Cleopatra's Moon

by Vicky Alvear Shecter

  “Excuse me, revered teacher,” a voice said.

  Euphronius’s white scholar’s robe whipped around him as he turned to face Mother’s lady, Iras.

  “The queen calls for her daughter. You must come with me now,” she said, turning to me and inclining her head.

  My heart soared with excitement, and I jumped up and raced toward her.

  Alexandros rose too. Iras put a hand out. “I am sorry, young prince. The call is only for your sister.”

  Alexandros looked at me, his face flickering surprise, hurt, and then anger in a matter of seconds. I shrugged at him, feeling guilty. I did not know why Mother was not including him.

  “The queen instructed me to tell you that she would meet privately with you later, after the evening meal,” Iras said quickly.

  Alexandros sat back down on his low stool, his back very straight, the tips of his ears red. I turned toward the columned breezeway connecting the Library with the palace, but Iras spoke again, signaling me to pause.

  “The queen has one more request,” she said. “She asks you to select a female companion.”

  I blinked. Why on Horus’s wing would she want that?

  “You may choose one from this group or call for another.”

  When I did not respond, she looked at me, her painted eyebrows raised as if to say, “Well? Choose.” I looked back at the girls who had joined us in lessons today. Not all of them came regularly. Except Euginia. She came more than most.

  “Euginia,” I said quickly, and saw the faces of the other two girls fall.

  Euginia smiled at me, rose, bowed to Euphronius, and walked behind me as we made our way to the palace.

  Iras led us past the queen’s chambers, through short, twisting flights of stairs and small, unfamiliar hallways. When we stepped through what appeared to be a hidden doorway, I found myself almost blinded by the bright sun shining over an enormous rooftop garden.

  It was as if we had entered another realm, a floating world of lush green framed by the brilliant aquamarine of the bay behind the palace. Jasmine, delphinium, and rose blooms cascaded over giant, elegantly painted pots. Fan-shaped papyrus plants danced in the sea breezes. Trees, heavy with fruit — yellow citron, bright red pomegranates, gray-green olives, and purple-brown figs — scented the air.

  “Ahhh, daughter,” Mother said from under a small golden canopy. “Welcome.” Her sheer, pearly blue robe sparkled in the sun like sea foam. A beautiful, long-haired Egyptian girl plucked the strings of a lyre nearby.

  I bowed my head as I always did when greeting her in a formal setting, though this was anything but. Still, it seemed the right thing to do. Euginia bowed to the ground beside me.

  “You may rise,” Mother said distractedly. She smiled, and I felt my middle expand with warmth. I had not seen Mother smile much since Octavianus declared war on her months before. She and Father and all her ministers seemed forever in meetings as they prepared for Octavianus’s attack.

  “Euginia, daughter of Hypatos. Welcome,” she added.

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” Euginia replied in a somewhat strangled whisper.

  “An interesting choice,” Mother said to me.

  I did not know what she meant, but I never liked to appear ill-informed around her, so I kept my face expressionless.

  “The Lady Iras will escort you out,” Mother said to Euginia.

  Euginia and I exchanged a look. I knew no more than she did. I was confused, but she seemed terrified.

  After Euginia left, Mother said, “Come. Let us bathe.”

  Bathe? She stood, and I followed her to a more secluded corner of the roof, a deck facing the sea, giving me an astonishing view of Pharos, our Great Lighthouse. Its white marble glinted in the bright sun as immense plumes of black smoke billowed from the fires that burned day and night at its summit. I had never seen our Lighthouse from this height, and the magnificence of its colossal, three-tiered architecture took my breath away. Next to it, the ships moving in and out of our Great Harbor looked like ants crawling past the leg of a giant.

  I followed Lady Charmion and Mother toward a pool in the center of the terrace. Mosaics of the goddess of love emerging from the sea glimmered at its bottom. A canopy of white, gauzy linen shaded us from the worst of the sun.

  Lady Charmion swept Mother’s robe off her shoulders as a servant rubbed Mother’s special scent — a heady mixture of lotus, rose, and other mysterious oils — into her shoulders and back. Another servant held a strigil to scrape off the excess oil.

  “Your turn,” Lady Charmion said in my ear, and I jumped. In silence, she removed my tunic and had a young maid begin rubbing my skin with Mother’s oil. I breathed deep, drinking in her unique scent. The muted light streaming through the white canopy, the low female murmurs, and the soft music floating in from the adjacent garden gave the impression of being in a sacred sanctuary.

  Mother stepped into the warm, scented water with a sigh. I twitched and fidgeted, wanting to join her. The sparkling water looked so inviting! When the cool metal of the strigil scraped my torso, I burst into a fit of furious giggles. I wriggled away from the woman’s ministrations and threw myself into the warm water.

  “As impetuous as your father,” Mother said. “May the Goddess preserve us.”

  “I am not!”

  “And just as quick to anger too, I see,” she added.

  “That’s not true … !” I began in an outraged tone, then realized I was only proving her right. So I lifted my chin and arched my left eyebrow. “I am more like you, Mother. I am a queen.”

  This made both Mother and Charmion — who had joined us in the water — smile, to my great relief.

  I swam toward a blue lotus that had been slapping against the sides of the pool. I turned to show it to Mother. But long, lean Charmion, her wavy dark hair covering her small breasts, was murmuring into her ear. Mother leaned back into her hands while her lady massaged her scalp. I stared at their easy intimacy, resenting how it excluded me.

  I brought the bloom over anyway. Mother’s green-gold eyes sparkled as she accepted my gift. “Tell me, daughter,” she said, after sniffing the flower’s blue center, “why did you choose Euginia?”

  I blinked, not knowing how to answer, not knowing what, in fact, I had selected her for.

  “Choosing a lady should not be taken lightly,” Mother continued.

  My jaw dropped, and I was glad to see that Mother’s eyes had closed again as Charmion’s nimble fingers worked over her scalp. I had chosen my “lady,” my consecrated companion for life? But the selection and ceremony was not to take place for another several years, when I passed from girlhood — and certainly not like this!

  Charmion must have read my panic, for she murmured into Mother’s ear, “Sometimes, the attendant chooses the master. Is that not right?”

  Mother laughed. “Yes. Well, however you came to that decision, you have made an excellent choice,” she continued. “She is one I would have chosen for you too.”

  “Mother,” I ventured cautiously, “what does my choice mean?”

  “To become your lady, Euginia will move into the palace and be educated alongside you. This great honor raises her family’s status. She will likely become your most trusted adviser and friend, someone who devotes her life to you in a sacred oath to the gods.”

  “It is the process I went through,” Charmion added. “Though we started when the queen was a bit older than you are now.”

  My mind raced with confusion. How was it that I had not been told I would be selecting my lady? Why was Mother breaking with protocol and having me do it years too early and with so little warning or preparation? Was there someone else I would have chosen? I barely knew the other girls who floated in and out of our lessons and dinners. No. Euginia was as good as anyone else I could have selected.

  “I have moved the selection process up because your father and I leave for Greece — where we will set up our war camp — in a matter of days,” Mother added, almost
as an afterthought.

  It took me a moment to understand what she was saying. “Wait. You are going with Father when he goes to war?”

  Charmion’s hands froze and Mother sat up. With her hair smoothed back and her skin flushed from the warm scented water, she looked like a sleek and mysterious goddess of the sea. An angry one. “And why would I not?” she asked.

  “Because … because you never went into war with Tata before. Because he is the general, not you.”

  Mother’s face grew very still as her Horus stare pierced me. “Octavianus has declared war against me, daughter. It is my kingdom that pays for this war; it is my fleet that will protect the seas while your father attacks on land. And it is me that Octavianus wants to destroy so that he can plunder my beloved Egypt. Why should I not join him when there is so much at stake?”

  “But … but you’re … you are not a warrior….”

  “And if I were a king, would anybody question my presence at the general’s side? A good ruler protects her kingdom, no matter the cost.”

  I nodded, my throat tightening. No matter the cost? Even if it meant her life? So many things could go wrong! Her ships could get lost in a storm. She could get a strange sickness and die. She could get run through with a sword!

  Worse, I suddenly understood why Mother had pushed up the selection of my lady. She was tying up loose ends, making sure I had the right people around me should she not come back.

  Mother must have seen the panic on my face, for she leaned toward me and stroked my cheek. “Do not worry, Little Moon. I have faced enemies far more dangerous than young Octavianus. We shall return victors. And sooner than you think.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  In the Twentieth Year of My Mother’s Reign

  In My Tenth Year (31 BCE)

  Despite the awkwardness of our sudden pairing, I found Euginia’s company a comfort in the long months after my parents’ departure for war. In the beginning, though, she tended to assent to every request I made. I was used to the push-back I received from my brothers. It took some time for her to develop a backbone.

  “Let us climb the Lighthouse again,” I said one morning.

  Euginia hesitated. “Yes, that would be lovely.”

  But I knew she disliked the endless airless stairwells, the dizziness as we climbed higher and higher, the roar of the fire at the summit — the very things I loved about our Lighthouse. Why didn’t she stand up to me? Her quick capitulation irritated me.

  “Euginia, tell me what you want to do for a change,” I said, trying to goad her into making a decision.

  “I will do anything you want,” she answered quickly.

  I stomped my foot. “By Ares’ sword, you choose!”

  Euginia’s face paled. I crossed my arms and stared at her. Zosima saw my expression as she passed by. “Do not give her that Horus look, child! She does not deserve it when she is only being obliging.”

  Zosima looked back over her shoulder at me and laughed. “Yes, you have a Horus look. It is your mother’s in miniature!”

  As always, part of me rejoiced in being likened to Mother, while another part of me ached with the reminder of her absence. I watched Zosima as she gathered up the many toys we had left on the floor — the jeweled spinning tops, the alabaster toy chariots, the carved ivory cats on wheels, even Alexandros’s favorite onyx horse, Bucephalus.

  “And you,” Zosima said, straightening and turning to Euginia, “will only survive if you show some mettle. Trust me on this.”

  Euginia reddened a little. “How about … Can we … Let us go to the Royal Menagerie instead,” she said.

  I intended my assent to sound imperious. Hadn’t Zosima just said I had a Horus stare like Mother’s? But I could not help it. I grinned. “Let’s go!”

  Euginia indeed learned to “show some mettle,” much to Zosima’s dismay, for it meant she had to arbitrate our loud, intense arguments about how we would spend our free time. Still, as the months wore on, not even the distractions she provided lessened the blow of Mother’s continued absence, which dragged on past the winter and into the spring. When I questioned Caesarion, he always claimed all was well, and I took him at his word. I assumed that Tata’s forces were on the march, defeating Octavianus’s armies, while Mother waited for him in Actium, in Greece. My brother said nothing to disabuse me of that notion.

  But when summer approached, and still my parents did not return from Actium, the palace grew hushed with uncertainty. Fewer servants bustled through the halls, and when they did, they congregated in dark corners and whispered. I held steadfast to my belief that we would win against Octavianus. After all, there were only two generals in all of history better than my tata — Divus Julius, Caesarion’s father, and our own ancestor Alexander the Great.

  Euginia grew no fonder of visiting Pharos Island and our Lighthouse over time, so I often went without her. The immense statue of the Goddess in front of the Pharos Temple of Isis became a place of comfort. Isis of Pharos, or Isis Pharia as we called her, stared out to sea, her face beautiful, confident, serene. I imagined that she could see over the vast ocean all the way to Actium to watch over Mother. I often brought gifts for the Goddess, especially a fine earth-colored incense powder that I held up as high as I could, watching as the ocean breezes scattered and swirled the sacred scent around her.

  Isis Pharia held a giant marble sail filled with the Favorable Winds all sailors prayed for. One blustery day, I stood beside the statue and held the ends of my silk cloak so that the wind filled it and made it billow like the Goddess’s marble sail.

  “Look, Katep!” I cried, standing like the statue of the Goddess and gazing far out to sea. “I am Isis Pharia! Protectress of All! Keeper of Souls Who Ride Her Seas!”

  Katep crossed his right arm over his heart in the sign against evil. “Princess!” he cried. “How dare you mock the Goddess!”

  I let go of the ends of my cloak and it whipped out behind me, forcing me to stumble. My stomach dropped. I wasn’t mocking her! I was just pretending.

  “The Goddess of Life does not take umbrage when her children play at her feet,” someone said from behind me.

  I turned and looked up into the face of Priestess Amunet, the lady of the Temple of Isis on Pharos. Strands of her long dark hair escaped from her saffron mantle and waved in the whipping wind. Deep crinkles around her eyes and mouth sunk into a complexion that glowed a rich buttery brown.

  Katep bowed, and I remembered my manners, inclining my head to acknowledge the powerful head priestess.

  “I have watched you approach Isis Pharia many times,” Lady Amunet said to me. “The Goddess must be calling you.” I blinked, not sure I understood what she meant. “Come, let us get away from this wind and I shall explain.”

  I followed her under the first massive pylon of the temple, beneath the carving of Isis suckling her beloved son Horus, the first pharaoh of Egypt. We emerged into the shaded forecourt, where shaven-headed priests in long white kilts scurried past.

  She took me into the purgatorium for purification. A long-haired maiden washed my feet and hands with warm marjoram-scented water, then anointed my forehead with sacred lotus oil. I closed my eyes at the touch of her gentle fingers tracing the Knot of Isis on my skin, breathing in the heavy, sweet smell of Egypt.

  After our absolutions, I followed Lady Amunet into a private chamber, a small room with high windows that let in both the fresh sea air and the sounds of sistrums jangling in time to chanted prayers.

  “Sit, Princess,” Lady Amunet said as she lounged on a bloodred pillow on the floor. “Now tell me,” she said once I had settled myself. “How has Isis been calling her daughter?”

  I did not know how to answer. So I didn’t. A servant came in bearing two faience blue cups. The servant took sips from both to prove they were not poisoned, then passed one to Amunet and one to me.

  “Barley beer,” Amunet said. “With honey.”

  I commanded my facial muscles not to wince at the yeasty s
harp taste. I knew that this specially brewed beer was from an ancient recipe, as ancient and sacred as the Great Pyramids. My family had been brought up to prefer wine, in the Greek way, but we respected that most Egyptians preferred beer.

  “Do you dream of the Goddess?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “No. Do you?”

  Lady Amunet laughed and shook her long black hair, threaded with silver, behind her. “Indeed I do. And I have dreamt of you wandering alone among rubble and ruins. And so when I saw you standing in the Goddess’s shadow … well, I could not dismiss it as coincidental.”

  Ruins? What did that mean? “Are my parents safe in Actium?” I blurted.

  The priestess paused. “Why do you ask me this question? The queen’s War Council likely has more information than I do.” She took another sip.

  I did not say that I had hoped that perhaps the Goddess’s magic had given her more information than anyone else had.

  “However,” she said. “My augurs indicate that all is not well. You must know that your parents have been trapped in Actium all winter, yes?”

  I nodded even though I had not known. My stomach contracted in fear: Caesarion had never used the word “trapped.”

  “During their entrapment, a great sickness has swept through the general’s camps….”

  My head shot up. “Is Mother all right?”

  Amunet took another sip of beer. “As far as I know. But I worry that the general may have underestimated Octavianus.”

  “That is not possible,” I cried. “Tata is the better general!”

  “Granted,” she said. “However, I fear that your father is like the Egyptian who hunts the crocodile but is felled by the small snake he either did not see or ignored.”

  I opened my mouth to argue, but the Lady of Isis spoke before I could. “Tell me about the amulet that hangs from your neck,” she said.

  I pulled the Isis knot from under my tunic and held it out to her. “This one?”