“Zosima is always trying to get me to dress differently. She wants me to cover up with a palla all the time, which I do when I travel, but I don’t see why I need to within the compound.” I mimicked her lecturing tone: “‘You have the body of a woman now. It is indecent for you to show your arms or to wear dresses of such thin fabric!’ Really, I think she has forgotten how we dressed in Egypt. The Romans and all their old-fashioned ways!”
I placed a small pebble on Ptolly’s offering tray. “This is from Sebi,” I whispered, listening to its hollow clink against metal. Even though I had brought his cat into my cubiculum, Sebi never seemed the same after Ptolly’s death. A heavy listlessness seemed to cling about him. When he occasionally played like a kitten — in this case, batting a smooth pebble around in my room — I took it as a blessing and brought Ptolly a likeness as a gift.
Gazing into his painted face, I wondered what Ptolly would have thought of the Capuan Lady of Isis. Would she have reminded him of Egypt and brought back good memories? Or would she have only confused him? I recalled how soon after his entombment — in a tomb that the Lady of Isis had paid for with donations from local believers — I had found myself increasingly furious with her.
I had confronted Isetnofret one afternoon as she exited the Room of Supplications. “We’ve been in Rome for years, yet you have done nothing,” I had accused. “Ptolly might still be alive today if only you had taken some action! If only you had contacted me! Amunet promised me her agents would work on our behalf, but you —”
Isetnofret had grabbed my upper arm and whisked me toward her private rose garden. “You must not speak openly about these matters,” she had ordered in a low voice. “You do not know who is listening!”
It had never occurred to me that there might have been spies even in the House of the Goddess. But once inside her small garden, she had allowed me to pour out my rage and grief in a torrent of hot tears and furious whispers.
When I’d finally finished, the Lady of Isis nodded her head sadly. “I do not like the delays either,” she’d said, “but these things take time. Rome’s plundering has weakened Egypt’s infrastructure to a greater degree than anybody could have predicted. Once things stabilize, we will move forward with our plans to reinstate you. You must have patience.”
“But what are the plans? And why can’t you —”
She put a hand up to silence me. “I will not risk anything by speaking too early. And I remind you that Rome is like a snarling beast,” she said. “We must wait until the brute gets distracted or weakens before we act.”
Her assurances soothed my impatience somewhat, but not my guilt. I could not move past the idea that Ptolly would have survived his fever if only I had figured out a way to get us back to Egypt.
I sighed as I gathered my things in Ptolly’s tomb. “I’m sorry, little brother,” I murmured to him, as I always did before I left his side. “I’m sorry I failed you.”
I headed for the priestess’s private garden, where she and I continued to meet. Whenever I visited, the priestess pushed books on me that I could not get in Rome — books on trade practices in Egypt, on the history of my family and its twisted relationship with Rome, on the Nile and its inundations, on anything, really, that might help me understand the politics, trade, and challenges of my kingdom. When my destiny was fulfilled, she swore, I would be ready.
She was waiting for me on a bench under a shade trellis overflowing with pink climbing roses. “Sit,” the Lady of Isis ordered. “I have a question for you.”
I sat on the edge of the cool marble and looked at her expectantly. Sometimes she tested me on my readings. I was ready to show her that I had indeed gained a greater understanding of the complexity of the Nile’s network of irrigation canals.
“Tell me,” she said. “Do you dream about the Goddess?”
I blinked, remembering how Lady Amunet had long ago asked me that question. I had told her the truth, that I had not; in Egypt, I still had the dreams of a child. But lately, I had indeed been dreaming of the Great Goddess. Isis came to me in my sleep, wearing the golden disk diadem on her head, her voice like the murmurs of the waves behind our palace in Alexandria. At the end of every dream, she beckoned to me. “Follow,” she said, before she turned her back to me and disappeared into the blackness, her mantle of stars widening to become the night sky. I always woke before I could follow her, and then felt nearly mad with disappointment. So strongly did I want to be with her, I would have gone to my death if she’d asked.
“The Goddess has called you,” the priestess said with satisfaction after I described the dream. “It is time for you to be initiated in the Mysteries of Isis.”
My heart raced with excitement. Hadn’t Mother said I would one day be initiated into her Mysteries? For a moment it was as if Mother were there with us, smiling at me, as if I had pleased her immensely. I suppressed a shiver of pleasure.
“What does being initiated mean?” I asked.
“It means you will consecrate yourself to the Goddess, that you have proven your loyalty and been blessed by her love. It also means that we are moving closer to the time of action.”
I must have looked confused, for she added, “We must take Egypt back from those who oppose the Great Goddess, namely Caesar and Rome. Traditionally, only an initiate of the Mysteries of Isis or Serapis could rule in the Two Lands. Fulfilling this sacred obligation is the first step toward reclaiming your destiny,”
She stood, her face shining with determination. “The full moon approaches. You must return within three days to begin the purification process. Twice you have defeated Caesar over the rites of the dead. Now it is time to claim victory over the rites of the living.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
As soon as I returned from Capua, I raced to find Alexandros, hoping that he would want to be initiated into the Mysteries with me. I planned on then going to Juba and asking him to escort us. I did not want to rely on Livia’s stable boys, for they would certainly report my doings in Capua to their domina. The less Livia knew about my connection to the Goddess and the temple, the better.
I found Zosima washing fruit in basins behind the kitchen. “Have you seen Alexandros?” I asked.
“No,” she said, though her eyes flicked in the direction of the back gardens. I grinned at her. “Wait!” she cried as I raced away.
The private gardens were lush and thick with myrtle, cypress, and boxwood. “Alexandros?” I called.
Rustling, in the direction of the grove of trees behind the flowerbeds. I headed that way, calling his name again, then stopped, sure I had heard murmurings. Ptolly’s cat burst out of the bushes with a small green snake wriggling in his mouth.
I jumped. “Gods, Sebi! You scared me half to death,” I said to his retreating backside, his tail high in the air with victory. “Alexandros?” I called.
I heard more murmuring and a sharp breath, so I quietly followed the sound around a copse of tall cypresses.
“Sister!”
I jumped. Alexandros had stepped out from behind a thicket. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his face flushed, his tunic wrinkled and covered in leaves and brush. “I was looking for you.”
“That I can see. Why don’t you head back and I will catch up with you later, yes?” He seemed nervous, distracted. “Is everything all right?” I asked.
“Fine. Just go, please.”
More rustling in the bushes behind him. Alexandros looked alarmed. Then I understood. My cheeks flushed.
“Yes, um. Just … find me soon. I have an important question to ask you.”
He nodded, his attention already shifting to the person he was trying to hide from my view. My chest swelled with curiosity, but I knew now was not the time. As I walked away, I was aware of the look of great relief on Alexandros’s face at my departure.
I knew I should have kept walking, but I could not resist. I turned, trying to catch a glimpse of my brother’s fancy. One of the new servant girls? The nubile you
ng performer who sometimes danced for Octavianus’s banquets? I could barely see through the thick foliage, but I spied a thatch of blond curls, accompanied by a distinctively male whisper and a low-trebled masculine laugh.
I gasped, covering my mouth. Marcellus? My brother’s lover was Marcellus? I shook my head in surprise. Oh, wouldn’t Octavianus love that, I thought. His Golden Boy with the son of his enemy. Pretty Marcellus! I ran back to Zosima, giggling the entire way.
I caught up with Alexandros on the way to the triclinium for dinner, but he was in no mood to talk. When I asked if he would come with me to the Temple of Isis for the Mysteries, he looked aghast.
“The Goddess hasn’t called you?” I whispered, surprised.
He shook his head and continued walking.
“Brother, wait,” I said. “Please don’t be embarrassed about this afternoon.” He groaned.
“If you want to keep it a secret, I will do so too, though I do not understand it.”
“You do not understand why it would be necessary to keep it a secret?” he hissed. “Then you surprise me, sister, for I thought you would see what a disaster this is!”
He stomped away, the color high on his neck. Gods, perhaps this was more serious than I’d thought. It seemed as if Alexandros had fallen hard!
At dinner that night, Alexandros shared a couch with Marcellus and Juba as he often did, though he seemed to be pointedly ignoring his lover. I reclined with Antonia-the-Elder and Julia. Livia and Octavianus, thankfully, dined alone that evening, leaving us to ourselves. Alexandros’s discomfort and intensity surprised me. I thought it was sweet, though, and I stifled a chuckle.
“What is so amusing?” Julia asked.
“Nothing,” I answered, picturing Octavianus’s face upon learning of Marcellus’s predilections. I suppressed another giggle but not very successfully.
Both Marcellus and Juba looked in my direction. Marcellus grinned. “Well, Selene, you look like Jason when he first set eyes upon the Golden Fleece. What tickles you so?”
I widened my eyes innocently. Juba and Marcellus smiled back at my light mood, but Alexandros seemed mortified.
Julia, who never could stand being excluded, sat up angrily. “What is so funny, Selene?” she repeated. “You must tell us.”
I shook my head. “Not my business to tell.”
“Why not?” she asked with an edge. “What would be so awful if the rest of the world knew? Unless,” she continued, her voice dropping, “you have something to hide yourself. Who is the lover that brings such a flush to your cheeks?”
“My lover?” I said, confused. But she was not staring at me — she was staring at Alexandros. I bristled at the insinuation. Tiberius and Julia usually found some way to imply that Alexandros and I had an incestuous relationship, simply because of our Ptolemaic ancestry and Egyptian legacy.
“Yes, yes! Do tell us,” Marcellus said, grinning, seeming to miss Julia’s intimation. “We want to know what man is brave enough to dare!”
Julia cackled, and this time, I really did flush at the insult. Gods, one would think he would be extra solicitous to me, the sister of his lover! But then my stomach dropped. Maybe it was not a joke. Maybe, like Juba, he saw me as an unattractive gadfly.
Marcellus looked at my face and sat up. “Selene, I jest!”
Julia continued laughing. I looked at Alexandros, but his eyes were on Julia with an expression I could not read. I guessed my expression was easy enough to decipher. I signaled for my shoes and sat up. A slave scurried over and began tying my sandals.
“Wait,” Marcellus said. “I meant no insult.”
“I was not hungry anyway,” I said brightly. “Besides, I feel like taking a walk. Perhaps I’ll flush out and frighten away any poor unfortunate male who happens to cross my path.” I walked out.
I heard footsteps behind me. Figuring it was Alexandros, I kept going. How dare he sit back and let his lover insult me like that!
“Selene, wait!” To my surprise, it was Marcellus. I kept walking. He quickly caught up. “Selene …”
“My name is Cleopatra Selene….”
“Cleopatra Selene. Let me apologize. Please. I meant no insult.”
I stole a glance at him as we walked. I could see why my brother would fall for him. He really was beautiful, with his mop of curly blond hair and gray-blue eyes. He looked so sincere and sorry, I wavered, but I did not slow down, heading toward the small fountain at the corner of the gardens.
“Thank you for the apology,” I said coolly, “but I am still surprised you would insult the sister of your lover. Just so it is known, it is not a good strategy for ingratiating yourself with me.”
“What?”
“Unless you are just using him,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him. “Then it would not matter that you insulted his twin. Do I need to worry about that?” I felt a surge of protectiveness for Alexandros.
Marcellus shook his head and laughed. “What in the name of Hades are you talking about?”
We had reached the little fountain and I turned to him, hands on hips. “Marcellus, truly, you can drop the pretense. I saw you together in the gardens this afternoon. There is no sense in my pretending I don’t know. Rest assured I will keep it a secret as long as Alexandros wants me to.”
He ran his hand through his curls, a bewildered look on his face. I crossed my arms, surprised that he seemed at such a loss for words.
“How long have you and my brother been together?” I asked.
To my surprise, Marcellus burst out laughing. “You thought … you think that Alexandros and I … that we are lovers?”
“Well, yes,” I said, a little confused. “I … I saw you.”
He stopped laughing when he saw my expression. “All right. I am sorry. I will stop laughing. But truly, the irony …” He began chuckling again.
“I saw you!” I repeated.
“When? Where? What did you see?”
“This afternoon! Your blond hair …”
“Julia and both Marcellas have blond hair,” he said. “What made you think it was me?”
I made a face. Julia was always so hateful, I could not imagine Alexandros spending any time with her, and the Marcella sisters were as bland as sheep. If my brother had any taste, it could only have been Marcellus!
“I heard masculine whispering and a masculine laugh….”
“That’s it? You jumped to the conclusion that it was me based on a thatch of blond hair and a masculine laugh?”
I nodded, uncertain now. He sighed and sat down on the scalloped edge of the clam-shaped fountain. “Selene, you have noticed that your brother is … well … to be blunt, masculine himself?”
“But his voice … Alexandros’s laugh is higher than the one I heard.”
“You seem not to have noticed that your brother is nearly a grown man. His voice changed long ago! And I spent my afternoon assisting Caesar with the governance of Rome and not with Alexandros in the woods.”
I flushed. “Well then, who did I see? Who was with him in the woods?”
“I do not know, nor do I care. What troubles me is how quickly you assumed that it was me.”
“Why? Is Alexandros not good enough for you?” I asked defensively.
“That is not what I meant,” he said. He stood, moving closer to me. “It is that you would think me his lover when you hardly notice …” I looked up. “Hardly notice what?”
He bent down and whispered against my lips, “How much I want to be yours.”
I stiffened in surprise. He pressed his mouth to mine, and I panicked. I did not know what to do, how to breathe, where to put my hands. But I did not want to reveal how much I did not know, so I tightened my lips and kissed back.
Marcellus pulled away, chuckling. “You have not done this before, have you?”
I could feel my face burn.
“No, no, don’t be embarrassed,” he whispered. “Let me show you.” He took my face in his hands and said, “Close your eyes.” I did.
“Now, just focus all your attention on the sensations. Don’t do or think about anything else.”
His hands were warm on the sides of my face. He kissed the corner of one side of my mouth, then the other. I shivered, finding to my surprise that I was having difficulty breathing normally. He ran his tongue over my closed lips.
“Open your mouth,” he whispered. I did. After a time — I could not tell how long — he murmured, “You are a quick learner.”
I was flooded with warmth, my skin tingling, a heaviness in my lower abdomen. He had wrapped my hands around his neck and pressed himself against me. I was drowning in sensation. I had lived so long wrapped in my own grief that the feel of his skin, his scent, the taste of his mouth, overwhelmed me.
Marcellus moved his mouth to my neck, kissing it slowly. I shivered again. It was dusk, and the light was almost purple, adding to the sense of unreality. Small circles of brightness burst around us as servants lit torches and lamps in the great house and courtyard.
“Marcellus!” someone hissed.
We jumped apart. Juba was staring at us with a shocked expression. “What in the name of all that is sacred do you think you are doing?”
“What does it look like? Why have you followed us out here?”
“I came to talk to Cleopatra Selene,” Juba said. “I was worried about her.”
“I think I have it covered, friend,” Marcellus said.
The awkward moment lengthened, and I realized they were both waiting for a reaction from me. Only I did not know what to say. I felt like I had stood up too quickly after drinking a great deal of undiluted wine.
Juba cleared his throat and looked at me. “I also came to tell you that I am able to escort you after all. I have made the proper arrangements so that I can be away for several days.”
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