Cleopatra's Moon

by Vicky Alvear Shecter

  “Just listen to me,” Juba said, releasing my wrist and speaking in a soft voice as if he were gentling a horse. “We both want to make sure Alexandros is safe. I have an idea that may help both of you. But first, tell me what you were planning with Gallus.”

  “The priestess and her people had word that Gallus was restless in Egypt. They engineered a plan where I would marry him and take control of Egypt….”

  “What? And how would you do this? By murdering him? You would have done this?”

  “No, though it makes sense to forge a union with a Roman.” Like Mother, I thought. “Thanks to you, I have come to accept that nothing can be accomplished without Rome,” I added.

  Juba frowned. “But the plan was discovered.”

  “I do not know what was discovered or when. Clearly they knew there was a plot and suspected someone from Octavianus’s compound.”

  He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I’m sure Caesar suspects you. Gods. I’m going to have to wait. He will probably be too angry right now to listen to my proposal.”

  “Your proposal for what?”

  Juba cleared his throat a couple of times, almost as if he were nervous. This surprised me. What could he possibly be nervous about?

  “Cleopatra Selene, from the moment I first saw you — even in Alexandria — you have compelled me to question things I had never before questioned. Which, I admit, I did not always appreciate. I would have been happy to live as a Roman scholar for the rest of my life, but … but your challenges haunted me. And your gadfly questions dogged me.”

  I looked down, remembering how insulted I felt when he had called me a gadfly that disastrous afternoon under the citron tree.

  “So, telling no one, I have been exploring my options for reclaiming my legacy in Numidia.”

  My mouth dropped open.

  He smiled ruefully. “I have been learning Numidian Punic. And … and I have been exploring what kind of case I can make to Caesar to convince him to let me rule there.” He took a breath. “I was going to propose … I was thinking of asking him about … of asking you … to marry me.”

  “What?”

  He flushed. “You are a princess of Egypt. The people of Numidia would welcome you as a co-ruler. I need your strength, your determination to rule beside me … and it would be a way to get Alexandros out of Rome and away from Julia too.”

  I stared, still shocked. He stepped closer. “But … but that’s not the only reason. I … well, I care for you very deeply. I want you beside me. I want you to be my queen.”

  I took a step back. The vision from the Goddess. Juba had called me his queen! But in the vision, I walked away from him — and toward Marcellus. What did it mean? I had wondered why the Goddess hadn’t showed me Gallus. Had she known what would happen to him? Was Marcellus my future? But then why was this happening now?

  When I did not say anything, Juba cleared his throat again. “That is why I was with Caesar in the stables this morning,” he continued. “I told him we needed to ride privately. I wanted to present my case to him before he left for Spain.”

  “And then I walked by and he spotted me.”

  “Yes.”

  A bird chirped and sang in the limbs above us before flying off. Light dappled the ground at our feet; the willow’s limbs swayed in the warm breeze.

  “Why did you not tell me this earlier?” I asked. “Or include me in the planning?” Was this just another example of a Roman man making decisions and plans that affected my life, my future, without ever consulting me? Even so, I could see the wisdom in protecting me in case Octavianus didn’t take the offer well.

  “I … I did not want to say anything in case I did not succeed,” he confirmed. “I have to make a strong case for this. So, I have been doing the research first. I’ve been studying my country’s history, what is happening there now, how Caesar is likely to react to my request, how strongly the governor of the province would fight the change in government, whether the people of Numidia would revolt. There is much to learn and consider.”

  “A scholar to the very end,” I muttered.

  “Cleopatra Selene …”

  I shook my head, trying to understand how we got to this point. There was a time when I would have melted at his offer, and part of me still rejoiced at the idea that he cared for me. But was he really asking me to forget my own legacy to help him pursue his?

  “I did not want to spring this on you this way,” he said. “I wanted to wait until I had a chance to talk to Caesar, to feel him out about sending me back to my homeland.”

  “What about my homeland? What about Egypt?” I asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Am I simply to abandon my dreams of my homeland to help you recover yours?”

  Juba scowled. “You must see that Caesar is going to put an even greater stranglehold on Egypt after this fiasco with Gallus. But in Numidia we can create a new Alexandria….”

  “Juba, I cannot turn my back on Egypt.”

  “Cleopatra Selene, you must let go of this fantasy that you will ever rule in Egypt. Egypt’s wealth is too important, too valuable to Rome for Octavianus to risk allowing you even to go near it again. But you were meant to rule. Together we will create a kingdom worthy to be Egypt’s successor.”

  I sat down on the marble bench, confused. Juba sat next to me. I felt him looking at me. He brushed a strand of hair off my face.

  He turned my face toward his. How I had ached for this for so long! He touched his lips to mine, softly, gently. I closed my eyes as a wave of longing and desire for him washed through me. But I pulled away.

  “I am no longer a lovesick little girl,” I said.

  “I am no longer an idiot denying my feelings for you.”

  I stood up, more confused than ever. I remembered the vision of our skin-to-skin embrace under the sweet citron tree, of how right it felt to be loving him. He stood behind me, moved my hair off my neck, and kissed me lightly up to my earlobe. I shivered at the feel of his hands on my waist, his warm mouth on my neck.

  “We were meant to be together,” he whispered.

  Without thinking, I turned and kissed him back, winding my arms around his neck. Despite what I had told myself, I had never really stopped wanting him. The feel of his warm skin, his hands on my back, the taste of him … This was different than what I felt when I kissed Marcellus. With Juba it felt as if all my souls — my ka, my ba, and all my true selves — fused together into a single desire. For him.

  “Be my queen,” he murmured against my neck, and I froze, remembering the vision again. I had walked away from Juba. I had told myself, A queen must sacrifice her personal desires for the good of her people. Did the Goddess want me to sacrifice my desire for Juba? Is that what this all meant?

  “What?” he whispered.

  I pulled away. “This … cannot happen.”

  He looked baffled. “Why?”

  How could I explain?

  His expression changed. “Is it Marcellus?”

  I did not answer. I did not say anything. I could not ignore the possibility that the Goddess intended me to regain my throne through Marcellus, especially now that Gallus was dead. Didn’t Mother ally with Julius Caesar when her brother tried to overthrow her?

  “Cleopatra Selene, you must see that this is a game Marcellus plays. I’ve told you before … You intrigue him because you haven’t fallen at his feet. I have seen it happen too many times. As soon as the girl falls in love with him, he loses interest. Worse, if Caesar finds out …”

  “Marcellus is Octavianus’s chosen successor,” I said quietly. “He … he may help me return to Egypt.”

  I realized then that I had made my choice. My personal feelings — Juba’s feelings — were irrelevant in the face of a chance to reclaim my legacy. But if that were true, why did it feel as if my insides were being torn from my bones?

  “You believe that he pursues you to help you?” Juba said, sounding hurt and angry. “It is all a game to him!�
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  “I cannot walk away from a future in Egypt. If I forge a strong alliance with him, he could reinstate me….”

  “He would do no such thing! Are you mad?”

  “Maybe I am,” I whispered as my throat clogged. I kissed his lips very lightly before turning away and stepping out from the shade of the willow tree. I did not want him to see my tears. I did not want him to know that despite my bravado, my chest ached with what I’d always known but never admitted, even to myself. I loved Juba. I always had.

  But none of that mattered. Egypt came first.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Octavianus’s freedman Thyrsus found me by the rain pool in Octavia’s peristylum, where I had gone to try to make sense of the day’s events. “Caesar has been looking for you. He awaits you in his study,” he said. “You must come now — I will escort you.”

  “I know where his tablinum is,” I said as we reached Octavianus’s house.

  “He is not in the downstairs tablinum. He is in Syracuse.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “That is what he calls his private study upstairs,” he explained. “Come. It will be easier if I announce you.”

  I followed him up the airless, dark stairwell, forcing myself to keep my breathing steady. I would not show fear, no matter what Octavianus said or claimed he knew.

  “Selene is here to see you, sire,” Thyrsus said after knocking on the small wooden door.

  “Bring her in.”

  I entered a small, sweltering room covered in frescoes featuring theater actors in exaggerated grotesque masks. The heavy black and red paint of the mural’s background made the room seem even smaller. The room reeked of stale sweat and sour wine and the slightly oily, charred scent of writing ink made from lampblack.

  “You may leave,” Octavianus said to Thyrsus, but his man hesitated, looking anxiously at me.

  “Bring some wine,” Octavianus ordered. After Thyrsus left, he turned to me and inspected me slowly. “Tell me, have you spoken with your brother today?”

  “No.” I had looked for him after I had returned from the Subura, but he was nowhere to be found. Neither was Julia.

  He grunted. His unsettling gray eyes bore into mine as if he could read my thoughts. I kept my face impassive, remembering Mother’s skill at this game.

  “What do you know about Cornelius Gallus?” he asked.

  “Who?”

  He smiled dangerously. “You are too smart to play dumb, Selene. Tell me what you know.”

  “I know that you left him in charge of Egypt,” I said. “Anything else?”

  “My nurse has heard some gossip.”

  “And what would that gossip be?”

  “That he has died.”

  “Ah. Do you know how he died?” he asked, putting the tips of his fingers together to create a triangle with his hands.

  “Suicide.”

  He stared at me and let the silence drag on. Sweat trickled down my spine.

  “Not quite. It seems my good friend Cornelius decided that he deserved more power and recognition than I had allotted him,” he said in a quiet tone. “The fool.

  “So,” he continued, “I had him executed.”

  I drew in a breath. He smirked. “Of course, the official version is that he ‘fell on his sword.’ Either way, thanks to his inept stupidity, I now claim all his holdings too. Worked out quite nicely for me, don’t you think?”

  I suppressed a shudder. Octavianus stood up and circled me. Too close. Why was he so close? Every inch of me wanted to recoil in disgust, but I concentrated on steadying my breathing. The man lived on others’ fear. I would not feed him.

  “My agents tell me someone from my household may have been involved in this grab for Egypt,” he said softly as he walked behind me. “Your brother says he knew nothing about it. I believe him.”

  He circled back to stand just inches from my face. “And do you know why I believe your bastard brother? Because of the two, you’re the one foolish enough to try to defy me.”

  I carefully arranged my expression into a look of innocent confusion. “I do not understand what you mean….”

  He chuckled, and it was as if low-growling Amut the Destroyer had entered the room. He moved closer still to me, so that I had to use every ounce of self-control not to wince away from him.

  “Your wine, sire,” Thyrsus announced, stepping in.

  Octavianus stepped back. “Thank you. You may leave now.”

  Thyrsus hesitated. “Sire, Domina asks for your presence in her —”

  He snorted. “Go.”

  Thyrsus left, looking back at me. Octavianus grasped the neck of the wine decanter and poured himself a cup. “Would you like some?” he asked with exaggerated politeness.

  “No. Thank you.”

  He came close again, and I could smell the sharp tang of wine on his breath. “I will discover the truth,” he said. “But in the meantime, I have decided to marry you off and remove you from my premises.”

  “What?” My heart thudded. Like every paterfamilias, Octavianus had complete power over me in this regard. “But … but you changed the law to move up the age of marriage for girls to eighteen! I am only —”

  “Oh, I know what I’ve been saying. But those laws don’t apply to you, as you are not a true daughter of Rome.” He took a sip of wine, then licked his lips. “There are some senators’ sons who have indicated interest, but I would not subject them to you. You would eat them alive. So I will marry you to someone who would eat you alive first — Placus Munius Corbulo. The Elder.”

  I gasped. Corbulo was the wrinkled, bald, tottering man I had seen in the garden with him so long ago. He had to be almost sixty!

  “A despicable old leech, but he is filthy rich and he has expressed an interest in tasting Egypt,” he said with a narrowed-eye smile. “Honestly, I don’t know how his other wives stood him, but they all died mysteriously after marrying him anyway.”

  I struggled to keep my face blank. I would not give him the outraged reaction he sought. I concentrated on the twisted face of the tragedy mask painted on the wall — the open mouth, frozen in silent horror.

  “I leave for Spain in two days,” he said. “But rest assured I shall pursue the matter while I am gone. I am sure Corbulo will be more than amenable to the arrangement, and I, for one, will enjoy watching you live the life of a miserable Roman matron. For as long as you survive, anyway.” He smiled at me. “Seems somehow fitting, doesn’t it? Your mother destroyed a good Roman marriage, so we will arrange a good Roman marriage that will destroy you.”

  He took a gulp of wine and brushed his wet lips with the back of his hand. “You may leave now.”

  My feet skittered on the wooden steps leading down from his private study. I wanted to run, to get away from Rome and Octavianus as far and as fast as possible. I thought about stealing away to the Temple in Capua, but I knew he would find me there, and I could not risk hurting any more innocent devotees of the Goddess. What would he do to the priestess if he knew of her involvement? Gods! I would have to avoid her to keep her safe!

  But I had to do something, go somewhere. Could I somehow make it to Ostia and onto a ship to Egypt? Or Africa? Anywhere but Rome! I could not bear the idea of being first used, then killed, by some arrogant Roman! Old feelings of despair and rage circled up my throat as I faced the utter powerlessness of my situation.

  I went in search of Alexandros. If Octavianus was going to marry me off, what would he do with him? I stopped at the courtyard fountain, trying to calm myself. Octavianus’s people would be watching me carefully now. I did not want anyone reporting how seriously he had disturbed me.

  Julia emerged from the direction of the gardens. “Oh, hello, sister,” she called, a flushed smile on her face, but she did not stop. She merely grinned at me and sauntered away. I put my hands under one of the fountain’s dolphin spouts, trying to rinse away the memory of Octavianus’s threat.

  “Did you know Octavianus was looking for you
earlier?” Alexandros asked.

  I jumped. “Gods, you scared me!”

  A small leaf hung by the stem on the dark curls at the base of his neck. He had emerged from the same thicket Julia had just walked out of. I groaned. “Brother, shouldn’t you and Julia be more careful? Or are you trying to get caught and then killed?”

  Alexandros shrugged. “Julia enjoys taking risks. What can I say? And it is not as if I am going to refuse her.”

  “Oh, Isis! Please tell me you aren’t actually sleeping together!”

  Alexandros did not respond.

  I closed my eyes. “He will kill us both now.”

  “He doesn’t know,” Alexandros said. “And he’s leaving for Spain, so we are safe.”

  “Are you … are you mad? The slaves and servants must know. They know everything! It is a matter of time before word gets to him. And what if she gets pregnant?”

  “We are careful.” Alexandros dipped his hands in the fountain’s basin. “Besides, I don’t care anymore,” he muttered, sounding despondent.

  “Why? Have you finally fallen in love with her?”

  He laughed bitterly. I stared at him, confused. I had been so wrapped up with my plans for Egypt and Gallus, I had barely paid attention to my twin. My stomach clenched. What was going on?

  “Tell me,” I said.

  “Surely you heard the news too,” he said.

  “What news?”

  “Iotape.”

  I looked at him blankly. Then I remembered the beautiful little girl my brother had been betrothed to in Alexandria, she of the shining black eyes and silken hair.

  “What about her?”

  “She has married King Mithridates of Commagene,” he said. “My betrothed married someone else.”

  “But … but …” I did not know what to say. Had he held on to the hope that they would somehow marry, even after all these years?

  Alexandros swallowed hard, and he kept his eyes on his fingers under the water. “One of the slaves here is from Medea. He helped me get letters to her and delivered letters from her to me. We have never forgotten each other. We were going to find a way to be reunited. We were going to disappear and live a simple life together….” He trailed off, his voice thick with suppressed emotion.