Keeper of the Flame (18 page)

“He was so young,” Caesar whispered. “Only thirty-three.” He placed another palm on the stone. “I am fifty-two.”

Cleopatra hooked an arm around his and brought her lips to his ear. “But I am not. And together . . .”

He turned to kiss her, but the gesture was halfhearted, distracted.

She tugged on his arm. “Come. The people are waiting.”

The Paneium in the south of the city was a wonder, a manmade hill shaped as a fir cone, with a path that spiraled upward to the temple of Pan on its summit. Beside the temple they alighted, and Caesar enjoyed an uninterrupted view of the crossroad of the world. The entire city lay beneath them, all the way to the harbor. From here one felt almost equal with the lighthouse.

Cleopatra led Caesar into the temple. In the dark coolness of the stone, she prepared her mind to speak to her people with all the passion she felt in her heart. They waited for the crowd trickling up the hill to gather in the temple courtyard.

When she and Caesar emerged minutes later, blinking in the sunlight, with hands clasped and upraised, the reaction of the people was a mix of hails and jeers.

But Cleopatra had lived and breathed the political life since birth. She had seen her father woo and placate the people, had seen him rule them fiercely, and knew how to play the game.

She spoke her heart to them now, letting her voice rise and fall and weave a spell of words that hushed the protestors and delighted her supporters. She felt them ride along on the words with her, all the way to its triumphant conclusion.

“Egypt will again be great,” she finished. “With all the power of Rome behind her, she will flourish here, with the Nile to feed her and the Great Sea to bring her wealth. And in the palace, one who knows you, who understands you, who is one of you!”

And then they escaped, through the crowd to the waiting chariot, amid the screaming cheers of the Alexandrians.

Caesar was laughing as they jumped into the chariot. “Magnificent!” He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her to him. Cleopatra laughed with him, still feeling the breathless exhilaration of her speech. “You are a marvel!”

There it was again, that dangerous happiness his words could bring her. She hardened herself against it, pulled his arms from her, and set her face forward. “We are not finished yet.”

The city of Alexandria had divided itself into five districts, with three ethnic divisions. The royal Alpha, Beta, and Gamma districts, called the Brucheum, were home to both Greek rulers and Greek immigrants. The Jewish Delta district lay in the east of the city and the Egyptians’ Epsilon district, Rhakotis, lay in the west. Their chariot sped them northwest through the Alpha now, to the other side of the Museum and Library on the waterfront, where they stopped and alighted.

In the street beside the massive twin buildings of the Museum and the Library, four Egyptian slaves waited with a gold litter on four poles.

Cleopatra hurried to the Egyptian-style litter, leaving Caesar behind to gaze at the gleaming marble steps that soared up to the columned Library entrance. It was a gorgeous structure, with at least ten interconnecting halls, each set aside for a different academic pursuit, with alcoves stuffed with papyrus scrolls and smaller study rooms for the scholars. Linked to the Library by a white marble colonnade was the Museum, with its private dining areas, gardens, and even exotic animals in small zoos where the scholars could further study. The complex rose like a temple to the gods of learning, and Cleopatra watched Caesar gawk at it with the eyes of a foreigner.

“You see now”—she climbed into the litter—“why you Romans copy our philosophy, our religion, even our architecture?”

Caesar looked away from the buildings. “
Rome est constructum in crepidoinis of Aegina.
” Rome is built on the foundations of Greece.

Cleopatra sank into the cushions of the litter and tugged at the curtains. Her Roman watched her and nodded. Whether he would follow on foot or return to the palace, she did not know.

The canopied sedan chair was carved with hieroglyphs and hung with the blue and white striped fabric of Egyptian royalty, and she molded her attitude to her new role even as the slaves lifted the poles to their shoulders and moved forward.

Inside, she slid out of the Greek chitôn, and removed the jewelry from her neck and hair. The leather pouch she had packed earlier rested in the corner of the litter. She pulled a new robe from it—the white sheath dress, close-fitting and filmy, of Egyptian royalty—and shimmied into it with some difficulty.

“Stop the jolting!” she called to the slaves. “You walk like a pack of Syrian camels!”

Her pouch gave up the rest of its contents. A wig of straight, shoulder-length black hair with bangs cut evenly across her brow. A pectoral neck piece of gold links that wrapped around her neck and lay heavy on her upper chest. Lastly the doublecrown of Upper and Lower Egypt with its rearing snake at the forehead, a symbol of the Pharaoh since time began.

She felt the litter moving upward and knew they had reached the hill that dominated the city. She finished arranging the headpiece as the litter slowed to a stop and lowered to the ground. A beefy, bare-chested slave reached a hand through the curtain and she emerged, every bit the Egyptian queen.

She gazed around the outer court of the Serapeum and felt she might have been Hatshepsut, that ancient ruler who had been Egypt’s only female Pharaoh.

Cleopatra loved the Serapeum Temple. Like a mirror of herself, it was a blend of the ancient Egyptian worship and the Greeks who had brought their religion with them. People came to the immense temple complex to seek advice from the god, to pray for healing.

The sandy courtyard was filled with pious Egyptians leading goats for sacrifices and shaved-headed priests in white skirts. Here the wealthy and the peasants mingled, made equal before the gods. And here Cleopatra would win her second audience of the day.

The crowd parted at her entrance, as it should. Her name whispered through the courtyard, and all eyes turned toward her. She carried herself with regal authority and was rewarded with the bent knees of many. They stretched dark arms in front of them, heads down, in the age-old mark of deference to a Pharaoh. She let a slight, pleased smile play upon her lips, and moved between the wide-slanted pylons and the two colossal statues of the Apis Bull. When she reached the square entry, she turned to the crowd and paused, waiting for all to return to their feet and pay her heed.

“My people, these are difficult days for Egypt. Grain has been short since last year’s meager inundation. But we await the new season with hope. And in our hope for a stronger Egypt, we seek the assistance of our strong and friendly neighbor, Rome.”

There was some stirring of discontent, and she hastened on. “You have heard, no doubt, that Rome’s general, Julius Caesar, has brought his legion and settled into the royal quarter. You
have also heard, I know, that I have not declared him our enemy, but instead have welcomed him into the palace.” She breathed deeply, smiled at them all, and lifted a hand. “This is for Egypt, my friends. This is for Egypt. By Isis and Osiris, I will restore Egypt to her former glory.” She pointed to the mighty carved reliefs of the Pharaohs that crossed the temple’s wall in solar boats to receive gifts from the hands of the gods. “Like a true daughter of Isis, I seek only the glory of Egypt!”

The Egyptians did not cheer. She did not expect them to. They were not a robust and buoyant people like the Greeks. Instead, they bowed their heads in reverent approval as Cleopatra turned slowly and entered the temple to make her obeisance to the gods of Egypt.

Would he have said
magnificent
here?
It mattered not. She had accomplished her goal. For the Greeks, rhetoric. For the Egyptians, religion.

She thought briefly of visiting the splendid Jewish synagogue in the Delta district but knew there was little use. The Jews, while many, took no ownership of Egypt. Their hearts were always for their own dusty land, even when displaced.

When she emerged from the temple, a wave of exhaustion swept through her limbs. The sense of impending war hanging over the city drained her energy. She accepted the arm of the slave who offered, let him lead her to the litter once more, and whispered instructions. She had need of something tonight, and it was not the puzzling affections of a Roman, nor the whining complaints of her brother-husband Ptolemy. She longed for companionship more steady, more trustworthy.

Sighing, she leaned once more into the cushions of the litter and let the slaves carry her to Sophia.

It was not until her slaves helped her from the litter in the entryway of the lighthouse that Cleopatra remembered the centuria of Romans stationed there. As she crossed through the Base to the lighthouse ramp, she smiled at the deference offered her by the soldiers she passed.

It pays to be the consort of General Caesar.

Ares met her at the entrance to the tower, but she waved him away. She wanted to surprise Sophia. It had been too long.

She found her former tutor on her couch, huddled over her books, as usual. Sophia jerked her head up at the interruption, then smiled slowly. Cleopatra watched the lines in the woman’s forehead smooth away.

Sophia swept a few scrolls to the floor, making room beside her. Cleopatra hurried to the couch, embraced her, and dropped to the cushions.

“You have been too long gone, my dear,” Sophia said. “Almost I have been thinking that your Roman has convinced you to abandon me.”

She squeezed Sophia’s arm. “Never. Where would I go to hear the truth, if not to you?”

Sophia touched the gold pectoral at Cleopatra’s chest. “You have need of truth today?”

She sighed and leaned her head against the cushion. “I am trying to win them back, Sophia. The city. But it is not easy.”

“You will win them only when you give them what they want.”

Cleopatra smiled. “Ah, but this is why you will never be a politician, Sophia. You do not give the people what they want. You convince them that they
want
what you are
giving
them.”

The corner of Sophia’s mouth turned upward. “How is it you are so wise, when you are still so young?”

“You forget where I grew up. At my father’s knee.” She drew closer to Sophia and rested her head on the woman’s shoulder. “And at yours.”

Sophia patted her head.

“Do you think he loves me?” Cleopatra couldn’t hold back the question. “Or is he only using me to gain Egypt?”

“What does your heart tell you?”

Cleopatra laughed. “Is this my Sophia, telling me to listen to my heart?”

Her tutor was silent, and Cleopatra lifted her head to study Sophia’s face. She was surprised by the emotion there. “What is this?”

Sophia shrugged. “I am weary of others believing I have no heart of my own.”

Cleopatra took Sophia’s face in her hands. “No one has loved me better than you, Sophia. Show me the one who thinks you have no heart, and I will run a sword through his.”

Sophia’s eyes filled and she smiled.

“It is only that you do not pay attention to your heart, to the great capacity for love that lies there.” She wiped at Sophia’s tears and then embraced her. “I am not sure I have that same capacity.”

Sophia pulled away. “Do you love him?”

“I do not want to. It is not wise.”

“I am sure it is not.”

Cleopatra laughed. “You see, I knew you would tell me the truth.” She faced Sophia. “Now you must tell me, do you think he could love me? Do you think I am worth loving?” Even as she asked it, she knew the answer, because she had voiced the question so many times before. Why did it seem she needed to be told so often?

“I have seen you with him only once, Cleo. But it was clear on that night that he was much taken with you. I saw the way he watched your movements, smiled at every word you spoke.”

Cleopatra closed her eyes against the cushions again. “You must come again, you must tell me what you think.”

“I should rather avoid all Romans, I think.”

Cleopatra laughed. “Then you must be spending all your time up here, as they are difficult to avoid below.”

Sophia stood and scooped up the scrolls she had pushed to the floor. “A pack of arrogant, unruly dogs.” She crossed to her desk and stacked the rolls of papyrus neatly.

Cleopatra stretched across the couch. “Come now, they are not all so bad?”

Sophia turned on her. “You do realize what they are doing to the Library? To the Museum? Can’t you use your influence with Caesar to make them stop?”

“Ah, yes, your precious men of the Museum. Where have they all fled to, Sophia?”

The woman turned back to her desk and rearranged the scrolls. “They were forced to flee before Caesar had them spending their time on projects that would only bring Egypt to harm.”

Cleopatra watched Sophia’s back. “There are rumors that Sosigenes was working on something very important.”

“Everything they do is important, Cleo.”

“He worked closely with Kallias, did he not?”

“He was a good friend to my husband. And to me.”

“But could he be trying to recreate the Proginosko that Kallias lost?”

Sophia whirled again, her eyes flashing. “He did not lose it!”

Cleopatra lifted herself from the cushions. “I misspoke, Sophia. Forgive me. It was lost with him. I know.”

Sophia ran a hand through her short hair, and Cleopatra resisted a smile. When would she convince Sophia to let it grow?

“Persuade Caesar that Alexandria is the jewel of the world because it is the center of learning, Cleo. Convince him that he only weakens Egypt when he attacks what makes her great.”

“I will tell him.”

Sophia sank into the chair beside her desk, and Cleopatra watched her.

Where was Sosigenes? Sophia’s evasiveness aroused her curiosity. Could he have completed the Proginosko? She let her mind toy with the possibility and its effects.

What would it mean for Egypt, and for her, to have the knowledge the Proginosko promised?

Sophia’s attention had moved to the window now, to the sky beyond. Cleopatra inclined her head and studied her tutor. If the choice came, would she betray Sophia to gain the power the Proginosko could afford?