Hand of Isis (48 page)

I
n the morning they went out again, all of them. The remaining ships of our fleet sailed, and our men marched against Agrippa, twelve thousand men against thirty thousand.

Dion looked white as he got into line with the other infantry volunteers, tradesmen and students and men who had never held a sword in battle before. I did not hear what he said to Emrys.

Emrys stood beside his horse, and I came out and embraced him while the Queen bid Antonius farewell with such public words as put heart in men. “I’ll see you soon,” Emrys said, and crushed me against him. I nodded. I could not say good-bye, though every fiber of my body sang with it.

And then they were gone.

A vast hush spread over the city. In the markets stalls closed, the merchants barricading themselves in their houses as though it were darkest night. The streets emptied. Only a few furled sails stirred in the harbor, ships deserted along the quays. Somewhere, a dog barked fitfully.

I stood on the terrace above the sea. It was hard to believe that anything moved or breathed in the warm air.

I looked down and it was Helios who took my hand, big boy as he was and usually past that. “Charmian, is the world ending?”

“Yes,” I said, and picked him up, crushing him against me. “You must be very brave, do you hear me? No matter what happens.”

“Iras won’t let anything happen to me,” he said. “She promised.”

“She will do her best, my love,” I said. “She will do her best.”

A messenger boy came clattering out, his feet loud on the stones. “The Queen wants you,” he said.

She was in her room, with Philadelphos on her shoulder. “We had better move,” she said.

Iras was grabbing her jewels. “There was a skirmish. We lost some men and so did they. And then Antonius’ last legion went over to Octavian and the Auxiliaries too. Agrippa proclaimed an amnesty for the men of the city if they would disperse, and they did. The gates are open and Octavian is coming.”

“Where are we going?” I asked, twisting around.

“To my tomb.” Cleopatra slid Philadelphos on her hip. “Except for Caesarion. He’s gone to the docks, trying to make it down the Mareotic Canal in disguise. He’ll head for Memphis. But I can’t do that with the children.”

Demetria, I thought. But Demetria was halfway across the city, at the Serapeum. Even now, the Canopic Way might be in Octavian’s hands. I could never get there.

“And Antonius?”

“We don’t know where he is,” Iras said, and I saw the Queen’s face tighten. “We’ll leave a message for him here, and hope he understands it.”

Selene ran before us as we hurried down almost deserted corridors, echoing with our footsteps, through deserted rooms, through the dining room where no one had cleaned up last night’s dinner.

Babylon, I thought. My footsteps screamed it.

Out into the hot summer afternoon, out into the park. Past the glittering fountain of Nectanebo, past the mausoleums of Auletes and Philadelphos. Past the tombs of nobles. There lay the Hipparch Lydias with his wife, winged Hermes guiding him. There lay the men and women who had built the city.

And at last Cleopatra’s tomb, its great bronze doors meant to keep out robbers. It took all of our strength to bar them. We waited. I only lit one lamp, so that the oil would last. We waited in the cool dark.

I did not mean to, but I slept.

_______

I
T WAS NIGHTFALL
when they brought Antonius. We saw the torches and went to one of the clerestory windows that was still accessible inside from the scaffolding. Iras clambered up.

“He’s on a stretcher,” she called down. “He’s badly hurt.”

Cleopatra kicked off her shoes and climbed up, and I heard her cry out as she saw him. I stayed below, holding Selene back where she would have followed.

“Charmian, come up! We need you!” she called down, and her voice sounded panicked. I scrambled after.

Outside in the summer dusk two servants were trying to lift up a board with Antonius on it, and I heard him groan faintly as they jostled him. Iras leaned so far out I thought she would fall, her arms straining as she tried to take the weight. Somehow, with all three of us pulling and tugging, and the servants below pushing, we managed to get the board in the window.

I saw at once that it was hopeless. While Cleopatra fell sobbing on his face, covering him with kisses, Iras lifted the cloth away from where it had been pressed against his belly. Her eyes met mine. There was no recovery from a wound like this, though it might take many hours to die. Clearly it already had.

“Iras, get some wine for the Imperator,” Cleopatra said, and I heard her as she bent over him again. “What happened? The battle?”

He shook his head, sweat beaded on his lip where he had bitten it in pain. “No . . . did it myself when I had your note. . . .”

“My note?” She blanched. “I told you to seek me in my tomb. What did you think?”

Antonius raised his head, his lips stretched as though he tried to laugh. “What should I make of that? That you were dead, of course.” He raised one bloody, shaking hand to her face. “And why should I live then?”

My eyes met Iras’. Too late.

Down below Philadelphos cried out, and I climbed down to the children. “Darlings, your father has been badly wounded. He’s terribly, terribly sick.”

Selene met my eyes, and she knew. And I knew that she knew. I saw it settle over her, nine years old. “We’re going to die, aren’t we?” she asked, her voice perfectly even.

“We’re all going to die some time or other, dearest,” I said. “It matters less when than how. Come and I will show you where we will be. This is, after all, your mother’s tomb.” We walked across the floor, away from the scaffold, away from the dying man.

Cleopatra’s sarcophagus was nearby, heavy carved granite waiting for the gilded inner coffin. “Your mother will go right there someday, just like Alexander in his tomb or your grandfather in his,” I said, my hand tight around Philadelphos’. “You see how it’s carved with her royal cartouche here. And over here on the floor behind it are two cover stones, for me and Iras to lie behind her beneath the floor. Here’s mine on the right and Iras’ on the left. And your father will lie there, just beside her on the dais.”

I blinked, surprised my voice was still completely normal, Selene and I carrying on this act for the boys. And Emrys and Dion? Where did they lie, even now? Would I even ever know?

“It’s very pretty,” Selene said. “Almost as pretty as Alexander’s.”

“I think so too,” I said.

I
N THE HOUR
before dawn Antonius died. Iras closed his eyes, and she and Cleopatra carried his body down from the scaffolding and laid him out on the lid of the sarcophagus, his limbs neatly arranged, his cloak over him.

He brought himself to it in the end, I thought, the sacrifice. But it was too late, far, far too late. I could not help but pity him.

And yet, had he done it sooner we would not have been brought to this pass.

“What shall we do?” I whispered to Iras as the Queen knelt beside him. “We cannot stay here day and night with no water and a corpse. What about the children?”

She shook her head.

Octavian’s men knocked on the door soon after, and the Queen went and spoke with them. I do not know what she said. I sat on the far side of the room, Helios in my lap, telling them stories.

The lamp sputtered, the oil burning low.

I didn’t see the men until they jumped down from the clerestory window, three Roman soliders. In an instant one of them had a knife at Cleopatra’s throat. “Nobody move!” he shouted.

I hardly could, across the room with Helios on me. They unbarred the door and we were taken.

B
ACK TO THE PALACE
in the morning, back to the rooms we had left less than a day before, under heavy guard. The Queen’s room reeked of roses, where yesterday in our haste we had knocked a vial of scent over.

“The princes and princess will return to their rooms,” the officer in charge said. “One of you maidservants will accompany them.”

The Queen nodded at me, and I went out with the children. Please, Mother, I thought, if it is to be done, let it be done quickly so they hardly know.

But nothing happened. We went into their rooms under heavy guard. It was little different than when Caesar had taken us all before years ago.

And my heart ached for Emrys.

“Come, children,” I said. “Let’s wash up and put on some clean clothes.”

“Our father is dead,” Helios said.

“Yes, my darling,” I said, kneeling beside him. “So let’s cut a lock of your hair, each one of you, to lay on his breast, and dress like a family in mourning.”

“Where is Caesarion?” Selene asked. “And Antyllus?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

Slaves brought dinner on a tray later, and I let them eat it without waiting for me to eat first for safety. If Octavian wanted to kill them there were easier and quicker ways, and it would certainly not look natural if we all dropped dead at once.

I went over their lessons with Helios and Selene, and let Philadelphos go to bed on a pallet on the floor of Helios’ room. Selene didn’t want to sleep alone either, and curled up with her brothers in the whispering dark. Outside, the feet of the sentries were the only sound, passing by on their rounds.

At midnight the guard let in Iras. She looked haggard, and her usually immaculate hair was coming out of its pins. “We’re trading for a while,” she said. I nodded.

She caught my arm. “Antyllus is dead,” she said. “He took sanctuary in the temple. Agrippa’s troops dragged him from the altar and beheaded him.”

“Oh my Lady Isis,” I whispered. “That dear, sweet boy.” Demetria. Demetria must have been there, must have seen it.

Iras squeezed my arm.

“Come,” the guard said.

I went in to the Queen.

Cleopatra was white and drawn, her eyes ringed by huge shadows, but her plain blue chiton was clean, not covered as the other had been with Antonius’ gore. Iras had gotten her to bathe.

I went to her and took her hands.

“You heard about Antyllus?” she asked.

I nodded.

“How are the children?”

“Fine,” I said. “They’ve had dinner. I’ve kept them quiet and calm. They’re upset about their father, of course.”

She nodded, turning away and pacing toward the window. “Octavian won’t hurt them yet. He has a plan for us.” She stopped before the curtains, moving in the harbor breeze. “We’re to march in his Triumph.”

“Like Arsinoe.” The words escaped me before I could stop them.

“All of us,” Cleopatra said, her back to me. “You, me, Iras, and the children. Antonius has robbed him of the pleasure of his company.”

“Octavian could never have done that,” I said, fighting back the nausea that rose in me. Practical, as Emrys said. Practical to the last. “The Romans would turn on him. They would have too much sympathy for their former hero Antonius.”

“And they have none for me,” she said. “The Great Harlot. The wicked creature out of the East, devourer of men, the monster seducing men from virtue with Greek ideas and evil luxury. They will enjoy seeing me drooling and incontinent.”

I pressed my hands to my lips. I had no prayers left.

Cleopatra smoothed her skirts down, and I saw her head lift. “I’ve asked Octavian if I may speak with him at his leisure. There may be something left to bargain with.”

She turned and I saw the word in her eyes, though she did not voice it. We did not know where Caesarion was. If he had gotten safe to Memphis, we might have one more play. If we could buy time.

I
T WAS THREE LONG
and tedious days before the guard came, saying that Caesar Octavian would visit the Queen in an hour.

“Thank you,” she said gravely, and as the door closed turned to us. “I need my good clothes. Something modest but seemly, preferably white.”

“I know the one,” I said, and we prepared her. She looked like a matron in mourning, a beautiful and still not old matron of thirty-nine, but nothing like golden Isis enthroned.