Cleopatra's Moon

by Vicky Alvear Shecter

  “Marcellus, you can’t tell Octavianus about us yet. He would —”

  “Do not worry.” He put his arms around me again. “I will explore our options carefully without letting on that I have fallen under your spell.”

  I groaned inwardly, hating how men blamed their own lusts on women’s “magic.” But I did not say anything. Instead, I pressed against him harder as we kissed.

  “Wait for me, yes?” he breathed. “You will see. I will convince Caesar. He will not deny me anything I want. And I want you.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  In What Would Have Been the Twenty-sixth Year of My Mother’s Reign

  In My Sixteenth Year (25 BCE)

  I spent the months after Marcellus’s departure generating endless alternate plans should he fail to convince Octavianus that a union between us made good political sense.

  At the first sign of Octavianus’s rage or rejection, I told myself, I would steal away to Ostia with Alexandros. Through the network of Isis worshipers in the harbor city, we were sure to find secret passage back to Egypt. But I would not go to Alexandria. Instead, I would travel to Heliopolis. There I would convince the Priests and Priestesses of Ra — who had, according to Isetnofret, promised to financially support our efforts to retake the throne — to melt their hidden caches of gold so I could raise a mercenary army.

  This plan, of course, was weak for many reasons. I knew nobody in Ostia; I was gambling that the Isis devotees in Ostia would help us rather than turn us in; and there was no way of knowing if the priests of Heliopolis would trust me enough to fund my efforts. But it was all I had.

  After much research, I settled on Nubia as the most viable source for raising a mercenary army. Long known for their skill in warfare, Nubians in general had little love for or interest in the doings of Rome. I wondered if perhaps I could do without having to purchase an army at all. What if I could convince the Nubians that Rome was planning to invade them? Surely then they would see the sense of joining with me in kicking Rome out of Egypt in a preemptive move for self-preservation.

  The downside was that Nubia might then demand ownership of Egypt as a price for her help. The Nubians had ruled in Egypt hundreds of years ago. Who could say whether they would not want to do so again?

  I even considered contacting King Phraates of Parthia, Rome’s biggest enemy, and offering myself as wife to one of his sons in return for his protection in securing my throne. But Parthian involvement would surely end in war with Rome. It did not help that Phraates was dangerous and unpredictable. He had killed his father as well as thirty brothers to hold his kingdom. Without an army of my own, how could I hope to keep him from taking over Egypt just as Rome had?

  And so I went, around and around. As the months flew by, my heart grew heavy with doubt that my alliance with Marcellus would come to anything, especially since I had not heard from him. What did it mean that he did not write to me? Had he found someone new? Tired of me already?

  Worse, I noticed that Alexandros occasionally received letters from Juba, who also never wrote to me. I felt his rejection like a slap, even as I understood it. Pondering the meaning of their silence during my regular afternoon stroll around the garden, I stopped when I saw Livia’s lady bustling toward me.

  “Domina requires you in her tablinum,” she called. “Now.”

  My stomach dropped. I had managed to turn avoiding Livia into a high art. A direct summons could not be a good thing. I swallowed my fear and followed the lady to the house of my enemy’s wife.

  “Ah, Selene. Come. Sit,” Livia said after her lady announced me. She leaned back in her thronelike chair inlaid with mother of pearl; a chair, I knew, that had come from our palace at Alexandria.

  I sat stiffly on the low backless bench across from her desk, wondering what she wanted. Livia stared at me as if trying to read my thoughts. She wore a rose-colored gown, pearl earrings, and a golden torque her husband had brought back from his last trip to Gaul. Quite understated, really, for the richest woman in the world.

  “Is there something going on between Alexandros and Julia?” Livia asked.

  I blinked. One of the house slaves must have talked. I widened my eyes in innocence and shook my head.

  Livia arched an eyebrow. “You know, it would be just like my stepdaughter to pick the one person who would anger her father the most. Caesar often complains that he has two spoiled daughters — Rome and Julia. But I disagree. It is only Julia who is spoiled. He has much better control over Rome.”

  She seemed to be waiting for a reaction from me. I lifted my chin and held her gaze, even as my pulse pounded. Had she told Octavianus? What would he do to Alexandros?

  Livia smiled, looking away for a moment. “I have not brought you here to discuss your brother, though I urge you to ask him to be more discreet,” she said. “I brought you here because I want to show you something.” She pulled out a small basket of letters, some rolled, others folded. “These came for you.”

  “Then why do you have them?” I asked, fear and outrage swirling together like smoke from two torches.

  “I have your letters because they endanger your life.”

  “What?”

  “These are letters from Marcellus to you,” she said. “Love letters, I believe.” Then she smirked. “Perhaps it would be more accurate to call them lust letters.”

  Anger surged up my spine. “You read my private correspondence?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Let’s just say that I hope Marcellus is a better politician than he is a poet.”

  How dare she? I put my hand out. “Give them to me!”

  “Not yet.” She leaned back and put the tips of her fingers together, studying me. I suppressed a shiver, remembering how Octavianus had placed his hands the very same way before announcing that he was going to marry me off to a wife murderer.

  “What are you up to, Selene?” she asked in almost a whisper. “I would think you would have been smart enough to take Juba’s offer. He is, after all, soon to be named king of Numidia.”

  I swallowed. How did she know about his offer? Then the full implication of her words hit me. “Octavianus has made him king?”

  She tipped her head ever so slightly. “I intercepted his letters too, though I thought you might have heard nonetheless. Yes, Caesar is naming Juba client-king of Numidia, though it is as yet unannounced. A brilliant move, really.”

  I stared at her, unable to breathe — not just in outrage at her meddling but in shock that Juba had succeeded. A part of me had always worried he did not have the internal strength to push Octavianus to his own ends. Yet he had done it. He had done it!

  “Juba too mentions Marcellus, which is why I kept his letters as well. Really, Selene, you have been a very busy girl. But I am trying to protect Juba. If Caesar learns that he knew about you and Marcellus and did not report the information, I fear he will lose his newly earned command. I have always had great affection for our new Numidian king.”

  When I did not respond, she leaned forward in her chair, arms gripping the armrests carved in the shape of papyrus plants. “So I ask you again, Selene. What are you up to with Marcellus?”

  “Marcellus has pursued me,” I said, trying to find my footing again.

  “Marcellus pursues anything in a tunica,” she muttered. “However, he seems to have plans for you. For your future. I find that very curious. Who gave him that idea?”

  I said nothing. After a long moment, she said, “You do realize that if Caesar finds out about this, he will —”

  “Kill me.” And we both know it would be by your hand, I thought. But I did not say anything. There was no sense in further antagonizing her. Finally, I asked, “Does he know?”

  “No. But I am concerned about Marcellus’s lack of caution in writing to you about his plans. It shows a certain weakness of character, a naïveté, if you will.”

  “Unlike Tiberius, who we both know is much more devious.”

  She paused. “I wouldn’t use th
e word ‘devious’ for my eldest son. The word I would select is ‘cunning’ A type of intelligence that would serve the Roman empire better than innocent stupidity, don’t you think?”

  I felt the force of her ambition and power vibrating in the air around me like an unheard growl. Livia hated that her husband had named Marcellus his successor over her own firstborn, Tiberius. That was clear. But to what ends would she go to achieve her aims? And how would she use what she knew to manipulate this situation in her son’s favor? She now had two pieces of information that could cause our deaths — Alexandros’s relationship with Julia and my hopes for a union with Marcellus.

  Livia ran her buffed fingernails over the basket of letters. “I have wondered whether I should warn Octavianus about Marcellus’s attachment to you, or let him discover it for himself.”

  I felt my heart skitter unevenly. “Why haven’t you told him?” I asked. “Then you would finally be rid of us.”

  Livia blinked. “I have no desire to get rid of you,” she said. “Indeed, I’ve done everything I could to protect you! Despite what you may think, Selene, I admired your mother. In fact, I always suspected that she and I would have gotten along famously.”

  Anger clawed up my chest. How dare she pretend she had not at least once tried to get us murdered? And how dare she imply that she and my mother were alike! Mother would have crushed her with one look.

  “To answer your question, I have not told my husband about Marcellus’s passion for you because it appears your lover is doing plenty to incriminate himself. Once my husband discovers it, he will finally see what a foolish choice he has made in naming Marcellus his heir. Tiberius will then be the only rational choice.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” I asked.

  “Because I need to warn you against one thing.”

  “Which is?”

  “Octavia.”

  “Octavia?” I laughed.

  “Yes. Marcellus is her only son. If she were to discover that her beloved boy has fallen for the daughter of the woman who stole her husband …”

  Livia was so transparent, I almost laughed in her face. If she thought she could turn me against Octavia — the woman who had given my mother her sacred oath to keep us safe — she was sadly mistaken.

  I said, “I do not understand your meaning.”

  She sighed. “Perhaps it is better that way. I believe we are finished here.”

  My spine stiffened in irritation. I was not leaving without what was rightfully mine. “The letters, please.”

  “Oh, no. They are headed for the fires of the hypocaust.”

  “Give them to me,” I demanded, standing. She arched an eyebrow and sat back.

  “Then I will take them!” I reached over and snatched at the scrolls. I unrolled one, almost ripping the papyrus in my haste. Blank. I opened another. And another.

  “You underestimate me if you think I would keep them for just anyone to find,” Livia sneered. “No. I burned everything as it came in, except for one or two that I can use to incriminate Marcellus.” She stood up. “I hope I do not have to use them, but I am prepared to do so if necessary. Again, you may leave.”

  As I turned and left, I felt her stare of hatred piercing my back like an archer-battalion’s worth of arrows.

  Livia continued intercepting my mail — or at least I assumed so, since I never received anything from either Juba or Marcellus. But it was Juba’s letters I wanted to read the most.

  I was brimming with curiosity. Numidia had been a Roman province run by a Roman governor for decades. How did that governor feel about being replaced by a client-king? What about the Numidians? Did they consider Juba a Romanized traitor or welcome him as a true son of Numidia? Clearly, naming Juba king ran the risk of destabilizing the region. And yet somehow — some way — Juba had convinced Octavianus to take the risk anyway. How?

  But whenever I asked Alexandros about it, he shrugged. “He doesn’t give me details,” he said. “Mostly he writes about how the battles are going.”

  I knew I should have been proud and happy for Juba, but instead I felt a stinging sense of loss. He had wanted me as a partner in his new adventure. Did I make a mistake in rejecting him? My heart said yes, but my mind always veered back to my initiation vision. I had walked away from Juba and toward Marcellus. How much clearer could the Goddess have been? My destiny was Egypt, not Numidia.

  Still, I could not stop thinking about him. Once I dreamt we lay naked under a canopy of white on a terrace facing the sea. The sounds of the ocean, the faint cries of seabirds, the flapping of silk window coverings — it was as if I had returned to Alexandria with him. But it wasn’t Alexandria, because my beloved Lighthouse was not there.

  Sleepily, he turned to face me, a smile on his full lips. “My queen,” he whispered. I smiled back, leaning down to press my mouth on his, whispering, “My king.”

  I never knew how to interpret these dreams. Were they merely a reflection of my wishes, or was the Goddess reprimanding me for not accepting his offer? How was I to know? Again, I wished that I could have spoken to the Priestess of Isis, but I had continued avoiding her after the Gallus fiasco in order to keep her safe.

  But if I did speak to her, I would demand an answer to a question that plagued me night and day: Why would the gods return Juba’s kingdom to him, but not Egypt to me?

  As the months wore on, I found it impossible to break the stranglehold Livia had on letters coming from Spain. Most were hand delivered to her by soldiers — whom I dared not approach — but occasionally messenger boys carrying stacks of correspondence arrived at the compound. Those I tried to bribe, but they ran from me with terror in their eyes. What punishment had Livia threatened them with?

  Worse, after a time, letters stopped coming altogether. Did it mean the fighting in Spain was not going well? Even though it was not unusual for correspondence throughout the empire to get lost, damaged, or stolen, the lack of any news at all coming from Spain set my teeth on edge.

  The only good news I received was that the elder Corbulo — the man Octavianus was planning to marry me to — had died. Word was that his boat sank while he was sailing between his villas in Stabiae and Herculaneum. His body washed ashore near Pompeii. When I took a deep breath after hearing the news, I found that, for the first time since Octavianus’s threat, I could fill my lungs all the way.

  Marcellus returned home almost six months after Livia had announced she was intercepting all my letters. We greeted him as a family the morning of his return, but by that evening, I still had not seen him alone, which worried me. Had he changed his mind about me? Had something gone wrong?

  I turned over on my sleeping pallet and sighed. Tanafriti, curled at my feet, and Sebi, purring at my side, brought their heads up. Their ears twitched and their tails jerked, their eyes gleaming in the dark. “What?” I murmured.

  “Cleopatra Selene, are you up?” A male voice. My heart thudded. “It is me, Marcellus.”

  I breathed out and ran to the privacy drape. “Marcellus, what are you doing?”

  He looked around the dark hallway, then slipped into my cubiculum, closing the drape behind him. “I could not get away earlier,” he whispered. “But I had to see you.” He held me tight against him. “Gods, it was torture not seeing you when I knew you were so close,” he whispered.

  He kissed me softly at first, barely grazing my lips, then with more intensity. I was surprised to find that I felt nothing. I no longer responded to his touch the way I had when his attraction to me was a novelty.

  We kissed some more, and he led me to my sleeping couch. I hesitated. He gave my arm a little tug, and I sat next to him.

  But Sebi did not like the intrusion. He hissed at Marcellus.

  Marcellus jumped. “You have a snake in your bed?”

  “It’s just the cat,” I said. “Shhhh,” I murmured to Sebi. “It is okay, Meiu-man.”

  “It sounded like a snake!” Marcellus grumbled. Like many Romans, he was deeply discomfite
d by cats and their mysterious ways. “Why did you not write me back? I was afraid you had stopped caring for me or found someone else.”

  “I never got your letters,” I whispered.

  “What do you mean? Somebody intercepted them? What fool would dare open one of my letters!”

  “Shhhh. Keep your voice down. A ‘fool’ named Livia, by the way.” He gaped at me. “She knows?” I nodded.

  “Has she told Caesar?”

  “No. She says she wants him to discover it on his own so he sees for himself what a foolish choice he made in naming you heir.”

  “That witch!” he said with a growl. “I suppose she wants to convince Caesar her little dark-haired demon should be heir. I shudder to think of Tiberius in charge!”

  “Did you talk to Octavianus about us?”

  “Not exactly,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I could barely mention your name without him getting angry. Furious, more like it. Then, after a while, he said he had a special plan for you.”

  I groaned.

  “Do not despair. We just need to give him more time. You’ll see.” He brushed my hair off my forehead. “Did you miss me?” I did not respond right away. “Cleopatra Selene, you did not answer me.”

  “Of course I missed you,” I said quickly. “You were all I could think of.” I tried not to wince at how false I sounded, hoping he did not notice.

  “Come here,” he whispered. We kissed, and after a time he lay down on the rumpled linen blanket of my sleeping couch and brought me down beside him. He smelled of sun and leather and even a metallic hint of blood, as if his time in the baths could not fully remove the scent of soldiering from his skin.

  “Marcellus, I don’t think this is such a good idea….”