he said, and I heard the love in his voice.

  Perched on a promontory so high above the sea that even the spray couldn’t reach its gardens, the Sea Palace looked like an eagle carved from stone. Marcellus was right. It had nothing in common with Octavian’s squat villa on the Palatine.

  “I don’t understand. Why doesn’t he rule Rome from here?”

  “Because alienating the Senate didn’t work very well for Julius Caesar,” Vitruvius replied. “I don’t think he wishes to repeat that history.”

  It was a shame. Slaves with bronze and ebony litters carried us to the palace, where terraced gardens looked out over the water, and the portico commanded a stunning view of sunlit vineyards and golden fields. I was the first from my litter, then Vitruvius.

  “It renews your faith in architecture, doesn’t it?” he remarked. He ran his hand lovingly over a caryatid, pausing to rest it on the figure’s marble cheek.

  “You built this, didn’t you?” I realized.

  He grinned. “My first commission. And I know that school is done for the summer, but if you wish, I will continue to tutor you here. There’ll be no measurements to take or mosaic flooring to plan, but the inspiration—”

  “Yes,” I said at once.

  He laughed. “We can begin with a tour.”

  Octavian stepped from his litter, announcing that dinner would be at sunset in the summer triclinium, and in the remaining time we could explore. Marcellus and Alexander wanted to go to the stables, and immediately Julia moved to go with them. Marcellus looked over his shoulder at me. “Aren’t you coming?”

  I glanced at Vitruvius. “To the stables?” I hesitated, watching Julia take Marcellus’s arm. “No, I … I’m going with Vitruvius.”

  “Then we’ll see you later,” Marcellus said easily. The pretty trio turned away, my handsome brother, Julia, and Marcellus.

  Vitruvius saw my face and promised, “There’s an entire summer to spend with them.”

  “And who wants to listen to Julia’s chattering anyway?” Tiberius demanded. I hadn’t seen him emerge from his litter, and I wondered whether he’d been hiding until his mother had gone inside. He looked to Vitruvius. “May I come on your tour?”

  “I didn’t know you were interested in architecture.”

  Tiberius shrugged sheepishly. “If Selene’s interested, I might be, too.”

  We followed Vitruvius into the palace, where the entrance tesserae of colored limestone spelled out the Latin greeting AVE at our feet. The halls were frescoed with scenes from the Odyssey, mainly images of sailors and ships. Once we reached the atrium, Vitruvius stopped, letting me stand long enough to take it all in. Long white curtains fluttered in the breeze, brushing against blue mosaic floors. Everything had been painted in shades of the sea: cerulean blue, deep midnight, turquoise.

  “It’s nothing like Rome,” I said wonderingly. The walls were ornamented with painted apses and niches. “And look at the marble edges on the pillars!”

  “And the painted ceilings,” Vitruvius added.

  “How were all of these made?” Tiberius asked.

  “The frescoes? Selene can tell you.”

  “By applying three coats of mortar and three coats of lime mixed with powdered marble. Then the artist painted on the wall while the mixture was still damp.”

  “You’ve learned a lot about this,” Tiberius remarked.

  “She’s a good student.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “I’m not surprised. She’s my only real competition at school.” Although he was unbearably arrogant, I couldn’t help being flattered. “You should show her the library,” he said to Vitruvius.

  “That’s where we’re going.”

  It was magnificent. Heavy wooden shelves from ceiling to floor were crammed with scrolls. Seabirds had been carved into the wood of the ceiling, and beautiful urns filled the niches. Vitruvius explained how the shelves had been built, then took us
through the triclinium and the guest chambers, pointing out small features like fluted columns and barrel-vaulted spaces painted in sea green and gold. Every room we entered was richly furnished. There were marble-topped tables and couches faced with bronze. Even the chairs were inlaid with precious ivory. When we reached my chamber at the top of the stairs, I saw that I would still be sharing with Alexander, but the room was so large that it was impossible to see all of its corners from the doorway. Straw hats and feathered fans had been laid on our tables, and thick leather sandals for walking along the rocks had been left out for us as well. I stepped onto our balcony overlooking the sea.

  “Is it as beautiful as Alexandria?” Tiberius asked earnestly from behind.

  I didn’t lie. “Yes.” I turned to Vitruvius. “How long did all of this take?”

  “My entire youth.”

  “And the most difficult part?”

  He indicated the immaculate gardens with their shady bowers and small marble temples.

  “Can we see them?” I asked eagerly.

  He led us down the stairs and through a pair of doors that opened onto a portico. There were gardens in every direction, some colonnaded, others terraced to the sea. Vines trailed from painted bowers, and, as we walked beneath them, he explained the difficulty.

  “A garden is like an onion,” he said. “It takes layer after layer to make it whole. First the earth has to be cultivated, then the landscape rearranged.” He pointed to thickets of myrtle and boxwood, then showed me the orchards where peach trees grew among lemons and figs. “But it’s the small details that make it complete.”

  Sea daffodils and lilies spilled from heavy urns. And where fountains bubbled merrily, Carystian marble gods raised their arms to the sun. As we reached the bottom of the garden, Vitruvius pointed to the heated bathing pool from which swimmers could look out over the sea. Even in Alexandria we had never had such pools. And there were many more things he showed me that afternoon that rivaled Egypt for beauty.