by LYDIA STORM
Lady, show me the good in all this. Show me how to save the royal line––your descendants. Show me how to claim victory....
But slumber had taken her up in its gentle arms and her thoughts trailed off into no more than the quiet sound of her breath flowing in and out of her body.
***
The lamp by the shrine had died down, bathing the Goddess in a warm glow against the darkness of the room. Cleopatra could feel the peaceful sleep of the temple priestesses in their dormitory beyond the main hall. The chamber was all shadows of blue darkness but for the illuminated shrine. The smell of roses filled the room, the sweet scent opening her heart as she inhaled the bloom of Isis. As she focused on the figure of the Goddess cradling her infant son in her arms, mother and child seemed to shift, metamorphosising, yet in their essence still the same.
She blinked and the Goddess, who had been dressed in her Egyptian robes of red and crown of silvery moon and golden sun, now had only a simple white tunic and a pale blue mantle covering her hair and shoulders. No crown graced her head but a ring of stars floated above her like an aerial chaplet of glimmering light. She looked down with a gentle smile at her son, who sat on her knee dressed in peasant’s swaddling clothes instead of the white starched kilt and royal crown bearing the uraeus usually worn by Horus. His smile beamed out at the world and a halo of gold circled the child's head.
An eternal peace shone from mother and child, filling her hungry soul. For a moment she was restored and renewed, as she had not been since she was a little girl, filled with the light and hope and promise of life.
An Ankh, the Egyptian symbol she recognized as signifying life and renewal, burned gold light in the baby boy's hand, but as she stared at it more closely, she realized it was only a simple cross. As she gazed at it, the symbol burned brighter and brighter, dazzling her eyes, until it was all she could see. But now a God with a sweet sorrowful face was stretched out upon it and she realized with a burst of sadness this was a crucifixion.
Set, the God of the barren desert, with his hair pale like the burning sun and eyes as vacant and blue as a cloudless sky, stood before the man, hammering sharp nails into the God's tender flesh. Set wore the mask of Octavian’s pretty face, inhuman in its perfection, disconnected, a force of destruction. Lightning shattered the heavens as his hammer struck the spikes.
But instead of crying out, forgiveness poured from the gentle heart of the God towards his executioner. A crown of thorns adorned the dying God's head, like the sharp skeleton of the ivy wreath Antony had worn at the banquet earlier that evening, and as the blood drained from his limp body, it fell into a golden chalice like rich sacred wine.
The God slipped from the cross.
A serpent, the cobra of Egypt with its proud kingly head flared, slithered at the God's feet, but he lifted his glowing foot and stamped upon the coiling scales, crushing the life from it.
The Goddess screamed.
Her shrill cries echoed through Cleopatra’s brain like the ringing of bells through a dark tower room. Naked as Venus, stripped of her crown of shining stars, the Goddess gathered up the crushed serpent and retreated into the deep cool shadows of the woods. Perhaps she could revive the snake with her magic somewhere in the darkness of nature, in some remote cave by a healing lake, where they could be alone and recover from the blow.
She hid so deep, behind walls of mossy rocks, in caverns so black only the bats could go there. Nature grew up around her, the trees winding their tender-leafed limbs together to form a wall, the sharp spikes of the climbing roses tearing at the skin of intruders, the beasts of the forest poised to attack if anyone came too close....
***
Cleopatra opened her eyes. Morning light filled her cell. The shrine lamp had gone out and the room was chilled. She shivered as she sat up and looked at the statue of Isis and Horus dressed in their traditional attire. The shivering rocked her down to her core. She understood now why Apollodorus had asked her not to gaze into the future.
Octavian would not only defeat Egypt––he would destroy the Gods themselves.
***
Pale and tired, Cleopatra threaded her way back along the path through the woods to their camp. She straightened her spine and twined her fingers with Antony’s as she joined him on the promontory. He pressed a kiss on her chilled brow and they gazed silently down at her fleet of warships. Their wide sturdy hulls and proud banners whipped in the dawn winds rising up from the uneasy Ionian Sea. Taking in the spectacle, she marveled at the might of the Roman army manning her ships.
So many men!
With the troops Germanicus and Octavia had provided, Antony’s legions had been bolstered to well over twenty thousand, a close match to their enemy’s number. Cleopatra leaned into the warmth of Antony’s body. The air hung heavy with all they did not say. By sunset they would either sail victorious towards Rome or suffer defeat. She could feel the echoes of Antony's mind spinning out strategy, mentally preparing for the battle ahead. His strength and confidence radiated to her. If only she could block out the vision of the Egyptian cobra crushed beneath a strange God's foot.
Her disquieting thoughts were broken as Germanicus appeared by Antony's side. He was dressed in his battle armor, his face grim in the dawn light.
“Are you ready, Antony?”
Antony nodded, the fire of Mars, God of War, already alight in his eyes. “I’m ready. Octavian will lie dead by nightfall.” He turned to Cleopatra, taking her hand in his powerful grip. “I’ll protect you and your country from any further threat, or die honorably trying.”
She nodded, searching his eyes for courage, before he pulled her close and they melted together in a fervent kiss. Her pulse surged as this kiss held all their hopes and fears in one breathless moment.
As he released her, she clutched at his hand one last time. “Be careful, love!”
Antony summoned the ghost of his boyish grin. “Why be careful when the Gods fight on your side?”
Even in this grave moment, when the fate of nations hung in the balance, her heart glowed and warmed to her husband. But feeling this love only added to her fear.
What if he failed? What if he died fighting for her sake?
She forced a smile to her lips as she watched him climb aboard his galley, the emblem of the scarlet roaring lion proudly flying on the brightly colored sails. He was taking his place at the prow, his head high and broad shoulders set, ready to command the fleet and lead his men into battle.
Cleopatra turned and boarded her own boat, so overflowing with the wealth of Egypt it lay low in the water, heavy with the weight of gold. They would need this money if they defeated Octavian in order to buy more soldiers and supplies, and if they lost….
She inhaled the briny scent of the west wind and looked out as the sun exploded across the ocean turning the sea as red as blood. She shielded her eyes with her hand against the glare, hating what was to come. The butchery, the agony of the wounded, the insanity of it. All the atrocities of war danced before her on the molten waves.
Yet this is what Rome worships. This is Rome's glory. Even Antony’s.
She felt Apollodorus standing behind her, taking in the fretful surf and angry sea gulls beating their wings, screeching their earsplitting wails. She continued to stare ahead of her, whispering to her grandfather. “I can’t see anything. My emotions cloud my vision. Am I sending Antony to his death?” She gripped the side of the ship hard trying to steady her voice and the growing hysteria that was taking over. “I don’t think I can bear to lose him a second time.”
Apollodorus was silent for a moment before he answered. “You are a pharaoh fighting a battle you have no choice but to fight. The outcome lies in the Gods' hands.”
The drums began to beat their ominous rhythm below deck, a death march to synchronize the rowers as they dipped their massive oars into the ocean. The boat lurched forward towards Octavian's fleet. Cleopatra stood paralyzed, a stone statue at the bow of her ship. Apollodorus was righ
t. There was nothing to do now but observe and offer up silent prayers, as in the distance, she could just make out the silhouette of Octavian’s approaching warships.
***
The sea danced beneath Antony’s galley as the wind caught her sails. The familiar faces of his loyal men around him roused his courage and determination more than ever to go forth and claim victory. His legions cheered as he leaped to the quarterdeck raising his broadsword to catch the light reflected off the glittering waves. He shouted into the salt drenched winds, “Today we destroy the greatest traitor Rome has ever known! Today we win our glory! Today we unite the world forever!”
He struck his sword hard against his shield––the sound ringing into the ocean air as his legions took up the rhythm, clanging their steel swords against their shields, rousing their blood for battle.
“Death to Octavian!” cried the deep angry voices until Octavian's fleet appeared on the horizon, the Eagle of Rome screeching in the wind on the ship's sails.
Silence fell as they watched the enemy's ships rise on ocean swells, carried closer and closer with each wave. Germanicus touched Antony's shoulder as he pointed with his other hand, his keen gray eyes finding their target. “There's Octavian.”
Antony followed the line of his friend's vision and saw the emblem of Apollo’s bow and arrow raised high on one of the small swift ships. “We’ll end this for good,” growled Antony.
Antony ordered his boat to make straight for the warship. As they reached the enemy, amidst flaming arrows and the clash of steel, Antony leaped aboard Octavian's ship, mindless of the danger to himself, cutting his way through soldiers with the ferocity of Hercules. He would get to Octavian. No matter who he had to go through, he would find the man who dared to call himself Caesar!
Crushing a Roman soldier's throat with his massive fist, he roared, “Where is he? Where’s Octavian?”
The legionnaire gestured with his bulging eyes down towards the cabin. How like Octavian to hide below deck while his men died fighting for him up above.
Pushing the frightened soldier away, Antony rushed down into the bowels of the ship. He blinked in the darkness, his sword poised for attack. All he could hear was the battle raging on deck, but the hull was eerily silent.
As his eyes adjusted, he saw nothing but sacks of grain and the legionnaire’s hard wooden benches lining the walls. This was no general’s lodging. Furious, he ransacked the deserted hull in search of his enemy. He knocked aside tables, splintered doors breaking into locked empty rooms but found no trace of Octavian.
With his blood pumping so hard he could hardly see straight, Antony rushed back on deck. It was slick with the blood of the Roman soldiers his men had slain. As he whipped his head around, searching the deck, the cries of the wounded filled his ears, but Octavian was nowhere in sight.
“Where is Octavian?” he bellowed into the wind. Reaching down to a wounded legionnaire, he grabbed him by the breastplate and raised him up. “Where’s Octavian? Where does the coward hide?”
The soldier was so pale with loss of blood he could barely speak but he managed to croak out through cracked lips, “He’s not aboard, Lord Antony. May the Gods forgive us our treachery.”
Antony slowly let the man's head drop as realization flooded him. The coward had tricked him.
Again.
Antony rushed to the side of the boat. His fleet, the fleet he had left so carelessly in his deranged pursuit of Octavian, was hemmed in on all sides by his enemy’s warships.
His head spun as the boat heeled wildly on the increasingly wrathful seas.
Fool!
He should have known Octavian would not adhere to the etiquette of battle. The real Caesar would never have flown a false flag––no Roman general would. He slammed his sword against the mast, impotent rage filling him as he watched Octavian's ships torch the first line of his navy.
***
With her heart racing, Cleopatra watched Antony rush upon the ship bearing Octavian's standard. Her stomach clenched as a dreadful knowing washed through her. Their enemy was not aboard that ship.
She turned to her captain in a panic. “Antony’s been deceived. Signal the fleet to pull back. Signal now!”
Obeying her orders, her men raised the flags signaling the other ships to pull back. But the legions ignored her. She turned to Apollodorus, feeling sick to her stomach. “Why don’t they respond? We’ll lose the battle!”
“They are Roman soldiers,” replied the old priest bitterly. “They will not take commands from an Egyptian woman.”
Her shaking hands rose to cover her face for a moment. She could not accept this. This disaster caused by the pigheadedness of Antony's legions. She reached out and grabbed Apollodorus's arm. “We must do something! We’ll lose our entire fleet––all of our treasure!”
The old priest's face remained as smooth as the Sphinx. “It is in the hands of the Gods.”
She stared at him furiously. “How can you be so complacent? This is Egypt that is about to be crushed! Our blood! Our home!”
“Yet, still it’s in the hands of the Gods,” he repeated, meeting her fierce glare with calm, sad eyes.
But she wasn’t listening to him anymore. In the background, over his shoulder, her eyes were magnetized to Octavian’s false galley. The one Antony had jumped aboard. A flaming arrow shot through the air and then a bloom of fire lit the ship’s sails and hungrily crawled along the canvas, raining smoldering orange sparks onto the deck below.
Cleopatra’s breath caught in her breast as time seemed to slow. She clutched at the thin sea air as, dreamlike, she watched the great flaming mast come crashing across the deck, splintering the mighty hull into kindling and wrenching the boat in half. The sea surged up to claim the broken vessel as each half pitched back drunkenly into the churning waves.
“Antony!”
Cleopatra fumbled to grasp Apollodorus's shoulder for support as the burning vessel was dragged down with horrifying speed beneath the shifting ocean’s surface, the undercurrent of its great weight sucking the men who had desperately thrown themselves overboard down with her into the black watery depths.
She gasped for breath, her voice hardly coming out at all, “Antony!”
Her grandfather grasped her shoulders firmly. “Cleopatra, do nothing! Your sight is clouded by emotions!”
Not even looking at him, she ran for the ship’s bow. The priest tried to catch her hands, but they slid out of his grasp like sea snakes. As she reached the prow, ragged breaths torn from her lungs, she stared in shock at the empty patch of sea where the warship had been.
Through the haze of her shock she heard her captain yelling to her.
What was he saying?
He was right in front of her now with his eyes bulging in his terrified red face. “Queen of Heaven, the entire fleet will be lost! We must act now!”
She blinked at him and looked back at the smoking patch of gray sea. “We must retreat now! ” The captain was pointing wildly towards the south. Towards Egypt.
Egypt. Caesarion, Selene and Alexander. Her children waited for her in Alexandria.
She took one last agonizing look at the sunken ship, then turned to the captain and forced herself to think. “What…what do we need to do?”
“We must retreat with the treasure back to Egypt immediately,” he repeated.
“What of the other ships? Can’t we save them too?”
The captain shook his head vehemently. “They’re lost, Queen of Heaven. All lost to the Romans.”
Her voice came out in a harsh whisper. “No…”
Heartbroken rage surged up inside her like a tidal wave finally ready to break. “He will not have them! Not this time! I am Isis, and even the Gods must do Her bidding!”
Cleopatra raised her arms over the surging, frothing body of the Mother, from which all creation sprang. She gulped in deep mouthfuls of air, taking the breath of the Goddess into her depths, her fury connecting to the immense power of the water.<
br />
Her eyes closed and she felt a force which could crush cities beneath its cresting waves, wear down mountains with persistent lapping, smash the ships of sailors to splinters and suck living men into her watery womb. The strength of Isis, Lady of the Seas, coursed through her wave after wave, filling her with unconquerable magic.
She opened her eyes which shimmered green as the ocean depths. Standing against the horizon, her arms outstretched over the wrathful waves, she cried out:
“Isis, come now and show these men your power! Rise up waves! Rise up from the ocean floor and carry my ships away to shore!”
Her words disappeared into a strong gust of air as the wind shifted directions. A crash of waves against her hull drenched Cleopatra with sea water, throwing her back just as she felt the power surging through her like a violent undertow. She lost herself in the rushing waters, the wild winds sweeping down from the north to obey her call and fill the ship's sails.
Apollodorus was calling to her, ordering her to stop.
She grabbed onto the slippery railing and raised her arms again, allowing the power to ride through her. “Carry my fleet away from all harm!” she cried into the sweeping blast. “BY ISIS IT SHALL BE DONE! ”
The ocean surged up like thunder. The ships of Cleopatra’s fleet suddenly lurched as the angry waves caught them up in a cascade of roaring, crashing water bearing the galleys southward towards Egypt.
Only the first line of warships, which were too closely engaged with Octavian's fleet to follow, remained.
With the wave of her hands she drew a curtain of thick gray mist to separate her enemy’s fleet from her own. Half drunk with magic, Cleopatra watched as the currents pulled her ships away from the danger into sunlit sea, while Octavian's fleet was blocked by the high impenetrable wall of billowing fog.
