Cleopatra’s Daughter: A Novel (50 page)

“No, not yet.”

“There’s an entire room just for bathing, and a chamber that looks out over the Forum. Come!” She stood. “Let me show you around.”

“But what about your guests?”

She waved her hand dismissively. “They won’t miss me during the
gustatio
. Let them have a few drinks and some oysters.”

She took me up the stairs and pointed out the small details that she knew I would like: the onyx floor with its sleek fur rugs, the insets of blue and yellow marble on the ceilings. The tapestries, draperies, and awnings all looked new, and I asked her, “Who owned this villa before?”

“Some old man who died without children. My father bought it for me six months ago and had all of the tasteless furniture removed.
You should have seen what was here. Only now, there are no tables and almost nothing to sleep on.”

I saw what she meant. In the bridal chamber, although the windows were beautiful and the floor had been polished, there was only a single couch.

Julia saw my look and crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s worse than my father’s villa, isn’t it? Even the Vestals live better than this!”

I was forced to agree with her.

“Come with me tomorrow,” she begged. “We’ll go shopping in the Forum.”

“I have to work with Vitruvius.”

“What? Every day? No one has a better eye for design than you.”

I hesitated.

“Please. He’ll understand. Just tell him your next project is going to be my villa!”

The next morning, we set out for the Forum. Alexander came with us, shadowed by two Praetorians, and Julia remarked, “I’m surprised you’re not with Lucius. I can’t remember the last time I saw the two of you apart.”

My brother wrapped himself tighter in his cloak. Although no rain had fallen yet, the wind was bitter. “He’s with his father. He wants to show him some things he’s written and ask for his opinion on finding a patron.” He looked at me. “Do you think there’s any hope?”

“I don’t see why not. It’s not as though Vitruvius doesn’t have a patron himself.”

“Yes, but it’s Octavia and he’s sleeping with her. We were hoping for a patron who’s content simply with art.”

“Has he tried Vergil?” Julia asked. “Or Horace?”

“They both have more than a dozen writers whom they help fund. And Maecenas is interested only in Ovid.”

“Then why can’t
we
be his patron?” Julia asked suddenly. “Marcellus and I are married, and now both of us have our own funds.”

My brother stopped walking. “Really?”

“Why not? Octavia has her writers, and it’s probably time that I have mine!”

My brother laughed. “Lucius will be absolutely beside himself.”

“There’s only one condition,” Julia stipulated. “In all of his work, I want to be young and pretty, even when I’m old and fat.”

“Eternally beautiful,” my brother said. “Duly noted.”

When we reached the shops along the Via Sacra, Julia wanted to go into them all. By the afternoon, we had chosen nearly everything she would ever need: chairs and chests made of citron wood, tripods with heavy bronze basins for incense and whose legs were decorated with gryphons’ heads and claws, tables made of rosewood, ivory-handled mirrors, hip baths in the shapes of sea-dragons and swans.

“Your villa’s going to be like the Royal Palace of Alexandria,” my brother promised.

“Really?” she asked eagerly.

“Prettier,” I said, though it disturbed me that I was beginning to forget what the rooms in the palace had looked like. Sometimes, when I took out my book of sketches and flipped through the pages, I was reminded of a chamber I’d forgotten entirely, or an alcove where Alexander and I had played as children. Sometimes I wondered how much Alexander remembered, but I was afraid of asking and upsetting him.

“All right,” Julia announced. “Just one more thing. A tapestry for the atrium.”

We followed her into a shop near the Senate, and Alexander nodded appreciatively. “Impressive.” On the walls hung tapestries and
marble plaques depicting every sort of mythological scene. On one tapestry, Odysseus navigated his ship past the cliffs of Scylla. On another, Romulus and Remus fought about the walls of Rome. My brother stood immediately in front of a plaque depicting the Greek twins, the Gemini. “Like our mother used to call us,” he said quietly. “We should buy this for our room.”

“Absolutely not! It’s too expensive.”

“Then let me buy it for you,” Julia said. When I started to object, she shook her head sternly. “In three days, it’ll be your birthday, and this can be my gift.”

“Julia, this is too generous,” I protested.

“After all you did for me before my wedding? Nonsense,” she said, and snapped her fingers. The man behind the counter came over at once, and when Julia pointed to the marble plaque, his eyes went wide. “Have this sent to Octavia’s villa,” she instructed. “You know the place?”

“Of course, Domina.”

“And you see that tapestry of Venus and Vulcan? That should go to the house of Julia Augusti.”

“This is a very kind present,” my brother said. “Between this and Lucius’s patronage, I don’t see how we can ever leave Rome.”

She grinned. “Good. When Livia returns, I’ll need trustworthy friends on the Palatine.”

ON THE
morning of our fifteenth birthday, Alexander woke me with a kiss.
“Felicem diem natalem
, Selene.”

I bolted upright. “What’s the matter? What?”

Alexander laughed. “Nothing! I’m wishing you a happy birthday. Julia and Marcellus are here. They want to take us to the Circus, and then to the theater.”

“Already? What time is it?”

“Almost noon. Good thing you weren’t meeting Vitruvius today. You must have had too much wine last night.” My brother grinned. We had stayed up long past midnight, laughing and talking, but most importantly, helping Marcellus plan for the Ludi Megalenses.

I rushed into a heavy tunic and cloak, sweeping up my hair into a loose bun, and while I dressed, Alexander regarded the handsome marble plaque of the Gemini.

“Do you really think the war will be over in six months?” he asked worriedly.

“I hope not. The longer Augustus stays in Iberia, the better for everyone.”

There was a knock at the door, and Alexander called brightly, “Come in.”

I’d expected Julia or Marcellus, but it was Octavia who appeared, carrying honeyed cakes and a letter. I glanced at Alexander, and he touched the
bulla
around his neck. While I would wear mine until the day of my marriage, he would offer his to the Lares today. As long as we wore our
bullae
, we were no threat to anyone. But what would Augustus do with us now?

“Felicem diem natalem!”
Octavia exclaimed. “Fifteen years old and a new year before you.” She set the cakes down and smiled. “I hear that my son is taking you to the Circus. That doesn’t seem like much of a treat for Selene.”

I smiled briefly. “We’re going to the theater afterward. Marcellus says it will be a comedy.” I looked at the letter in her hand.

“From my brother,” she said meaningfully. “Seven came yesterday. One was for Agrippa, and a few were for generals in his army. But this one,” she said, taking a spot on the third couch where Marcellus used to sit, “might interest you. Perhaps you’d like to hear it?”

Alexander looked at me, and both of us nodded. Octavia unfurled the scroll and read:

Octavia looked up at me with a triumphant smile.

“That’s it?” I panicked. “What about Alexander? What about our return to Egypt?”

Her smile faltered. “I’m sure that will all come in time. My brother’s still at war. When he returns—”

“But why does he have to wait? When Gallus committed suicide,” I challenged, “Augustus named a new prefect while he was still in Gaul.”

“That was a different situation,” she said uneasily. “For now, we should celebrate this news. Another wedding!”

Alexander reached for my hand. “And what if we don’t want to be married?” he asked.

Octavia frowned. “Every girl wishes to marry at least once. And what man doesn’t want to take a wife?”

“We don’t,” I said. “Alexander and I enjoy each other’s company, and I don’t see any reason why we should part.”

Octavia lowered the letter to her lap. “But this is good news, Selene. You’ll have a house of your own, like Julia and Marcellus.”

“Who love each other!” I protested. “You know better than anyone what comes of an unwanted marriage.”

She flinched, and though I regretted hurting her, it was the truth.

“And what will Alexander do,” I asked, “given to a girl he doesn’t even know?”

“Most husbands don’t know their wives. It’s an arrangement—”

“That we don’t want!”

She sat back, shocked by my reaction. But clearly Augustus had known, otherwise he wouldn’t have warned her to prepare me. “We shall discuss this in a few months,” she said. “But I see no reason why the two of you should have to be parted simply because you’ll be married.”

“What if one of us goes to Egypt and the other to Greece? Or what if Alexander isn’t sent to Egypt at all, and we’re sent to live at opposite ends of the empire? Livia might marry us off to anyone.”

“This is not a decision to be made by Livia. It is one my brother
shall make.” She rose, looking deeply regretful. “I should not have read this to you. This day should be free from worry. They will be good matches,” she promised, “and happy marriages.” But I didn’t see how she could ensure that.

Julia and Marcellus were waiting for us in the atrium, and when they saw our faces, they wanted to know what had happened.

“A letter from Augustus,” my brother replied.

“Apparently, we’re to be married,” I said.

“To whom?” Marcellus exclaimed.

“Not Tiberius?” Julia asked in alarm.

I recoiled. “No. Livia would never allow that.”

“Well, so long as it’s not him,” she said brightly, “how bad can it be?”

“Think of Horatia,” I retorted, “or any number of terrible marriages. In Egypt, women are allowed to choose their husbands.”

Marcellus put his arm around my shoulders. “Just remember who is heir,” he whispered, and I smiled despite myself.

Aside from the contents of Augustus’s letter, it was a wonderful day, the best birthday I could remember having. As usual, Alexander won his bets at the races. It had rained the night before, but he knew which horses preferred wet tracks to dry, and after taking out the small scroll on which he recorded past performances, he bet on the Whites.

“Fifty denarii to the Prince of Egypt,” the bet-maker said, handing him a heavy red purse. “And another fifty for you.” He passed a second purse to Marcellus.