As the machines tromped and rolled back to the harbor, the crowds roared with delight, but Ptolemy and his advisors made no appearance. It dawned on me that they would not be laying claim to this victory, and that was worrisome. Triumphant Alexandrians celebrated all around us, thinking it all part of the show, and it was, just not the show we had planned.
Amani grabbed a fistful of my cloak, and we ran toward the harbor, following the trail of dissipating steam. At the end of the road, Lucius Septimus stood by the water's edge, sorting the captured machines by damage suffered.
Andros came up alongside me. “Get her away, somewhere safe, and meet me here at sunset. We need to talk.”
Papyrus 6.19
Amani was with Cleopatra when I followed Andros through the remnants of the shattered parade. Although I had never been inside his house, I knew that was where we were headed. The side road led us to one of a series of modest homes--at least modest by the standards of the Royal quarter. The adjacent buildings were each shared by two or three families, one family to a floor. Andros had a building to himself.
The windows were shuttered. The door required a key. My trembling hands would have dropped the key and locked us both out. The door swung open.
We entered orderly rooms with walls tiled in bright colors and abstract designs. Andros took a silent moment to take in his work before inviting me to sit. He served wine in chalk cups.
Andros sat down and dabbed at his cheek. “Theodotus showed you great kindness, today. He argued for restraint. Cripple Cleopatra's plans without any overtly personal actions to anger the crowds. Others argued for a more decisive victory, and Ptolemy himself was barely convinced.”
“Theodotus is waiting for the hunger of the people to turn them against their queen.”
“I knew this moment was inevitable,” Andros said, “but I chose to live as if peace were possible.”
“What is it you want of me?” I asked.
“Cleopatra has half a year, and no more. I want you to be a realist. I want you to live.”
“And do what, betray Cleopatra?”
Andros took a sip of wine. His hand shook. “I'm not here on behalf of Ptolemy.”
“Theodotus or Ptolemy, it makes no difference.”
“I've made up my mind. I told Theodotus that I want to be with you. Whether we live or die is in your hands.”
We sat opposite each other, unable to look the other in the eye. Silent, I was aware of the sounds of a jubilant city. Part of me wondered if I were being set up. Part of me didn't care.
I found the strength to look at him, and he met my gaze. He moved, and I knew he would kiss me if I let him. I wanted it, and, yet, I cried.
I was a child again, left to recover from my wounds. I had no understanding of what was happening or why, and my cries for comfort brought no answer. The unknown surrounded me. Loneliness seemed eternal.
Then his hand was on mine. He knelt before me, present but silent, allowing me time to work through my scrambled emotions.
“I'd die for Cleopatra,” I said.
“It's more important that you live for her.”
I didn't understand, but then he leaned in and met my lips with his. Time for understanding would come later. He rested his hands upon my shoulders, ready to pull away my cloak, and I let him.
Cleopatra was not there to meet Amani at the bridge. The walk to the palace was quiet. She found her in the bedroom, naked, standing by the window and gazing out at the harbor.
She didn't turn. “Your trip to Kush...”
Amani crossed the room to her and snuggled up behind her, resting her head on Cleopatra's shoulder as the torchlight flickered in the harbor-side palace. “It's a short flood season, but I'll be back before it's over.”
“I don't think you should return, not this season.”
Amani took a step back, no longer sure her embrace was welcome. “We can't navigate the cataracts when they're not flooded. If I don't come back this season, I'm gone for a year.”
Cleopatra turned to her. “I'll send word to the temple of Isis outside of Swenett. You'll know where to find me.”
“But Ptolemy.”
“You've done all I can ask of you. I want you safe. Take the copies from the Serapeum and go.” She put a finger under Amani's chin and tilted her mouth to meet hers.
Amani clung to the kiss, wanting it to never end. “Why?”
“My brother is more brazen than we anticipated. He can't touch me, not yet, and, if that time comes, I'll run.”
Amani pressed her hands flat against Cleopatra's flesh, needing to feel her fully, completely. “I'll find you.”
“Stay with me, tonight.”
Amani pulled away her own tunic. They stood before each other, naked, their eyes searching each other's bodies. Amani backed away, onto the bed. Cleopatra swooped down upon her. Amani felt something hungry in their combined bodies, something desperate and alone.
Unprepared for a night of love-making, I focused on the things I could give Andros and determined in my heart to let him feel no disappointment, no lingering sense that I had deprived him. My pleasure would be the embrace of human contact and the promise of being loved. After Cyprus, I was not the man I had been before. When I lost Andros, I had not sought another lover. Instead, I learned the art of solitude and gave myself fully to study. Now, the touch of him would be enough, if it meant I had him back again, if it meant we would have other nights where I would feel his weight upon me, the gentleness of our preparation, the otherness of being filled, and the sudden shock of those first thrusts.
I heard the uncertainty in my thoughts. I looked into his eyes. Was he mine?
“I love you,” he said.
I pulled away.
He settled on the bed before me, patient, waiting, and I told him I was afraid. I heard his words of comfort, but they could never be enough. I didn't need promises. I needed to understand.
“What did you mean it would be better for me to live for Cleopatra than die for her?”
He reached out a hand to touch my leg but then thought better of it. “I want to protect you by bringing you into Ptolemy's camp.”
I felt my breath shudder within my chest.
“You will protect Cleopatra,” he continued, “with the information you gain.”
“How do I do that? Why would they give me access?”
“I convinced Theodotus that I could bring you over to their side. You can see what's coming. It makes sense to him that you’d be ready to save your life. You'll spy on Cleopatra for them, and, in return, when the change of power comes, you'll be favored.”
“That's not protection,” I whispered.
“Cleopatra can control what you tell us. You're not betraying her. She'll know what you're doing.”
“I'll report misinformation to Theodotus? Or would it be to Ptolemy, himself?”
Andros again moved his hand to my leg, and, this time, he kept it there. “You can't go back and forth. It would draw too much suspicion. I'll stay with you and report to Theodotus according to your instructions.”
“And the information I'll gain from their side?”
“Will come from me,” he said.
Papyrus 6.20
Amani's fingers clawed for a sheet but found nothing to cling to as her back arched and her thighs shook. Her flesh swelled as if her very skin breathed, opening a great void within her that pleasure would soon fill. The void reached its apex, stretching her out, arms splayed out, neck bent back, legs fighting against Cleopatra's shoulders and face. The void collapsed. Everything within her contracted, and her moan became a scream.
Her body eased out of the contraction. Nothing but the moment existed, nothing but the surge that rippled through her. Her screams fell silent, and she ceased to breathe.
Her body spun her through euphoric cycles, and she became aware of tears and the ache in her fingers, neck, and toes. She relaxed into Cleopatra and, finally, went limp.
Her first coherent thought wa
s guilt over her own pleasure. She sat up to return her attention to her lover's body, but Cleopatra pushed her down again and worked her way up through kisses until they lay side by side and those kisses found Amani's lips. She tasted herself on Cleopatra, and her taste had its own color, deep and dark.
“There is never meant to be just one ruler in Egypt,” Cleopatra said. “It must always be both female and male, and I have never more regretted that it is so. I should be pharaoh, and you should be my queen.”
“I would never dare imagine it.”
“We think royalty rules a country, but a country rules its royalty just as well, maybe more so. We have the power to enforce ancient wisdom and none to wipe away ancient foolishness.”
“It does us no good to think of such things.”
Cleopatra just shook her head.
“Quiet your heart,” Amani said. “We're together. As long as we keep our lives, even if we lose Egypt, we will be together.”
“Forever?” Cleopatra asked.
“Forever.”
“If we lose Egypt, we’ll be unhindered by politics.”
“But we won't lose,” Amani said.
Cleopatra propped herself up on an elbow. “You're right. There is no such future for us. I will either hold my throne, or I will die trying.”
“There's no victory here, not anymore. If you mean to fight to the death, I won't go, even if it means disobeying your command.”
Cleopatra kissed her. “The fight will come, but not while you're away, not if I can help it. I'll prepare and regather. When we regain the throne and my brother is vanquished or dead, we will test who rules--Pharaoh or her subjects.”
Amani stared at her, not daring to ask.
“You may not be male, but you are one of them. They will see themselves in you, a decedent of a Kushite governor, whose ancestors were kin to the pharaoh of Egypt.”
“Don't,” Amani said. “Don't promise such things.”
“I will be pharaoh, and you will be my queen.”
When I arrived at the palace, Amani was hugging Iras, who was in the middle of adjusting Cleopatra's wig, and everyone was crying. I heard snippets of conversation among the sniffles and understood that Cleopatra was sending Iras away. It made sense, with all that was happening.
I still thought mine would be the biggest news of the morning. Then Iras blurted out that she and Amani were journeying to Kush and would be gone for a year, and that ruined me. We all hugged each other, and I sniffled and cried with the rest of them.
Logic dictates our sadness was about our time apart, and maybe it is superstitious to believe it was something more, like we knew these were the last moments of a life we'd never have again. Everything would change, and nothing we did could ever make it right.
I told them about my visit with Andros.
“I don't trust him,” Amani said. “Why show interest now?”
“Ptolemy could be using him to spy on me,” Cleopatra said. “He promises you insights into my brother's thinking, but all that will come through him. Meanwhile, he'll live with you, and, as part of your life, gain access to mine.”
“It's a setup,” Amani said.
I wanted to pretend the same possibility had not crossed my mind, but I could not. I knew the weakness within me. If Andros was using love against me, I'd be willfully blind, just to know his embrace.
“Send him away,” Iras said.
Cleopatra raised a hand, saving me from the wretched conversation. “We can't do that. If we rebuke this attempt, my brother will only find another way. At least, now, we will know our enemy and protect ourselves, accordingly.”
I bowed, which was not required in the context of our private gathering, and felt awkward. Cleopatra fell silent.
“Philostratos?”
“Forgive me,” I said.
“Forgive you for what?”
“I failed Amani for not trusting her when she came in good faith. Now, I fear I'm doing the same with Andros.”
“You believe him?” Amani asked.
“My queen's safety comes above all. We should proceed as we've stated here, but we've learned the danger of our cleverness.”
“What is your counsel?” Cleopatra asked.
“Take it day by day,” I said. “Stay alert. Deal with what comes. Be receptive to the truth as it reveals itself.”
“Is it possible to know the truth?” Cleopatra asked.
Amani smiled, while the sadness remained in her eyes. “Your sister once asked me something similar.”
Papyrus 6.21
Jerusalem
It rains during the night, and in the morning the skies are dark and threatening. If I were planning the expedition myself, we would delay, but one does not argue against the commands of Herod.
Our first stop is to collect our gear. My house is empty and my neighbors, silent. I linger for a moment, inhaling the scent of the place and refusing to think. Mine is a small dwelling nestled against the dividing wall, barely a part of the upper city.
In size, we are poor; in quality, we are rich.
Our little caravan includes Herod's servants acting as porters and two of his soldiers who bark commands without purpose. When we arrive, I raise a hand to silence the soldiers, an act of power that never fails to entertain me. The collapsed buildings have been cleared, revealing the exposed tunnel. The section to the north is full of rubble, but the southern tunnel is clear. A tarp on poles has been raised to keep out the rain, but the ground is muddy and sucks at the soles of our sandals.
Malachi, Miriam, and I climb down the ladder into the hole where water runs in wormy, brown rivulets. The porters pass us torches, rope, and a pick. There's only one way to go. We duck our heads to enter.
“Does it remind you of Cyprus?” Malachi asks.
Only in concept.
“We cleared this end of the tunnels about five weeks ago,” I say. “I've crawled through here for days, and, while calling it safe might not be fully accurate, it is stable.”
“Just tell me where to look,” Miriam says. At the moment, there is nothing to see.
“At the junction where the tunnels meet, there is a room. The items inside have been removed, but I'll take you there. That should appease Herod.”
She nods but says nothing.
“It would have been easier to show us the items,” Malachi says.
“They're Jewish tools, weapons, and pottery,” I say. “It all predates Amani.”
“Before and after Amani, that's pretty much how I see my life,” Malachi says. “Everything I've enjoyed these last thirty years, I owe to her. She's more to me than these things you seek. They're nothing and should be left buried wherever they are. Amani kept them hidden this long. We need not fear them now.”
“May we never find them,” I said, “but if they're to be found, we must be the ones to do the finding.”
“Tell me what she was like after Jerusalem,” Miriam says.
“What do you want to know?”
“Anything good,” she says. “Tell me she was happy and surrounded by people she loved.”
“When you talk about a person's life,” I tell her, “much of that depends on where you look. Very little is consistent through the years, but she was loved and often happy. Had things been different, had we not made one or two mistakes, she and Cleopatra might have spent the rest of their lives together.”
“Mistakes made by whom?” she asks.
“By me.”
“There is so much misery in life, so much suffering,” she says, “but there is still joy, and, if not joy, hope.”
“Joy,” I say and nothing else. I need time to think. Once, it seems, I said something very similar to Andros. These days, my memories turn more readily to regret and shame.
We walk in a stoop until we reach the room. Torchlight falls on places where once I had discovered ceramic pots and tools of iron and bronze. Unlike Cyprus, the pots were empty, and, now, so is the room. Remnants of plaster speckle the walls. In p
laces, I see hints of faded color and patterns.
“I think Amani drew me that,” Miriam says of the pattern on the wall. “She asked if it made me think of anything.”
“What do you suppose it means?” Malachi asks from across the room. He's found a broken piece of pottery I'd left behind.
I kneel next to Miriam, and it takes me a moment to see the design in the faded colors. When I do, everything changes.
“It means,” I say, “that Herod will give you that doctor.”
Amani painted a copy of the mosaic Andros and I made so long ago. The section is large enough to hint at the pattern of a starry sky, and details resemble pottery shards, glass, and coins. I imagine the pattern covering the entire wall and spilling onto the ceiling.
I gasp for air as if I might cry. Instead, I laugh.
The laugh becomes a distant rumble.
Miriam asks me what I see, but what I hear consumes me. Dust falls from the ceiling. Roiling clouds explode into the chamber. Our torches flicker. Malachi's goes out. The rumbling seems eternal and then gives way to sudden silence. We cover ourselves and watch the ceiling to see if death will come.
Miriam calls out into the darkness.
“I'm still here,” Malachi says.
We crawl to him. Blood trickles from his cheek. He follows us to the doorway. I peer out into the tunnel and see only darkness.
“How bad is it?” Miriam asks.
We should be able to see daylight.
“Stick together and follow me,” I say.
In the darkness, I have the unsettling feeling we're going the wrong way. The tunnels meet at the room. My heart tells me I have chosen the wrong one, but I reassure myself that it is only fear speaking. I was careful. This is the way.
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