| |
She had to wait two weeks, though since we were back in the city, all she had to do was have Kharmion slip messages to Origenes as he went about his business and he would give her a chance to get back into the palace undetected. This was not difficult, the routines of the palace had been thrown into disarray by the arrival of the legion, and Ptolemy continued to squander his chances to win Caesar to his side with his childishness and his temper. I know the legends say we wrapped my sister up naked in a carpet from Pontus and spirited her into the Consul's bedchamber, but every so often even we Ptolemies are not so dramatic. Besides, cocooned in a rug in the early Alexandrian autumn would have only given Cleopatra sunstroke, not her throne back.
No, the story Kharmion would tell us later was much more mundane. She and her mistress simply walked through the main palace hallway to surprise my brother and the Consul at dinner, fully clothed of course. Ptolemy tried to have her arrested, but Cleopatra very prettily fell to her knees and begged an audience with Caesar, to which he agreed. Granted, what happened during that audience — and after it — seems to align with what people say, and indeed she was gone for enough days together that Mudjet and I thought she had been captured. We had started to discuss what we should do and where we could possibly go when Kharmion at last returned with an escort of several legionaries.
"Kharmion!” I cried, never believing I would see the day where I was relieved to see my sister's sour companion. “What has happened? We thought you both had been thrown into prison!"
She gave me a patronizing look. "Everything is well, my lady. It has all gone according to Her Majesty's plan. She has sent for you to join her at the palace."
"But what about Ptolemy?"
"Hmph, he is fine. Now that he is under the proper guidance of his elders."
"What do you mean?" asked Mudjet in confusion.
"The young Pharaoh is under house arrest with us,” Kharmion replied slyly. “Queen Cleopatra Thea Philopator has won the support of Rome. Come now, my lady. You belong at the palace."
We had no choice but to go with her, yet there remained an uneasiness in the pit of my stomach as we stepped out boldly into the street for the first time since our flight in the spring. There was a matching unrest in the city as we moved towards the palace, the people stopping their business to glare at the Roman soldiers, though some who recognized me bowed as I passed.
Shops that should have been open were not. The atmosphere bubbled ominously. Some men already appeared to be gathering raw materials for fencing and roadblocks. In the face of all of this, I should not have been so troubled for myself personally. Yet I could not shake the feeling as we climbed the palace's grand staircase that Ptolemy might not be the only one under arrest.
Kharmion walked us to my old rooms, where clean clothes and a full tub awaited me. I looked around at the familiar furnishings, at my disorderly stacks of books tottering over most of the tables and couches. In the golden halls of Antioch or the narrow stone compass of Jerusalem, I would have given anything to return here. Now as I stood amongst my belongings in the rooms I had known since I had known anything, I found myself out of place. These walls were the home of a girl I suspected I might no longer be, a girl whose life I could not slip back into as if nothing had changed. It was like an old dress that no longer fit as it should. I hoped my Lord would come home to my dreams soon, my nights had been empty since our return and I had grown into his presence so that I missed him when he was absent.
"Her Majesty will have you dine with her and the Consul at sunset," she said. As an aside to Mudjet, she added, "See that she is presentable."
Mudjet’s purple eyes flashed in annoyance, though she said nothing in return. Kharmion wafted back out of the room, and we were left alone again.
"'Presentable,' indeed! As if you are some street urchin...” Mudjet
muttered as she helped me out of my chiton and into the tub.
I was not offended, though perhaps I was too preoccupied to be. "I should have asked to see Ptah," I belatedly realized. So long had I pushed the prospect of seeing my brother away from my heart, I had nearly forgotten such a sweet thing was within my grasp.
"I am sure he is fine, my lady," Mudjet answered gently as she scrubbed. "Ask your sister at this dinner."
I sighed. "The command from Kharmion is only because she knows I would excuse myself otherwise."
My Mudjet’s eyes grew mischievous and she smiled like her old self. "Do you remember all the banquets we played truant from?”
I returned her wicked grin eagerly. "Every one, my dear. And apparently so does my sister."
––––––––
When I was dressed, I left Mudjet and headed for the main hall. I wished I could have worn one of my simple dresses, but of course I had a heavy himation draped over top of the ornately hemmed chiton we had chosen from the lot Kharmion left. The long indigo layers swirled around me as I made my way forward, when suddenly I heard a small voice call out my name from a shadowy wing.
"Arsinoë!"
I turned as Ptah rushed into my arms. "Nedjes!" I cried out ecstatically as Ganymedes stepped out behind my brother.
"We heard you were back, but no one would tell me where you were!" he babbled excitedly as he squeezed my hands.
"I was in the dark also,” I replied, smiling and kissing his cheek. “Have you been treated well?"
Ptah shrugged. "Everyone's been too busy to worry about me much. Ganymedes is teaching me Latin."
I let go of my brother to embrace my tutor, whose comfortable, familiar softness eased some of my trepidations. "What has been going on here?" I asked, retrieving my seriousness.
He shook his head. "It is hard to say, my lady. One day Ptolemy holds the throne singly despite Caesar's anger about Pompey. Next anyone knows, the Roman is trying to reconcile your brother and sister back into co-rulership except with Cleopatra clearly having the upper hand. The palace factions have been turned on their head once more, and all are ingratiating themselves with the queen or with Origenes."
"So this banquet is a feast of victory."
"For the moment, it would seem. I will try to uncover more information as rapidly as I can." His frown lifted for a moment as he pulled me back into his arms. “I cannot give words to my joy to see my nedjet well.”
I tightened my hold on him instinctively. “I have missed you all so much,” I said softly, these paltry words encompassing the fierce jumble of emotions spilling out of my heart.
"This feast sounds boring to me," Ptah said sulkily, breaking the moment with the forgivably selfish attention of a child.
I laughed, so pleased to behold the round, merry face of my little brother once more that I would excuse him anything. "It probably will be. You shall have to keep me entertained, goose."
We parted from Ganymedes hand and hand, and I pushed the curtains aside as we emerged into the banquet hall. Cleopatra and Caesar sat together on the raised couch, observing all from above, while the lords of Alexandria were situated around them chatting. It took me a moment to notice Ptolemy off to the side glaring murderously into his cups, and though he raised his head at our entrance, I could not read his expression. It was then that Cleopatra saw us.
"Sister! Dear Ptah! Come here and see us properly!"
The whole room stopped to watch us cross the floor. I tightened my grip on Ptah’s hand. We both instinctively slowed our pace to mask our fear with sham dignity, as we had so often done walking towards our father in this same room and Ptolemy after him.
I kept my head high and my eyes slightly lowered to avoid the sea of stares around us, the queen's perhaps most of all. No, not hers, I realized with a start. Tonight my ba had found another's gaze it shrank from more. My Egyptian heart feared the starless midnight eyes of Caesar more than any terror my sister could summon. The cruel lord of Rome was the fated war the gods had warned me of. He was the sha of my Waking World, and I doubted I would find him as kindly as the black beast of my dreams, so topsyturvy had my life become.
When we reached our sister's couch, we knelt before her with our heads bowed until she motioned for us to raise them.
"You look well, Arsinoë,” Cleopatra conceded brightly. “I thought you would pick the indigo one, though the orange silk dress would have been the nicest."
"I thank Your Majesty for your care,” I replied softly. “I am glad you seem to be well."
"I know I should have sent you word,” she admitted with an airy tone devoid of any actual remorse, “but there were many things to arrange and you were safe where you were."
"Mudjet and I were fine, though surely Your Majesty is aware that the presence of a Roman legion is creating a great deal of unrest in the city."
She waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, the Alexandrians are always riled about one thing or another. If it was not the Romans, it would be the Numidians, if not them, then the Syrians made fun of their accents."
I was alarmed. My sister was usually much more attuned to the tenor of our city. "My lady sister, they are building barricades in the streets. I think they are quite serious."
"They are just a rabble, Arsinoë. We have the guiding hand of the finest general in the world," she raised a glass to Caesar, acknowledging him for the first time before us, "and a legion of Rome's best fighting men. Things will settle in a few days."
I considered not replying, but my tongue got the better of my finer judgment. The safety of the city and our people was more important, and my fear for my rash Alexandria outweighed my fear of our foreign captor. And if Cleopatra did not see her savior as our captor, she was more foolish than the mobs assembling barriers in the markets.
"Forgive me, sir," I said, turning to look at Caesar for the first time, meeting his dark eyes that moved to study me as my voice drew his attention. "But your men are still worn out from battling Pompey. They will not have the stamina to take on all of Alexandria if the city revolts. Our people will not fight in nice little battlelines for your legion to crush."
Cleopatra opened her mouth to speak, but Caesar gestured for her to let my impudence go. "Don't worry, Your Highness. My men might be tired, but they are soldiers. They will do their duty," he said as his face relaxed into an expression of humoring amusement, as if I would be better served playing with my dolls than meddling in the affairs of the bigger people.
"Besides," my sister interjected, "it will not be your concern. We will handle Egypt, we are sending you and Ptah to Cyprus."
I was not prepared for this. "Cyprus?"
"Yes. The Consul has graciously agreed to give it to you. You both will have your own little dominion to govern and the island will once again be under Egyptian control."
Ptah looked at me with confusion and I frowned at the queen. "I do not understand. Why are you sending us away?"
"Do not be so dramatic!” She gave a hollow laugh that seemed to echo a little against the far stone walls behind us. “I am not sending you away! I need your help while we reestablish order and where I need your help the most is a colony that has been out of our administration for some time now. It is a big responsibility for so young a princess, yet after our trials these past months, I think you can handle it. Really, you could be more grateful!"
I bowed my head and gripped my hands together until my fingers were nearly white. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. I am simply overwhelmed by the generosity of you and Consul Caesar."
Cleopatra softened into a lenient smile. "It is all right, little ones. We will talk more about these arrangements later. Please be seated and enjoy yourselves."
I led Ptah over to an empty couch and stroked his trembling hand as stewards filled our cups.
"I don't want to go to Cyprus!" Ptah whispered in my ear, as I watched our sister while pretending to smell my wine.
I took a long, shaky sip from my cup. "I know. I do not either."
"Why can't we stay here?"
"Because she is afraid of us and what we are capable of, nedjes," I answered. I felt someone's eyes on me and turned my head until I saw it was Ptolemy. His mouth twisted into a rueful smile and he jerked his head as if to say, See how our clever sister will divide and conquer?
––––––––
Late in the evening, when I could at last slip away on the pretext of seeing Ptah off to bed, I left my brother with Mudjet and met back up with Ganymedes in an empty courtyard.
"This is unexpected play on your sister's part," my tutor said when I had finished explaining what had transpired at the banquet.
"Do you think we would be safe if we accepted?"
"Do you think you would be safe?"
My teacher already knew my answer. Even if I could somehow believe my sister's intentions were benign, sending a Ptolemy to Cyprus was a byword in this land for the barbarity of this family. My father had given the governance of Cyprus to one of his younger brothers, seemingly as here, in a gesture of goodwill. When Rome was forced to decrease taxes in Egypt or risk open rebellion from our people, they decided what they could not squeeze from the Egyptians, they would rake from the Cypriots instead. In spite of the island's enviable resources, it could not meet Rome's demands and when pleas to the Pharaoh for assistance went unanswered, my uncle committed suicide rather than bend to them. The Republic annexed Cyprus, took over its lands, and our people never forgave my father for his indifference. This episode was one of the many grievances that chased him and Cleopatra from their throne, and it seemed that my sister was remembering the wrong lessons from the affair.
"No, we would not be,” I said quietly, gazing out at the courtyard swathed in humid moonlight. “Especially not Ptah."
Ganymedes nodded. "I think she is hoping Rome will do her dirty work taking care of you two."
"One would think she would have learned from our father's mistakes. The people despised him for abandoning our uncle to the Romans."
"It may be a gamble she is willing to take. You are both still young and if she is seen as being kindly to you, then you might be lulled into believing she has your interests at heart. If you leave these shores happy and meet with misfortune abroad, well, such things happen. She can play act that she did what she could. It might be enough to trick the Egyptians."
"What can we do?"
"We should try to delay such a departure as long as possible while we think up a countermove. Luckily for us, if the city is as restless as you say, the people might give us the time we need."
––––––––
I am in the stables, the smell of leather and steaming manure greets my nostrils before the slightly subtler scent of horseflesh creeps by me. The stalls are empty, so I walk out into one of courtyards connecting the buildings, past mounds of fresh hay stacked against the walls.
There I find my Lord waiting for me, holding the reins of a pair of black horses with bloody-colored eyes hitched to a chariot. He strokes the nose of the left stallion who snorts into his hand. From somewhere unseen to my right, Lady Sekhmet gallops up on a roan mount who tosses its head against the bit.
"Hello, Ptolemy-daughter," she says in her typical growl, though the timbre of her voice is tinged with a happiness that betrays her obvious love of being on horseback.
I incline my head to her before addressing my Lord. "What are we to do this night?" My eyes no doubt beaming with joy at his reappearance.
Lord Set's eyes glow with green fire, which shows he reciprocates my unspoken feelings. "We are riding into battle, nedjet. Climb aboard."
A hum of unease shivers up my spine. "Battle, my Lord?"
Lady Sekhmet reaches down to adjust her horse’s girth. "Do not be overly afraid, little princess. This battle is already over in the Waking World. We simply wish for you to understand the task that lies before you, what you are really up against."
I look to the desert god again. "Another journey into the past?"
He tilts his head. "Yes, Beloved. This one will not be as intimate as the last, but just as you must see your family as it truly is, so too must you see war for what it is."
I feel myself go a little pale. "I know it is no child's game."
Lady Sekhmet flexes the fingers of her right hand, which are sheathed in a leather bracer with lion's claws at the fingertips. "Naturally you know this, being a sensible girl. But as a girl, all you know of war you have read in books. That will not do for one chosen to lead an army."
"I still do not see why the gods should want me to command an army, even if such a ridiculous event should come to pass."
Lord Set looks at me in subdued amusement. "As I told you, my dear, even we cannot know for certain the exact shape the future will take. All we can do prepare for potential eventualities."
I know resistance to be useless, so I pull myself up into the chariot and my Lord jumps in behind me. He gently takes my hair and winds it into a knot as he tucks it under the lapis-colored khepresh, the royal war crown of Egypt.
The goddess of war gives a curt nod of approval. "You wear it well, child. Nearly as well as Khnumet-Amun Hatshepsut."
My Lord grins sharply at her. "I did not think to bring a false beard for my princess," he says, which causes Lady Sekhmet to glare at him.
"Who is that, my lady?" I ask her to divert the gods from getting into an argument.
"She is the nameless one you know as She Who Is Not Spoken Of. She was a great pharaoh, Princess. I held her in my breast even after her son wiped her memory from the minds of her people."
The memory of the pharaoh-queen the goddess called Hatshepsut was not completely erased. Part of her story was known to even me, but her life was so intertwined with legend even the Egyptians spoke of her as someone who may not have existed. She was held out to royal women as a warning of what happened to ladies who lusted after power. It was a warning the women of the House of Ptolemy seemed to studiously ignore, with mixed results. To have her conjured before me in this time seems especially ill-favored, though the gods do not appear concerned.
My Lord hands me the reins of the chariot. "Driving is not dissimilar from being on their backs, nedjet. Your task is to listen to their mouths and tell them how to work as one."
I tighten my hold until I can feel the pressure of the bits on the corners of the horses' mouths and then give a light flick of the leather. The horses leap forward, pulling us away from the palace and into the desert. They pound ahead at a quick canter as Lady Sekhmet rides at our side, keeping pace.
We sweep across the paths around the racecourse to the eastern edge of the city. As we gain momentum, I notice ghostly forms gathering at our side, marching in the same direction. The further we push outward, the more solid they become. They are mostly Roman infantry, moving in tight ranks with sweat from the heat of Egypt starting to pour down their faces making their worn leather armor strangely shiny.
Though moving at a more erratic pace, interspersed among the legionaries are men in the armor of the Egyptian army, twisting and darting. Looking at the men of my own land, I understand they are in some kind of retreat. We are close enough to see the fear in their barely-corporeal eyes.
We reach the edge of the eastern cemeteries and are joined by shades of men on horseback who also slowly begin to take on form as their men do. I know they have achieved their transformation fully when I must pull on the reins to keep my horses from snapping out at those of the riders. The one who appears to be the lead commander holds up a hand and his soldiers come to a halt a little ahead of us even as the ones belonging to his adversary continue to flee.
"Slow the horses, nedjet. We will wait," says my Lord in my ear. I bring the chariot to a stop and Lady Sekhmet pulls up alongside of us, watching.
I look at the Roman general as he surveys the land ahead. He is a powerfully built man in his prime years, with a square jaw and proud features that strike me as vaguely familiar. He reaches up to remove his helmet and it is only then that I know who he is, as his brown hair tumbles down in youthful curls. Before I can say as much to the gods, an ice-hard voice I know all too well barks out behind us.
"Pompey! Why have we stopped?"
I turn halfway round in the chariot to see my father fly upon us in his chariot, his bulky armor resting against his paunchy stomach, his eyes as dark and cold as caves.
"Steady, my lord," responds Pompey without ire. "My men are only waiting until your daughter's army retreats a little further so that we might encircle them more easily."
"Just see that you show these traitors no quarter," grumbles the pharaoh. "None of that famous Roman munificence here."
"Only an Egyptian could call the Roman army munificent," chortles a young officer at the general's side. His face is arguably handsomer than his commander, but it is the soft face of a pampered patrician, it lacks the vigor of the elder man's. His voice carries the languorous tone of an indulged young man of privilege, cream on silk.
"Remember your manners, Antony," reprimands another voice I recognize. I crane around the young man's body to see the exacting features of General Gabinius studying the young officer pointedly. "You do a disservice to the noble lineage of the Pharaoh to tar him with the same brush as these desert peasants."
The young Antony looks appropriately contrite. "A thousand pardons, Your Majesty. I did not mean to impugn the blood that fought with Alexander."
The flattery softens my father's expression a touch. "Yes, yes. Well, it will be easier to separate the wheat from the chaff when this is all over. I will see to that."
Gabinius narrows his eyes. "That's not what Lord Kemes and the Lady Ankhetep’s family have been saying, my lord. They believe you owe them upon your return."
My father's mouth twitches unnervingly. "As I said, General, I will see to that. If you and the great Pompey give me the victory this day you have promised, no Egyptian vermin will dare oppose me. They are a conquered people. It is time to remind them of that."
I see Lady Sekhmet's mouth tighten into a frown, though she makes no remark. Pompey shifts his focus from the impending battlefield to those around him, giving them all an indulgent look that springs partly from an optimistic nature and partly, I suspect, from the benign largesse he feels knowing he is the superior man in the crowd. One can afford indulgence of one's inferiors. "Very well, my lords. Enough chatter. Let us finish this and bring back His Majesty to his rightful place."
Gabinius clucks his tongue in amusement. "Indeed, sir. We must not detain you in Egypt longer than necessary, we don't want fair Julia to pine away too long."
Pompey grins with a hint of sheepishness, then reaches over to slap the other general on the back. "Laugh if you will, Aulus, but I think it only natural for a husband to long for the embrace of his wife! Especially when she is carrying his son in her belly!"
The Romans give a scattering of encouraging cheers to toast the impending heir as Pompey buckles his helmet on once more. His smile turns predatory and with a quick signal of his hand, his legions descend with astonishing speed upon the enemy below.
The gods and I stand and watch from the high ground as Egyptian pikes are felled beneath Roman shields and are scattered in panic as the foreign army methodically pulls them down as farmers harvest wheat. I stand in the chariot, stunned and breathless, as the infernal Roman machine wheels back and forth across the field. It very nearly has the beauty of a dance, if not for the ceaseless screams of our people rending the air.
"We are difficult gods, nedjet," whispers Lord Set as we watch hundreds of men struggle in the burning sand as it grinds mercilessly into their weeping wounds. "War is coming to the Black Land once more, and like the moon growing full again, it is likely to take the terrible shape it did before. Our people are strong in battle, but one or both of the young pharaohs will set these wolves from the north upon the fat of this land, and I fear this time they will glut themselves until there is no more Egypt. I have called you my Beloved, and yet I offer up your slender wrists to the beasts of Latium. Such is the depths of my treachery."
I look at my Lord in surprise at these self-effacing words. I see deep love in the god’s eyes, the fierce love I still find so unexpected, but with it is the shadow of genuine pain. To have the love of Set of the Wild Acacias makes my ka quiver with a kind of exquisite agony, but to have him be afraid for me? How can one's very blood sing with terror?
Lady Sekhmet tilts her head to observe us both, mostly the desert god as if she has not seen him properly before. "Bah, Set," she growls, "you bring me this child to dress for battle and you are the one to become childishly sentimental! The Princess attends to our lessons faithfully — you in turn must have faith in her."
My Lord is abashed. "You speak truly, Lady of the Slaughter,” he admits humbly, before glancing at me with a hint of his usual confidence. “I have abundant trust in our Princess. I will do better to show it."
The goddess bobs her head curtly before speaking to me. "Little princess, we show you this so that you might understand the price you might have to pay to defend our land. Always the price is blood, be wary of how you spend it."
She removes the glove of her right hand and takes mine in hers, which sends violent pulses of pain through my arm until my very teeth chatter. The sensation makes me feel faint, though I do my best to maintain my grip as I meet her gaze with watering eyes. "This is the pain of the army below. This is the pain of Egypt. If you lead Egypt, this is your inheritance. The anguish of your men will always hurt, but when the pain becomes too much to bear, that is when you must think most carefully of your plans."
"I wish it did not come to this," I answer shakily.
Her amber eyes soften and I see the gentle gaze of her other Self steal across them for the briefest of moments. "Even the war gods wish that, child. But ever does Ma'at demand balance. She must have something for her left hand when her right cradles Peace."
And then I wake up.