Three
I woke to an empty bridal bed.
Without retrieving my sandals, I went to the doorway, intent upon finding Juba. I thought better of that idea when Julia swept into the room with a tray of leftover spelt cakes. She’d been my first and best friend in Rome. Witty and vivacious, with a charming little smirk that she couldn’t even suppress for the artists who painted her portraits, she was prone to spontaneous fits of laughter and mischief. No sense of decorum ever prevented her from flinging her arms around those she loved and some said that Julia and I were as different as two girls could be. The truth was we shared more in common than anyone knew. “So, now you’re the Queen of Mauretania,” Julia said, with a playful grin. “I hope you won’t expect me to kneel for you in obeisance. We Romans don’t do that sort of thing.”
I sniffed in my most queenly manner. “I suppose accommodations can be made.”
This made her laugh. “I wish your wedding breakfast would start already. I’m famished and can’t wait to try the delicacies—it’ll be nothing but the best for you. This morning I had to listen to Octavia make a dull accounting of how they’re loading your baggage train with chests of gold, fabrics, and glassware. I’m told that you’ll want for nothing because Juba has acquired artists and fawning courtiers and a veritable army of engineers and slaves.” These last were bought and paid for by her father so that we could stamp the Roman seal into the untamed lands of Africa. Taking a bite of cake and licking crumbs from her fingers, Julia complained, “You know, if I’d done what you did yesterday, my father would’ve banished me.”
She was probably right. For all that Julia could be impulsive and selfish, vain, and sometimes silly, I couldn’t blame her for her resentment. I hated the way her father treated her and hated even more the idea that she might be displeased with me. “Please don’t take me to task. Juba already scolded me.”
“Did he?” Now Julia looked at me closely. “Oh, Selene, you poor thing. Your eyes! Did Juba hurt you?”
Whatever could be wrong with my eyes? I found a silver mirror upon the dressing table and examined my reflection, only to see that the kohl from the night before had smeared and made it look as if I’d wept. “He didn’t
hurt
me,” I murmured, reaching for a washcloth from the nearby basin. “He barely touched me.”
Julia’s eyes widened as she glanced at our bed. “Perhaps he’s waiting to claim his rights until he’s sure of a pleasant reception.” I remembered the rush of warmth that had flowed through my body when Juba kissed me. I might have received Juba
quite
pleasantly if he hadn’t asked me for something I couldn’t give. “Or perhaps your groom hopes to reach some sort of arrangement with you, Selene.”
I arched a brow. “An
arrangement
?”
At this, Julia snatched the mirror from me to admire her own delicate features. “Marcellus and I have an arrangement.” The hairs at the nape of my neck rose in a way that reminded me of my cat’s reaction to danger. “On the night of our wedding, I told Marcellus that I knew he played the catamite with older men like Virgil. That kind of bedroom play is well enough for a poet or a Greek, but for the emperor’s nephew? Scandal!”
Of all the older boys in the household, Marcellus had always been the most agreeable. Moreover, Virgil, the emperor’s poet, had always been a friend to my brothers and me. It pained me to think of either man brought into disgrace. “What did Marcellus say when you confronted him?”
Julia tossed her head, the green glass beads of her dangling earrings rattling together as she laughed. “Marcellus was actually
relieved
that I knew. He’s never been with a woman. He can’t bring himself to it. We’ve agreed to put out in public that we’re happily wed and neither of us will interfere in one another’s affairs.”
I wanted to share in her laughter, but I couldn’t even make myself smile. “Julia—”
“Oh, here comes a lecture, and it ought to be rich, coming from you, who just yesterday set every tongue wagging.”
“Your father relies on you to give him an heir!”
“Then he should have married me to Iullus Antonius,” Julia said, defiantly. When I put both my hands over my mouth to stifle my gasp, she said, “Don’t pretend to be surprised. I love your stepbrother. I’ve always loved him. I always will. Besides, you’re the one who prattles on about Egypt, where women are able to
choose
. You say women are as valuable to the world as men. And look! You’ve persuaded my father to make you a queen. Why shouldn’t I shape the future to
my
liking?”
Just the day before, I’d proclaimed myself a goddess and Julia wondered why she couldn’t simply be the mistress of her own destiny. Her thoughts were dangerous. Iullus was my father’s son by the fearsome Fulvia, long since dead, but another woman the emperor loathed. Julia would have been hard-pressed to find a more insulting candidate for her heart. “Julia, do you know what your father would do to you if he caught you with Iullus? To both of you?”
She fluttered her eyelashes at me, the very image of innocence. “Why should my father ever find out? Someday the empire will belong to Marcellus. He’d gladly adopt my children as his own. He said so. After being forced to marry, we’ve found a way to be happy. Why can’t you be happy for us?”
“Because I’m terrified for you.” For Iullus too. My Roman half brother had made a misery of my childhood in Rome, but I never wished actual harm to befall him.
Julia poked at me with the hard edge of the mirror. “Don’t give me your solemn expression. You’ll have plenty of time to be solemn after a few years of chasing Juba’s brats in Mauretania. You’ll have to give him a whole litter, and you’ll be so busy with motherhood, you’ll forget all about your loved ones here in Rome.”
At this, I bristled. “I never forget my loved ones.” I didn’t forget my living brothers or the ones that Augustus murdered. I didn’t forget my father, who had fallen on his sword. Nor did I ever forget my mother and how she met her end. Those pains crowded my
khaibit
, the shadow part of my soul. I didn’t want to make room for more.
MY husband arrived at the wedding breakfast without offering any explanation for his early-morning disappearance, and my attempt to engage him in conversation was drowned out by the din of the pipers announcing us. Juba stood tall, a hand at my elbow, turning me to the guests as if for display, but there wasn’t anything improper about my ensemble this time. My hair twisted in a modest knot at the nape of my neck and a light blue
chiton
bloused low on my hips. It was a Greek garment, but it was still considered appropriate. Even so, it didn’t prevent Livia’s caustic appraisal. The emperor’s wife leaned forward to whisper, “Do you expect everyone to forget that you dressed like a harlot for your wedding? Don’t think you can embarrass me, as you did yesterday, without paying a price.”
I detested the emperor’s wife but knew better than to antagonize her. I was mindful that my little brother Philadelphus must stay behind in Rome. There were too many people I loved who would remain at Livia’s mercy long after I left to rule my new kingdom, so I made no reply to the emperor’s wife, giving all my attention to the swarm of guests. Surrounded by speculators and hangers-on seeking our patronage, Juba and I were overwhelmed with gifts. Vivid paintings framed with precious wood, engraved gemstones, expensive Greek sculptures carved from the finest marble. More practical gifts too, including couches with golden feet arched in the shape of eagle claws, tall braziers studded with carnelian, and oil lamps that served as a canvas for fanciful creatures painted in black and ochre.
Amidst all this treasure, Lucius Cornelius Balbus approached us boldly. The
Cornelii
were a famous patrician Roman family, but this man came from one of its plebeian branches and was an inveterate survivor of the civil wars. He hailed from Spain and had been one of my father’s soldiers—one of the many who deserted. Nonetheless, I resolved to treat Balbus with gracious regard because many of those who would come with us to Mauretania were veterans of Actium. Some of them might remember my father kindly and be well disposed to me. So I said, “Good greetings, Lucius Cornelius.”
In reply, the stout man unfurled a glorious purple cloak over my knees. “Queen Selene, I bought this for you with the riches of my plantations in North Africa,” he boasted. The cloth flowed over me like liquid and I couldn’t help but test the smoothness of it between my fingers. “I hope your husband will make me richer still by keeping the barbarians off my land!”
Some laughed at Balbus’s comments, but most of our guests stared with slack-jawed amazement at the costly gift. The cloak had been dipped several times in the
ruinously
expensive Tyrian purple dye and the covetous glances of the crowd gave me the impression that the garment was worth a small city. Even the emperor seemed impressed, motioning for me to join him on his couch. “Come show me!”
Normally an abstemious eater, Augustus today ate with gusto. He feasted upon dormice seasoned with honey and poppy seeds. He poured a generous amount of the peppery fish sauce called
garum
on his eggs. As he ate, I balanced unnaturally on the farthest edge of his couch with the garment clutched in my lap, my fingers tracing the golden embroidered edge. Augustus didn’t glance up at me until he’d finished chewing. “This purple cloak is ostentatious, isn’t it? It suits your tastes, Selene. Like your mother, you have a fondness for Eastern decadence.”
I didn’t hear a note of displeasure in his voice, but I was always wary when he mentioned my mother. The pipers and laughter guarded our conversation from eavesdroppers. Still, I lowered my voice. “Augustus, I’m sorry if I offended you with my bridal costume yesterday.”
He examined the cloak more closely, or pretended to. “As long as you remain loyal to me, I can forgive you such extravagances.” His gray eyes met mine, thin lips twitching in the semblance of a smile, and I could see that my performance at the wedding had flattered his vanity and lifted his spirits. Was it only my imagination that his eyes roamed over me in a way that was anything but fatherly? I wished the wicked notion away, trying to convince myself it was born only of the vicious suggestion Juba had made the night before. “Don’t you care for your breakfast, Selene? I haven’t seen you eat.”
I pulled my shawl over my shoulders in sudden awareness of Juba’s frosty scowl from across the room. What would he have me do? Refuse to sit by Augustus when summoned? “I’m not hungry, Caesar.”
“Why not? What could trouble you? Haven’t I given you everything a girl could ever ask for?”
No. He hadn’t given me Egypt, but I wasn’t so foolish as to remind him of it now. Glancing around the room at the guests, I saw some of them whisper to one another behind jeweled hands, their eyes sliding in my direction. Did those low murmurs carry rumors about the emperor’s fondness for me? How I wished Juba hadn’t filled me with doubt!
“Let’s play a game, Selene.” Augustus had always tested the children in his household. Especially me. I was, after all, his most unlikely apprentice. “Excluding the two of us, who is the most important person here?”
It was a difficult question to answer. With all her powerful Claudian connections, the emperor’s wife gave him the status that his mostly base blood denied him. He’d thought Livia important enough to marry while she was pregnant with another man’s child, important enough to keep as his wife, though she couldn’t bear him a child of his own. Still, I knew the emperor would never concede that a woman was more important than a man, so Livia couldn’t be the answer to his riddle . . .
Propped up on elbows upon various couches were Roman senators, each of whom would publicly claim only to be the equal of his colleagues. They all harbored secret ambitions and it was tempting to choose one of the rich ones who’d returned recently with loot from the provinces. However, if the most important man in the room was the wealthiest, I must name Maecenas, the emperor’s shrewd political adviser. He was a balding man with a hawkish face and served as the vizier over all the emperor’s artists and propagandists. It was also rumored that Maecenas had a house in every city on the Mediterranean coastline and I didn’t doubt it. Just as I was about to name him, the emperor broke in with, “Come, Selene, not even a guess?”
Something about his tone made me hesitate. This was my wedding breakfast. Perhaps Augustus meant to make some point about its significance. “Is it my husband, your newest client king?”
Augustus grunted. “No. Juba is loyal. Useful. A valuable friend. But he cannot be more important than a Roman.”
That did narrow the choices. “Marcellus, then. Your nephew, your son-in-law, the last male of the
Julii
.”
“Not yet. He’ll still have to prove himself.” Plucking a spear of green asparagus from a silver platter, Augustus pierced the air between us. “You disappoint me, Selene. If you wish to wield power, true power, you must learn from me. Always know the most important person in the room.”
I took an agate cup of watered wine from a passing slave to reconsider my answer, and peered over its striated rim. By the entryway, Agrippa shifted from foot to foot, eager to leave. He was the emperor’s trusted soldier and strategist, the true enforcer of all his power. Aside from the emperor, he was likely the most important person in the room, but I was suddenly hesitant to say so. Indeed, the banquet was filled with more luminaries than I could name, and I hesitated to set one above the other without knowing the emperor’s purpose for fear of condemning a man as a rival. At my hesitation, the emperor growled. “Too slow, Selene! The answer is
Lucius Cornelius Balbus
, the man who gave you this fine purple garment. He’ll be accompanying you to Mauretania and he’s the most important person here because of what he represents.”
“So, it was a trick question.” Then again, with the emperor, they always were.
“You’re clever enough to grasp it. Balbus is a veteran. The loyalty of the legions has been at the core of my victories. Now all these ambitious soldiers need to be settled and appeased. My veterans will be there for you to call upon if the natives rise up, but you’ll need to win their confidence. Otherwise, I’m better off making Mauretania a Roman province.”