Death of an Eye

by Dana Stabenow

  “Know your enemy,” the queen said. “As I believe we read together from some scroll in my Library.”

  “You sent him into Ptolemy’s court to find out what he could,” Tetisheri said, “as you now have sent him to Rome.” She remembered him standing on the deck of Caesar’s liburna, a pace away from Petronius and Naevius. “As tutor to Cassius’ sons, perhaps? Ptolemy would think that such a position would be perfect for assimilating the news from Rome, and Cassius would want to keep Polykarpus close. And all the time he works for you.” She shook her head. “I wonder how he manages to keep his allegiances straight.”

  There was a brief silence. When the queen spoke again, what she said was unexpected. “How did you guess?”

  “Uncle Neb has just returned from Rome, where he heard that Cassius’ sons were dead of poison. I knew, then.” She quoted the queen’s words back at her. “‘Enough and it heals. Too much and it kills.’” Deliberately said, she thought, just as she had been deliberately received in Cleopatra’s stillroom that first morning. “You sent Polykarpus to kill them, and you sent the poison with him.” She thought of the poison bomb exploding on the pirates’ deck, the choking, killing cloud enveloping the men there. “Poison you very probably made yourself.”

  The queen sighed. “Yes. Well. A thorough grounding in herbs and spices and their medicinal and culinary applications—and their tactical ones—is always useful. And one must never delegate something that crucial to others unless it is absolutely necessary.” She met Tetisheri’s eyes. “They stole from me. Did you think I would not punish them for that?”

  Given what she knew of her queen and friend, there was no world in which Tetisheri could imagine Cleopatra doing so. “So,” she said. “Your brother wishes to undermine your hold on power, perhaps even to bring back Arsinoë to reign at his side. You knew he would find Polykarpus’s pedigree, that of Arsinoë’s chief advisor, irresistible, especially when Polykarpus offered him a plan that would strike a blow at the very foundation of Alexandria and Egypt: its commerce. Alexandria and the Nile are essential to trade on the Middle Sea. If it has no coin of its own to spend, it becomes a debtor nation and a client state, most likely of Rome. We are already in debt to Rome because of your father’s borrowing so much from Pompey to regain his throne.”

  “Not any more we’re not.”

  “Oh, you’ve managed to pay that all back? What was it, again? Ten thousand talents? Or did Caesar just take it with him when he left?”

  Cleopatra raised her chin. “The father of my child and the heir to the throne of Alexandria and Egypt may draw upon us as he chooses.”

  “Unless and until he strips the treasury and the granaries bare.”

  The queen’s eyes flashed. “I know how to take care of my own.”

  “Better than Ptolemy Theos, certainly,” Tetisheri said, refusing to be intimidated. “That, I grant you.”

  She took another turn around the room. “Why, then, this farce of an investigation?” She meditated on that for a few moments. “Cotta?” She looked at the queen. “I see. Cotta’s main concern was that no Roman be found to be involved in the theft of the new issue, at least until they were out of your reach. And you could not be seen to know any more details of the theft than was good for you by Cotta, your watchdog.”

  “Better the conspiracy exposed and the guilty identified,” the queen said. “Cotta did not, does not need to know that I knew that Hunefer was not alone in his guilt.”

  “What about Khemit? You tasked her with finding the coin, knowing it a fool’s errand every bit as much as it was mine. You do remember Polykarpus, your own creature, is thrice a murderer? That he killed Khemit, Longinus and Hunefer? Are your citizens—is your own Eye of so little value to you that you may see their lives spent so cheaply in your service?”

  Some expression too swiftly come and gone to identify crossed the queen’s face.

  “I see,” Tetisheri said slowly. “By then Polykarpus had his instructions. He was to obey Cassius in all things, and when Khemit got too close to the truth Cassius told Ptolemy. And Ptolemy ordered Polykarpus to kill her.” Her mouth twisted. “After all, he was only following your orders to at least appear to obey your brother in all things.”

  The silence lay heavily between them.

  “You have done well, Tetisheri,” Cleopatra said at last. “Far better than I had hoped.”

  Tetisheri raised an eyebrow. “Have you been waiting for me to hear of the boys’ deaths?”

  Cleopatra smiled. “I may have been curious to see if you would put it all together.”

  “Congratulations, my queen,” Tetisheri said flatly. “You must be so pleased.”

  “Tetisheri—”

  “There is one other matter that requires your attention, my queen.” She could see the effort it took for Cleopatra not to roll her eyes but she knew what she had to say would be unwelcome and she was determined to keep the coming revelation in the most formal tone. “Are we entirely private here?”

  The queen’s eyes narrowed. “In this room, I’m as certain as I can be that we are.”

  Tetisheri bowed again and walked to the door. Opening it, she looked at Apollodorus, who had taken up his usual station outside. “Please come in, Apollodorus.”

  Apollodorus looked at her for a moment without expression, before shifting his gaze to Cleopatra. “Is this your wish, my queen?”

  “Evidently,” Cleopatra said, her eyes fixed on Tetisheri, her face a still, golden mask.

  Apollodorus came inside and closed the door behind him. Tetisheri motioned him forward and the queen descended the steps to her throne so that the three of them created a tight, tense triangle. He was as calm and attentive as always. She forced herself to meet his eyes. “Apollodorus, you arrived in Alexandria with the Roman Army the year before Auletes was expelled from Egypt.”

  His voice was deep and firm. “I did.”

  “And here you left the army to open a gymnasium catering to young nobles, offering instruction in the arts of swordplay, the bow, the staff, wrestling, soldiery. Each of your four partners had a specialty in one or two of these arts.”

  “Yes.”

  “Although it is said that your skill with the trident and the net was first among all. We saw you work with it ourselves, when we were students there.” She indicated the queen. “You were a wonder to behold. No one could defeat you, no matter what weapon they chose.”

  The silence in the room was absolute.

  “The others were equally skilled, Dub as a murmillo, Is with the bow, Crixus and Castus as boxers beyond equal. Is was older by a generation but like you he could still turn his hand to any weapon. Your business was so instantly successful that it brought you in a very short time to the attention of the king.”

  Apollodorus nodded once. His face was every bit as masklike as the queen’s, but he didn’t move to stop her, and neither did Cleopatra.

  “You say you are from Sicily. Apollodorus the Sicilian is how you are known to Alexandria.”

  “Yes.”

  “Cotta himself commented on how little you look like a Sicilian, that men of your size and coloring come most often from Thrace.” She swallowed hard, and was relieved when her voice remained steady and assured. “As are you, yourself, I believe. Thracian. Not Sicilian at all.” She gestured. “You wear the Thracian double-headed eagle on your gauntlets. There is a shield with a double-headed eagle on it that takes pride of place on the wall of your gymnasium. You told me you were born in the third year of the reign of Saladas I. There is no reason for you to be familiar with the reigns of Thracian kings or to know the years of the one you were born in, not if you are from Sicily.”

  He regarded her for a long moment, his expression as impassive as the queen’s. “It would not be the first time a man came to Alexandria whose history began again with his first step on shore.”

  It was neither an acknowledgement or a denial. “No,” she said. “Alexandria was built by immigrants, beginning with Alexa
nder himself. It wouldn’t be the first time this week such a man might take on a new identity to begin a new life, never mind the year you arrived.”

  She glanced at the queen, who sat immobile and oddly incurious. She might be a spectator at a duel with no money on either contestant. “However, in this case I would draw your attention to the disappearance of another Thracian almost thirty years ago. A Thracian believed dead, killed by Crassus at the battle of Silarus. A slave, a former gladiator, one known as a retiarius. One who, so the story goes, had four generals, one, like him, from Thrace, two Alemanni, and one it was thought from Barcino. One whose revolt came nearer overthrowing Rome than any other attempt ever has. One whose name is to this day used by Roman mothers to frighten their children into obedience. One who—”

  “Say not his name,” the queen said. “Not even here.”

  Cleopatra’s gaze held a distinct warning. “As you wish, majesty.” Tetisheri bent her head and turned back to Apollodorus. “Isidoros is the most wonderful storyteller. When classes were over he kept us of all enthralled with tales of the gods on Olympus, and the Olympic games.” She paused. “And of famous bouts in a ludus in the city of Capua, some forty leagues south of Rome on the Appian Way.

  “He spoke of many of the gladiators there as if he had known them. Indeed, as if he had fought them. And with them.” She looked down at her hands, fisted together so tightly that the bones seemed to show through her knuckles. “Once, in passing, he spoke of a particular lanista, one Gnaeus Lentulus.” She shrugged. “Everyone knows who the most famous graduate of Lentulus’ ludus was.”

  She sighed. “You’re not him, of course, you are much too young. But his son? As your companions were sons of his generals? As Isidorus was, perhaps, one of his younger soldiers? That any member of that revolt survived and is alive and living in Alexandria would be anathema to the Romans. That his own blood survived would be intolerable. They would kill you all outright, did they know.”

  There was a little silence.

  “That will be all, Apollodorus.” There might have been some emphasis on the name. Cleopatra smiled at him. “Thank you.”

  “My queen.”

  Tetisheri waited until the door had closed behind him, just. “You knew,” she said. “You knew!”

  The queen permitted herself a small smile.

  “Since when?”

  Cleopatra ignored the lack of honorific in the demand. “My father knew immediately, although Apollodorus will not repeat that conversation, not even to me. Father told me when he named me heir.”

  “But not your brother.”

  “No.” Cleopatra’s lip curled. “Not any of my siblings.”

  Auletes believing, perhaps, Tetisheri thought, that any one of them would have sold Apollodorus to Rome the moment their father breathed his last. And not without cause. She thought of Arsinoë and Ptolemy, willing even to sell out their country to Rome so long as that sale brought their sister down with it. “Was this some kind of test? Some… some exercise to prove my intelligence, my ability, my loyalty?” And then, fiercely, she said, “Did you tell him to sleep with me?”

  It might have been the first time Tetisheri had seen Cleopatra look surprised since she took the throne. But then her eyebrows twitched together and there was no mistaking the anger that edged her voice. “No, Tetisheri. No, I did not.” She paused, her lips tight, as if trying repress what else she wanted to say. If that was the case, in a moment of rare candor she spoke her thought. “Because I have no choice in bed partners does not mean I think no one else should have free choice, either.”

  Tetisheri wasn’t sure she believed her.

  “Who else knows?” the queen said.

  She wasn’t asking about Tetisheri and Apollodorus. “Cotta knows that Apollodorus is not what he appears, but he has no proof and he’s aware that Apollodorus stands high in your favor. He will make no public accusation. Or he won’t until such an accusation serves Caesar’s best interests.”

  “Surely you mean Rome’s best interests,” the queen said dryly. “Who else?”

  “Aristander may suspect, but he is your loyal servant and he wouldn’t admit such a thing even to himself. Sosigenes knows everything else so he probably knows this, too, although he has never said so, or even hinted at it. Other than Castus, Crixus, Dubnorix, and Isidoros, no one else.”

  Without moving the queen seemed to relax, ever so slightly. “Aristander has ever stood my friend, and Sosigenes.” The queen smiled. “As have you, Sheri.”

  Since the only response was a polite bow, Tetisheri bowed politely.

  “I owe you much,” Cleopatra said. “What can I do to demonstrate my gratitude?”

  Tetisheri gave a short, humorless laugh. “Other than killing Hunefer and Ipwet and destroying any trace of their previous existence on this earth?”

  The queen chose to answer obliquely. “The enemies of my friends are my enemies as well.”

  And only recently had Cleopatra obtained the power to demonstrate that fact, which would explain why she had had to wait until now to exact what Tetisheri suspected would become a very Cleopatrian kind of justice on those enemies.

  The queen was still waiting for an answer. “Well,” Tetisheri said finally. “I’d like to kill your brother. If that could be arranged.”

  Cleopatra snorted. “Yes, well, so would I. If that could be arranged.”

  “Failing that, I’d like to be there when he is killed.”

  “No, Tetisheri,” the queen said, almost sadly. “No, you would not.”

  Their eyes met, and Tetisheri remembered the dying pirates and their ship being pulled inexorably into the fatal embrace of the Middle Sea. “No,” she said after a long moment. “No, I probably wouldn’t.”

  Alexandria and Egypt had been co-ruled by brothers and sisters for its entire three hundred years, and for four thousand years before that by the pharaohs, and Caesar had insisted it continue thus in at least an outward show of respect to Alexandrian and Egyptian norms. And so it would continue. For now.

  They smiled at each other. Cleopatra’s smile faded first. “I have asked much of you these past months, Tetisheri. None knows how much more than I. Now, I must ask even more of you.”

  “Majesty—”

  The queen turned and climbed the steps back to her throne. She reset the royal cobra on her brow and picked up the crook to assume the formal pose of ruler of the Two Kingdoms. “Caesar has crushed all of Europe beneath Rome’s heel, and they need our grain and they want our gold. Here at home, the Alexandrians despise the Egyptians and me for trying to place the Egyptians on an equal footing with themselves. But if I don’t, the Egyptians will not hesitate to rise up against me if they see no opportunities to achieve some kind parity with the rest of the citizens of Alexandria.

  “I walk a tightrope, Tetisheri. If I fall, Ptolemy will ascend the throne, and he will ask for Arsinoë’s return from Rome to rule with him. Caesar will grant his wish because above all Caesar needs Alexandria and Egypt at peace and productive of tithes. The two of them will be totally subservient to Rome. Better Rome than making common cause with their own subjects. And Alexandria and Egypt as we know it will cease to exist.”

  She raised her chin. “But I, Tetisheri, I am not only the queen of the citizens of Alexandria, but of all of the citizens of Upper and Lower Egypt. If Alexandria is the heart of the country I rule, then Egypt is its soul. I walk a tightrope, yes, and I need your help to keep my balance.”

  Cleopatra held out her hand, the Eye of Isis in all its lapis and nacre glory cradled in her palm, the mother of pearl gleaming in the light of the candles.

  Now Tetisheri understood the reason for the room in which Cleopatra had received her this evening. She could feel the weight of the badge of office from where she stood. A burden she had anticipated from the morning she had first seen it, on the little balcony overlooking the Royal Harbor. “Please, Pati,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, echoing the same words she had said to her q
ueen on that morning. “Please don’t ask this of me.”

  “Who else can I ask, Sheri?” the queen said, gently but inexorably, echoing her own words in reply. “In all my realm, who else can I trust to be my eyes, my ears, my voice?”

  It was a smooth, flat circle of polished lapis, one side plain, the other inlaid with a luminous circle of mother of pearl smaller than the base, itself inlaid with a smaller circle of turquoise that was more green than blue by contrast with the lapis. The piece was exquisitely made, the inlays so carefully crafted and applied that they appeared part of the lapis itself, so that all three layers of gemstones appeared as one. It was the only one of its kind, feared as soon as it was known, respected as much as it was feared. The Eye of Isis, the eye, and mouth, and hand of the ruler of Alexandria and Egypt.

  Once more Cleopatra descended from her throne, meeting Tetisheri on level ground, and raised the Eye in both hands by its chain.

  It settled so precisely between Tetisheri’s breasts that it seemed to have been made to lie there.

  The queen smiled, and bowed low in recognition and honor to the new Eye of Isis.

  EPÍLOGOS

  The door closed behind her.

  “Did you accept?” he said.

  She began to walk and he fell into step beside her.

  “Sheri,” he said. “Did you accept?”

  She gave a swift look around to make sure there was no one else nearby. Realizing what she was doing, realizing she was already adopting the caution and the care of the spy, she made an exclamation of annoyance and reached into her bodice. The Eye gleamed in the light of the lamps of the palace as if it were alive, awake, aware, observant, seeing all, forgetting nothing.

  He sighed. “Good.”

  She replaced the Eye in her bodice and walked on. “You, naturally, would think so.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  She walked faster. “Wasn’t that your job, to seduce me into accepting this one?”

  He halted momentarily as she boiled up the hallway, making for the door. She almost made it.