"Thanks be to Thoth!" I breathed. The baboon-god of wisdom had protected his own, even against the royal cobra.
After such a night, it is little wonder that I found myself nervous as I stood beside Amanishakheto in the throne room and awaited the prisoner. Outside, all was bright and glorious; night had fled with the snake, and they both seemed unreal.
Amanishakheto was dressed in fiery red robes overlaid with a blue beaded sash, and again she was loaded down with gold jewelry. On her head was the Nubian crown, which had a double cobra. The Egyptian one had a single cobra. Just seeing the creature depicted in gold and wrapped around her head made my encounter of the night seem even more nightmarish.
The doors at the far end of the room swung open and a young man, yoked and chained, was brought in. Two enormous guards flanked him.
I was startled by the resemblance to my late brother. He was almost exactly the same height and build, and his features were similar enough to convince anyone who had not seen the true Ptolemy. When he spoke, I could see that he had hoped to win followers by his voice and words. He had obviously studied Ptolemy's manner of speaking, and had mastered his inflections and choice of words. He must have heard him many times; this boy may have been in the royal household as a servant.
He stood, feet in their iron fetters spread apart, head high.
"Greetings, most noble sister," he said.
Oh, he was bold. And clever. I could not help but admire that in him.
"I am not your sister," I said coldly. "You share no blood with me."
"It would be convenient for you to convince others of that. But you and I know the truth. You thought you were rid of me in that battle at the Nile, but I escaped. I let you and Caesar think you had won. But now Caesar is gone, and you are alone."
"Except for my three Roman legions," I said coldly.
"Bah! What is that? Foreign troops. They will flee when you need them. Now you must admit the truth, and restore me to the throne. As Caesar had proclaimed me to be, I am joint ruler with you. As our father wished."
"Enough of this. It is amusing, and I admit you are clever. You have studied the accent and expressions well. But you are a liar. My brother is dead. I saw him; and now he rests with his ancestors in our mausoleum. Now you had best name your true ancestors, so that we can allow you to rest with them."
The color drained from his face. He had expected more of a hearing. But surely he did not expect me to be fooled. Perhaps he had assumed I had spent so little time with my brother that I would have a faded memory of him. But not enough time had passed. It was only a year since Ptolemy's death.
I turned to Amanishakheto. "This person is no kin of mine, not brother, not consort, not joint ruler. He is a common impostor. Let him die the death of a usurper. He who attempts to wear the royal cobra on his brow must be of the blood royal. His is not--although he has courage, that I grant him."
His eyes sought mine out, begging, challenging. Let me live, they said. Let me live.
Today, tonight, they haunt me. Not because I was wrong in my decision, but because it had to be made. Soon my son, my dear Caesarion, may have to look in Octavian's eyes the same way, make the same silent plea. And Octavian is much harder of heart than I. Thus the boy's eyes haunt me, because they are now my own son's. All our deeds are visited on us from a different vantage point. A cup that tastes sweet when we are sitting may be bitter indeed when we are standing.
"Take him away," said the Kandake. "Prepare the place of execution."
As the young man was being led away, she said to me, "They are taken beyond the city gates and slain there. Unless he reveals his true family, he will be. buried in a desert grave."
The boy turned to us with one half-defiant, half-pitiful look, before he was shoved out the door.
"After the heat of the day h as faded, I would like to show you my pyramid," she said. "I always enjoy a desert ride." She smiled. "Don't you?"
Shadows were creeping from the rocks and trees when we set out. It was the time of day when the light changed, and the desert began turning from white-hot to mellow red. The sky was still blindingly blue, heat still emanating from the ground. But high on our camels, swaying and dipping, we were protected from the worst of it.
Amanishakheto's saddle had a canopy on it, and she sat happily shaded from the sun as the beast ploughed his way through the sand like a ship.
She had seemed most anxious that I view her pyramid. Did she think I had never seen one? Now I understand, of course, that one is always very proud of one's projected resting place. I am in the process of completing mine; indeed I find it oddly fulfilling to design my own tomb. But then I considered the Kandake peculiar and morbid to want to visit it with a guest.
As we came over the top of a ridge, I suddenly saw a field of pyramids, hundreds of them, like toys. They were smaller than ours, and with much steeper sides. They also did not end in a point, but had a platform on top. Coming closer, I could see that they had portals and small structures attached to their east faces.
"Here!" She pointed to a half-finished one, larger than the rest. She urged her camel forward, and it broke into a run over the glowing sands. At its base she reined it in, and waited for me to catch up.
When I dismounted, she threw her arms out as if to embrace the entire pyramid. "Here is my eternity!" she said proudly.
"Indeed, it is a fine pyramid." What else could one say about it?
"Let us inspect the prayer chapel," she said. "I ordered certain wall carvings--
After the brilliance of the desert, I felt blind once we were inside. I could see absolutely nothing. It was like being dead, like already lying in the bedrock under the pyramid.
She pulled a piece of reflecting metal out of her voluminous leather pouch, and used it to bounce light onto the walls.
"Tsk, tsk!" She bent forward to examine a carving showing herself--I assume it was she--holding a brace of enemies by the hair, ready to plunge a spear into the backs of their shoulders. "The artist has botched my headdress!"
"I am sure it can be remedied," I said.
"Why do they never get it right?" she fretted.
"Because artists are people, and people make mistakes," I said.
"You do not think you made a mistake this morning, do you?"
I turned to her. "No. Why do you ask?"
"I was only testing you." She turned imperiously and made her slow, deliberate way out of the chapel door. More carvings of herself punishing her enemies were resplendent on either side. "I have a pavilion on the north side," she said. "Let us sit there, and contemplate the pyramid."
A structure of woven reeds sturdy enough to withstand the winds was waiting for us, as were the inevitable, discreet stone seats for her ample majesty. She sank down upon one. I sat close by.
"My dear, you have passed the test," she said. "And now I will ask you to join me on my glorious enterprise. An empire, an alliance of women!" Before I could speak, she went on at breakneck speed. "I can see that you are a woman beyond all other women. Leave behind your alliance with men, with Rome. Let us forge a new one. Together we can make a nation that will look to the south, to Africa, to the east, to Arabia and India. A great nation, turning its back on Rome and its leavings. What do the Romans know of our kind? Of art, and poetry, and the mysteries of Osiris and Isis? They understand nothing but what happens in the sunlight. Of the dawn, the twilight, the dark of the moon, they know not. Yet they wish to destroy it."
"I do not think they care enough about it to destroy it," I finally said.
"They only want to crush it beneath their chariot wheels, their chariot wheels turning in the constant Triumphs they celebrate at Rome. Crush it, and then sweep it away." She leaned over to me. "You are our only hope. You may be the savior predicted by the oracle. The woman who will shear Rome's hair. Who will save the east."
The truth slowly dawned on me. "Why . . . this is why you wanted me to come to Meroe. So we could sit together in private and you cou
ld make this proposal. Ptolemy the pretender was just a ruse." She was devious and clever as Odysseus. And a gambler--like Caesar himself.
"You know you don't belong with them," she said, ignoring my question. "They will never understand you, never understand what it is Egypt stands for. To them, it is just a big grain factory, existing to placate the grumbling Roman crowds and soldiers. Separately we will be taken by them. Together, we can resist. And the nation we can create! The glory of Greece, the splendor of Africa, the riches of India! And all ruled by a spirit of sophistication, tolerance, experimentation! The way of life, of joy!"
"You sound like a merchant hawking his wares," I said. "Do not make such extravagant claims for your new nation. It would be made up of men, not gods."
"A nation that will follow in the tradition of the great Alexander. Did he not look to the east? Did not his yearnings draw him there, and would have drawn him still farther into India, if only his fainthearted soldiers had not faltered?"
"We do not have an army like Alexander's/' I said.
"No one does. Not even Caesar, since he must expend his energies fighting fellow Romans. But Nubia has a fine army, and the best bowmen in the world. Against anyone but Rome, we would do well."
"But Rome would never just let us alone."
"Ah! Do I detect a serious consideration of my proposal?" She leapt in like a dog scenting blood. "Think of Rome! What can you expect of her? I know of your feelings for Caesar, but he is just one man, and not immortal. What would Rome be to you without him? Its meaning for you would vanish. Our alliance is more natural. It is not based on your person or my person, but on the needs of our countries."
"You say it is not based on our persons, but earlier you stressed that it should be an alliance of women. My son will succeed me; what then?"
She was persuasive; she had many clever reasons for her plan. But in the end it was not sensible. Rome was master of the world. It was best to be on that side, rather than attempting to go it alone. Yet the image of that magical kingdom Amanishakheto beckoned me to was to linger, and linger. . . .
"You will live a long time," she said. "It is you who will put the stamp on what sort of kingdom it will be. Your son will inherit your creation."
Successors sometimes respected traditions and sometimes did not. It was no certain thing. "I will not live a long time if cobras keep coming into my room," I said. "Have you been informed about last night? Poor Kasu took what I fear was meant for me. But I think she will survive. The snake was clumsy."
"Yes. I heard. I fear that this happens more often than I would like to admit. The snake charmers and snake catchers seem to be doing a poor job. I am more thankful than I can ever say that you were unharmed. The gods protected you, and made the snake miss. But what of our alliance? Do consider it! Remember how our ancestors, the noble Ptolemy the Fourth and Arqamani, worked together to build the temples at Philae and Dakka. It was the beginning. This is meant to be, I tell you!"
"Not for now," I told her quietly, but as definitely as I could. "You tempt me. I find your proposal intriguing. I will always remember it, and be honored that you asked me. But I do not believe it is possible. And when something is not possible, it is best to let go of it with gentle respect. I thank you for the offer of the alliance, and I trust that, even with no formal agreement, we will always be friends and allies."
Her face fell, but she accepted my answer. "Very well. And when the Romans let you down, know that I will avenge you!" She took a deep breath. "I will not make the offer a second time. Should you ever wish it, the proposal must come from you."
"Very well. I will not be too proud, should the time come. And thank you again. It was worth the journey to obtain such a friend."
As we rode back toward Meroe, I saw a fresh mound of sand, topped by rocks. The setting sun made the rocks cast jagged shadows.
"The grave of the impostor," said the Kandake. "There he lies." The camels trotted by the heap of stones, and we left it to face the coming desert night and its scavengers. I hoped there were enough rocks on it to protect it.
Chapter 20.
Noon on the Nile, Nubia gliding past. We had taken leave of Meroe at dawn, and now the backs of my rowers were glistening as they manned the oars. To double our speed, we were rowing with the current. The sails were folded away, useless on the return journey. I sat in the shaded deck cabin, Kasu by my feet. She had recovered after a spell of weakness; Iras and I had nursed her in our chamber, which the Meroites found amusing. A queen tending a monkey, they had laughed; an upside-down world. But our care was repaid. Her only scar was the bald tip of her tail; the residue of poison had killed all the fur. And I, who had wished to refuse the gift of her, now found that I did not want to be parted from the creature.
I felt queasy, and touched my stomach gingerly. The ostrich-egg feast Amanishakheto had served as a farewell banquet was not sitting well with me. She had outdone herself in having her cooks prepare ostrich eggs in every normal way, and every outlandish way as well. There were fluffy whipped ostrich eggs flavored with cinnamon, baked ostrich eggs served with toppings of dried lizard tails and salted sea slug, ostrich eggs layered with camel-milk cheese, starfish arms, and baby crocodile snouts (finely chopped, of course), boiled ostrich eggs to be eaten out of their gilded shells and flavored with fermented-fish relish or spiced honey. Boiled ostrich with date sauce was the only meat. Since each ostrich egg must be the equivalent of twenty or thirty duck eggs, the amount of food served was staggering.
The Kandake managed to sample at least three or four of them, as well as several helpings of the boiled ostrich meat. She had decked herself out in so many ostrich plumes, she appeared to float. I could see that she was diligently doing her part to keep up her vast proportions.
But it was all I could do to choke down samples of the food. The fast Nubian dancers and acrobats who had performed during the feast had not aided the task of digestion. The flavors all fought with each other--both last night and now. I would fast today; I must fast today.
Iras was standing beside me. As always, she was somewhat quiet. One felt her presence rather than heard it.
"I am pleased you could come with me," I said. "I feel I understand you better now that I have seen your ancestral lands."
"They were a bit foreign to me," she admitted. "But it was good for me to see them, too."
On we went, down the river, leaving the green fields behind, heading into the forbidding, baking desert.
Time seemed to lose its meaning, to dissolve in the days on the river; it appeared that our boat was standing still while the scenery changed around us. Green, brown, gray, golden; trees, crops, waterwheels, cliffs, temples, monuments; glowing sunrises and fiery sunsets that stained the water red; a sandstorm once that flecked the waters of the Nile brown and foamy and veiled the sun, bending the palms on the riverbanks almost double. At one point we entered an area of cliffs on one side and sand on the other that I called the Yellow Vale, for everything there was yellow in all its shades: buff, gold, orange, topaz, amber.
I was deeply glad that I had come; I did not regret the time spent. I found the Kandake and her proposal to me very comforting; in some ways it was the only honorable one I had yet received.
Alexandria, sparkling in the sun, brisk and bracing with its sea breezes. Perfect now in early June; and it felt good to return.
Rebuilding had been going on apace, and much of the war damage had been repaired. Mardian and Epaphroditus had managed things well, although there had been squabbles over--what else?--power. Mardian had resented the intrusion of this newcomer, and Epaphroditus had not liked taking a secondary position. Each of them was waiting to pounce on me and pour out his complaints about the other.
I spoke with Mardian first, and listened patiently to his recital of the aggravations of working with Epaphroditus: his arrogance, his insistence on his own methods, his unavailability at certain times, owing to his other business. I attempted to soothe him. Epaphroditus was there
to ease his burden, to free him to take care of higher matters of state.
"Free me!" Mardian had snorted. "How can he free me when he imposes his own schedule on everyone else's?"
I sighed. I knew it would take some time before Ephaphroditus was weaned away from his other concerns, and if Mardian made his life difficult, working at the palace would never be very appealing. "Give him time," I said. "He is a stubborn man."
"I can say he is! I don't know why your heart is so set on him!"
"It is for both our sakes," I insisted. "You should not have to expend more than a quarter of your time on the financial matters." I paused. "You have done wonders in the rebuilding," I said. "I am most impressed. Soon the war will be erased."
"Not completely," he said. "There is always Caesarion to remind us that it happened."
Caesarion. I had returned to find my son about to begin walking. At the end of the month he would be a year old.
I nodded. "Yes. I know that, although sometimes it does seem unreal." I noticed that he was carrying several scrolls. "You have news. News of Caesar." I held out my hands for the letters and reports. Whatever was in them, I could face.
"He won, my lady," said Mardian. "He won."
The story was all in the scrolls, and I read and reread them for hours. This war had taxed Caesar's ingenuity and resourcefulness to the utmost, for one of his best lieutenants of the Gallic Wars, Labienus, was with the rebels. It was he who directed their strategy and tactics; it was he who knew how his former commander thought, and could anticipate his moves. It was he, Labienus, who knew that Caesar liked to strike fast and fight pitched battles. For four months he thwarted Caesar's attempts to do that. Caesar was unable to bring any of the parties to battle, and in the meantime was hard put to feed and supply his men.
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