Death of an Eye

by Dana Stabenow

  The queen seemed to ponder. “How long ago was that, now? I think it was Pharmouthi. Toward the end of Peret, at any rate.”

  Tetisheri and Apollodorus both laughed. A ghost of a smile crossed the queen’s face. “He has come to retrieve her, or so I believe. If he hasn’t the conversation will go in an entirely different direction. And she is young and very lovely.” She kissed Tetisheri lightly on the cheek. “I will see you soon, Sheri. Thank you again, so much, for your help.”

  “One last thing, majesty.” Tetisheri produced the Eye of Isis from her purse, and Cleopatra received it into her hands.

  “You did the Eye proud, Tetisheri. I know Khemit would agree.”

  12

  The Fourth Week of Choiach

  at Thirteenth Hour on the Second Day…

  Shemu passed into Ahket. Hapi was kind and the Nile flooded on schedule, fertilizing its banks with the rich black silt that was responsible for feeding so many on the shores of the Middle Sea, and for the permanence of the throne beneath the behinds of three hundred years’ worth of Ptolemies and four thousand years of Pharaohs.

  A week after their return, Apollodorus finally tracked down Ineni’s farm and brought Tetisheri there. The new bride was already pregnant and radiant with happiness, although she was grieved to hear of Khemit’s death. She remembered Hunefer’s sandals, and her description of the wealthy Roman’s long face and lugubrious expression could have belonged to no one but Gauis Cassius Longinus. But she was able to add nothing to what Tetisheri had not already known, and Cassius was in Rome and far out of the queen’s reach.

  And so the favor Cleopatra had asked for Tetisheri was complete. Atet and Ineni received Tetisheri’s wedding gift of a deep blue glass fruit bowl with gratitude and promises to stay in touch, and Tetisheri and Apollodorus returned to the city.

  On the third day of the third week of Thoth Cleopatra gave birth to a son, Ptolemy XV Philopater Philomater Caesar, known as Caesarion. Mother and child were both healthy and thriving. Reports that Ptolemy XIV Theos Philopater had died choking on his own rage at hearing the news proved, alas, untrue.

  The celebration went on for a week, with lavish offerings made to every god, Greek and Egyptian and Roman, for the boy’s health, happiness and long life, with each temple large and small vying with the others in ceremonial pomp. Even the Jews sent a delegation bearing rare and precious stuffs from the East to the Palace, and were given the thanks of the queen in person. But then the Jews had always felt an affinity for this Ptolemy, who had suffered her own exile and who had on her return to power made them welcome in her city, where Arsinoë had not.

  Less formally, the Alexandrians grumbled and the Egyptians cheered. The former did so discreetly. The latter paraded in the streets from Alexandria to Syrene.

  Aurelius Cotta presented the queen with a solid gold charger big enough for a baby’s bath with the history of Alexander the Great in bas-relief around the edge, accompanied by a tender message from Caesar. No one mentioned that the gold it was made from originated in Nubia and was very likely part of Cleopatra’s tribute to Rome.

  The festivities were further enhanced by the issue of the new drachma featuring the images of the royal mother and son, an action welcomed by anyone and everyone who conducted business in Alexandria. Tetisheri and Uncle Neb noticed an uptick in business almost immediately, with Egyptian bronze replacing Roman and Greek silver in transactions almost two to one.

  One enterprising entrepreneur commissioned a tiny bust in the image of Cleopatra and Caesarion from the coin and mass produced it. It proved so popular it had given rise to a dozen different knockoffs, and a profitable time was had by all. At least until the queen’s treasurer asked for her due, but by then the little bust of the queen and her son was the first thing anyone saw walking through any door in Alexandria, private or public.

  In Hathyr news came of Caesar’s victory over Pharnaces, and of Caesar’s report of the battle to the Senate and People of Rome. “‘Veni, vidi, vici?’” Apollodorus said. “It’s amusing, certainly, but that use of the first person—‘I came, I saw, I conquered’—must have annoyed the hell out of Cato and the rest of those dreamers still hoping for a return of the Republic.”

  “You think it unlikely?” Uncle Neb said, his pearl taking an inquiring tilt.

  Uncle Neb had lately returned from a trip to Rome where he had delivered a hold full of white papyrus. It had proved so profitable that, inevitably, he decided the only thing to do when he returned was host a twenty-course dinner for family and friends. They were crowded in around the massive display table in the warehouse on benches and stools, as Uncle Neb disliked the Roman custom of eating reclined on a couch—“It’s just an invitation to spill one’s dinner down the front of one’s tunic. I have better places to put my food. And my wine.” Apollodorus and his four partners, Keren, a few of Uncle Neb’s friends in the trade and their wives were in attendance. Tetisheri invited Laogonus, who brought his wife, Sadek, a statuesque woman from Philae who Tetisheri immediately liked.

  Nike, still wearing her invisible crown, gave the impression that they were fortunate indeed to be waited upon by her. Phoebe outdid herself in the kitchen, aided by Nebet who even Phoebe admitted had a fine hand with savories. This was a favor on Nebet’s part, as a loan from Tetisheri had funded a food cart on the Way near the Library—all those hungry students. By a special dispensation from Uncle Neb she’d managed to salvage most of her cooking pots from Hunefer’s kitchen before the house mysteriously burned to the ground, most fortuitously after all its of contents had been sold and a tidy sum realized on Nike’s behalf.

  “Did she sow the ground with salt, too?” Apollodorus said when he heard, but then of all of them he had the fewest illusions when it came to their queen.

  There was no loss of life, and nothing remained of the House of Hunefer but a few charred timbers. These were soon cleared away in preparation for the construction of a park and playing fields, a gift of the queen to the people of Alexandria and Egypt.

  “A return of the Republic? Unlikely?” Apollodorus said now. “Indeed, I think it impossible.” He was helping himself to seconds of the meltingly tender lamb braised in apricot sauce. “Caesar must have accumulated enough power and wealth by now, even for him.”

  Much of it right here in this city, Tetisheri thought.

  “He’s bound to spend it where it will do him the most good. The Romans, the ones not in the Senate, love him for all the treasure and slaves he has sent their way, and love even more all the lands he has acquired for the greater glory of Rome, a piece of which they are all hoping to acquire for themselves. Not to mention the Egyptian grain. The Romans love their bread and their blood. When he finally gets home they’ll give him a triumph and replace the laurel with a crown, and he’ll import the best Greek architects to build them a new amphitheater in Rome itself so gladiators can kill each other for their viewing pleasure.”

  Dub exchanged a look with Crixus and said smoothly, “Yes, but he won’t have it all his own way, surely?” and the rest of the table plunged eagerly into the discussion while Apollodorus concentrated on his plate.

  Tetisheri had not missed the acid note in his voice. It nursed a suspicion that had been forming since the queen’s mission had first thrown them together, since Cotta’s questions had piqued her interest and suggested a possible conclusion so outrageous she hardly dared name it in her own mind.

  Tetisheri and Apollodorus had spent a great deal of time together over the last four months. They’d gone to the races at the Hippodrome, attended a production of Lysistrata in the original Greek at the Royal Theater, listened to a lecture on Herodotus from a visiting scholar specializing in geography. When he was not busy with some task for the queen or tending to the Five Soldiers, they spent time in walks all over the city and talked of everything but the events of Mesore past, and laughed a great deal. He improved on acquaintance, did Apollodorus. He was intelligent, he paid attention to what one said and remembered i
t, he seemed to actually listen when she spoke instead of giving the appearance of waiting until she stopped talking so he could start. This alone was a rare enough quality among men to render him memorable.

  He had attempted nothing physical beyond kissing her. He seemed to be waiting for something. She didn’t know what but she was beginning to grow impatient.

  Uncle Neb sat at one end of the table, his face flushed and his pearl atilt with enjoyment, his friends and family gathered on either side, herself opposite him, all of them enjoying themselves every bit as much as he was, the wit and the wine flowing in equal measure. The Five Soldiers fitted in well, thoughtful, and well-spoken when they contributed to the conversation. Isidorus, his white hair in curls that stood up like little horns, contributing a rude jest but not so rude as to offend the ladies present, and the eldest easily by fifteen or twenty years. Dub, dark and swarthy, he looked like a native of Barcino, Castus and Crixus, the red-headed Alemanni, and Apollodorus, tall and fair.

  Her heart thumped hard, once, in her breast and for a moment she forgot to breathe.

  It would please me very much indeed to encounter the pirates of Brundisium.

  She leaned over to Isidoros, who was sitting next to her. “Did you all come from Sicily?”

  He blinked at her, confused. “What?”

  “The five of you. Did you join the Roman Army in Sicily? Is that why they call Apollodorus the Sicilian? Because he isn’t, is he? Sicilian. None of you are.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Some things are better left unsaid, Tetisheri, and believe me when I tell you, that is one of them.” He paused. “Are you—” He hesitated, and looked from her to Apollodorus and back again.

  “I don’t know,” she said with a rueful smile.

  He looked as if he were barely restraining himself from kicking Apollodorus under the table.

  “—such a tragedy, both sons dead,” Uncle Neb said, shaking his head.

  “Cassius’ sons, that was?” Crios said. Crios was a fellow trader and friendly rival. He left the travel to his partners while he stayed home to mind the business but he was always interested in the gossip from abroad. Gossip from Rome in particular was always valuable for trade. “They made something of a name for themselves while they were here, and not a good one. Wenching whether the wench was willing or not, drinking the tavernas dry, brawling in the streets—” He shook his head. “They gave the Shurta more to do in a shorter space of time than any dozen young nobles of Egyptian blood you could name. I always thought the king was foolish to befriend them but then, you can never tell Ptolemy anything.” He tut-tutted. “Chilon says not to speak ill of the dead, but, really, those two young louts will surely not be missed by anyone except, possibly, their family.”

  Tetisheri sat up with a jerk, her conversation with Isidorus forgotten. “Cassius’ sons are dead?”

  Uncle Neb looked at her. “Yes, the two boys that were here with him when they were all here with Caesar. Naevius and—Pontius? Portius?”

  “Petronius,” Tetisheri said through numb lips.

  Apollodorus stared at her across the table, his eyes very green, but he said nothing.

  “How did they die, Uncle?” Tetisheri said, her voice sounding not quite like her own. “Did you hear?”

  Uncle Neb grimaced. “They were carousing in some whorehouse down in the Subura and both ate from the same dish of bad mushrooms. As I heard the story others there that evening sickened as well, but only the two boys died.”

  Enough, and it heals.

  Too much, and it kills.

  Bast must have had her hand on Tetisheri that evening, because she managed to remain at the table for the rest of the meal, and even through the cheese and fruit that followed. She stood calmly next to Uncle Neb at the door, it seemed in someone else’s body, to bid their guests a fond farewell.

  Apollodorus had remained behind, as she had known he would.

  “I’m going out for a little, Uncle,” she told Neb. “I won’t be too late, and Apollodorus will be with me.”

  “He will, eh?” Uncle Neb said, as he had said many times before over the past four months. “Well, well, I suppose if Apollodorus is with you—” He smiled benignly, although his eyes were sharp as they flicked back and forth between the two of them. Nothing was lost on Uncle Neb, and Tetisheri knew he was expecting some kind of declaration from the two of them. But he would never push. It was one of many reasons she loved him.

  *

  She’d left the house at a near run. About halfway to the palace she slowed to a walk. Apollodorus kept pace beside her, making no attempt to engage her in conversation. He hadn’t asked where they were going, either. They had both naturally turned left as they stepped out the door.

  Stars gleamed in the sky overhead, but there was no moon, it being that time every month when Sefkhet rested from her labors. The air of an Alexandrian summer evening brushed against the skin like the finest silk. The sounds of a city at peace filled the spaces in between the darkness. A baby cried and was silenced at its mother’s breast, a woman moaned her pleasure in her lover’s arms, a old man told a ribald tale. No one took any notice of the two of them until they reached the palace and were recognized. A short time later they were brought before the queen.

  She received them in one of the smaller reception rooms this time, a much more formal venue with an actual throne, less ornate than the one in the Great Hall but a throne nevertheless, establishing a note of formality instead of friendship.

  That suited Tetisheri. She wasn’t feeling very friendly at the moment.

  In dress, too, Cleopatra was every inch the queen. She wore the uraeus on her brow, a severe linen shift topped with a wide collar of carnelian and gold, and she held the crook in her right hand.

  Better than the flail, Tetisheri thought.

  Cleopatra looked alert and composed. If they had roused her from her bed she didn’t show it.

  Tetisheri bowed, taking her time, putting every ounce of grace into it she could muster, offering her sovereign her due. “Majesty.”

  “Tetisheri, we are pleased to see you again,” the queen said. “You have heard the news, no doubt, that we are safely delivered of a son?”

  “I have, majesty, and the news fills my heart with gladness, for you and for him, and for the future of Egypt.” That much at least was true. “The infant thrives?”

  “He does. I have sent word to his father. I am expecting a summons to Rome.”

  Tetisheri met Cleopatra’s eyes without flinching. “That prospect must give you equal joy, majesty, of being reunited with your husband.”

  They stared at each other for a long moment.

  Surprisingly, Cleopatra broke first. “Leave us,” she said.

  Apollodorus bowed and turned to go, as did the half dozen retainers and guards who had been stationed around the room. The click of the door closing behind them echoed faintly off the walls, bare but for the paint of frescoes illustrating the lives of Isis and Osiris and Horus, their son.

  Cleopatra tossed the crook to one side and yanked the cobra from her head. She scrubbed her fingers over her scalp and sighed. “That’s better.”

  The shadows of sleeplessness were gone from beneath her eyes and her waist had regained its original shape. In the absence of the trappings of royalty she looked much more like Sheri’s old friend Pati. However, the throne was raised high enough so that anyone speaking to the sovereign would perforce be looking up. She remained seated, deliberately so, Tetisheri was certain. Cleopatra VII Philopater never did anything without a reason. As Tetisheri, who had known her longer and better than most, had cause to know she seldom did anything without two or three reasons. Thrifty, that was their queen.

  “Well?” the queen said impatiently. “Your message said it was urgent.”

  “You turned Polykarpus,” Tetisheri said.

  The queen raised her eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I saw him.” A chill slid over Tetisheri’s flesh at the brief
memory of a long-nosed man vanishing into the shadows of the palace. “The day you sent Apollodorus to bring me here. I didn’t know who he was but I saw him, here, in your palace. Which means you turned him before you let him leave for Rome, before you let any of them leave for Rome. You couldn’t let anyone who had anything to do with the theft of the new issue go unpunished, but you couldn’t kill two sons of a Senator of Rome in Alexandria, not with Caesar in residence. Probably not ever, not without severe reprisals. Even Caesar wouldn’t have been able to let you get away with that.” She paused, struck by another thought.

  “What?” the queen said.

  “You turned him before that,” Tetisheri said. She looked at her queen, her friend, and marveled at the unsuspected depths of her guile. “He’s been your creature since… when?”

  It wasn’t really a question and Cleopatra didn’t answer. Tetisheri took a slow turn about the room, pausing here and there to trace the features of Egyptian gods and all their wonderful, improbable regalia.

  “Of course,” she said, coming to a stop, and turned to face the queen again. “Of course. Since Arsinoë was captured and sent to Rome. You snapped him up before Ptolemy thought of it.”

  Cleopatra sat very still on her throne, her hands resting on its arms, her spine straight, her face without expression. Attach a ceremonial beard and she would look just like the cartouche of Hatshepsut on that worthy’s tomb in the Valley of the Kings. Another forward-thinking queen of Egypt, energetic, ambitious, a tremendous builder, a proponent of trade.

  A woman determined to rule alone, against a tradition that had stood with very few exceptions for four thousand years.

  “You sent him to Ptolemy’s court, who naturally thought Polykarpus was his to command. Instead, Polykarpus spied on him and made his deepest secrets and conspiracies known to you. Which means…”

  She walked back to stand before the throne, to stare up at her queen.

  “You knew about the theft of the new issue from the moment the idea was broached in your brother’s court.”