Song of the Nile (24 page)

WHEN I returned to the palace with a handful of shells, Chryssa hoarded them like gold. “You said we must make ourselves rich! This is how we can do it.”

“Juba says that the Tyrian purple can’t be reproduced. We’ll never be able to make the same shade.”

“Only a Greek would know the difference,” Chryssa argued. “To the barbarians, purple is purple!”

I might have debated the point, but I was distracted by my daughter’s cries. Tala tried giving her a damp cloth and a wooden ring to teethe on, but it hadn’t helped her pain, and near my wits’ end, I called for Euphronius. When he entered the nursery, I asked, “Can you stop my daughter’s tears?”

Euphronius lifted Isidora from her cradle, handling my child like the precious jewel she was. “Her gums hurt. It’s natural for her to cry. These things are always more difficult for the mother than the babe.”

“But she’s suffering,” I said, feeling guilty for having been away from her for most of the day.

“I could give her a pinch of white willow bark powder, but there may be a spell . . .” He took his finger and rubbed it slowly on her lips, letting her gnaw him as she was wont to do.

Tala tutted. “Old man, how can we teach her not to bite when you encourage her?”

“Hush, Tala,” I said. Like a cat senses an intruder, I felt the
heka
as the old mage whispered some words in the ancient language. The scent of magic was in the air. Then Isidora hiccuped through her tears, and calmed.

“That’s our little princess,” Euphronius cooed, lowering her back down in her cradle, utterly spent. He sweated and panted as if he’d made the run to Marathon. Then all at once, my mage keeled forward, collapsing to one knee.

“What ails you?” I asked, rushing to help him up.

Euphronius got to his feet only with difficulty, abashed. “I’m old. It’s an ailment of its own.”

I could never remember a time when the priest of Isis had
not
been old. He’d been old when he was our tutor, old when we were taken by the Romans, and older still when he urged us to run away from Augustus. Isiac priests and priestesses lived long lives and I never thought that he’d be an exception. He never ate the flesh of animals. He subsisted on fruits and vegetables, breads, cheeses, and nuts. He took bracing baths and long meditative walks. He’d always seemed hearty and hale until recently. “Is it
heka
sickness? Did you forget to do as you instructed me and make a channel for it to flow away?”

Euphronius shook his head. “It’s like squeezing blood from a stone, Majesty. I have very little
heka
left inside me.”

“Then visit the Temple of Tanit and be replenished,” I said, wondering if he’d lost his wits.

“Majesty, I am not like you. I’m a priest of Egypt and Isis doesn’t come to me in every incarnation. Besides, there is little
heka
left in that temple. Like tears into a well, it takes many before there’s a bucket full. What magic was there now resides inside
you
.”

In this moment, I realized how much it cost Euphronious to be here with me. He could have remained in Egypt, where he was still revered. Instead, he’d followed me to a land where he didn’t even have a temple in which he could worship. He’d borne my resentment and coldness for more than a year now, keeping his eyes low and never speaking in my presence unless I spoke to him first. He’d waited upon my every whim without complaint and spent what little magic he had upon my simple request for my daughter. “Forgive me,” I said, shamed for the way I’d been treating him. “My mother once said your loyalty was worth more than all the gold in the world. I haven’t valued you as I should.”

The old man faltered, a tremor in his lower lip. “I’m of no value, Majesty. I’ve led everyone I’ve loved to ruin. I know that it’s only because of your generosity and sentimental heart that you haven’t banished me. I’ve made too many mistakes in trying to guide you.”

“I’ve made mistakes too,” I said, my chest squeezing with emotion. “Too many to count. One of them has been to deny that you’re dear to me.”

Tears shone in his eyes. “I’d give my life for you, Majesty. You and Philadelphus and this little princess . . .”

People said these things to monarchs. They promised their loyalty and their lives. Yet I knew that Euphronius meant every word. “I’m a most fortunate queen. Can’t . . . can’t I give you some of my
heka
?”

“Majesty, queens use magic as mothers must, to feed the people and to defend them. Not to murmur little healing spells or help old mages. Remember, the magic inside you came at a costly price.”

“Soon my private shrine to Isis will be complete and you can worship here in the palace. But one day, I’ll build a temple of Isis. Here, in Mauretania.”

“There’s no need,” Euphronius replied. “For I’ve foreseen that you’ll leave this place soon.”

WHEN the first ships arrived that spring, my royal entourage was moored in the marketplace near the stall of rug merchants because Chryssa insisted on interrogating them about dye making. She’d already learned that the Gaetulian tribes manufactured purple long ago. I remained dubious that such an industry were even possible. Given the words of the rug merchant, however, I was starting to wonder. “We need two kinds of snails. We have snails with red dye in Mauretania too. Perhaps not the same as in Tyre, but it’s a good fast-setting dye that deepens over time. Yet what good is this to us? We have no Roman senators to wear the purple stripe on their togas.”

And if I had my way, we never would.

“Majesty,” a courier called for me in the crowd. “You’re needed at the palace. A dispatch from Augustus awaits you!”

My blood ran cold. Juba regularly received instructions from Rome, but I’d received only silence. It would be bad news, I thought as we hurried back to the palace. Perhaps something had happened to Philadelphus . . .

“Get the queen something to drink,” Chryssa snapped at a servant girl when we burst into my apartments. “She’s deathly pale.”

“I don’t think I can read it,” I said, handing the emperor’s missive to Euphronius.

He broke the wax seal, read the contents, and announced, “The emperor is gravely ill.”

My shoulders sagged in relief. “The emperor is
always
ill. How many times has he thrown Rome into a panic?”

“There’s more,” Euphronius continued, breathless. “You’re summoned to Rome. You and your daughter both. Augustus says that he wants to make peace with you before he dies.”

I clutched the arms of my chair, realizing how glad I’d been for the ocean separating me from the emperor. Chryssa hugged herself, her posture an echo of my inner torment. To see Augustus, to be at his mercy again . . . “I won’t go, and if I must go, I won’t take Isidora with me. She’s not even a year old!”

“Majesty,” Euphronius said, his voice moderated to soothe me. “Have you considered that the emperor may wish to restore you to the throne of Egypt?”

It could happen like that. On his deathbed. A grand dying gesture, like in all of the emperor’s favorite plays. On the other hand, he could execute me. That would also be a dramatic end. Augustus thought he’d rid himself of Helios. Now he only had to do away with Philadelphus, me, and my daughter to make an end of the Ptolemies. But my deeper instincts told me this wasn’t his intent. The Romans had rules for how to do away with foreign monarchs—even the ones they created—and Augustus loved to be seen following the rules. “You must be right, Euphronius. He must plan to restore me to Egypt, and my daughter after me. Is that what you’ve foreseen?”

“I’ve seen only possibilities, Majesty. Not certainties. The Rivers of Time show all possible futures. In some currents, Augustus restores you to Egypt. I just can’t be sure if
our
River of Time flows in that direction.”

In spite of this, I dared to hope. As Queen of Egypt, I could make a place for Helios. I could rebuild Thebes and unite North Africa, and revive the worship of Isis. But first I had to return to Rome.

Sixteen

CHRYSSA insisted on packing my trunks for the journey, gathering up combs, polished mirrors, and pots of cosmetics while I dithered over which gowns to take. When I dismissed her to pack her own things, I caught a fleeting look of anxiety that she sought to hide from me. I remembered how she’d never wanted to return to Rome and how sick she’d been on the ship. “Chryssa, if you want to stay in Mauretania, you can stay.”

She snapped my strongbox shut. “I belong to you. Where you go, I must follow.”

A shaft of sunlight cut through the open terrace doors, illuminating the fabric that curtained my luxurious bed, a bed that would find no equal in Rome. I wanted her with me, but I wouldn’t force her. “I’ll need someone to stay here with Euphronius. King Juba seems fond of him, and he can look after my interests in the royal council, but I need someone to see that my estates are well managed. To watch over my treasures.”

“I can’t let you face the emperor alone,” she said quietly. “Besides, who would reassure my sister that I’m happy here? Who will make sure that Phoebe is well?”

“I will,” I told her. “You needn’t return with me, Chryssa. I won’t be there long.”

She gave me a sidelong glance as if to test my resolve. “Who would tend to your hair and clothing?”

“I’ll take Tala with me. She’s been a good nurse to Isidora. I’ve come to rely upon her.”

Chryssa scoffed. “You can’t trust that Berber woman to make you look like the Queen of Egypt.”

I’d been called the Queen of Egypt more times in the past few days than in all the years before, and I worried it would tempt the fates. “We’ll manage without you, Chryssa. It isn’t certain that Augustus means to restore my mother’s throne to me. Even if he intended to do it, he’s very ill. He might be dead before I even arrive in Rome.”

Her chest rising and falling with emotion, she dared a glance at me. “Isis, forgive me, I wish he already were.”

ON the morning of my departure, Juba was drunk.
Frightfully
drunk. Though he had a reputation for being a mild-mannered king, today he was snappish, hurling a finely wrought glass pitcher after a slave boy who displeased him. It had been a rare piece, but Juba didn’t seem to care, and he forbade anyone to sweep up the shards. Stepping over the mess, I found him staring out over the harbor where my baggage was being loaded onto the ship. His long body slumped so far over the balustrade that I worried he might fall. When he saw me, he rose back up and took another gulp from his goblet, then let it fall. It rolled off the marble edge of the terrace to tumble down the rocks to the sea. “
Vale
, Selene. Farewell to you and tell Augustus that everything I’ve done is for his vision of peace, for his glory, and his Golden Age . . . Through all things, I shall always honor him.”

I’d never thought to feel pity for Juba, but the pain in his eyes rendered me speechless. In his way, Juba had always been the devoted son the emperor wished for, a son completely blind to his faults. Juba
loved
Augustus and everything my husband did, every stroke of his pen, every slash of his sword, and every breath he took, was a plea for the emperor’s approval and acceptance. And yet on his deathbed, Augustus hadn’t summoned Juba. He’d summoned me.

Wishing to say something, do something, to ease Juba’s pain, I reached for his cheek, but he stopped my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “He’ll want to see his child. Of course he will. It only makes sense.”

“Isidora isn’t the emperor’s child. She’s
mine
.”

It was so often our habit to speak past one another that he went on as if he hadn’t heard me. “The divine Julius summoned your mother to Rome. Now another Caesar calls for another Cleopatra to join him. And you look so pretty, flush with young motherhood, perfect for the part.”

“You’re terribly drunk,” I said, inhaling the wine on his breath. “You’re going to be sick in the morning.”

“I’m already sick. I wonder if your mother’s Egyptian husbands felt this way. Her brothers. She married them, but it was Caesar she wanted. You’ve made a brother of me. You’ve come to think of me like that, haven’t you?”

Oh, irony. He thought it was the emperor that stood between us, but it was Helios. It had always been Helios. Still, I didn’t like to see Juba in pain and regretted being any part of its cause. “Juba . . . I’ve come to think of you as a king.”

“But not your king.” For a moment, I thought Juba might ask me to delay the trip, but I couldn’t have stayed. I had a daughter to think of now. A daughter with a proud ancestry who had only me to champion her. I’d stop at nothing to claim our right to Egypt now. Not for Juba or anyone else.

THE winds were against us. In the sleek-oared galley I’d hired to speed us on our way, it still took us much longer to return to Rome than it had taken to leave. Waiting to spot land, my future seemed as fathomless as the blue sea. I didn’t know what awaited me; I didn’t even know if the emperor would still be alive when we anchored at port. I only knew that if there were any opportunity of winning Egypt, I must seize it.