He saw the imperial procession, litters being carried down the Palatine on their way to the circus, directly in his path. The procession was surrounded by guards, and he shifted his course away from it, dashing in the opposite direction. Agrippa’s men were everywhere, some of them in civilian attire. He could tell the soldiers by their posture. All of them were on alert.
He slipped into the arena with a group of senators, their robes crisp and their bald heads shining. Once he was inside, he spun, searching the crowd. Thousands upon thousands of people were already in the stands, shouting and craning their necks, hoping for a glimpse of the animals. The arena floor was empty as the emperor entered high in the stands, being led to his private box. No sign of Cleopatra in the area surrounding Augustus, but her children were there, positioned around the emperor. Alexander sat on the emperor’s left, and Ptolemy in his lap. They were decked in golden headdresses, their faces painted as young kings of Egypt.
Selene sat in front of Augustus, her eyes lined with kohl, but a tiara of gilded laurel on her head, the better to emphasize her allegiance to Rome. Nicolaus shook his head miserably. Their costumes would only incite Cleopatra more.
Where could she be?
He heard muffled roars from beneath the ground, the tunnels under the circus.
With a sinking heart, he realized. He would never get to her in time.
Chains rattled against the stone ramp as the cats ascended it, and Cleopatra felt her ears flatten. The fur on her spine stood up in a ridge. There was danger here.
She was chained, her leg secured to another lion with iron. This was how the bestiarii were given a chance to win over the animals. Otherwise, the games would have been over too quickly, the human combatants left ruined on the circus floor, and the animals rampaging in bewilderment and terror. She could smell the fear of the bestiarii, and taste their histories.
They were convicts, but many of them were not criminals. They had just happened upon legionaries at the wrong moments and been accused of crimes they had not committed. One of the newly crowned bestiarii was the father of a beautiful daughter, who was a virgin no longer. Now the father was guilty of assault, having tried to beat back the Roman who’d sought her favors. Another of the bestiarii had owned a gilded shield that had been desired by a centurion. Now the man was a convicted thief.
These were not fighters by trade. They had once been Egyptians, and Cleopatra had once been their queen. She tried not to think about them, their souls, their pains. They did not matter. They could not. She was here for a reason, and in order to get close to the emperor, she must kill them in battle.
She would do so if it meant she could get close to the emperor. She could smell his absence, the gray nothing of his soul, high up in the stands. She thought of his throat, the pale skin, the veins pulsing beneath it. She thought of his head crowned with laurels. She would tear into him. She would uncrown him. She thought of his heart, or what passed for a heart. What would it taste like? Dust. Stones.
Her teeth grew sharper in her mouth, and her breath quickened. She looked up into the torchlight and saw thousands of faces glowing with anticipation.
Waiting for her.
21
Augustus sat in the covered confines of the imperial box, looking down over the circus and attempting to keep himself still. All the power of Rome and beyond awaited Cleopatra.
Where would she come from? Where was she now?
Auðr sat behind the emperor, watching his thread spin out around him. The seiðkona drew a deep breath, willing herself not to choke on it. She needed all her strength. The battle was near. She moved her fingers, spanning a fine length of Augustus’s fate. She twisted it gently, snaring it in her sharp fingernails. All around her, fates spun out, and she could touch each one. It was as though the entire arena was covered in a web of drifting threads, snarling and tangling, floating and braiding. And here was the queen’s thread, twisted together with Sekhmet’s, stronger than all the other fates combined, and endless. How many threads had Auðr cut over the years? How many lives had she ended to keep the pattern from disorder? How many fates had she changed?
She tried once more, her fingers twisting, but she could not shift Cleopatra. She could not unknot her from the goddess, and neither thread would be cut. All Auðr could do was manipulate the fates surrounding the two immortal strands, and hope that this shifting would draw the queen into her hands.
It was too much, she thought, afraid for the first time in years.
Augustus leaned forward, scanning the faces of the crowd. None of the witches seemed to have sensed Cleopatra, but that did not mean she was not near. She’d never escape. Everything and everyone was in place.
He was still nervous.
Was there enough space between the arena floor and the imperial box? Years before, twenty elephants imported by Pompeius had charged the stands here, breaking down the iron railing that had protected the crowd. Julius Caesar had dug a moat as deep as a bull elephant around the edge of the circus to keep such a thing from happening again.
The moat was too wide for anything to leap across, and the newly constructed imperial box—the pulvinar—was situated high up on the Palatine Hill, to offer the optimal views of the chariot races, venatio, and gladiatorial games, which had been held here since the founding of Rome. The rape of the Sabine women had been held here, too, according to legend, though this was an event to which no tickets had been sold. The ground had a bloody history, but Augustus and Agrippa had taken precautions to ensure the emperor’s safety. All around the imperial box were seated Agrippa’s soldiers garbed as common men. Thousands of them had been called to order here tonight, and all of them had the same orders. Protect the emperor.
The emperor glanced back at Chrysate. She was too striking to display publicly without proclamations that she was the emperor’s new mistress. He had her face covered in a sheer black veil, but he could see her eyes through it even now. Green as the sea but lit from below with something yellow. He congratulated himself on her presence. The shade would bait the trap, along with the children. He gave Selene a pat on the shoulder, feeling slightly guilty for bringing her here. She was a girl and should not see such things, particularly after the scare she’d had with the serpent, but she was necessary.
Under Augustus’s hand, Selene leaned forward in her seat, trying to contain her emotions. What had she seen in the emperor’s rooms? The vision blurred in her memory. A serpent with her mother’s face. The physician had come and dosed her with something that slowed her mind.
When she woke, the bouquet of flowers Chrysate had given her was there waiting, though she knew she’d dropped it in the emperor’s bedchamber. Now Chrysate sat beside her, her only friend. Augustus had denied Selene, sworn that she had not seen the thing she knew she had. Only Chrysate believed her. She felt a sob rising in her throat as she looked down at the arena floor. The thought of animals reminded her of home, that was all. She did not miss her family. How could she? They had abandoned her to this. Beside her, Chrysate smiled and took Selene’s fingers in hers.
“There is nothing to fear,” she told the girl. “I will protect you.”
Something inside Selene told her to trust the woman.
Chrysate glanced at the emperor and smiled at him. A calculated smile. She watched as he smiled nervously back at her, his crooked teeth showing.
She considered the other witches. The Northerner sat beside her, clearly ill. Chrysate had heard her coughing all the way down the corridor of the Palatine, and the old woman’s skin was sallow and feverish. Nevertheless, she sat with her spine straight, her strange silver eyes watchful. She should not be hard to kill, should she become a nuisance tonight. Chrysate was prepared. The snake charmer, on the other hand, was a stronger foe. Perhaps he was on her side, however. Or could be bought. His tribe was known to practice sorcery for hire. She leaned toward the man.
“I may need you,” she said.
“As I may need you,” he replied, his ja
w tight. “She will not be taken easily.”
The wind informed Usem that the queen had arrived, and though he could not see her yet, he knew that he soon would. He regretted this already. A sleek, copper-patterned viper slithered itself about the Psylli’s two arms, its body thick as a limb. He glanced over at the Northern witch. The Romans had taken her distaff from her, but he could see it now, well concealed against her side, hidden in the folds of her garments. He suspected that he was the only one who knew it was there and that he was also the only one who knew that her wrists were not actually bound. The wind had whispered all these things into his ear. He was not sorry that the seiðkona had her weapon, however. They would need whatever they had. He planned to kill Cleopatra himself. He did not trust anyone else to do it.
He touched his dagger, testing the blade with his fingertips. It was sharp enough to slice through thinnest air, he knew, having used it for that purpose once before. He’d treated it with the venom he himself was immune to. It would be sharp enough to slice through either of the witches’ flesh if necessary and kill them quickly. He was not so certain that it would kill Cleopatra. The wind wrapped around the Psylli’s shoulders like a cloak, watching and waiting.
An ostrich paraded below, its beak thrust high and prideful into the air. The Romans scarcely took notice. They’d seen ostriches before.
Augustus’s gaze fell on a large grouping of senators, their bald pates shining in the torchlight. They were accompanied by scribes. He nudged Agrippa.
“Why are they here?”
“I don’t know,” Agrippa answered.
“They’re old men,” said Augustus.
“And not armed,” said Agrippa.
Augustus looked at them again, wondering what their purpose was. Senators did not typically attend such events. They ought to be sleeping, but they were rigid with excitement. One of them glanced over as the emperor looked away.
The senator’s gaze made contact with the eyes of a slender man in the guise of a servant, who’d fallen into position just behind the imperial box, unnoticed by anyone in it. The man slipped sideways until he stood directly behind Chrysate, and the senator, almost imperceptibly, nodded to him.
The sun was setting, and the torches were lit. It was about to begin.
Augustus filled a goblet of wine, took the vial of theriac from his tunic, and poured some into his cup. A rough hand took the wine from him. Augustus turned to the intruder, infuriated.
“You must remain clear for this,” Agrippa told him.
“I will do as I wish,” Augustus replied, annoyed. The theriac hardly tasted bitter to him now. It was nearly sweet.
Music played from beneath the bleachers, and the gladiators began to proceed up from below, for their presentation to the emperor. Augustus looked down at them, displeased. They were a wan and ill-looking group. Beaten. The bestiarii bowed their heads before him, prodded by their handler.
Had it always been this way? In his boyhood, Augustus had gloried in the strength of the gladiators, the polished muscles, the shining—though brutish—armor and weapons. These men looked feeble. They were criminals, of course, condemned to serve out their sentences in the ring, but this was no excuse for their ashen faces, their skeletal limbs.
Augustus removed Ptolemy from his lap and stood, and the crowd, seeing him, quieted.
“Citizens of Rome!” he shouted. “I, for one, would like to meet the wondrous rhinoceros and the great hippopotamus rather than these! These slaves are only animals, when we have been promised wonders!”
The crowd roared with approval.
Augustus’s mood improved. He gave a flourish of his toga, a gesture of presentation. Now he would bait the trap. Now he would entice his prey. He put his hands on the children’s shoulders, beckoning them from their seats.
“As I welcome the animals of Africa,” Augustus shouted, “I welcome three children into Rome. These were not children of Rome before today. They were children of Egypt!”
The crowd booed and hissed. Agrippa shifted beside Augustus, his hand on his sword.
Under Augustus’s hands, the boys shifted as well, uncomfortable with the attention suddenly directed upon them. Selene looked straight ahead. Regal. Octavian approved. Would that she were his own daughter.
“They were children of that country’s queen. You may remember her name. Cleopatra. Perhaps you saw her in my procession?”
The audience laughed and jeered at the name of their defeated foe.
“She is dead, and her children came willingly to this country.”
The booing became louder. The emperor let it build to a crest of wrath and disdain before continuing.
“They are no longer the children of Egypt, however,” Augustus said. “For Egypt is now the child of Rome.”
Applause and laughter at the emperor’s wit. Augustus stood straighter, delighting in this moment. He loved his citizens. They were beings of intelligence. They obeyed the rules of discourse. They stood and shouted their support.
The senators, he noticed, were quiet in their seats, watchful. What did they await?
“I present to you Cleopatra Selene, Alexander Helios, and Ptolemy Philadelphus, children of Rome and special favorites of your first citizen. I’ve forgiven them their parentage, and so shall you.
“And now . . . a unique entertainment, never before seen in Rome.”
The emperor smiled in satisfaction. This would draw her if nothing else would.
“You may remember a betrayer of Rome,” Augustus said. “A man who left his country behind in order to woo a foreign queen. A man who abandoned his soldiers, abandoned his wife and family, for that same queen.”
The crowd booed on cue.
“The gods blessed Rome and struck our foe down. Tonight, our former enemy visits this arena from the Underworld.”
There was a hush of expectation, a nervous giggle, quickly quieted.
Augustus inadvertently caught Selene’s gaze. She was staring at him, bewildered, her eyes wide. It occurred to him that perhaps this had not been a perfect plan. Children were unreliable. But there was no turning back now.
“I give to you Mark Antony!” Augustus shouted.
Chrysate opened the silver box she held in her lap, and the ghost of Antony unfolded from it, fully armored, his eyes dark and unwilling, his wound visible even from the floor of the arena.
There was a moment of total silence and then the audience erupted in applause at the wondrous illusion.
“Father!” Selene screamed a bloodcurdling scream, high and terrified. Ptolemy joined her. Alexander reeled, staring at his father, disbelieving.
Antony, his body controlled by Chrysate, bent at the waist to bow to Caesar, and with that gesture, the lions were released.
22
Cleopatra opened her throat and roared into the brightness, her body vibrating with the sound. She was still in the tunnel’s mouth, and could not see what was happening in the arena. She could hear only the emperor’s voice claiming her children, mocking her husband. The other lions surged forward with her, the dust flying behind her paws as she charged into the Circus Maximus.
The bestiarii awaited her, each with his sword and trembling knees. Some were brave, standing firm in the face of the wall of charging wild cats. Others tried to flee, though there was nowhere to go. A trench surrounded the fighting floor. Cleopatra judged it, assessing the leap.
There.
High in the stands, his toga shining, the evildoer. And beside him, on either side—
Her children.
Selene in the center, her hands grabbing the boys, the little one wide-eyed, and the elder, looking equally startled. Selene grappled with them, tugging their hands.
The emperor, between them, looked straight at the fighting, his gray eyes glinting and lustful. Beside him, a dark-skinned man stood, his dagger drawn, his face watchful, a serpent twining about his arms.
What was standing on his other side? A very young woman, glowing with some strange
inner light, had her hand on the shoulder of a man. Cleopatra could not quite see him. He flickered, transparent. An actor, painted to look like Antony. It must be.
Cleopatra lashed forward with a paw, clawing the arm of the bestiarii before her. She did not desire to kill him, and so she dodged his sword. He did not wield it well, in any case. Some of the fighters were screaming and slashing with their eyes closed. Dust flew up and obscured the bleeding lion beside her. The rhinoceros heaved his way up from below the stadium, its great ivory horn as sharp as a dagger, and its eyes flashing black and beady as it began to run, thundering across the circus.
Cleopatra caught sight of a sword, slicing directly at her head, and leapt forward to tear the fighter’s throat, savoring, even if only for a moment, the heat of his blood.
She gathered her haunches and lunged at the stands, feeling the dead weight of a lioness beside her, anchoring her to the ground.
She gloried in her invisibility, straining at the chain that bound her and feeling the links stretch, the metal protesting. They did not know her. They had no idea she was coming. At last, she felt the chain break, whipping out from her throat and lashing across the ground. Red splattered her eyes and the moans of the dying rose around her.
Her muscles tensed for the leap over the trench, and for a graceful moment, she was in the air, high above the crowd, higher than any true lion could leap.
Augustus’s face was shocked and upturned. She could see his heart beating through his throat. Terrified of her at last. He had underestimated Cleopatra.
The force of her landing threw the emperor to the ground, and he cowered on his back before her.
“You took my family!” she screamed, her voice still that of a lioness. She dug her claws into his shoulders, relishing his terror. “You took my country!”
“Get it off me!” the emperor shrieked. His eyes were wide, and reflecting in them, Cleopatra could see two female figures. First an old woman, and then a young. The elder had a distaff in her hands, and she raised it in the air, spinning it so swiftly, Cleopatra could scarcely see it move. The old woman looked into the queen’s lioness body and saw her. Her eyes flashed silver-white, and Cleopatra felt her body begin to weaken as though she was suddenly bound with ropes, caught in a web.
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