Steampunk Cleopatra

by Thaddeus Thomas

“By identifying the killers, you may have saved Alexandria.”

  Amani closed her eyes. She felt Cleopatra kiss her shoulder.

  “You may have saved me.”

  The sons of Syria had fallen out of darkness, their skin flayed around circular impact wounds, but they were alive when they fell. Gaeus lived for many minutes more, and his cries filled Amani's fever. Her eyes snapped open. Waves of light rolled across the ceiling and dissipated into dark seas. The cries of the dying continued, low and whispered, like the wind.

  Cleopatra blotted her with a wet cloth and raised her head so she could drink. Amani sputtered and swallowed.

  Both her body and her world felt strange and foreign, but Cleopatra stayed with her each night. When the fever broke, they would both sleep, and, each morning, while Amani remained in bed to be attended by Iras, Cleopatra rose to face the day’s challenges. She could not stay. The world was changing.

  I watched Cleopatra stand before Alexandria as a wife to her brother. He would soon turn eleven. At his request, steam-powered machines paraded through the streets, fueled by the dwindling coal from his advisors’ hoard.

  The crowds loved it, but it all seemed pale compared to Cyprus. The metal men's mathematical engine had given them movement without reigns. In Alexandria, men powered the machines, one and all, a display of dangerous toys. One wore a brace, from which bronze cannons spit explosions of colored embers. Another wore armor that closed over him like a ball when he crouched. I wanted to see him roll down the street and spring upright, ready for battle, but that was not the intent. It was a shield from every angle, and I supposed that was good enough.

  Under the thunderous roar of its engine, a wagon rumbled down the street without horses to draw it, and behind it plodded the armor Amani had worn when she confronted the murderers. It resembled the metal men more than most. A man operated it from a cage in its chest, and its legs were huge and lumbering.

  Fuel reserves in the city were low. That the regents allowed this puzzled me, but there were explanations. The young pharaoh needed a show of strength and a boost to his popularity. Without the shipments from Cyprus, the machines would be useless in war. Let the people think him as powerful as the display pretended. They had nothing else.

  In a rush for legitimacy, they chose not to wait on the High Priest of Ptah to come down from Memphis, and selected Numenius to crown the new pharaoh; another of their victories. Numenius, whom we had slighted at the High Priest's dinner, young Ptolemy singled out for honor.

  Cleopatra needed allies, and we were making enemies.

  Papyrus 6.13

  The library was two-and-a-half centuries of architecture, kept cohesive by the theme of Egyptian history, even as the various builders brought their own visions to play. Almost a hundred years earlier, Rome had built their first triumphal arch, and as Alexandria built the last story of the last wing of the Library, they used not only the concept of the arch but free-standing arches, just tall enough to walk through, to help define its stacks.

  Space was left open for a name to be inscribed at the head of each arch. Over the years, they chiseled Euclid into one and Eratosthenes into another. Now, they added Amani.

  Berenice had dedicated the entire Triumphant Gallery to the Cypriot collection. Now, Cleopatra gathered the masters to recognize Amani's role in securing the lost books.

  With bandages on her hands and jewelry on loan from Cleopatra around her neck, Amani followed a squadron of Alexandrian soldiers from the island palace. As one of the masters, I watched from the marble-framed windows of the Triumphant Gallery as small crowds dotted the road between the palace and the gardens. The squadron passed the Library and marched out into the Canopic Way where throngs from Rhakotis welcomed Amani with a communal roar.

  Their jubilant cries continued even after she entered the Library and made the long climb up the stairs. As she stepped out into the gallery and was welcomed by the greatest thinkers of our time, I remembered the day she cried in my arms, fearing she would never return. So much remained unchanged. She was still an anomaly among the Greek men who claimed the institution as their own, but her name was etched in stone, not theirs. It had the feeling of forever.

  Cleopatra silenced the room.

  “When I first met Amani,” she said, “she told me a story about two gods joining their lands together. I was a child and when people said my family were gods, I believed them. Her story was about me, and I was going to meet a lion; we would get married, and I would sit on a throne atop the moon and watch over my kingdom.” She cast a glance about the room. “Life has a way of working out differently than you expected.”

  The men gave an uncomfortable chuckle.

  “I see the story differently now,” she said. “I may still be the falcon perched atop the moon, but the lion who pursued me, the one who loved me more than any other, was our Amani. The lands we united were the Egypt that was and the Egypt that is, a kingdom whose distance is not measured in miles but millennia.

  “In her story, the falcon worried she could not see the full scope of her lands. The lion gave her the moon. Amani gave us these books. With these, we can see.

  “We have etched her name here only to acknowledge that she has already carved her name forever into history and our hearts.”

  The masters applauded. I wept. Maybe Amani did as well.

  The aloe vera Cleopatra used for her own body, she now applied to the red flesh of Aman's hands. Her fingers brushed up Amani's arms and shoulders. Amani's back traced the path of Cleopatra's touch, and she shivered against the lingering chill and the intimacy of fingers against the small of her back and the rise of her buttocks, all the way down to the cloth of the bed on which they sat.

  Cleopatra continued upward across her stomach and small breasts. Amani fought to hold still, but even after Cleopatra had left no part of her untouched and pulled away to admire her work, the trembling continued.

  “You're a virgin.” Cleopatra stood before her now, her gossamer tunic back-lit, reminding Amani of Berenice.

  Amani meant to say she was, but neither spoke nor moved.

  Cleopatra crawled to her side of the bed and stretched across the sheets. “So am I. Married and untouched.”

  Amani waited for the gel to dry so Cleopatra would slip on her tunic, but Cleopatra simply stared out the window. Amani followed her gaze to the play of lights upon the harbor and then lay back next to her, naked, the chill of the aloe vera passing, her tender hands resting atop her modest bosom.

  “I should have told you to save yourself,” Cleopatra said, “back when you were eight and sitting in the courtyard with the others.”

  “Save myself from what?” Amani asked.

  “From me and this life I was born into. I know better than to think myself unfortunate, but marriage and sex for me will always be about politics.”

  “What about love?” Amani asked.

  “I have love, now that you're back.”

  She leaned in and kissed Amani's cheek. Amani turned, facing her, and Cleopatra pressed forward again. Their lips touched.

  Cleopatra pulled away. Amani felt a rising desire to chase after her and taste her lips again, but her only movement was the trembling of her hands.

  Cleopatra pulled the sheet across their bodies. Amani felt its gentle touch upon her flesh. She waited. Cleopatra's finger traced the contours of her lower lip.

  “I want to tell you a secret,” Cleopatra said.

  “It must die with you.”

  Amani nodded.

  “Last night, I dreamed about Lucius Septimus.”

  “The solider?” Amani asked.

  “The military tribunal.”

  Amani felt herself laugh. “He's a pig.”

  “I know.”

  “So why?”

  Cleopatra rolled on her back and stared up at the ceiling. “I don't know what it was like for you, the years you were gone, but you know what it was for me, the same as ever. The men in my life are relatives, eunuchs, an
d soldiers. Who else am I to dream about?”

  Amani felt the weight of the question. She felt her loneliness and separation.

  Cleopatra released a long breath. “I haven't seen Lucius since I sent his men to be tried by Bibulus.”

  “He can't fault you for that.”

  “He does. I fear all the Gabiniani do.”

  “It was the perfect solution,” Amani said. “The Gabiniani stay and Rome's wrath falls only on the guilty.”

  Cleopatra looked to her again with wistful eyes that said if only it were so. Amani wanted to kiss her, if only once more, but she dared not move.

  “People want the impossible,” Cleopatra said, “but I am no longer in a position merely to want, I must act. I am reality, not desire, and as people hate reality, they will hate me.”

  “No one could hate my queen,” Amani whispered.

  Cleopatra caressed her cheek and allowed her fingers to trace along her collarbone and rest upon her shoulder.

  “Will you still love me?” Cleopatra asked.

  “Always.”

  “Even if I cannot be what we dreamed as children?”

  “You are everything we ever dreamed.”

  For a long time, Cleopatra did not answer, and, when she did, Amani, on the edge of sleep, almost missed it.

  “No,” she said, “I'm not.”

  Amani thought of the ceremony at the library and asked herself if she now felt complete. The question lingered long before she gave herself an answer. She was not complete. She watched Cleopatra sleep and knew that her days of healing had ended. The time had come to take the next step, whatever that next step would be. She had come to study the ancient knowledge, and having come, she had known she needed to change the lives of her people. Never had she fully giving herself to either. She needed to be bold.

  In the morning, Amani moved out of the palace.

  Papyrus 6.14

  In the spring, Pompey's son, Gnaeus, came to Egypt. Cleopatra recalled her family's gratitude for his father. She spoke fondly of her time living in their villa, her speech turning from family devotion to personal fidelity.

  Gnaeus thanked Cleopatra and her brother and wished he had come under better circumstances. “You will have heard the rumors of war, and I've come to confirm their truth. My father's former friend, Julius Caesar, has marched his legions across the Rubicon and made war against Rome. He has entered the city with his soldiers and robbed her treasury.”

  “There must have been huge losses in the battle,” Ptolemy said.

  “Does Pompey live?” Cleopatra asked.

  “We do not station legions in Rome. My father led the people in an evacuation.”

  “He fled?” Ptolemy failed to hide his surprise. He must have imagined he, himself, would do better.

  “My father has greater numbers and greater wealth. Caesar's hope for victory was in moving quickly while our men are in Greece and Spain. My father gathers his forces now, and for this reason, he has sent me to you.”

  A pit opened in my gut.

  “In the time of your father's need,” Gnaeus said, “my father arranged for Gabinius to return Pharaoh to power and then left behind enough men to keep him secure. Pompey has need for some of those men now and asks that you send them to join our fight in the defense of Rome and her republic.”

  I don't know how Cleopatra reacted in that instant. Overwhelmed, I had closed my eyes.

  Pharaoh and the queen retired to discuss the matter, and they called their advisors to join them, which meant me, Amani, and the regents. The banquet continued, and Cleopatra chose a private room with a view of the island palace. I believe it gave her comfort.

  Theodotus spoke first. “This is the area of the queen's expertise. We have no desire to interfere.”

  “She's suffered enough for the Gabiniani,” I said. “Pharaoh has complained that he was left out of the queen's rule. Let him write the decree to send the troops.”

  “So,” Theodotus asked, “your counsel is that they should be sent?”

  “If we refuse Pompey this assistance,” Amani said, “you will have committed all our troops to war.”

  “Only if Pompey wins,” Theodotus said.

  “Your counsel is we bet against Rome's greatest general and our oldest friend?” I asked.

  Ptolemy seemed content to listen, waiting to see who would win, but Cleopatra silenced us with a gesture.

  “I will not make this decree on my own,” she said, “nor will I allow my brother to make it without me. Whether we help Pompey or not, we do this together.”

  The regents looked to Ptolemy to see how he would answer.

  “I'm tired of being left out,” he said. “My name is on everything from now on. My face, on everything. I am the pharaoh. I'm a god and nearly a man and won't be pushed aside like a child, not anymore.”

  We rejoined the banquet. Pharaoh and the queen announced their joint decision to send five hundred men. I don't think any of us slept much that night or the next, nor for as long as Gnaeus remained our guest.

  But when he left, five hundred Gabiniani went with him.

  I celebrated his departure with a throng of waving citizens. Andros stood away from the crowd and watched me. I saw pain written on his face and thought I understood why. He was in Jerusalem when Pompey slaughtered thousands.

  Andros nodded to me and walked off in the direction of the library. When the ceremony ended, I followed.

  He waited for me in the gardens, and soon we stood beside the Narcissi. Andros sat upon a granite wall. A fountain, new and noisy, splashed nearby.

  “I thought I would feel better to see him gone,” Andros said. “I feel worse.”

  “Why?” I asked. “Are you ill?”

  “Don't play with me, Philostratos. You and Theodotus plot against each other, not me, and if I am ill, those plots are why. One day Rome will come and never leave. It happened in Jerusalem. It happened in Cyprus. We won't escape.”

  I resisted the urge to respond. The despair I heard in his voice was real. Andros did not need my banter. He needed me to listen.

  “Theo has the means to destroy you now,” he continued. “He's certain of it.”

  “What means?”

  “How should I know? He tells me little more than he tells you. Everything is a secret. Everyone's a spy.” He stretched a hand over the pond, feeling the mist from the pressure-fed fountain. “I would leave Alexandria, forever, but where can I go? Rome would be there before me.”

  “They're not here, not yet,” I said. “Cleopatra's dedicated to an independent Egypt.”

  “There is no independence. Besides, I told you, Theodotus and the others, they have a plan. He outsmarted you.”

  I ran my hand through the water and dabbed at my hot brow. “Are you happy with him?”

  “He'll kill you and your queen.”

  “Are you happy with him?”

  “There is no happiness, anywhere.”

  “That's not true,” I said.

  “Dancing to your grave?”

  “If we go to our grave, is it better to go solemn and defeated?”

  “It is better to live,” he said.

  “And to live that we might know joy. If there is no happiness, then we are dead before the grave. That was me, and I lost you because of it.”

  “A long time ago.”

  “And whatever time remains, I wish to live it. If you would, I'd have you live it with me.”

  “I can't,” he said, but I heard the hesitation in his voice.

  “Can you tell me anything Theodotus said, a word he let slip, even if it meant nothing to you?”

  “He knows about Pelusium,” he said.

  “Pelusium?”

  He nodded.

  “This is bad.”

  “Are you still dancing?” he asked.

  The sun shone in a cloudless sky.

  “Be with me,” I said, “and I will never stop.”

  Amani and Iras walked among the crowds. Women greeted them
. Children called out Amani's name, and men stood in respect.

  Back in the palaces, torches replaced the gas lamps while low-level court officials grumbled to one another about the loss of shipments from Roman Cyprus. The Egyptian quarter never had gas lamps, and the torch-lit streets were full. The factories sat silent.

  Beyond the wall, one could see the top of the frame of a new factory, incomplete, abandoned, and scheduled for demolition.

  A man walked past on a leg Amani had designed. Children played with toys that wobbled away and back again, driven by off-centered weights.

  Amani and Iras ended their walk at the cluster of houses that made up the old family enclave. Cousins embraced them, and aunts and uncles clasped their hands and kissed them. In the kitchens, Amani's various culinary designs had been cast aside for the traditional methods of their mothers.

  “The Greek machines are no match for Egyptian hands,” an elderly aunt said, unaware that the work was Amani's and the technology, her people's. “Those things come and go, but our traditions began with forever and in forever they will end.”

  Amani washed down wildfowl with beer and thought about traditions that seemed unchanging.

  That night they sat atop the roof, looking back over Alexandria. Iras waited through a long silence before speaking. “Perhaps, after Wepet Renpet, the time has come for you to rest.”

  “What does Cleopatra say?”

  “If you'd visit her, you'd know she says the same.”

  “Perhaps. Let's get to the flood season. When the plan is complete, maybe then I'll find a little something for myself.”

  “Can we talk about your plans?” Iras asked. “I'm worried about Cleopatra.”

  “I won't let anything happen,” Amani said. “I loved her long before you did.”

  “You act like you can control the outcome. Things happen, regardless of whether you let them happen.”

  “If we don't act, we have no control. If we have no control, we lose. If we lose, we die.”