Cleopatra’s Daughter: A Novel (37 page)

“Wait until you see Capri,” Marcellus said as we left the stagnant air of the city.

“Is it like the Palatine?” Alexander asked carefully. The last time Marcellus had been excited about a journey, we had arrived in Rome, where smoke belched from the cooking hearths and the temples were covered in graffiti. Now, I no longer noticed the crude drawings scrawled across the steps of the Senate.

“There’s no comparison,” Julia said. “On the Palatine, my father pretends to be the humble servant of Rome. In Capri, we actually live like the ruling family.”

“It’s my uncle’s Sea Palace,” Marcellus explained. “There’ll be a beach and horses, and we’ll take you to the Blue Grotto.”

“Are the buildings beautiful?” I asked eagerly.

“You’ll be sketching all day,” Marcellus promised. “Why do you think Vitruvius is coming?”

“Possibly for your mother.”

Marcellus laughed. “And for the beauty, too.”

It was three days by carriage, but at twelve years old, we thought the journey endless. We made up games to pass the time, but mostly we looked out the windows and watched the sleepy towns and roadside
shrines go by. Several inns advertised bread, wine, and a girl for the night, all for one denarius, but we never stopped in any of those places. I tried to read some of the scrolls that I had packed. I chose
The History of Naples
and
The Guidebook to Troy
, but reading made me sick, and even the fresh sea air couldn’t quell my nausea.

When we finally arrived on the shore of Naples and stepped onto the ships that would take us to Capri, it was my turn to feel strong while the others held their stomachs and moaned. Alexander and I raised our faces to the crisp morning wind and closed our eyes.

“It feels like home, doesn’t it?” he said.

I sighed. “Yes.” The high calcareous cliffs with their lush vegetation plummeted into the sea, creating grottoes and bays where children were swimming or fishing along the rocks.

“Someday, when we return to Egypt,” my brother promised, “we’ll commission a new
thalamegos
and sail like this up and down the coast of Alexandria. I’ll never get enough of the water.”

Vitruvius came up behind us. “There it is,” he said, and I heard the love in his voice.

Perched on a promontory so high above the sea that even the spray couldn’t reach its gardens, the Sea Palace looked like an eagle carved from stone. Marcellus was right. It had nothing in common with Octavian’s squat villa on the Palatine.

“I don’t understand. Why doesn’t he rule Rome from here?”

“Because alienating the Senate didn’t work very well for Julius Caesar,” Vitruvius replied. “I don’t think he wishes to repeat that history.”

It was a shame. Slaves with bronze and ebony litters carried us to the palace, where terraced gardens looked out over the water, and the portico commanded a stunning view of sunlit vineyards and golden fields. I was the first from my litter, then Vitruvius.

“It renews your faith in architecture, doesn’t it?” he remarked. He ran his hand lovingly over a caryatid, pausing to rest it on the figure’s marble cheek.

“You built this, didn’t you?” I realized.

He grinned. “My first commission. And I know that school is done for the summer, but if you wish, I will continue to tutor you here. There’ll be no measurements to take or mosaic flooring to plan, but the inspiration—”

“Yes,” I said at once.

He laughed. “We can begin with a tour.”

Octavian stepped from his litter, announcing that dinner would be at sunset in the summer triclinium, and in the remaining time we could explore. Marcellus and Alexander wanted to go to the stables, and immediately Julia moved to go with them. Marcellus looked over his shoulder at me. “Aren’t you coming?”

I glanced at Vitruvius. “To the stables?” I hesitated, watching Julia take Marcellus’s arm. “No, I … I’m going with Vitruvius.”

“Then we’ll see you later,” Marcellus said easily. The pretty trio turned away, my handsome brother, Julia, and Marcellus.

Vitruvius saw my face and promised, “There’s an entire summer to spend with them.”

“And who wants to listen to Julia’s chattering anyway?” Tiberius demanded. I hadn’t seen him emerge from his litter, and I wondered whether he’d been hiding until his mother had gone inside. He looked to Vitruvius. “May I come on your tour?”

“I didn’t know you were interested in architecture.”

Tiberius shrugged sheepishly. “If Selene’s interested, I might be, too.”

We followed Vitruvius into the palace, where the entrance tesserae of colored limestone spelled out the Latin greeting
AVE
at our feet. The halls were frescoed with scenes from the
Odyssey
, mainly
images of sailors and ships. Once we reached the atrium, Vitruvius stopped, letting me stand long enough to take it all in. Long white curtains fluttered in the breeze, brushing against blue mosaic floors. Everything had been painted in shades of the sea: cerulean blue, deep midnight, turquoise.

“It’s nothing like Rome,” I said wonderingly. The walls were ornamented with painted apses and niches. “And look at the marble edges on the pillars!”

“And the painted ceilings,” Vitruvius added.

“How were all of these made?” Tiberius asked.

“The frescoes? Selene can tell you.”

“By applying three coats of mortar and three coats of lime mixed with powdered marble. Then the artist painted on the wall while the mixture was still damp.”

“You’ve learned a lot about this,” Tiberius remarked.

“She’s a good student.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I’m not surprised. She’s my only real competition at school.” Although he was unbearably arrogant, I couldn’t help being flattered. “You should show her the library,” he said to Vitruvius.

“That’s where we’re going.”

It was magnificent. Heavy wooden shelves from ceiling to floor were crammed with scrolls. Seabirds had been carved into the wood of the ceiling, and beautiful urns filled the niches. Vitruvius explained how the shelves had been built, then took us through the triclinium and the guest chambers, pointing out small features like fluted columns and barrel-vaulted spaces painted in sea green and gold. Every room we entered was richly furnished. There were marble-topped tables and couches faced with bronze. Even the chairs were inlaid with precious ivory. When we reached my chamber at the top of the stairs, I saw that I would still be sharing with
Alexander, but the room was so large that it was impossible to see all of its corners from the doorway. Straw hats and feathered fans had been laid on our tables, and thick leather sandals for walking along the rocks had been left out for us as well. I stepped onto our balcony overlooking the sea.

“Is it as beautiful as Alexandria?” Tiberius asked earnestly from behind.

I didn’t lie. “Yes.” I turned to Vitruvius. “How long did all of this take?”

“My entire youth.”

“And the most difficult part?”

He indicated the immaculate gardens with their shady bowers and small marble temples.

“Can we see them?” I asked eagerly.

He led us down the stairs and through a pair of doors that opened onto a portico. There were gardens in every direction, some colonnaded, others terraced to the sea. Vines trailed from painted bowers, and, as we walked beneath them, he explained the difficulty.

“A garden is like an onion,” he said. “It takes layer after layer to make it whole. First the earth has to be cultivated, then the landscape rearranged.” He pointed to thickets of myrtle and boxwood, then showed me the orchards where peach trees grew among lemons and figs. “But it’s the small details that make it complete.”

Sea daffodils and lilies spilled from heavy urns. And where fountains bubbled merrily, Carystian marble gods raised their arms to the sun. As we reached the bottom of the garden, Vitruvius pointed to the heated bathing pool from which swimmers could look out over the sea. Even in Alexandria we had never had such pools. And there were many more things he showed me that afternoon that rivaled Egypt for beauty.

When we returned to the triclinium in time for the evening’s meal,
I saw that Alexander had put on a new tunic, while I was still in my traveling clothes.

“So what did you do all day?” he asked.

“Looked at architecture with Vitruvius and Tiberius.”

Julia popped open an oyster. “That’s it?”

“There’s a great deal more to the palace than you know,” Tiberius retorted.

Marcellus raised his brows. “Such as?”

“The slaves’ chambers,” I said. “And have you seen the baths that they use?”

Julia laughed. “Who would want to do that?”

“You might,” I said sternly. “They are some of the most beautifully frescoed pools I’ve ever seen. And their rosewater is better than what you use in Rome.”

Julia wrinkled her nose. “Really? Why are the slaves living so well?”

“Because we only come here once a year,” Marcellus guessed. “The rest of the time they’re doing as they please. Your father doesn’t call this the Land of Do-Nothings without a reason.” He smiled at me. “I’d like to see their baths.”

“I’m sure Vitruvius will take you.”

“Or you can.”

Everyone at the table paused. My brother darted a look of warning at me. Then Julia said lightly, “You can take all of us. Tomorrow afternoon.”

Marcellus shook his head. “I heard your father say we’ll be visiting Pollio.”

Julia lowered the oyster in her hand.
“What?”

“Pollio is always lending money to the treasury,” he explained. “And you know he comes to the sea every year—”

“So my father’s planning on spending the day with a murderer for a handful of denarii?” Julia cried.

Marcellus put his finger to his lips, but Octavian was busy talking about antiquities with Juba. “At least you’ll get to see Horatia,” he offered.

“And then what?” she hissed. “Ask if she’s enjoying the sea?” She pushed away her plate of food and stood. “I’m not in the mood for this anymore.”

She left the triclinium, and Marcellus was caught between going after her and remaining with us.

“Oh, just let her be,” Alexander suggested. “My sister can talk to her.”

“Why me?” I exclaimed.

“Because you’re a girl and understand these moods.” Since I had experienced my moon blood several months before, Alexander had suffered a few of my irrational tantrums.

“Yes,” Marcellus pleaded. “Better you than us.”

“And you wouldn’t rather go?” I asked temptingly.

Marcellus shook his head. “She’s vile when she’s angry.”

I suppressed a smile and stood. So long as we weren’t sitting at Octavian’s table, no one cared when we left the triclinium. I found Julia on the balcony of her chamber, illuminated by torchlight and watching the waves. “Marcellus?” she asked eagerly, and her shoulders sagged a little when she saw that it was me. “Selene.” Her pale tunic fluttered in the breeze, and I realized that her cheeks were wet.

“I’m sure your father isn’t doing this to hurt you,” I said.

“No.” She spun around. “Livia is. You think my father can’t borrow gold from a thousand other men? Why Pollio?” she demanded. “Why tomorrow, just as we’re free from the ludus and beginning to enjoy ourselves?” She stalked from the balcony, and I followed her into her chamber. Her eyes were brimming with tears. “I won’t go.”

“Don’t give Livia the satisfaction,” I told her. “She wants to see you alone and upset while all the rest of us are out together. And if you don’t go tomorrow, she’ll know she’s found a way of excluding you. She’ll only do it again.”

Julia sat on her couch. “You saw what she did to Gallia,” she said. “Without lifting a finger. If I go, she’ll only find another way to hurt me.”

“Then tell your father!” I seated myself on one of her chairs.

“Do you think he would listen?” She laughed scornfully. “I’m like one of his Setinum wines being aged to perfection. And when the time is right, he’ll sell me off to Marcellus.”

“But I thought you
wanted
to marry him?”

“Of course I do. But my father doesn’t care about that. I could loathe Marcellus, and we would still be married.” Her voice grew very still and frail. “You were lucky to have a mother,” she said. “Even if Gaia survived her first night at the Columna, she’ll never know her real mother. Just like me.”

“But your mother is alive—”

Her eyes flashed. “And banished from the Palatine! No one invites her to dinner for fear of displeasing my father. She has no friends, no husband. She doesn’t even have me. Do you know where she is right now?”

I shook my head.

“In Rome, suffering with the plebs. She doesn’t have the denarii to purchase a summer villa, and do you think my father cares? If I could, I would leave this island behind and sweat through the heat of Rome to be with her. Instead, I get to suffer here.”

When she bent her head and I realized she was crying, I moved from my chair and put my arm around her shoulders. There was nothing to say, no way of changing Rome or her father. I simply listened to her cry, and was thankful I had come instead of Marcellus.

Before we left for Pollio’s villa, an augur was summoned to determine whether the day would be auspicious for dining with a friend. We stood in the colonnaded garden beneath the increasing heat of the sun, waiting for a flock of birds to pass overhead so that the augur could divine from their pattern of flight whether this would be a
dies fastus
or a
dies nefastus
.