Children of Tiber and Nile Page 5

  Thank the gods I’m not the one meeting that stare, Selene thought. A fragment of a tune rattled through her head, and absently, she wrote it down in Hellene notation. It probably wouldn’t have words, but her little musical twiddles rarely did. And to think, it could have been Alexander and me who were consigned to Egypt. Told to marry and renew the pact of the gods. I can’t even imagine that.

  Caesarion and Eurydice had both frozen in place. And then, to Selene’s surprise, both of them began to protest at once.

  “I can’t possibly spare Eurydice. We’re preparing to invade Britannia, and how do you think that will go without her eyes and magic?”

  “I can’t stay in Egypt, Mother. I’ve been setting up the school for sorcerers here in Rome, but we have all of three students at the moment, none of whom are ready for combat against the druids and their earth-magic and their spirits—“

  “Aside from which, you may not have noticed, but I don’t have an heir yet—“

  “Then I strongly recommend that you take off the anti-conception bracelet I gave you, and get on with it,” Cleopatra told them tartly, silencing both of them.

  Selene’s head rose, and she gave her brother and sister a single wide-eyed look at that piece of plain speaking. Saw both of them—god-like creatures that they were!—flush slightly. And heard one tiny snicker from Alexander, at exactly the wrong moment—provoking an outright glare from Caesarion. Selene, not even in the direct path of that expression, withered in her seat.

  Caesarion turned that glare on their mother now. “Let me see if I understand you correctly. You want me to abandon the invasion of Britannia, take my wife on a pleasure trip to Egypt, get her with child, and . . . what, move the capital of the empire away from Rome to Alexandria?”

  “No, I want you to leave her there to rule for a time,” Cleopatra replied, this time with a hint of gentleness in her voice. “The patricians of Rome have been unthreatened for the past three years, because you’ve produced no heir. They have had time to get used to the idea of your marriage. They will, however, see a child that continues the line of Caesar as the deathknell of the remnants of the Republic, and the establishment of a hereditary monarchy. A monarchy in which none of them has a stake, since you did not marry any of their daughters.” Cleopatra’s mouth tightened. “I had to watch every morsel of food I ate through four pregnancies, and could barely set foot outside the villa when I had the three of you who followed Caesarion into this world,” she added softly. “I don’t wish for Eurydice to know that same clutching fear. Egypt will be safer from knives and poisons. For both Eurydice and any child you might have, my dear ones.”

  Eurydice sighed. “The dream has a way of coming true. I just hoped . . . that it wouldn’t happen yet.” She hung her head, but Selene had no idea what she meant by those words.

  Silence draped over the room like a winding sheet. Finally, Alexander exhaled. “Mother’s probably right on all counts. And there has been Parthian activity in the east. You could make a good show of shoring up the eastern borders as part of the trip to Egypt, brother. Get a good look at the loyalties of the eastern legions. Give the Eagles a good airing. And that way, it’s less of a ‘pleasure trip,’ for you, and a very practical reason to be there, instead of preparing for Britannia.”

  “So, I just call off the invasion?” Caesarion muttered, shaking his head. “It’s retaliatory, for that business in Hispania. I wasn’t really looking to find the northlands where the sun never sets this year, but if I don’t start it soon, Rome’s vengeance will no longer be respected and feared—“

  “Send the legions into northern Gaul,” Tiberius suggested. “Cicero Minor and a few others—and I volunteer as one of them—can pre-stage. Even make the crossing and get a toe-hold in the lands of the Cantiaci, or wherever you want us to land.”

  “You have capable legates,” Cleopatra said, still standing. “Make use of them, my son. Your father didn’t attend every battle his legions fought, either.”

  Caesarion grimaced. “I know, I know. But it’s my duty to lead them. God-born of Mars. And they call me their Eagle for a reason.” He caught Eurydice’s hand in his own, giving her a sober look. “Mother, we can’t just send Eurydice alone to rule a country she’s never set foot in before.”

  Cleopatra nodded. “That’s why I was going to suggest that you make Antony governor of Egypt—replace the current prefect and bump the title up a little. And Gaius and I will go with him, and the people there will see continuity of power, and the people of Rome will see a Roman province governed by a Roman man, and will be unthreatened by what they’ll perceive as a puppet queen on a foreign throne.” She shrugged.

  “Gods,” Alexander muttered. “How am I ever going to play the game as well as you do, Mother?”

  Cleopatra smiled at him, her expression brittle. “Stay alive long enough,” she replied succinctly. “It’s really the only way.” She turned, and now her dark eyes found Selene, startling her so much that she almost dropped the charcoal in her fingers. “And that,” Cleopatra said briskly, “brings us to the vexed question of what to do with you.”

  For an instant, Selene thought she might have meant Gaius. She even looked down at the three-year-old, checking to make sure that he hadn’t destroyed any priceless scrolls. “Why, ah, Gaius will be going with you and Antony, surely?” Selene offered, suddenly realizing to her horror that everyone in the room was looking at her.

  Cleopatra looked up at the ceiling. “Four children,” she muttered. “An eagle, a hawk, a snake, and a mouse.”

  The words might have stung, but Selene knew that they were true. But Eurydice cleared her throat. “Actually, Father used to call her his lark,” she pointed out, her tone a little sharper than she usually used with their mother. “As a matter of fact, in his final illness, before Caesarion and Alexander came home? Selene played the lyre for him every day. And when you told her to leave off, Mother, he told you he wanted to hear his lark play. Because it cheered him to hear her. And because, I think, he knew it was the only way she could say good-bye.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Alexander said in a tone of surprise.

  Selene jerked her eyes away, finding a wall to stare at, so that the tears, which had risen unbidden to her eyes, would have no reason to fall, and so that none of the others could see them.

  Cleopatra sounded annoyed at the reminder. “Yes, yes, I remember. Of course, he called one of his legions the Larks, too, as you’ll recall. And there’s very little resemblance between her and them, you’ll note.” Tiredly now, their mother said, “Well, stand up, my girl. Let me have a look at you.” A little more irritably, she added, “And look me in the eye, if you please. You’re always staring off.”

  Oh, gods, what is this about? Selene thought frantically, and stood, slipping Gaius out of her lap. And, completely unable to meet her mother’s gaze, she resorted to her oldest trick. She looked at her mother’s eyebrows, instead. Giving the appearance of eye-contact, but none of the reality.

  Cleopatra examined her from top to bottom, finally giving an assenting sort of sniff. “Very well. You’re more than old enough to be married, my girl. Caesarion, that must be taken care of. Quickly. You know that Antony and I have a preference in the matter—“

  Selene’s mouth had fallen open, but no words came out. Her gaze skittered to Caesarion’s face as he frowned a little and shook his head. “I’ve received several inquiries about Selene’s hand, Mother.” He looked past Cleopatra towards Selene now, and his voice gentled a bit as he added, kindly, “Most of them, I didn’t think you’d like, sister. Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus was one, for example.”

  Before Cleopatra could get a word in, Eurydice stood and crossed the room to put a hand on Selene’s shoulder. “You remember who he is, right?” her sister asked gently.

  Memory flickered, and Selene settled her eyes on the floor. “Lepidus’ great-nephew, I think?” she murmured. “The one who talks about nothing but chariot-racing. And whipped a slave acros
s the face last year when his Blues lost at the Circus.”

  “Good memory,” Alexander said, his voice startled. “I’m surprised you recalled him. He’s only been here to dinner once, hasn’t he?”

  “He’s marrying Antonia Major in three months,” Selene said, her eyes still tracing patterns on the tile floor. “She told me that she planned to invite all of her friends to dinner every night he spends at the races. Antonia the Elder told her that entertaining without her husband being present would damage her reputation.” There were actually three Antonias: Antonia the Elder, the daughter of Antony’s first disastrous marriage, and then Antonia Major and Antonia Minor, the daughters of his third wife, Octavia. It made discussing Antony’s daughters—now their stepsisters—somewhat difficult in casual conversation.

  Selene’s words now limped out into the silence. “I don’t think Antonia Major really cares, though.” She doesn’t like him. At all. She doesn’t want to marry him. But her father, and presumably my mother, aren’t giving her much choice in the matter.

  Cleopatra sighed. “The match provides a second connection in Antony’s family to Lepidus, even if it’s only on Ahenobarbus’ mother’s side,” she said pragmatically. “Antonia the Elder is married to Lepidus’ son, Marcus Aemilius Lepidus the Younger, but a second tie makes sense. Lepidus is a patrician. Antony is a plebeian, but both were supporters of Caesar—and of your brother. But I will speak to Antonia Major about the need for discretion, at least in the first few years of marriage.” Impatience entered her tone, and Selene could hear her gown rustle as she turned back towards Caesarion. “Well? What possible objection could you have to Antyllus, Antony’s eldest son? A tribune who’s taken the place of a legate, at least temporarily, and at a young age? I know he’s mentioned the possibility of a marriage tie—“

  “Excuse me?” Selene said.

  “He’s expressed interest off and on,” Caesarion said, his tone guarded. “I haven’t seen a need to rush things, however. I’m not sure they’ve even spoken—“

  “Excuse me!” Selene said again, raising her head. Aware that she’d spoken so loudly that everyone’s heads had snapped towards her, she fastened her eyes to a wall, and blurted out her words quickly, so that she wouldn’t lose her courage. “I don’t think I want to be married,” she said so rapidly that the words almost blurred together. “Fabia, the lead Vestal is ill. They’ll have an opening in their ranks in the next year. Mightn’t it be better if I went and joined them? They handle all the wills and important documents of Rome, and it’s very much an honor—“ Her voice faltered. Faded. Dwindled away. And even broaching it as a possibility might give me a year’s leeway on this subject.

  “Absolutely not!” Cleopatra’s voice cracked like a whip. “A daughter of mine, locked in a temple with a thirty-year vow of chastity—“

  “I can see the attraction,” Alexander said, having swung around in his chair to stare at Selene, just as Tiberius had. “They can own property in their own right, Mother. They can vote. Their word is considered unimpeachable—“

  “But what a waste that would be,” Tiberius muttered, his voice filtering through Alexander’s. Selene glanced at him, accidentally met his eyes, and jerked her own away, rapidly, seeing a frown on his face. “It’s not my business, of course,” he added, mildly, “but you seem to be very good with children.” He gestured at Gaius, and shrugged. “Vestals can’t have families, by definition.”

  Selene twisted away entirely, swallowing hard. She couldn’t even respond to that comment, beyond a shrug. The idea of having children wasn’t unwelcome, and her heart—stupid, stupid heart—raced at the words coming from Tiberius’ mouth. Idiot, she thought with deep self-contempt. He means nothing at all by it.

  “Do you feel an actual calling from the gods?” Eurydice asked Selene directly. “Or is this just an escape attempt?” Sympathy in her sister’s tone, rueful and true. “All I get from Isis, personally, are dreams, not words. But if you genuinely feel drawn to this service,” a glance at their mother, “I don’t know how I could possibly tell you no.”

  Caesarion cleared his throat. “Actually, there are many reasons to say no,” he put in gently, and Selene felt the world come down on her shoulders. “Selene doesn’t meet the other criteria,” he told them all, sitting back in his chair. “She’s too old to be inducted. Both of her parents would need to be among the living, too.” He looked directly at Selene, not without sympathy, though she could only see his expression from the corner of her eyes. “Mother, I just don’t see the need for haste in this. If she’s not ready to marry, she’s not ready to marry.”

  Selene exhaled, a huge sensation of relief coursing through her as her shoulders, raised defensively, relaxed.

  Cleopatra sighed and shook her head. “You don’t see a need,” she repeated slowly. “I’m going to ask a series of questions, and see which of you children sees the way through the labyrinth first. If Eurydice leaves Rome to rule in Egypt, and I am not here to take Selene into Antony’s house, and all Roman women must live under the guiding hand of a male relative, and if Selene lives here, then who is the woman of this house?”

  “Selene would be,” Eurydice replied, immediately. “She’ll be good at it, too. She’s been handling all the domestic chores so that I could focus on dealing with magic and the ambassadors and . . . .” She hesitated, and once again, she touched Selene’s shoulder. “You’d have to start speaking with people at dinner,” she said gently. “You used to chatter with Octavia so much, it surprised me how silent you’ve been at meals with guests. And I’ve let you get away with shyness over dinner for years. You’ll have to be brave—“

  The sensation of crushing horror that filled Selene made her raise her eyes to Eurydice’s. And finding nothing but pitiless hawk gold there, she turned her face away sharply.

  “Think again,” Cleopatra said, her voice slightly bored now as she took a chair. “Alexander, you should see the implications quite clearly. If Caesarion married one sister, and has sent her away . . . ?”

  Alexander put a hand over his face for a moment. “Yes, what will the automatic inference be, when he has his second sister sharing his couch at meals and serving as his hostess for grand events?” He pulled his hand away and looked at Caesarion. “Half of Rome will think you’ve traded in Eurydice for someone younger and more pliable.”

  “Fuck that!” Caesarion snapped, the barracks oath ringing off the walls, making Selene cringe. “I would never—“

  Alexander exhaled through his teeth. “Doesn’t matter what you would or wouldn’t do. It’s about public perceptions. Which you two have enough trouble with, as is.” He nodded to Caesarion and Eurydice, a frown covering his face as he worked through the problem in his head.

  Caesarion stood, putting his fists on his desk. “Well, it doesn’t matter,” he snapped. “I won’t be here. I’ll be in Egypt. Syria. Fucking Britannia.”

  “Year-round?” Cleopatra asked mildly. “Every year?” She shrugged. “And that would, of course, leave Selene here, without a male guardian, as Rome seems to feel is so necessary for women. Which would in turn require her to travel with you on campaign—“

  “Which presents the same problems,” Alexander cut in, sounding dispirited.

  “Not staying at least part of the year in Rome would have the same effect as moving the capital to Alexandria,” Eurydice muttered, her hand falling from Selene’s shoulder, her eyes flicking from side to side now, as if reading from a scroll.

  Alexander’s head came up. “Fine,” he said, nodding to himself. “I’ll move out of this villa. Selene can come and live with me. Keep my house. I’m not leaving Rome this campaign season. I’ve too much to do with my network of eyes and ears.” He glanced over at Selene, smiling. “And as good as your memory is, and as adept as you seem to be at making yourself invisible, perhaps I can recruit you, eh?”

  Another brief rush of hope flickered through Selene, and she nodded rapidly. She’d have agreed to anything at this poi
nt, short of running naked through the streets of Rome and jumping into the polluted Tiber, to escape the trap she felt closing around her.

  Cleopatra sighed. “Alexander, my dear, you have a carefully-cultivated reputation for excess. If you were to move out of this villa and establish your own residence, you would either need to abandon that reputation entirely for your sister’s sake, or you’d wind up tarring her with the same brush. Which of those two courses of action is more acceptable to you?” She tapped her fingers lightly on the table.

  Alexander’s smile faded slightly as he glanced at Tiberius, and then he drew himself up in his chair. “I don’t usually bring the causes for my reputation home with me, Mother. I leave them out in the streets of Rome. Where they collect information for me.”

  Cleopatra nodded, her expression unsparing even for him. “Of course. Why, no one will ask her any questions about living with you at all. And in nine or ten months, or a few more years, or whenever you get around to marrying Octavia, I’m sure your sister will give up the keys of the house with good grace and subordinate herself to your wife peacefully.”

  The expression on Alexander’s face was now so grim that Selene hardly recognized her brother. He doesn’t want to marry Octavia, she thought, and she said, rapidly, “I wouldn’t mind keeping Alexander’s house for as long as he needed me. Months or years, it doesn’t matter.” My brothers and my sister love me. Enough to try to pull me out of this mess. And that’s enough love to last anyone for a lifetime.

  “She can come with me,” Eurydice said, before Cleopatra could reply. “She can come to Egypt. Royal women are servants at court all the time. Nesa, my own wet-nurse, is Egyptian nobility, for the gods’ sake. And that way, neither of us would be alone in a strange place.” She lifted her chin, offering Cleopatra defiance.