| |
I believed then I would have more time before all of these terrible prophecies would come to pass. Surely if the wise gods had come to one such as me for help, they would see to it that I was older when the storm broke. I did not yet grasp the words Lord Set had spoken to me in that first dream, that there are things beyond the control of even the gods, and that the fiery kas of the Ptolemies were among them.
When I look back at beginning of my siblings' reign, I can only stare in astonishment at how fast everything fell apart. At how blind we all were to think that there could have ever been any other outcome. How foolish in hindsight it was for our father to have them share the throne, how ill-suited their respective personalities were for the task. In his last days, did he see himself and his sister Cleopatra Tryphaena when they were young? Did he think my brother and sister would become true sibling-spouses as he and she had been? Had he somehow forgotten my stepmother stole his throne for their firstborn daughter and fought to keep him in exile? Did he remember none of the hideous stories of our family of which his was only another entry?
Perhaps he could only see Cleopatra's intelligence that sang through the air like a marksman's arrow, and her sugared tongue that could smooth over the roughest of feathers. Or Ptolemy's long limbs and spare build in a line of stocky forebearers, or his copper-colored eyes that were the same as those of his grandfather: the distant, adored man whose love my father never had. Lulled by death, he forgot my sister's fiendish temper and my brother's petty indolence. Her relentless ambition and his malicious streak of cruelty. How cold she could be and how selfish he often was. And aside from any of these flaws, how terribly young they both were. How young we all were. Surrounded by men clawing for their own position and the power it could give them, could we have ever been anything except our worst selves?
Certainly the situation we stepped into was not ideal. As our father retched out his final breaths, already the rains were late. Without them, the Nile's banks remained dry. Without the floods, our home was quickly reclaimed by the forces of the desert, the holdings of the god who riddled with me in my dreams.
For there have always been two Egypts, that is why the pharaohs wear a double crown. The one is Lower Egypt, the Black Land: the silty lush oasis whose patron god is Lord Horus, the Wadjet-Eyed, whose symbols are the cobra goddess Iaret and the red deshret crown. The older is Upper Egypt, the Red Land, the primordial desert from which Egypt springs and will no doubt return at the end of the world. This is the land of my Lord Set, symbolized by the vulture goddess Nekhbet and the white hedjet crown. Though in a time and place where Lord Horus has chased Lord Set nearly out of memory, the deshret is said to also symbolize Horus' victory over the Red Land. Alas, it is difficult to explain to foreigners and plain folk alike how a red crown may not represent the land called Red. Such are the intricacies of this unusual kingdom and its oldest stories, spread down to even one such as me in this late year.
Even as we fêted the coronation of the next generation of Ptolemies, the terrified rumors of famine were slipping under the doorways of every home like the plague. Soon the whispers of divine disfavor followed on their heels and the various factions at court began choosing sides between the joint pharaohs. Our father had wanted them both to rule, but the Black Land and the gods appeared to disagree with his wishes. All that was left for our crafty lords to do was to figure out which of my siblings was the bringer of these disasters.
As the tenuous coalition of Ptolemy and Cleopatra's rule splintered into the first summer months of their reign, the older lords generally backed my brother both because he was the male child, and as the younger, he was more easily controlled. Pothinus became their de facto leader, with older retainers of my father's such as Dioscorides and Serapion providing a check for the other nobles against the eunuch growing too powerful. The only thing my brother's tutor and his loyal lords agreed on other than the necessity of bridling Cleopatra's influence at court was doing the same in regards to the younger men who surrounded the Pharaoh. Chief among that clique was his childhood companion Salvius; along with Achillas, the head of the palace guards; and Lucius Septimus, a young Roman military tribune who had served my father. Bold and ambitious, these men were a worry to all other factions who understood that even this in-fighting must be handled delicately.
My sister's supporters were ultimately fewer in number, yet on the whole, more reliably loyal to her. She too had her tutor, the eunuch Damianus, who she used to work behind the scenes at court and out in the town rather than the more public role Pothinus had assumed. Her greatest supporter amongst the older nobles was Origenes, who I think saw her as a steadier hand in which to place the kingdom than my occasionally explosive brother and his volatile friends. Less exalted in lineage, but also indispensable to my sister's cause was her Sicilian retainer Apollodorus. Fearless and calculating, he knew his best chance of advancement in our world was single-minded devotion to Cleopatra's star, so he quickly made himself her man of all deeds. He was able to go places and hear things that a queen in a palace would never have access to, and his partner in much of this was my sister's equally devoted maid, Kharmion.
What my sister lacked in retainers she made up for in wits and organization. She had already been installed as our father's co-ruler for several years and though the harsh lessons of the past had made him obsessively watchful of any power she was given, she had still been his deputy and had paid attention during her apprenticeship. She was able to maneuver the wheels of government to suit her interests and slowly, the established courtiers began to migrate to her camp as the center of true authority in the kingdom. Even the careful tutelage of Pothinus and the swaggering intimidation of his royal cohorts could not prepare my brother for that. He and his supporters were swiftly shunted to the wings and by the end of summer Cleopatra was affixing her seal as if she were the only pharaoh in Egypt. Furiously impotent, Pothinus retreated to construct a new battle plan and Ptolemy took to beating any servant who was unfortunate enough to get in his way, having Salvius take over that bloodsport when he became too frustrated for it. Ptah and I learned to avoid him ourselves since he had never been above lashing out at us, either.
If events had continued in this vein, my sister's singular reign might have continued unabated and the black prophecies of the gods might have sank to bottom of the Nile, never to be unleashed upon a weary world. When I am feeling playful, I engage those around me in a game of speculation as to what my life would have been like if Cleopatra had grasped the throne of Egypt and ruled in security for the rest of her days. The scenarios become quite amusing with the benefit of hindsight, though the common thread amongst them all is their unshakable banality. So in those times I raise a cup to my sister and my treacherous family for at least never allowing my life to be a dull one.
The troubles truly began for my sister a year and a half into her reign. Perhaps unsurprisingly in this chapter of the book of the world, the problem came from Rome, that razor-blade land that was always both the cause of and the solution to the problems of the House of Ptolemy.
My father was able to regain his kingdom from Berenice only with the assistance of Roman military intervention to overwhelm our eldest sister's native forces. Once the conflict was over, most of the troops went home, except the soldiers belonging to one of the generals, Aulus Gabinius. They stayed ostensibly to help maintain order, though Alexandria had always suspected their true assignment was to keep a watchful eye on the Pharaoh and the kingdom for the Roman Senate. Gabinius was a former consul, after all, they muttered sidelong into their cups. By this time, though, the so-called Gabiniani had been a part of Egyptian life long enough that one rarely gave them special thought anymore, just as Lucius Septimus and the half-Roman Salvius were never treated as foreigners at court. The soldiers often intermarried with local girls from all lands and attempts by Rome to recall them had been unsuccessful, leading my siblings to believe we had them in our collective pockets. The once-suspicious Gabiniani had assimilated into Egypt and all was well.
Yet, the Gabiniani were still Roman soldiers and Rome still tried from time to time to remind them of the oaths they had sworn to Latium. The Roman governor of Syria was having border difficulties with the kingdom of Parthia, a perennial thorn in the republic's paw, so he sent two of his sons in a delegation to the Gabiniani to request their help in repulsing the foreign incursions into Roman territory.
––––––––
"Stop pulling such a sour face!” Cleopatra snapped at me despairingly as she directed some slaves as to where to place table vases. “You will attend this banquet and you will be present the whole time. I am placing Kharmion in the wings. Her sole duty this evening is to watch you as a mongoose watches a snake.”
"The Bibuliani are not even here to see us, they came looking for the Gabiniani. Why do we have to do anything for them? If they succeed, you will lose your best fighting men," I replied sulkily, fingering the edge of a table runner.
She rolled her eyes at me. "We do things for them because they are the sons of the proconsul of Syria, who is an ally. When the Gabiniani turn down their suit — which they will — we do not want it to appear that we encouraged them to do so. Therefore, we will throw them a party to soften their disappointment. This is diplomacy, Arsinoë. Pay attention!"
"I doubt they will be so easily distracted," I retorted with a huff.
"They are men, little sister, and this is Egypt. Distraction will not be difficult." She gave an impatient swipe at the tendrils of my hair escaping my headbands. "The difficulty will be making you look more like a princess and less like a Gorgon."
I waggled my tongue at her and made a grotesque face before flouncing off down the hall. I had not made it very far when I nearly collided with a frantic messenger looking for the queen. I sighed at losing my escape to what was undoubtedly some small matter built up by a jumpy captain in the city, and reluctantly led him back to her in the dining hall.
"Your Majesty, a fight has broken out in the Soma among the Gabiniani!" he cried out hurriedly, pushing past me roughly as soon as my sister was in sight.
Cleopatra motioned to the nearest slave. "Find Achillas. Have him take a contingent of the palace guards out and get the situation under control."
While she conferred with the messenger, I slipped out of the room once more and found Mudjet trotting down a corridor searching for me.
"Do you know what is going on?" I asked.
"No, my lady. Only that they have sealed the gate and no one is to leave. Perhaps if we find Ganymedes he will have heard more."
––––––––
We found my tutor speaking with Pothinus as Ptolemy and Salvius stood listening. The latter was kicking at a stone by his foot as my brother appeared to be concentrating on what was being said, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes narrowed.
"Teacher! What has happened?" I called out to Ganymedes as we ran up to the group. Ponthius, as usual, looked displeased to see me, though the sound of my voice drew Salvius’ attention from the ground towards us. I was often at odds with my brother, but it was mostly harmless backbiting. On the other hand, I loathed the beastly Salvius, whose coarse manners and mean eyes made me wish to flee whatever room we happened to be sharing. He had a way of watching people that suggested he was planning something for them somewhere in his ox-brained mind, something those people were not likely to enjoy. The look he gave me as we joined them was no exception.
"It is very bad, nedjet. The reports from the city say that several of the Gabiniani have slain the governor's sons and now the people fear the soldiers will run riot through the streets."
"Why would they do such a thing?" I said, aghast.
"It is probably a drunken brawl over some whores," snorted Salvius, leering at Mudjet and me with his thick, oily lips.
"Because apparently the Gabiniani have grown smug enough that they think the laws of Alexander do not apply to them," answered Pothinus with a frown. The fastidious eunuch also disdained his pupil’s dearest friend, though not enough to rise openly to my defense.
"Alexander killed a man while drunk too," I blurted out before I could catch myself.
Pothinus peered at me disapprovingly. I had definitely squandered my chance for his support against Salvius’ mouth. "It is hardly a moment for your witticisms, Your Highness."
"I'm sure everything will be fine," said Ptolemy in that prim and pompous way he had adopted the moment the double crown had touched his brow. He intended to sound imposing but in reality came off as little more than childish. "Achillas will sort it out."
"Which is perhaps unfortunate for us, Your Majesty," remarked Pothinus. "It would be better if it looked as though your sister cannot control the Gabiniani."
"The more important question is how she will handle them if they have in truth killed the Bibuliani," countered Ganymedes with a pensive twitch of his large nose. "It will be difficult to mete out justice without alienating one Roman faction or another."
Pothinus glanced at my brother significantly. "Indeed. Your Majesty should stay vigilant. We may be presented with an opportunity here."
My teacher, Mudjet, and I said nothing as we all quavered at the ominous weight of the other eunuch's words. Salvius chuckled obliviously at the beetle he had just crushed under his sandal.
––––––––
We in the palace waited, suspended in amber, as the hours crawled by and screams could still be heard in the streets. I read out lessons to Ptah, who didn't attend to a single word I said, while Mudjet sat beside me winding wool and inadvertently answering the questions meant for my distracted brother. Ganymedes was too busy conferring with Damianus to scold Ptah for his lapses and Ptolemy paced the floor maddeningly, trailing Salvius behind him like a bulgy hound. The lords moved amongst themselves in despondent little shoals from one side of the hall to the other, apparently finding each side as uncomfortable as the other.
Only my sister seemed unconcerned, balanced elegantly on her dais and eating with her usual good appetite any delicacy brought out from the kitchens. At last, as the day drew to a close and I started to despair of any release, Achillas at last returned and knelt before Cleopatra.
"I have taken care of the disturbance, Your Majesty. Aulus Gabinius has released the bodies of the Bibulani to us so that you may preside over the funerary rites. He has also turned over those responsible for the murders to our custody."
"Excellent," she responded crisply. "Thank you, General."
Damianus stepped forward. "My lady, we must deal with the perpetrators swiftly, but carefully. We cannot afford to anger the Gabiniani."
My sister’s serenity melted into her sardonic sneer. "They are not gods in the flesh, teacher. We cannot allow them to think they are so indispensable to us that they can do as they please. They believe they can hide behind the largesse of palace law. Let us see how they fare in a Roman tribunal in Syria."
The eunuch blanched. "My lady, I do not think it is wise to leave this to the Romans. The people will also expect their Pharaoh to dispense justice for crimes in her own kingdom. It may be seen as weakness."
"I am a living goddess!" Cleopatra gestured impatiently. “I should not have to settle petty rivalries between Roman riffraff! No, I will write to Marcus Bibulus and assure him he may do with these ruffians as he wishes."
She stood up angrily, and we all bowed as she stalked out of the throne room, trailing servants and slaves in her wake.
"Your queen is a fool, Damianus," said Pothinus, smirking. "She runs boasting to Rome, and it will cost her Egypt."