by LYDIA STORM
***
Cleopatra and Antony were not the only creatures astir in the midnight hours. Alone in her darkened chamber, Iris worked with only the light of one small candle. Quietly as a cat, she moved about her room collecting the tools she needed.
How she had been driven to such madness as she was about to commit, she did not know. But after once feeling the reality of Antony's body entwined with hers, bound so intimately with her virgin flesh, some line had been irrevocably crossed in her heart.
She simply could not exist without him.
His departure to Rome made things easier. She could not leave with him now, but in time she would find a suitable reason to quit Cleopatra's court and fly to Antony’s awaiting arms. Though, of course, he never suspected it was her, Iris, he had embraced in his straining moments of pleasure that night, that it was she whose body blossomed like a flower under his touch in the magical moonlight of the desert, it would not be long before he understood.
She held up two small figures fashioned by her own hands from the smooth clay of the Nile mud. Shabti dolls. One she had painted to resemble herself with porcelain glazed skin and bright turquoise eyes. She had even snipped off a lock of her own golden hair, attaching it to the doll’s head and arranging it in the same manner she did her own. The other figure she shaped into the sturdy lines of Antony, wrapping it in a snippet of his soiled toga to ensure a part of his essence would be merged with the magical doll’s.
She placed the shabti before her and closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the thunderous beat of her heart against her chest and the surge of adrenaline tingling through her excited body.
Taking the dolls in her hands, Iris sat as still as stone, calling up the coil of power that the priests taught her rested at the base of her spine. She willed the heat to spread up her back to her shoulder blades, shivering as the power coursed through her, and then consciously directed her spirit to flow down her arms, into her hands, igniting the spark of life within the dolls as she muttered the incantation usually reserved for the resurrection of mummies into the afterlife.
Iris’s head spun as her life force was sucked into a greedy void inside the small figures. Through the haze of stars flashing before her eyes, she saw the shabti glowing in the dark chamber, radiant with a life of their own.
Laughing with delight, she allowed them to slip from her sweaty fingers to rest on her knees for a moment, staring in wonder at the green light that shimmered around them.
The spell was working.
Iris sat on her heals breathing deeply, allowing her spent body to recharge, but her eyes remained glued to the little figures of herself and Antony in her lap. If this really worked…A surge of pure joy broke through her exhaustion and fear. It would be too much to believe she could really have Antony to herself forever. Iris pressed her lips shut and melted into the pleasure of a world in which he was hers, bound to her by magic.
But there was still more to do. Iris shifted her stiff shoulders and took a deep breath. Somehow she must summon the energy.
Regaining her focus, Iris picked up the dolls again, clutching the figures tighter, and as she had done under Apollodorus’s stern supervision so many times before, she allowed her mind to go blank and smooth as a reflecting pool. She waited in the dark as her body relaxed and her internal vision stilled to perfect nothingness.
Iris rested in the void for a moment, serene in the peace, almost reluctant to leave. Then a voluptuous swell of memory broke through her meditation. All she could see was Antony's flushed face above hers, his deep blue eyes akindle as she arched against him and wrapped her legs around his back. His godlike bare body illuminated by moonbeams streaming through the tent’s flap as he murmured words, I adore you, and hammered through the barrier of her virginity, filling her in a way nothing else ever could again.
Drawing energy from the memory, with laser focus, Iris shifted her mind to her one great desire. Like the point of Diana’s arrow her goal stood out bright and clear, the waters of the reflecting pool rippled and fell away as her consciousness altered to the magical plane.
A new vision materialized before her.
As if standing outside herself, Iris beheld Antony in a flower-decked hall covered with bright fresco paintings and supported by two long rows of gleaming white columns. All the Roman senators and their ladies were in attendance. Antony looked more handsome than ever in his neatly folded toga with a purple cape draped carelessly off his broad shoulders. Next to him stood a girl with a cascade of golden hair and creamy skin like her own. The scarlet veil of a bride fluttered around her face, obscuring it from view.
A marriage was taking place.
The golden haired bride raised Antony’s hand to her lips and her soft words echoed through the ethers. “Your hearth is now my own.”
Thrilled with her vision, Iris allowed every ounce of emotion and power to flow into the image.
Let it be so Nephthys! Let this marriage take place before the next full moon rises over the Seven Hills of Rome!
She repeated the words of power from her forbidden scroll until the vision, her dolls and everything in her body vibrated with the chant. Then, once again, as had happened in the Dark One’s temple, her mind went blank.
She jerked out of her trance, nearly jumping out of her skin as the loud caw of an enormous raven shattered the stillness and the shabti slipped from her fingers cracking on the hard marble floor at her feet. She fell back covering her head with her arms as the midnight bird sailed over her, extinguishing the guttering candle with a swoosh of wind from its outstretched wings.
Iris held her breath, paralyzed as the raven swept through the darkness, a black shadow carrying with it the scent of tomb dust and dead still water. She screamed as it dove for her, pushing past the arms she raised to shield herself, caught for a horrible moment in a tangle of her long, fine hair. She flailed madly, trying to dislodge the screeching raven as it scratched her pale cheek with its sharp claws.
With a sudden flap of wings the creature released itself, taking a clawful of golden strands with it. Iris collapsed to the floor, her hand over her wound as she scrambled back into the corner, trying to get away from the wild bird.
The raven let out another ear-splitting caw and dove straight at the floor, snatched up the shabti in its talons, and flew out the window melting into the darkness as if it had never been there.
Her breath coming in pants, Iris rose on unsteady legs and quickly drew the curtains tightly closed. Then she slid to the floor shaking, her hand still pressed to the burning claw marks on her cheek.
Exhaustion swept over her, as powerful and narcotic as opium, and she lay drained on the hard floor with her lids lowering despite her best efforts to stay awake. A swirl of dots spun before her eyes and her limbs felt clammy. She gave up the fight and allowed her eyes to close…
She wasn’t sure how long she drifted in and out of sleep, but when Iris came to the moonbeams had shifted their silver path on the floor and shone bright as a beacon into her face as her eyes fluttered open.
She sat up, blinking into the darkness.
It was done.
Tentatively, Iris reached up and touched her cheek, feeling the raised welts from the raven’s claw. She had been marked as the Dark One’s. The wound would fade, but the spiritual brand never would.
Tears welled in her eyes. All she could think of was the first time Cleopatra had listened to her play. The way she had taken Iris’s hands in her own and asked her if she wanted to come and live in Egypt.
With a sick feeling rising from the pit of her stomach Iris began to realize what she had unleashed. In the blindness of passion there had been room only for Antony. But now…it was as if the mad raven had somehow removed that desperate desire from her with the shabti and left her eerily hollow inside.
With her magic irrevocably set in motion, Iris clutched her knees to her slight breast and shivered. She hardly dared whisper into the darkness of the night, “Isis, forgive me.…�
�
***
The cold light of dawn spread over the harbor. Cleopatra pulled her mantle close around her as she and Antony made their way towards the galleon which was to carry him back to Rome. Germanicus waited onboard, his lean body silhouetted against the brightening horizon.
All of Cleopatra's court turned out to bid good-bye to the God Antony had become during his sojourn in Egypt.
Antony looked up at Lochias and the elegant people standing on its steps to see him off. He took it all in: The Palace Of A Thousands Doors with its jewel box rooms and moon-drenched lotus ponds. The sound of gently plucked lyre and the soft civilized laughter of courtiers floating through the jasmine scented air. It all seemed like some sort of enchanted dream, but Cleopatra's tearstained face and the feel of her warm hand in his brought a very real ache into his heart. His love for her was no dream.
It was all Cleopatra could do to keep a brave front before her people, and more importantly, Antony. She knew the only hope they had for a peaceful life together was for him to settle matters with the ever more aggressive Octavian, yet her unsettling premonition that Antony’s departure would bring disaster had only grown stronger.
As Charmion placed a goblet into her hands, Cleopatra looked down at the cup of Nile water. She forced a smile and held it to Antony’s lips. “It is said that if you visit Egypt and drink the holy water of the Nile, you will be sure to return to her muddy banks one day.”
Antony accepted the goblet. “I don’t need this water to call me back, as long as you are here, but I drink as my pledge to return as quickly as possible.” His voice softened and he looked at her as if she were the only person standing in the midst of the crowded dock. “And when I do, I will never leave your side again.”
She watched him gulp down the Nile water. She had lived her life without Antony for many years, but now, as she looked up at his beloved face, she wondered how she would even get through the night without his good humor to wash away her cares, his enthusiasm for life to inspire her, his warm body to cling to in the darkness.
Germanicus was calling him now. Antony pulled her into a crushing embrace and for one moment his lips met hers and he was there with her––alive, hers, so deeply hers.
Like a physical loss, she felt his warm hands unclasp her, and turning his back he stepped aboard the galleon becoming a part of the ship’s life.
She walked quickly towards the palace. The hem of her silk tunic swished across the marble floors of the long halls of Lochias. The ebony doors to her chamber slid open and she took her refuge behind them. She motioned for Charmion to stay out. Pharaohs must shed their tears alone.
***
Cleopatra’s bed felt cold and empty that night. In truth all of Lochias seemed suddenly too big, a hollowed shell without the vibrance of Antony to fill it and bring it to life. She stared at the hieroglyphics which lined her walls, magical protection etched into every line.
Suddenly she felt the prickle of fear run up her spine and before she even realized it, she was sitting upright, clutching her sheet to her breast.
Someone was there in the darkness.
She scanned the room. “Who’s there? Reveal yourself at once!” she commanded.
The moonlight pouring from the balcony began to play tricks on her as a silhouette emerged from the nebulous stuff of shadow and beams. She caught her breath as a familiar figure, looking careworn and tired, hovered just an arm’s length away. His robes were stained with blood and his eyes held a haunted, empty look they never had in life.
She shook her head. This was… this was… “Caesar?”
She could barely get his name out.
He met her gaze.
Cleopatra’s limbs wouldn’t move, the time marked only by the loud thumping of her heart against her ribcage.
Caesar was here.
Lunging forward, she tried to clutch at his robe but he seemed to float just out of reach.
“Caesar,” she whispered fervently, “Caesar…” Tears flooded from her heart and rolled down her cheeks unchecked as the longing and pain she had felt at his death came back with breathtaking, bittersweet sharpness. “I can’t believe you’re here! You don’t know what it’s been to live on without you these years!”
She could feel his understanding as she wept her heart out before him. Though he said nothing, he raised his hand, as if in benediction, over her drooping head. A gentle flow of comfort washed through her, but then the urgency of his visit communicated itself and she looked up with swollen eyes at her beloved mentor.
Caesar’s face was twisted with fury and some of his old fire flew off him like sparks of electricity in the dark room. “Treachery surrounds you at every turn, Cleopatra. Watch over our son and do not allow Antony’s ship to reach the shores of Brundisium!”
Fear gripped her. “Caesarion? Why? What’s coming?”
She had a thousand questions, but his form was wavering. It was clear he no longer had the strength to manifest. Desperately, she clutched at the air where his flickering spirit hovered.
“No!” she cried, “Please don’t go yet! Please, I must know more! I’ve been denied you for so long. Stay with me, I beg you!”
For one moment his spirit brightened. Caesar stood in all his glory, looking strong and victorious, as he had when his fleet first landed on Alexandria's shore. She was engulfed in a wave of love so powerful her sobs melted and a smile of pure bliss spread across her tear-glistened face.
There was one last burst of radiance and he was gone.
Cleopatra put her hands to her breast, as if to cradle her heart, holding in the effusion of love that made her glow like a lantern from within.
But with Caesar’s light gone, the glow in her heart faded too and she was left only with his words of warning to watch over their son hanging in the darkness around her, more chilling than any phantom.
She threw off her covers and with her heart racing, ran through the maze of halls to the nursery. She rushed past the guards, pushing open the doors to her son’s chamber. She pressed a hand to her heart as a sob of relief caught in her throat.
He was there. Safe. Peacefully dreaming in his little bed.
His nurse bowed as Cleopatra entered the room but now raised her eyes questioningly as she took in the Queen’s distressed appearance.
With her breath still coming fast, Cleopatra gently scooped her son into her arms and held him against her, drinking in the softness of his cheek pressed to hers, the smell of his freshly washed hair, the feel of his heartbeat like a small bird’s fluttering against her breast. She pressed a kiss to his dark head. So precious. So much more dear than all the massive wealth of her kingdom.
Cleopatra opened her eyes. “The Son of Osiris will sleep in my room tonight,” she informed the nurse.
“Yes, Queen of Heaven,” the nurse bowed again as Cleopatra carried her sleeping boy back to her chamber.
Just before Cleopatra closed her ebony doors, she whispered to the guards who stood sentry outside her chamber to double their number and keep extra vigilance tonight.
She could bear Caesar’s loss. Antony… she took a sharp breath, but Caesarion was her very life incarnate. Nothing must ever happen to him.
CHAPTER NINE
Caesarion clutched Charmion's hand as they passed through the austere temple gates and entered the dim hall. The cavernous temple felt enormous and frightening. He had come here with his mother every morning to chant hymns to Isis for all of his young life. But today was different.
If only his mother were here now. The gloomy space seemed less solemn and forbidding when her bright light transformed the chamber into something luminous and magical.
Caesarion had seen halos of light around everyone he met for as long as he could remember. He knew the rainbow of green and blue surrounding Charmion meant she was peaceful and content. The gold emanating from Apollodorus displayed his wisdom. Everyone had their own colors, which shifted and swirled around them, depending on their health or moods
, but he had never seen a halo to match his mother’s.
In the evening, as dusk settled around the palace, he could see his mother’s glow approaching the nursery before she came to touch his cheek with her cool hand and wish him pleasant dreams. Happily he would reach out his thin nut colored arms and snuggle up to her, smelling the sweet rose oil behind her ears and clutching at her long dark hair until she gently laid him back in his bed, holding his hand in hers while she spun stories of the Gods or sang quiet songs in her rich low voice lulling him to sleep.
“Why couldn’t Mother come with me today?” Caesarion demanded, turning his eyes up to Charmion.
Charmion gave his hand a comforting squeeze. “I have already told you, the Queen of Heaven has important matters to attend to this morning.”
“She’s sending her spies after Lord Antony, to try to get him to return to Egypt, but he won’t come,” declared Caesarion grumpily. He was angry with Antony for leaving them just as he had promised to take him on a real lion hunt in the desert and teach him to use his broadsword like a Roman general––like his father, Caesar.
Charmion’s face remained impassive. “Never mind about that, little falcon. The important thing is it’s high time you begin your formal training in the temple. After all, you are not a baby anymore.”
Caesarion frowned, trying to hide his growing apprehension at being left alone with his imposing great-grandfather for his lessons.
With his hand gripped firmly in hers, Charmion led Caesarion along the colonnade, through a bright courtyard with still pools of water threaded with lily pads and lotus blossoms, until at last they came to a small building, its exterior as simple and elegant as any Egyptian architect could wish. The only marking was an inlay of hieroglyphics in bright turquoise above the door. Caesarion glared mutinously at the writing which represented the symbol of Thoth: ruler of the written word and the transmission of knowledge.
