On the day of the emperor’s own departure, Isidora and I went to the docks to see him off and before he climbed the gangplank to join Livia and his courtiers aboard the ship, he asked for a private moment. He smiled down at Isidora and murmured, “Queen Selene, I bid you and your daughter a fond farewell.”
My voice was soft, a bare whisper. “I beg you to reconsider, Caesar. It will cause gossip if I’m penned up here like a harem girl.”
Crinagoras and Lady Lasthenia were already prone to exchanging knowing looks with my Alexandrian courtiers. They remembered my mother, and no matter how properly I might behave before the royalty of the world, those closest to me had noticed the emperor’s fascination. But Augustus was unconcerned. “You aren’t penned up. The entire island is at your command and I leave you the highest-ranking official here.”
“What am I to do here but wait for you?”
“Do as you wish, Selene! It’s springtime and you’re in the heart of the Hellenistic world. Visit Ephesus if it amuses you.”
Ephesus was one of the largest cities in the world and I should have liked to see it, except that it was also where my mother’s sister, Princess Arsinoe, had conspired against the throne of Egypt and been killed at my father’s command. Given that history, I wasn’t sure of my reception. Still, it would be something new to see. Some distraction to keep me from missing Mauretania . . .
No
, I told myself. I could not go to Ephesus, Athens, or anywhere else. Wherever
Augustus
went, the business of governance followed, but I didn’t have a squadron of ships to carry my messages. Few enough missives arrived from my kingdom as it was and it pained me to think I might miss one. Moreover, it vexed me that I should be marooned here as an object lesson. He wanted to prove to me that I was just like that damnable chair, a piece of property he could leave where it was and return to find it in the same spot. And I had no choice but to let him believe he was right.
WITH Augustus gone, the client kings slowly began to abandon the island. Some of them had been restored to their thrones or seen their territories expanded. Others left empty-handed. Only my status remained in question, so I was grateful for those who supported my claims to Egypt and was obliged to see them off. I’d grown especially fond of Iamblichus, the King of Emesa, and the Cappadocians, King Archelaus and his daughter, Princess Glaphyra. My other friends included the Bosporans, King Asander and his queen, Dynamis, who, with a sly grin, kissed me on both cheeks before setting sail.
I was glad that at least Lady Hybrida and my niece Pythodorida remained on Samos with us because I’d come to enjoy my older half sister’s garishness and boisterous good humor. On our way back from the docks, we joined her in an oversized covered palanquin, framed in gilded wood and encrusted with jewels. “You’ve started a disastrously expensive trend with your purple sails, little sister. Your freedwoman must have taken a hundred orders for Gaetulian purple.”
Chryssa shrugged at Hybrida’s words. “For all the good it will do us without the Berber chieftain to oversee the dye works.”
She didn’t have to say Maysar’s name for me to know that her mind was on the love she’d left behind. As our litter was swarmed with merchants hawking their wares, my guards keeping them at bay with their ceremonial shields, I wondered what I was doing here on this island, filling my days with useless entertainments.
Don’t go
, Juba had said, but I couldn’t have stayed for his sake alone. For my crown, for Mauretania, for the people, for my retainers, perhaps I could have made a different choice. Perhaps if I had been heavy with Juba’s child, Augustus may have broken free of his obsession . . . and perhaps I could have broken free of my own. For all that I loved my mother’s kingdom, I hadn’t set foot on Egyptian soil since her death. If my life was my own, perhaps I could have forgotten Egypt and let it pass through my fingers like the silken sands of the desert. But my life was not my own. My family had died for Egypt; I must live for them.
Chryssa had no such obligation. She’d spent most of her life in bondage to others and now I’d see to it that she was truly free. I put my hand on hers. “You’ve done everything here you set out to do. Go back to him.”
Chryssa shook her head. “The emperor looked at me only once, during a meal, as if he couldn’t place me.”
“Be glad of it! Go back to Maysar and find happiness.”
If I’d ever thought that the beatings she’d suffered as a slave had broken her, now I realized that they’d only served to infuse Chryssa with a stubborn streak of iron. She shook her head so sharply that the garnet beads of her dangling earrings rattled. “No. Maysar could have accompanied us on this trip. He was too proud. Either I was to stay behind as his wife or he would resign from your council. Am I to reward him by running back to his arms?”
“Don’t go back for him, then. Go back for
me
. I need someone in Iol-Caesaria to write regular letters to me. Euphronius grows older, his handwriting ever more cramped. Be my eyes in Mauretania. I need you to go. As your queen, I
command
you to go.”
W E found passage for her on a merchant ship, and Chryssa came to the back of the house on the little beach to say farewell. We embraced as if we might never see one another again. When we drew apart, Isidora hugged her about the knees, and Chryssa told my daughter, “You be good for Tala, even if she
is
our dear uncivilized barbarian.”
The big Berber woman bit her lip, blinking rapidly.
“Tala, are you
crying
?” Chryssa asked.
“It is only the sun in my eyes,
Cleopatra Antonianus
,” Tala said, fanning away the evidence of her bald-faced lie with one hand. “If you lower that fine Greek nose of yours long enough to reunite with my brother, tell him I wish you both well.”
THE months passed slowly after the emperor’s departure. To pass the time, I visited the Temple of Hera. I also purchased expensive Samian wines and red Ionian pottery. To win friends, I funded theater performances of a number of beloved plays, most of which were spoiled for me by Lady Hybrida’s loud running commentary. Excepting her, the island seemed quiet—almost deserted—and it wasn’t until autumn that a small detachment of Romans made landfall.
As Augustus had said, the Isle of Samos was at my command, so I received the unexpected visitors in the courtyard. Decked out in parade uniform, complete with shiny helmet, my half brother Iullus stepped forward to greet me and we exchanged formal pleasantries. All the while, I kept hoping his wife would appear behind him. The companionship of my stepsister would have been a welcome change, so when we were finally alone in the courtyard, I asked, “Is Marcella with you?”
Iullus removed his helmet and shook his head. “Selene, you look very well.”
“You don’t,” I replied, noting the dark circles under his eyes. “Are you ill?”
“I’m sickened. When you write to Julia, tell her so. She refuses all missives from me.”
I winced at the stab of guilt his words dealt me. I hadn’t received a letter from Julia since she’d been wed to Agrippa and I hadn’t sent one for fear that her new husband might punish her for it. Now I wondered if it might have been better to risk Agrippa’s wrath. “How does she fare?”
“How do you think she fares? She’s hurt and humiliated and angry. Especially at me.” Sitting down, he leaned back and squeezed his eyes shut. “I couldn’t refuse to marry your stepsister. Marcella is the emperor’s niece. I could no more refuse than
Julia
could refuse.”
“I’m sure Julia knows that—”
“But
you!
” His eyes opened again. “For all the influence you have over the emperor, you couldn’t dissuade him from marrying Julia to Agrippa? I’m sure you’ll tell me that you tried, but you didn’t try hard enough. Agrippa wasted no time in putting his filthy hands on Julia. She’s with child, you know.”
My blood went to water. I didn’t know what appalled me more—that Julia should be forced to carry Agrippa’s child or that my dearest friend might soon become my greatest rival. If she
did
manage to have a son, would the emperor still have a need for me? I’d been wary of Livia, but after all the lies I’d told and the predations I’d endured, would it be
Julia
who finally broke my spell over her father? Stunned, all I could manage to utter was, “Julia? Pregnant? By Agrippa?”
Iullus caught me with a sideways glance. “Congratulate me. I’m to be a father soon.”
Examining each word, I dared not ask the questions they raised. Was Julia pregnant with his child, or did he mean that Marcella was pregnant too? “You have my felicitations.”
He nodded, eyes still locked on mine. “Our sisters speak of you often, Selene. They’ve even expressed a desire to visit.”
“I hope they do visit!” I said, my spirits brightening. “Did you know that we have another sister? Antonia, the wife of the Greek magnate. She calls herself Hybrida, after her mother.”
He showed no sign of surprise. “I’m told she’s a vulgar woman. She shouldn’t be here. For that matter, neither should you be. Augustus left for Syria at the opening of the sea, but the sea is nearly closed now. It’s been months since he left. What are you still doing here?”
“Augustus asked me to wait for him.” I almost winced at the reminder. I’d left Mauretania knowing that I might never return, but now I felt something akin to homesickness. I missed the loamy scent of the fields and the songs the Berber women sang round the fires. I even missed the taste of the wind. The sirocco. I would much rather have waited for the emperor
there
than here. In Iol-Caesaria, it would be time to start planning the winter banquets and the palace would be a bustle of activity while servants scurried to adorn the doorways with candles and garlands. “Will you stay through winter? Until the Saturnalia?”
My Roman half brother’s lips tightened in grim military style. “No. I’m to join up with Tiberius outside Armenia. The Armenians no longer wish to be ruled by King Artaxias, so we’re going to replace him with Tigranes.”
“They no longer
wish
. . .” It was a strange idea that the people should choose their rulers but not
entirely
foreign. Riots in the streets of Alexandria had settled matters of succession in Egypt more than once. But that was Egyptians fighting Egyptians. This was Rome interfering. “I suppose it has nothing to do with the fact that King Artaxias executed every single Roman citizen he could find within his borders.”
“That was a long time ago,” Iullus said.
“Not so long ago. It happened when our father was alive. Your father and mine. Artaxias executed the Romans to settle a score with Mark Antony. Rome doesn’t forget and neither do I. Neither should you.”
He rolled his shoulders, his eyes on the floor. Iullus never liked to be reminded of his patrimony and let out a mirthless chuckle. “If I do battle in Armenia it will be for Augustus and for Rome, not to avenge Antony. Your twin brother was his defender, not me . . . Why do you still concern yourself with politics? You’re a mother now.”
As far as the world knew, Iullus was my only living brother. How was it that he still knew me so little? “Yes, I am a mother and that is precisely why I am so concerned.”
IULLUS didn’t stay long. He and his cadre of young Roman officers shipped off to join Tiberius and the legions. As soon as they left I was again mistress of the dull island and its servile inhabitants. My Mauretanian subjects were respectful but seldom afraid to approach me. By contrast, Easterners were flatterers who abased themselves before the powerful with fluttering fingers and quaking knees. They embroidered their words with long, colorful phrases, not only for the sake of form. They were in terror of me, clearing wide swaths through the streets whenever I traveled. Some of them even bowed to my cat, knowing how highly we regarded creatures like Bast in Egypt.
“That’s right, look away, for you are in the presence of greatness!” Crinagoras teased upon our return from a lecture at the Pythagorean School. “And of course, Her Majesty the Queen of Mauretania and future Queen of Egypt.”
“Have a care!” I chided him. “I don’t need Augustus to hear that I’ve crowned myself in his absence.”
Crinagoras huffed. “Perhaps my humor would be better appreciated in Mytilene.”
“You may visit your birthplace whenever you like,” I told him, imperiously.
My unwillingness to be threatened with abandonment, even in jest, seemed to sober the poet.
“Well, it’s only a stone’s throw away and I could be back at your side within days,” he said quietly. And I knew there would be no more talk of leaving me.
When we’d returned to the emperor’s villa, Circe suggested, “Forget Mytilene, we should all go to Athens. The Athenians loved your father. They would actually
worship
you there.”
I was keenly aware of my daughter’s stare. What was I teaching her here on this island, I wondered. When she looked at me, waiting upon the emperor, what would she remember? The truth was, I’d accomplished nothing worthy of worship. Until the emperor returned, I’d stay where he left me, like his accursed chair. Though my rule in Iol-Caesaria had been a maelstrom of projects and politicking, magic and magistracy, now I was restless, a Ptolemy Eagle with clipped wings. My work in Mauretania had warmed my heart with a sense of pride. Here I’d been reduced to a secret
hetaera
, and I was reminded of that whenever Circe was near. “If you want to go to Athens, I won’t stop you.”
“A woman traveling alone?” Circe asked, as if scandalized. “Perhaps you could send Memnon to watch over me. Who knows what trouble I might find without his strong sword-arm to protect me.”
I should scold her for such comments, for as long as she remained in my retinue, her conduct reflected upon me, but I feared I might choke on my own hypocrisy. Besides, my stiff-necked Macedonian guard didn’t so much as acknowledge the flirtatious comment.