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Several more weeks passed and I began to look to the west as the days continued to lengthen. I prayed against delay because despite Caesar’s bravado, it would take most of the summer to mount an effective campaign in Parthia. Simply landing an army of the size needed would take time. I was sitting in the garden perched over maps calculating how quickly the legions could march inland, starting from Issus or maybe Tarsus, when I heard hurried voices from inside the house.
I went in and found Xenos, Mudjet, and Nuray huddled together in the hall. They abruptly stopped their conversation at my approach. The priest looked grave and my friends stricken.
"What is it?" I asked warily, even as my heart hammered and I was sure I did not want to know.
They glanced at one another and finally Xenos spoke, "My wretched Queen, we've had merchants from the west in port. The news is all over town... Caesar was murdered in the halls of the Senate and the Republic has been thrown into civil war once more."
I could think of nothing to say to this. The others stood watching me apprehensively, but I did nothing. I could not cry or scream because I could not breathe. My staggering mind groped for something to hold onto in the midst of its numbed shock, so I began to assess how another war in Rome would affect my exile, how it would affect Egypt.
"Is my sister still in Rome?" I inquired at last, breaking the weighty silence.
The priest was clearly surprised by my question. "No, my lady. She stayed until the funerary games, trying to get Mark Antony to endorse Caesarion as Caesar's heir. But his will designated his sister's grandson Octavian as the adoptive heir of his estate with no provisions for your nephew, so Cleopatra could not hope for any political cache for an unrecognized half-foreign son. She returned to Egypt to mobilize her fleet to fight the so-called Liberatores. It does her no good if the assassins win."
"It would if she were serious about an independent Egypt,” I muttered. “A more republican Rome will have difficulty maintaining an empire."
"I believe she does not think the Liberatore faction can win, because apparently they did not manage to buy off Caesar's biggest power base."
"The army."
"Yes,” said Xenos. “So the army will put its support behind Antony and the boy Octavian. The assassins will try to carry the day, though it is doubtful they can succeed."
I rolled my sister’s options about in my mind. "So she is hoping to secure the patronage of either Antony or Octavian to maintain her own position."
"Or both,” agreed the priest.
"No," I said slowly, shaking my head. "She cannot hope to have them both. They are allies in a common cause now, but Mark Antony has been by Caesar for years. He is ambitious enough that he must have hoped to gain more by the will than he did. If he has a chance to throw over an untested youth like Octavian, he will do so. Antony is the known quantity, she will go to him. Either way, we must continue to lie low here. The longer it is that my sister is distracted from thinking about me in these uncertain days, the better."
Mudjet moved towards me, but I stopped her. "I am fine, Mudjet,” I said sharply. More sharply than I had intended. “However, I am tired and will go lie down for a while."
I returned to my room and laid down on the bed. I waited to feel something — anything — yet all I could feel was a leaden weight that pressed on my chest until I felt buried alive.
Eventually one emotion surfaced. Shame. I could not shake the thought that somehow I had brought this to pass. I reached beneath the neckline of my chiton to hold Julia's ring and thought of her. How she, as I had teased her father on that first night, had nearly cured Pompey of his love of glory. How she probably would have succeeded had she not died.
And then there was me, cursed bloodthirsty creature, who had gone along with Caesar's dreams of empire, agreed to help him. Knowing how unpopular those dreams were among men of his own kind who could hurt him. After seeing his old scars, knowing he was not invulnerable.
He had blazed through our lives like a hero out of myth, and I, as much a monstrous Ptolemy as any in my line, had destroyed him. Nothing in our path was ever spared. Even a whirlwind such as him could not withstand our poisonous touch.
Time dripped by as I laid there in my roiling thoughts. I heard footsteps pause by the doorway and then after a while move on. Slowly, I sank into a fitful sleep.
––––––––
I am sitting on a dais in an empty vaulted room. I turn my head and Sekhmet appears at my side. She sits down next to me and gently folds back her lion's head hood. Her lovely face glows with an inner light and her sharp eyes warm like a stoked brazier.
I look away from her cow-eyed gaze to watch as long, graceful horns rise through her flowing jet hair. She is no longer Sekhmet Blood-Drinker, she has changed into her other Self. She has become Hathor, Lady of the Loving Ways. Without a word, she reaches for me and gathers me into her lap like a child. As warmth emanating from the core of her being wraps around my body, the growl in her voice softens to a purr.
"It is all right, Ptolemy-daughter. It is not your fault. Though you must let it out."
Her words seep through my veins and unstop my heart. In my life I keep believing that I have reached the summit of all of the grief my being can hold, but I am retaught by experience that there are always new sorrows in this world and they are adept at opening old wounds while they cut their own. Aching, silent sobs wrack my body as bitter tears pour down my face buried in the goddess' fragrant embrace. She murmurs wordlessly to me as I hold on to her for what might be a lifetime.
Eventually, I wake up.
––––––––
When I opened my eyes, it was still dark. I pulled myself up, descended the stairs, and crossed the courtyard to the kitchen where I filled a bowl with grain. I grabbed a small jar of oil and poured a measure of beer into an empty carafe. I floated out of the house like a wraith, the collection of vessels the only things weighing me down. I walked the long, bladed path from the low cliffs until I reached the shore, where I placed my burdens on the rocky ground and began to gather up medium-sized stones. I balanced several flattish ones on top of one another, then picked up some smaller, prettier rocks and scattered then around the base of the pile. I put the bowl on the stones with the carafe next to it, then knelt before them and started to pour the oil into the grain. I did not need to think of the words that flowed out of my mouth from the depths of my memory:
“May his name be given to him in the Great House, and may he remember his name in the House of Fire on the night of counting the years and of telling the number of the months. He is with the Divine One, and he sits on the eastern side of heaven. If any god whatsoever should advance unto him, let him be able to proclaim his name forthwith.”
I stirred the grain and oil together with one hand and reached over to take the carafe with the other, but my hand groped the empty air. I opened my eyes and saw Mudjet kneeling on the other side of the stones, the carafe in her hands. I scooped up part of the mixture in the bowl and she poured the beer out over my outstretched hands. She added:
“May his ib be with him in the House of Hearts. May his heart be with him, and may it rest there, or we shall not eat of the cakes of Osiris on the eastern side of the Lake of Flowers, neither shall we have a boat wherein to go down the Nile, nor another wherein to go up, nor shall we be able to sail down the Nile with thee.”
I returned the mixed grain to the bowl:
“May his mouth be given to him that he may speak forthwith, and his two legs to walk therewith, and his two hands and arms to overthrow his foe. May the doors of heaven open unto him. His soul shall not be fettered to his body at the gates of the underworld; but he shall enter in peace and he shall come forth in peace.”
We sat in silence as the very first light of dawn crept across the sky. I sighed and wiped my hands on the hem of my shift. “Tahu once reminded me that all of life is cyclical. I agreed, yet in my haste to outrun the past belonging to my family it seems I have fallen into the fate of your poor mother instead, my sweet.”
“My mother’s lot was a hard one,” said Mudjet slowly, “yet she lived her life with no regrets, trusting always that the gods would light her way in the darkest hour. If a simple woman such as her could believe that, surely my hemet-netjer will keep her courage.”
"You are right, as usual,” I answered, shaking the last of my dream-grief and the rituals of The Book of Going Forth from my mind. “We should go back. We have left poor Nuray on her own. And we should start seriously attending to preparations for the coming months. It will be easier since we know we will be here."
Mudjet nodded and took my hand as we walked slowly back towards the house. As we rounded the hill and the house came into view, she said, "I think your sister's heka wrought this."
"It sounds like a great many daggers wrought this," I replied.
"No, I mean, your sister sends her heka against you in all things. Even if she does not know that the Consul was yours, her power would have pushed to crush him unwittingly because he would have fought for you."
"If that is so, it also means she is losing control of it. She should have been able to sense such a thing. She has stretched it too thin and now it burns unrelentingly."
Mudjet squeezed my hand. "It also means he did love you."
I gave a hopeless shrug. "It is a comforting thought, dearest. But it helps us little. You must help me learn to be a fortress for this child.” I touched my stomach. "We are her fine generals now."
––––––––
I set myself against this newest test put before me. I was on my own, although not alone, and I would have to prove myself equal to the task. As I had disciplined my body and my mind during my rebellion, I disciplined my heart as my body waxed heavy into the heat of summer. This coming little one was a gift from the gods to me and I would have to be as strong as they for her sake because she and I were not destined to live under the protection of her tenacious father. I prepared as best as I could and when she was placed in my arms at last in the dying days of the month the Romans had named for Caesar, my eyes welled up for joy at this precious jewel I had been entrusted with. This fleecy lamb with an iron grip and bold, curious eyes.
"The gods are merciful and grant another child to the line of Ptolemy Soter of Macedonia, Lord of the Black Land, Incarnate of Amun-Ra. We welcome you, Princess of Egypt, Daughter of Kings. May you be as noble as the Macedonians, as wise as the Egyptians, and as dauntless as the Romans.” Mudjet paused to lower her head to speak to me. "How shall we address thy lady daughter, Your Majesty?"
I gazed into the face I had waited so long to see, running my fingers against her silky cheek. "Her name will be Aetia, for eagles are the badge of the House of Ptolemy and of the Legions of Rome. May her wings carry the strength of both."
––––––––
Nuray and I were sitting out in the garden, enjoying the last few summer days before the coolness would make port in Ephesus. I had worked diligently to absorb myself in my infant daughter’s world and tried to banish ghostly thoughts of Caesar and Parthia.
Mostly, it was not difficult, for Aetia burrowed herself in every fiber and sinew in my body and I was helpless before the incredible miracle of her existence. Yet still did the web of the past spin itself in the lonely watches, catching me unawares, its power woven from the threads of my ka. In those hours, my memories became spiders that crawled along the inner walls of my head, watching me with their hundred, hundred eyes.
We had spread a blanket on the ground and Nuray was weaving flowers together while I rocked Aetia into sleep. The song I had been murmuring in Egyptian died on my lips as I saw Mudjet running up the hill. She had gone into town for food and had returned without even the basket she left with. I placed my daughter down on the blanket and told Nuray to wait where she was. I hobbled off as best I could to meet my friend. I could feel my body groaning against the strictures of my still-healing muscles and the unaccustomed weight it was still carrying. Mudjet saw me coming and increased her speed. When we reached one another, she collapsed with a moan into my arms.
"What is it? What has happened? Is it my sister?" Panic filled my brain to see my unflappable Mudjet brought to such a state.
"Oh my lady, I cannot! I cannot!" she gasped. "Oh, why do the gods make you suffer so for obeying them?!"
My heart froze. I realized what Mudjet had run so far to tell me before someone else did.
We knelt down where we were and I found myself comforting her as she sobbed against me. I was enveloped once again in the numbness that had wrapped me in its deadening embrace when I was told of Caesar, and yet, this was different. There the paralysis that struck me was shock, now it was the muffled thump of a drum that had been beating in my brain since I had looked back over my shoulder at the oil lamps of Alexandria. We sat there without speaking, preserving these last few moments before the words would need to be said aloud and we could no longer pretend it was some other catastrophe. I looked up at Nuray, who had ignored my directions and stood over us holding Aetia.
"What has happened, Your Majesty?" she asked, alarmed at Mudjet's uncontrolled weeping.
I stroked Mudjet's head gently. "Mudjet has come to tell us that my brother is dead, my dear."
Nuray went white and clutched at my daughter's small form, while Mudjet made a wounded animal noise before lapsing back into tears.
I sighed and a few tears escaped my eyes to fall down on my faithful companion’s head, but I said nothing else. I had no defense, Osiris had told me that the scales of Ma'at would demand their share. I should have known a perfect creature like Aetia would require a heavy price. Perhaps I had been foolish and assumed the murder of her father would sate the Just Goddess. I almost had to smile at the thought. As if Caesar had been tied enough to anything except his own fiery light to ransom anyone, even one knit of his own flesh. No, Osiris had warned me of the weight my words could carry and now I would walk the ways of my ka with that knowledge always. Every day, my Ptolemy fangs grew longer.
"What do they say in town, my sweet?" I prodded Mudjet after a few minutes.
She coughed a little to regain some authority over her throat. "They say that it had been months since anyone had seen His Majesty in public. No one thought very much of that though since he had been confined to the palace grounds since the rebellion and only allowed out into Alexandria with the queen. Then at the start of the month, Caesarion was crowned as co-ruler with your sister as Ptolemy the Fifteenth of His Name. No one has seen the body, but the rumors from the palace servants in the city is that she poisoned him and had Apollodorus bury him in the desert."
May my Lord preserve his body in his lands and send his son to guide him in the Duat. "Ptah was as brave as he was honey-sweet. It is a testament to this that he survived this long and so many months after Caesar's death has had Cleopatra's back against a wall. I will pray for his ka to one day forgive me for all my failures."
"There is nothing for him to forgive, my lady," Mudjet said gripping my shoulders. "Ptah was so proud of you. He knows you did everything you could. Perhaps more than you could."
I looked out over the garden wall towards the sea with a rueful smile. "I had almost let myself believe that he would be at my side, riding across Parthia with Caesar and me. It seems like a very foolish dream now."
"Hardly, my lady." Nuray spoke up. "It is a dream of the heart. Those are the dreams we must hold on to. They make us who we are."
Mudjet smiled. "And our lady knows the importance of holding onto dreams, even once we wake."
I let go of Mudjet and reached up for Aetia, as Nuray lowered her into my arms. "Shall we ask Mudjet how we are to formally address your brother-cousin, my star?" My daughter's dark eyes widened as she made a small trilling noise, pleased to be allowed into the conversation.
"He is hailed as Ptolemy Philopator Philometor Caesar, my wee lady," answered Mudjet leaning in to kiss the tiny fingers waving out towards her.
"Quite a mouthful, even for our House," I pondered, giving my attentive daughter's face a quizzical look. "Alas, nedjet, I think we shall look to the fine example of your Uncle Ptah and forego the laborious titles. I have never found them to be true to life anyway."
––––––––
I am in the catacombs, the torchlight inert in the lack of wind. The halls of the dead are quiet, their shelves draped in cobwebs and the dust laying on their bodies like shrouds. Through the spiraling years of grime and decay, wooden boards with faces painted in life watch me from the shadows. Egyptian faces, Greek faces, Roman faces, Jewish faces, Nubian faces, Gallic faces. The catacombs have always been welcoming to all who meet death in our land. All are equal here, the rivalries and alliances forgotten as much as the empty shells they leave behind.
I reach out to a portrait of a young Egyptian woman to brush the dust from her eyes as I would chase the sleep from my own in the morning. I observe the dust on my fingertips and realize I am waiting for it to turn into blood.
"Death is not so easily erased, nedjet." My Lord sits in an empty alcove to my left, his head bent away from me until he knows he has my attention. When he turns to me, I am startled by the expression on his face, for I have never seen the like on him before. His whole frame is cramped as if in agony, even though he is gamely attempting to hide it. His green eyes are full of painful surprise and tears of blood seep from them, trailing down his dark cheeks. His normally golden scars are scarlet, pulsing with every movement.
I rush over to him and take his elegant hands in mine. "What has happened, my Lord? Who has done this to you?"
He winces and pulls his lips back into a grimace of a smile. "You have done this to me, my Beloved. Your ka claws at my ib as if it had teeth."
I drop his hand and stumble back in horror. I sink to my knees and moan. "Why is this my burden to bear in this world? Why must everything I touch turn to ash?"
Set climbs down out of the alcove and gingerly sits down next to me on the dirty floor of the catacombs. "Shh, my child. It is not as hopeless as that. Your fluttering little honeybee of a ka cannot kill me. It stings me because it is in pain, just as a bee might to an elephant."
I reach out and sweep away some of the blood tears from his face. "This seems more dire than a bee sting, my Lord."
"It is cumulative," he says with another wincing smile. "I have been swallowing your ka's pain ever since we were Joined. I was startled to feel such mortal pain in my breast, but I learned to live with it. I tasted the bitter fruit born of the death of your Latin servant and your Greek teacher and your mottled army. I ate your fear and loneliness these past years through the part of your ka you left with me and they sharpened the earlier pains, though I adapted to that as well. And then still more pain came. Why do you think I sent Hathor to you when the son of the Julians was slaughtered? I was writhing as if on fire in my House. That is when these turned color." He gestured to his scars. "And now, now because I could not save the little Pharaoh, I can hardly breathe without anguish. My eyes do not cease to weep."
I took his hand once more. "I understand now. I am heartbroken again beyond what I would have assumed my endurance, yet I have found myself able to comfort Mudjet and even the Lord Who Shakes The Lightning. The piece of your ka you graciously left with me feeds me strength and my piece in you gives you a window into my anguish."
Set casts an imploring look to me, as if he were a hurt child. "Is this what mortals feel? How do you endure it?"
"It is not easy, my Lord. It hurts a great deal at first, and you wonder how you manage to rise from your bed, let alone go on with the business of living. You learn to imbibe memory, the happy memories as well as the sad, and that hurts as well but there is a sweetness mixed in with pain so you continue to do it. Slowly, slowly, the sharp pain dulls to an ache that can sometimes burn like a fresh wound, but it becomes a scar that you carry forth into the world. And if you wish not to be consumed by despair, you teach yourself that it is you, yet does not define you."
He shakes his head. "I do not see how it can be better."
"It feels that way in the beginning. Yet somehow it always does. You suffer this much because I have lost a great deal in such a short time. I will heal in time and so will you." I placed my hand over his god-heart. "We shall have golden scars in here instead of on our bodies."
"You have grown wise, Beloved," he says solemnly. "I shall learn to be strong again for you for I have your ka to guide me."
And then I wake up.