by LYDIA STORM
Inside the sound of echoing footsteps grew louder and then recede down the passage.
If only he could get in, away from this fog, he was sure he would remember where he was. But he could not simply wander the palace halls with his unkempt beard and peasant’s clothes. He would be noticed in a moment amidst the well-groomed courtiers in their elegant sheaths and elaborately braided hair.
But he was so close. Cleopatra was almost in his grasp. He could feel her there, somewhere inside, preparing for the night.
He turned the handle and pushed the door open.
The Gods must be on my side, he thought as he quickly looked around. He was in Cleopatra's private building, where she and her attendants resided. He knew exactly where he was and how to reach her.
Swift as lightning, he dashed down the hallway.
The sound of footsteps and lazy laughter floated up from farther down the corridor.
On instinct, Antony dodged through the closest door. He found himself in an empty chamber, but a bright oil lamp shone cheerfully on the small table in the center of the room. There were also two child-sized chairs and two little beds. It was a nursery.
His children's nursery?
He scanned the room, from the opulence of the decorations it could only belong to the son and daughter of the Pharaoh. Antony ran his hand along the tiny chairs, peered into the little beds with their neatly arranged linen. He picked up a wooden horse covered in gold leaf with bright sapphires eyes.
Even children's toys were tiny treasures here, he thought, before carefully replacing the little horse to its spot on the table.
Would he see them soon? His son and daughter? Would they know him somehow through instinct? They must be five years old. Just old enough to hear tales of their traitorous father. Just old enough to begin to hate him.
Antony’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of laughing childish voices and the lower soothing tones of their nurse. Panicked, he looked around for someplace to hide. His eyes fixed on the terrace and he slipped out into the foggy night.
The sea pounded below him and the damp air clung to his skin. He held his breath, as from inside came the sound of merry laughter and the bustle of the nurse preparing his son and daughter for bed.
After a few moments, Antony began to relax. They had no idea he was there. He peered through the curtains into the cozy room at his children.
They had the dusky complexions of their mother but deep dark blue eyes that could only have come from him. The sight of their healthy little bodies and glowing cheeks filled him with happiness. He watched, fascinated, as they performed the nightly bedtime ritual.
Little Cleopatra-Selene was playing with her dark silky hair, as if it were the most interesting thing on earth. Her twin brother, Alexander-Helios, clutched the golden horse Antony had held in his hand only a few moments before and climbed into bed. Their nurse picked up his sister and deposited her among the snowy sheets too.
“Where’s Mother?” demanded the tiny prince sitting up in bed.
“She cannot come to you tonight, Son of Isis. She is entertaining important guests. But if you’re very good and go to sleep now, in the morning she will come and take you both on a boat ride in the harbor, and you can watch the fishermen pull in your dinner with their nets.”
The children beamed with delight.
“But you must sleep now,” commanded the nurse sternly.
The children dutifully lay back in their beds snuggling into the soft bedclothes.
“You will tell us a story, Weni, won’t you?” asked little Cleopatra.
Weni smiled. “A short one.”
“Tell about how Caesar killed the pirates!” crowed the little boy sitting up excitedly.
“I most certainly will not.” The nurse gave him a disapproving look. “That is not a proper bedtime story. It will give you both nightmares.”
“Tell the Greek story of the mermaids. Won’t you please?” asked little Selene sweetly dimpling up from her bed.
“Very well, Princess, if your brother will consent to lie down, I’ll tell it.”
Reluctantly, the young prince flopped back in his bed and the nurse began her story. Slowly she unwove the tale as the children closed their eyes, only finishing when they appeared to be peacefully sleeping. The nurse put out all the lamps but one. Only the faintest glow filled the room, but as she was about to tip toe out, little Selene's voice whispered to her.
“Weni?”
Turning, the nurse went to the side of the young princess's bed. “Yes, Princess Selene?”
“Is my father coming to see us soon?”
Surprised, the nurse looked at the child more intently. But then a look of pity, which filled Antony with sadness, softened the woman's face. “Your father lives very far away, Princess.”
“Yes,” said the girl, “but I think he’s coming to see us.”
“Well,” replied the nurse, unsure what to say. “We shall see.”
Little Cleopatra-Selene puckered up her tinny rosebud lips and the nurse deposited a quick good night kiss upon her, before quietly leaving the room.
What had prompted his little daughter to ask about him? Did she have the same strong intuition as her mother? Could she feel him standing just outside her room?
It took all Antony's self control not to return to the nursery. He was shocked to discover he felt so strongly for a pair of children he had never met before. Reluctant to leave them, he stood just watching his son and daughter sleep, some of their peace filling him as he looked at them wrapped up so snug in their little beds, forgetting entirely the chill swirling fog and his wet sandals.
At last, Antony turned his gaze away and looked over the side of the balcony. A pale waxing moon rose in the sky, shining through the sea mist which hovered like a blanket of clouds over the ocean's shoreline. But the fog had begun to settle, and as the breeze cleared the air around him, and the cloudy billows shifted and broke apart, the figure of a woman emerged standing on a terrace just a few yards away. She was staring out to sea. As if by magic, the mists fell away completely, and even before the moonlight spilled across her face Antony knew her.
Cleopatra.
He pressed himself deeper into the shadows, his gray cloak hiding him from view. The thud of his heart made him almost dizzy but he couldn’t tear his eyes from her standing so near. She was dressed for bed with her long sheer robe of silver wrapped around her full curves. Her glossy black hair hung loose down her back blowing softly in the ocean breeze. Graceful as a sea nymph in her silver gown rising above the misty waters, it seemed time had not touched her as she gazed beyond the waves to the lighthouse of Pharos. Antony drank in the sight of her.
Cleopatra turned away from the ocean and for one heart-stopping moment she looked straight at him.
The air crackled electric between them.
Could she see him?
He knew she could not. It was too dark and he was hidden deeply in the shadows. But those jade cat eyes of hers, could they see in the dark?
Antony stood there, heart racing, as she stared at him, every nerve in his body on fire. Just when he couldn’t stand it anymore and was about to call out, she turned away and slid through silken curtains into her private chamber.
He exhaled, half relieved, half disappointed. The magic of the ocean mists and pale moonlight lost its enchantment, now that she was gone, and he felt the dull ache of loneliness as he pulled the cloak tighter around him to block out the cold. At least he knew she slept alone tonight.
He must leave the palace now before he got caught. The kindly Gods had kept his presence secret this long but he did not want to tempt fate any farther than he already had.
Swinging over the terrace wall, he leaped two stories down onto the soft sand below. His gray cloak mingling with the ocean mists before he disappeared into the foggy night.
***
Antony was here!
Cleopatra paced her chamber in the moonlight, the soft mists outside her windo
w like a blanket blocking out the usual sounds of the harbor.
Dear Gods, what should she do?
Why should he return now? Now that she had at last begun to sleep at night, to wake in the morning without the first crushing thoughts of her lover’s betrayal to cloud her mind. The ache in her belly had subsided and she had become happy again. Or, at least, content. Though she could never look at the twins’ dark blue eyes without remembering their father, or gaze out to sea without a part of her wondering if his ship’s sails would ever carry him back to Lochias Palace.
The news from Rome had been filled with tales of his devotion to the virtuous young Octavia. It was said he had happily settled at last. Rome was at peace, and perhaps with Antony and Octavian working together as allies, Egypt would be free from threat, because she knew no matter how he had betrayed her love, Antony would never raise an army against her. Cleopatra firmly convinced herself that it was for the best. Her first duty was, after all, to her country and her heirs. It had served Egypt for Antony to be her lover for a time and then it served Egypt for him to stay in Rome, close to Octavian.
But that had not lessened her heartbreak any.
She still could not bring herself to think of those months after Apollodorus had first brought the news. Sick with pregnancy, as she had never been with Caesarion, and rocked to the core by Antony's betrayal, she lived through the most painful days of her life. Worse even than Caesar’s murder. At least Caesar died loving her.
But there was no comparison. She loved Antony with a primal urgency she had never experienced with Caesar. Antony's spirit tugged at her soul. There was something between them she could not name or understand, but it was deep and powerful. She could not help what lay between them, but in time she had learned she could live on her own, despite it.
Tonight the Goddess must have whispered in her ear of his coming. Claiming a headache, she cut short a banquet arranged to entertain foreign allies, a thing she would never normally do, and something drove her to the balcony to look out over the misty ocean where a longing washed through her.
Would Antony never come home? Cleopatra wondered, as she watched the great lighthouse of Pharos, its eternal flame burning to light the safe return of ships passing into the harbor. She felt a kinship with the lighthouse, knowing that a spark still kindled in her heart too, no matter how long her lover stayed away or how determinedly she tried to douse it with her reasoning. As she watched the friendly lighthouse illuminating the sea mists crawling along the water, she felt the flame in her own breast leap up, as though fresh kindling had been added and she turned to look.
There in the shadows she sensed him, standing not more than twenty paces away. She couldn’t see him in the darkness, but he was there.
The cool blue moonlight hid the blush that turned her breast and cheeks scarlet as she mustered all her self-control to leave the balcony with her dignity intact. Now inside her chamber she felt panicked, her pulse racing, her knees like jellyfish.
She had not expected this.
True Germanicus had come begging for money for one of their endless campaigns to capture yet more land for Rome, but she had not seen him, allowing Apollodorus to handle the situation. She had wanted to know as little about the meeting as possible, asking Apollodorus to reveal to her only what it was necessary for her, as Pharaoh, to know. She never imagined Antony would come himself.
Sinking onto her bed she tried to regain some self-control. She willed her heart to stop hammering, and closing her eyes, took long deep even breaths, clearing her mind. Slowly she felt her body relax a bit and something like her normal composure returned. She did not know why he was hiding himself in the night, like a common thief, but if she knew him at all, he would show up at her court soon in his scarlet cloak and bronze breastplate to plead his case.
Fury rose up, setting her cheeks aflame once more. How dare he! How dare he return to Alexandria after years of silence? There had been no letter of explanation for his marriage. No messenger sent to placate her. She had been cut off clean, without mercy, without any apparent remorse on his part. Now he came to her for gold. How many times had Antony faced those who could not forgive him with his charming smile and winning innocence, only to be forgiven?
Her temples pounded and she pressed her palms to her head trying to rub away the pain. He had publicly disgraced her and made her no more than a whore in the eyes of the Romans with his marriage to Octavia––a decent Roman woman. He had hurt her more deeply than she had thought she could be hurt by anyone, and yet, she knew he was not at fault. He had been caught in the web of Iris's spell. Trapped by Octavian's guile.
But why had he never written to her!
Leaping up, she began to pace the floor again, her silvery gown trailing after her like wisps of moonlight. No matter what his transgressions, no matter how much life she had gone on to live without him, no matter what his errand, she could not see him. What did it matter that he had betrayed her, when her heart would leap with joy at the sight of his handsome face? As a priestess, one of her most important duties was to know her own soul, and she understood if she laid eyes on Antony she could not resist. The years without him had only increased her longing. Her body and heart would betray her if she spent even one moment in his presence. She would command Apollodorus to attend to Antony, as he had Germanicus.
As Cleopatra headed towards her antechamber to summon her attendants, Charmion and Iris were already approaching. Their faces were as smoothly impassive as any of her priestess’s, but she could see the flicker of knowledge in Iris’s eyes as she glanced quickly up at her Queen through the dark veil of Nephthys.
“Lord Antony has arrived in Alexandria. I do not wish to see him,” said Cleopatra decisively. “I’m withdrawing into seclusion to the temple of Isis until he leaves our shores.”
Charmion raised her eyes to Cleopatra’s for a moment and she felt the support and strength of her girlhood companion there to steady her in this moment of need. Cleopatra inclined her head a fraction in silent acknowledgement. “Charmion, I will rely on you to prepare the temple for my visit. I won’t need much. I’ll go as a simple priestess to serve the Goddess in her home.”
“Yes, Queen of Heaven.” Charmion bowed and slipped from the room.
Cleopatra turned her eyes on Iris, who had grown from an unsure young girl into a powerful priestess in the years that passed since Antony’s desertion. She stood calm and unreadable beneath her dark veil. “You knew he was coming?”
“I saw that perhaps he was coming,” acknowledged the priestess, “but I was unsure. As you know, such matters can be deceiving and I did not want to burden you with visions if they were not true.”
Cleopatra smiled bitterly. “And yet, I saw nothing. I have closed my mind so completely to him. That was not wise for Egypt’s Pharaoh.”
“But perhaps it was wise for a woman who must live on after…who must survive to care for her children and kingdom?”
Cleopatra nodded. “Yes, perhaps.” She gently lifted the veil from Iris’s face, smoothing it back against her pale hair and pressed her palm to the young woman’s cheek. “Sometimes I almost miss the impulsive, sparkling girl who brought such life to my court so many years ago,” she said wistfully, before dropping her hand. “But I value my wise priestess even more, Iris. I know you will not fail me now.”
Tears pricked the priestess’s star-bright eyes. “You have my loyalty unto death, Queen of Heaven.”
Cleopatra nodded. “Let us prepare for my stay in the temple.”
***
Antony stood outside the gates of Cleopatra’s palace, the clean white marble looking cool in the heat of the Egyptian sun. No longer unkempt and dressed in peasant’s clothes, he stood proudly in his general’s uniform, the bronze gleaming in the sun, his face clean shaven, an ivy wreath crowning his dark hair to remind anyone who looked at him that he was still the living representative of the God on earth.
Indeed, he did look like a God and the gatesmen pr
essed their foreheads to the ground as he made his way into the palace complex. His head up and back straight, he walked past amazed servants and courtiers as he strode into the gilded Hall of Ma'at.
A murmur went through the crowd as the Roman general entered the bright hall, its shimmering golden walls and long colonnades dazzling him anew, as if he had never seen it before. Would he ever cease to gape at the splendors of Alexandria?
But the throne of Upper and Lower Egypt stood empty.
Apollodorus was handling the business of the court from his usual post a few paces below the throne. As Antony drew closer to the platform where the priest stood, the hall fell silent.
Apollodorus met his gaze squarely, neither surprise nor happiness betraying itself in his calm face. “Welcome, Lord Antony.”
“Thank you,” said Antony, suddenly feeling like a schoolboy under the old man's composed gaze.
“You surprise us with your sudden appearance after so many years,” observed the High Priest.
“Yet you don’t seemed surprised,” shot back Antony.
“How can I be at your service, Lord Antony?”
Antony could read nothing in the old man's face. Was he pleased to see him? Did he hate him for deserting his Pharaoh? Antony squared his shoulders. “I want an audience with Cleopatra.”
“I am sorry, but the Queen of Heaven is in seclusion in the temple of Isis.”
Antony’s brow darkened. “For how long?”
A serene smile spread across the priest's face. “For as long as the Goddess wills it.”
Antony felt the old frustration of not knowing exactly what Apollodorus meant, though he had answered plainly enough. Would Cleopatra stay in seclusion as long as she willed it herself, or as long as Isis directed her to?
“It’s urgent that I see her,” pressed Antony. “Is there any way of at least getting a message to her? Of letting her know that I’m here?”
Apollodorus shook his head. “I am sorry, Lord Antony, but it’s not permissible to interrupt the Queen of Heaven while she is behind temple walls.”
