He said nothing until the soldiers left and closed the door behind them.
“Your Amani is gifted,” he said. “She deserves a spot in the princess's entourage.”
“My lord?” I asked. “I don't understand.”
“Her answer was correct.”
“About the type of the eclipse?”
He nodded.
“But I thought...” My voice trailed off.
“Pharaoh wishes to keep her abilities quiet,” he said.
I clasped my hands together and bowed my head, too excited to even speak.
“She deserves a spot,” he said, “but she won't get it.”
The joy that had swelled within my chest deflated once again. “I don't understand.”
“The princess will pick as she desires, and Pharaoh wants to assure you she will not pick Amani.”
“But after today,” I said, “how could she not?”
“Pharaoh wants to assure you,” he repeated, “Cleopatra will not pick your student.”
My mouth snapped shut.
In Ma'nakhtuf's lamp-lit room, I looked to Theodotus and wondered at the wisdom of his cynical nature. No superfluous sense of morality weighed him down.
“The Pharaoh is rich with the gold of my people,” Ma'nakhtuf said. “I do not ask for it but for our identity and heritage.”
It had never occurred to me to bother myself with the inner politics of the non-Greek sections of the city. What the Jews or the Egyptians did seemed of little consequence unless their anger spilled over into our streets. Ma'nakhtuf must have been a powerful force in his days.
“Give me time,” I said. “I don't make thoughtless promises.”
He raised his hands in an expression of emptiness. “I have no power to make you rush or even act. How you proceed will simply be a matter of honor.”
“It was honor that brought Philostratos here,” Theodotus said. “What you ask dishonors your granddaughter and your people.”
Ma'nakhtuf's smile faded. “You have no idea what dishonors my people.”
“You ask too much,” Theodotus said.
“Imagine if I had asked for a true history of Egypt, back to our first millennia, before the days the pyramids. We know ourselves to be fallen from a better time and a greater people. Our cultures reek of that knowledge, and still, men tell themselves they have progressed beyond their ancestors, thinking themselves smarter than the fathers of forgotten wonders.”
“If they were great,” Theodotus said, “they would not be forgotten.”
“You consider yourself the pinnacle of man's potential and the rightful rulers of the world, but you are but a beast, scratching at the earth without reason.”
Theodotus protested, but I silenced him with a gesture.
“I've asked for time,” I said. “We will continue this discussion no further.”
Ma'nakhtuf nodded and stood, ready to see us out.
I remained seated. “There is another matter.” I hesitated and knew to do so was cruel. Ma'nakhtuf had expected everything up to this moment. In other circumstances, I might have used such a moment to my advantage, but I had no such intent now.
In the silence, I took in more of the room. I saw the bed crafted of Cypriot wood and the smaller pallet where Amani once slept. The room had no means for cooking, but the younger family members would have taken that duty upon themselves. It held none of the necessities for an elder to oversee his large family, but the family's longhouse would serve that purpose. This room was simply a space to be alone with his thoughts and, for a time, Amani.
“I wanted to ask you about Amani's education,” I said.
“I thought that would be the palace's responsibility,” Ma'nakhtuf said.
“Before she came to live at the Museum, how extensive was her training?”
“She was six,” he said. “How extensive did you expect it to be?”
I waited.
“Her parents wanted this for her, but I can't tell you what training it involved,” he said. “In the few months I had her, I kept her practiced in languages and the basics of childhood, but what I taught her most was how to cope with her grief.”
Violent death was common in Alexandria and usually associated with some political or religious strife. In the last year, it had cost me a lover, and though I had been careful not to address the subject with Amani, I had inferred Amani’s parents died the same night. If one was an intended target and another just caught in the middle, it didn’t matter. They were all innocent, and innocence could not undo injustice.
Theodotus cleared his throat. “Her parents led an inescapable existence but sought something better for their daughter; at least that, if nothing more.”
I focused on Ma'nakhtuf. “Were they gifted mathematicians?”
“What are these questions?” Ma'nakhtuf asked.
From outside, I heard the murmurs of the guards and their horses as I considered my words.
“I've been with Amani two years,” I said. “I thought her to be an exceptionally gifted child, one who could hold her own among the best in the palace.”
“And is she not?” Ma'nakhtuf asked.
“Today?” I asked. “No. She was much more. She demonstrated a mathematical intuition I should have thought impossible.”
“Intuition?” Theodotus scoffed. “Is there such a thing in mathematics?”
“There's no other way to describe it,” I said. “She solved a complex problem, and I don't think it came from anything I taught her, not directly.”
“Ignorant but correct answers are an ergodic certainty,” Theodotus said. “No matter how large the die you roll, the chance remains it will land on your number, and, given enough time, it will.”
“The problem wasn't asked of her,” I said. “She recognized the relationship inherent in the problem.”
Ma'nakhtuf leaned forward. “Tell me what happened.”
Theodotus sat. I had their attention, at last, and they followed me through the tale of Amani's use of the astronomical computer.
When I was done, Theodotus huffed. “I am no more ready to accept that than if you’d said she changed into a bird and perched upon the moon.”
“It was genuine.”
Ma'nakhtuf laughed. “After that, there could be no question who the princess would choose.”
I hated the words waiting to be said, but I did my best to explain. Confusion wrote itself in Ma'nakhtuf's eyes as he realized that I had never once said Amani was the chosen child.
“Why are you here then?” he asked. “You come with this nonsense about paying for her service and now tell me she wasn't chosen. Where is my granddaughter?”
Ptolemy had claimed I did not love him; claimed I chose a life in the Library because I was waiting for another Pharaoh. Worse still, a better Pharaoh.
A better Pharaoh was not hard to imagine, even if such thoughts were suicidal. The people tolerated Ptolemy, and, had Ptolemy been strong, that toleration might have been enough. The people saw him as weak, a lover of lavish parties who played his flute while Alexandria crumbled.
“Pharaoh wants to assure you,” Numenius said, “Cleopatra will not pick your student.”
The weight of Pharaoh's palace bore down upon me, and I wilted before Numenius. “Have we offended?”
“Not Amani,” he said. “You.”
“I assure you that I love Pharaoh,” I said, “and I only seek to serve him in the area where I feel I am best of use.”
Numenius looked out over the water. “You mean that?”
“I do.”
“What if the area where you are best of use is not the Library?”
A brittle coldness touched the veneer of sweat in the curve of my back. “I'm a scholar, not a politician. I have no stomach for such things. Pharaoh needs men of great cunning. I have only curiosity.”
“A man who directs a nation must be cunning,” he said, “but for those closest to him, those to whom he must be the most vulnerable, it is not so. They mus
t be without guile, innocent of the very politics you so despise.”
Emotions stirred within me like an artist's colors, poorly mixed. They lost distinction, the very qualities that defined them. I felt only mud.
“Those closest to him,” I repeated.
Numenius faced me once more. The sunlit sky turned white. “Our last Pharaoh willed Egypt to the Romans. Fortunately, this was the time of Sulla.”
Sulla’s had been a time of civil war, dictatorship, and bloodshed. The concerns of Egypt had slipped by, unnoticed.
“But the days of their distraction are coming to an end,” Numenius continued. “Rome wants our wealth. Advise me now, as if I were Pharaoh.”
“I'm not a political man.”
“Are you an ignorant one?” he asked.
To be apolitical was one thing, but, if I made myself out to be a fool, Pharaoh would bar me from the Library. That, I could not allow.
“If he must, he can go to Pompey,” I said. “He has long been the friend of Alexandria.”
I did not point out that, as the late Sulla’s protege, Pompey made for a powerful but dangerous friend.
“That will be costly,” Numenius said, “and it will not make him popular among the people.”
I waited, but I could feel the truth in Numenius's patience. I had not yet proven myself. To remain in the Library, I would have to show myself worthy of the palace.
“The foundations of the Roman Republic continue to crack,” I said. “We’ve heard the news and rumors. Only this year, Catalina conspired to assassinate Cicero and others of the Senate. Knowing friend from foe is no longer easy in such times. Watch those who are young and hungry. In the debate over the conspirators, the arguments of two men stood out. A young reformer, Julius Caesar, warned against execution without trial, calling it an act of authoritarianism. He swayed the Senate until a man named Cato spoke. He called the Senate cowards for risking the stability of the Republic over the tenderness of their natures. Such men will represent vastly different sides in the coming years, and Pharaoh must know where we stand with each.”
Numenius smiled. “You don't sound like an apolitical man. Has your answer to Pharaoh changed?”
“If I stay where I am,” I asked, “Amani loses the palace?”
Numenius nodded. “You are free to serve Pharaoh in the Library. Your work there is known to us, but, yes, your training will have been in vain. Tell me, does Amani want to go home, or does she desire a life with the princess?”
His question taunted me.
“What are Pharaoh's terms?” I asked.
“He offers you a role as his advisor. As your reward, Amani will be the companion of Cleopatra.”
I felt hollow inside. “I can't make a hasty promise.”
With an open palm, Numenius indicated the door through which I could return to the courtyard. “You have until the ceremony ends, at which point the princess will make her choice. If I have not heard from you before then, Amani will not be chosen.”
Through the rest of the ceremony, Amani proved herself to be bright, witty, and caring, and my heart despaired with every triumph. I looked to Ptolemy and tried to make myself willing to serve at his side. Greater luxuries would be mine, but I would only have respect and prestige among those who lacked intellectual curiosity and fawned over pageantry. The life of the sublime would give way to the mundane and bejeweled.
With the challenges ended, the children returned to their spots. Ptolemy watched me, waiting for a signal, an indication that I had made my choice. His stare crushed me, but I said nothing. I did nothing.
At last, he nodded to Numenius, who spoke to Cleopatra. She listened and then strode out before the children.
She chose a girl whose name I can't remember.
Amani remained brave as the group celebrated the new companion. She said nothing as we made the return walk across the bridge. To the west, beyond the harbor-front palaces, the Museum complex stood it all its sun-drenched glory. Amani looked to the Library and then up at me. Tears twinkled in her eyes.
“Can we go, just this once?” she asked.
I held her hand, and we walked together.
We crossed the small plaza and passed the statue of Atlas holding the sky on his shoulders. Amani led the way up the white steps into the Library. Giant, red-granite pillars each rose four stories tall. Reading tables and discussion areas filled the center area, sitting atop the original stone of a former processional walkway. Scholars looked up from their discussions and nodded their heads in respect. I nodded back.
Amani climbed to the top floor and hurried deep into its recesses. There, she threw her arms around me and cried.
I knelt so I could hold her. There was no comfort I could give, neither to her nor myself. The world had lain open before her, and I had closed the doors. After years of studying the world's philosophers, I had considered myself just, compassionate, and logical, but I was none of those things.
Amani's trembling body and her stifled cries told me I was cruel and selfish, interested more in my choice of comforts than in the needs of another human being.
“They won't let me come back to the Library,” she said. “I didn't see in the beginning, when there were so many.”
“See what?”
“There aren't others like me, here,” she said.
I had never really thought about it, except to wonder at past days before the expulsion of foreign scholars. Even then, the people of the world may have filled these halls, but only the elite few. Most of the world, most of Egypt, most of Alexandria, could never enter. She was one young, Nubian girl in a sea of old, Greek men.
It had never bothered me before. I had never questioned it. The Library was my calling. I belonged here. It seemed so simple.
Not now.
“Is that what you'll miss,” I asked, “the Library?”
With her head buried against my shoulder, she asked, “Can I visit?”
“You'd stay if you could, wouldn't you?”
She looked up at me. “I'd never, ever leave. I'd stay for a hundred million years.”
“I'm sure you'd study hard,” I said.
“The hardest.”
I hated the hope that kindled in her eyes, but, when I said nothing else, the fire faded behind smokey pupils, and I hated that more.
For the first time, Theodotus and Ma'nakhtuf fought on the same side, with me as their common enemy.
“You could have been an advisor to Pharaoh?” Theodotus almost wept in his anger. “Do you know how many people would kill for that position?”
Pharaoh did, I thought, which was why he did not want them.
“You have to go back,” Theodotus continued. “You have to tell him you were wrong.”
Ma'nakhtuf nodded. He said nothing, but his intent was clear. While Theodotus only thought of the power the position would entail, a power he probably meant to exploit, Ma'nakhtuf thought of Amani. I needed to make things right.
To Ma'nakhtuf, I said, “I've been working out a plan.”
“You didn't need a plan.” Theodotus could not even look at me. “All you had to do was say yes.”
I ignored him and knelt before Ma'nakhtuf. “The payment is not for Amani's service to the princess. I want her to work with me in the Library. I would continue as her tutor.”
Ma'nakhtuf frowned, but kindness returned to his eyes. “This is not the way. Amani needs to come home.”
“If Amani were born in different circumstances, she would be a master one day,” I said. “Pharaoh has to know this as well as I. Let me train her. When she's ready, Pharaoh will understand that Alexandria needs her.”
“It would be highly unusual,” Ma'nakhtuf said.
Theodotus slumped in his chair and closed his eyes in defeat. “The headmaster will never allow it.”
I focused on Ma'nakhtuf. “I'm not going to the headmaster.”
Theodotus opened one eye. “You're returning to Pharaoh?”
“He's witnessed her ability,�
�� I said. “If I go tomorrow, he'll agree to see me. He'll assume I've changed my mind. If Amani's to have a chance, this is it. Soon, Pharaoh will lose interest, and things will remain as they've always been. There's no guarantee this will work, and if I fail, then Amani comes home. If I succeed...”
As my voice trailed off, Ma'nakhtuf lifted his. “Her future changes.”
Ptolemy's spite kept us waiting. Amani and I sat in a banquet room in one of the harbor-front palaces, where we could see the island palace shining like a pearl amid the waters. Around us, servants hurried back and forth, preparing for the evening's grand feast. I assumed that's why Ptolemy had given the order that we wait here and not somewhere more reasonable. It was all meant to remind me of what we had lost.
We sat on one of many bronze-sculpted couches. Gold-plated beams traversed the ceiling. An intricate mosaic spread across the floor, lush in its depiction of a mythic garden. Amani studied its landscape; her eyes traced its hills and streams.
As the hours passed, servants covered the floors in roses, and I wondered if we would still be sitting here when they brought out the food. I hoped not. I was hungry.
Amani played with a rose, stood at a window, and talked about the many ships. She never once mentioned the palace or Cleopatra. Those thoughts remained trapped behind her eyes.
A small procession left the palace. Ptolemy rode on a litter, followed by advisors and flanked by soldiers.
We stood and waited as soldiers entered the hall. Instead of the simple white ribbon, Ptolemy now wore one of his crowns. There were several, each holding a different meaning. This one was gold and ornate but held no particular historical significance to lower or upper Egypt, and I imagined the banquet tonight would be limited to the powerful families of the Royal quarter and the few Egyptian priests who served him the closest.
I had never been to one of the banquets, but Theodotus had. The amount of food he described and the wealth displayed would have been hard to believe in any other context, but when it came to descriptions of Ptolemy's lavishness, I embraced every word.
Steampunk Cleopatra Page 3
