The Egyptian Royals Collection (124 page)

The High Priest dropped my arm and smiled blandly. “Did you enjoy your tour?”

Marcellus glanced at me. “Has he hurt you?”

“No.”

He met the High Priest’s gaze. “Isis is not so beloved in Rome that her priests can afford to abuse Caesar’s guests.”

“Is that what she is?” His smile widened. “A guest?”

“Yes,” Marcellus said forcefully. He held out his arm, and I hurried past the High Priest.

“Think about what I said,” the High Priest warned darkly. “It’s a small exchange for the protection of Isis.”

Although the priestesses were shaking their gilded sistri in the courtyard outside, all I could hear was Juba’s voice in my head.

“So was that part of the offering?” Julia asked archly when we reached the steps of the temple.

My brother gave me a disapproving look, and I said angrily, “Don’t say it!”

“It might have happened to anyone,” Marcellus said. “You just happen to have a queen’s ransom around your neck. Priests of every goddess are greedy.”

I tried a smile, but it didn’t come out right.

“Here,” he said compassionately, and offered me a small square of linen. As I dabbed at my eyes I could smell his scent on the cloth, and wanted nothing more than to weep into his shoulder. But Julia was there. And Tiberius.

“You see what happens, going into strange places?” Gallia demanded.

“I
thought it was beautiful,” Julia said to be contrary.

“If you enjoy men dressed as jackals,” Tiberius said.

“You liked the women well enough,” she challenged.

Color tinged Tiberius’s cheeks, but no one mentioned the High Priest again, and when we reached the Campus Martius, even my brother forgot his anger at me. “Look at this!” he exclaimed.

It was hundreds of acres of low-lying plains bordered on the west by the Tiber River, and on the east by the Quirinal hill. There was a space for horses and chariot races, a place where marathon runners practiced, and in a series of grassy fields hundreds of soldiers wrestled, and boxed, and played games with leather balls. I saw men who were oiled and sweaty from their exertions jump into the Tiber, and I thought,
They must be brave not to have any fear of the crocodiles
.

“What are those buildings?” my brother asked. He pointed to a number of domed structures dotting the plains.

“Stables,” Marcellus replied. “The Campus is where wealthy men keep their horses. There are baths inside them as well, for washing and changing. Those are my uncle’s stables.” He pointed to a large building near the river.

As we drew closer, I could see that Octavia and Livia were already seated in the cool shade of the portico, working on their looms. The younger children were there as well; Antonia and Tonia patiently following their mother’s instructions while Drusus and Vipsania giggled. Octavian stood between Juba and Agrippa; all three men were dressed in short tunics, with thin linen belts around their waists and sandals whose laces crisscrossed up their muscled calves. But only Octavian wore a broad-brimmed hat in anticipation of an afternoon in the sun.

“Alexander,” Agrippa said in greeting. “Since you are a horseman, we’ve decided on riding. Go and change with Marcellus and Tiberius. They’ll show you where the tunics are, and they’ll find you a sword.”

But Alexander looked back at me. “What about Selene?”

“Selene will be enjoying her time weaving,” Juba said.

“But she doesn’t know how.”

“What girl doesn’t know how to weave?” Livia demanded.

“She’s a princess of Egypt,” Octavia replied. “Her mother taught her languages, not how to work the loom.”

“Then perhaps her mother should have taught her some modesty so she doesn’t end up clutching a cobra to her neck.”

I saw my brother tense, but Marcellus stepped forward. “Come on.”

Alexander looked back at me, and I nodded. “Go. There is riding to be done.” I smiled bravely, then watched the men disappear into the stables. I turned back to Octavia. “I could study instead of weaving, if that would please you. Or perhaps I could draw—”

But Livia snapped, “You will weave like the rest of us!”

I seated myself between Julia and Octavia, and Julia whispered, “Just do as she says.”

“Why should she?” Octavia asked suddenly, and her girls looked up from their looms with wide eyes. Vipsania, Agrippa’s seven-year-old daughter, gasped. “There’s no point in teaching Selene how to weave, and even less of a point in teaching her how to spin. When will she ever use those skills?”

“For her husband,” Livia retorted angrily.

“Very few men prefer homespun tunics. And I doubt that her future husband will be one of them. I don’t see any reason not to let Selene sketch.”

Livia dropped the wooden shuttle onto her lap. “What? Silly buildings and painted urns? For what purpose?”

“Well, if everything must have a purpose, then Vitruvius can train her as an architect.”

Livia sat forward. “You think he would train
a girl?”

“Why not?”

“Your brother would never allow it!” she swore. But when Octavian appeared with Agrippa and Juba, I noticed that Livia was silent.

Swiftly, I took out my sketches, and Julia regarded me with quiet fascination. I knew she was wondering why Octavia would choose to fight for me this way. But I thought I understood. It was her chance to anger the petty, jealous woman her brother had chosen for a wife.

When my brother emerged with Marcellus and Tiberius, I didn’t dare say anything, even when Tiberius boasted that he was going to teach Alexander how to ride. After they’d left, there was an uncomfortable silence until midafternoon. No one spoke, and when I looked up to make a comment to Julia, she shook her head sternly.

When Marcellus and Alexander finally came galloping toward us, followed by the others, Julia rose. “They’re back!”

“Sit down,” Livia commanded, and I saw Octavia pass her niece a sympathetic look.

Alexander reined in his horse at the edge of the portico. With Marcellus beside him, he looked triumphant. The pair were the first to dismount.

“Your brother is a fine horseman,” Marcellus announced.

I looked from Alexander to Tiberius. “Where did you go?”

“To the tracks, where the horses raced around poles. It was better than anything in Alexandria, Selene.”

Juba slid easily off his horse. “There’s something in Rome that’s better than Alexandria?”

Octavian smiled at Juba’s humor. “He’s an exemplary horseman,” he said matter-of-factly, walking toward us. “Finer than Marcellus and possibly even as good as Tiberius.”

“Yes, but what does he know about tactics on the battlefield?” Tiberius demanded. “You said so yourself. Anyone who hasn’t read Sallust shouldn’t be on a horse.”

“Well, there’s always time to remedy that,” Agrippa said.

Tiberius laughed sharply. “You really think he’ll be as good a scholar as I am?”

Agrippa studied my brother. “You never know.”

Juba placed his hand on Tiberius’s shoulder. “Come into the Tiber and cool off,” he suggested. “It doesn’t matter who did better today.” But when he moved to lead Tiberius away, I stood.

“Don’t follow him!”

Juba and Tiberius turned.

“You shouldn’t go into the river,” I said. “You don’t know what’s in there.”

Juba laughed. “What, are there sea serpents lurking beneath the waters?”

“Of course not,” I said angrily. “There are crocodiles.”

Juba grinned. “I am sorry to be the one who must tell you this, Princess, but there are no crocodiles swimming in the Tiber.”

I looked to Tiberius, who smiled arrogantly. “I guess you don’t know everything.”

Octavian and Agrippa followed them to the river bank, and when I returned to my seat, Julia suggested, “Just ignore him.”

“But what happened to the crocodiles? Have they all been killed?”

“There have never been crocodiles,” Octavia replied, putting down her spindle. “There are only fish. And all of them are harmless.”

I wondered what it would be like to swim in a river, and as we watched Marcellus and Alexander strip down to their loincloths, I asked Octavia, “Will we be swimming, too?”

“What? In a loincloth?” Livia exclaimed.

“And a breastband,” I offered, but Vipsania giggled.

“Perhaps you would like to parade naked as well!” Livia added.

“She almost did,” Octavia remarked pointedly, reminding her of the Triumph and the beaded dress that Livia had chosen for me.

Livia sat forward and fixed me in her gaze. “My father committed suicide because of your father. And now your father has killed himself because of my husband. It’s a strange little world, isn’t it, Selene? And I imagine that when your mother came to Rome, she thought it would be only a matter of time before she stood in the Senate and declared herself queen. But Romans don’t accept women who paint their faces, or dress themselves in beads, or swim in rivers. And they won’t accept a little whore from Alexandria who thinks she can come here and take her mother’s place. I know what you want.” She laughed bitterly. “You think my husband is going to send you back to Egypt, but the Greeks will be settling their debts on the Kalends before that ever happens!” In Rome, the Kalends was the first day of every month, but the Greeks had no such day.

When Livia sat back, Octavia smiled. “Charming as always, Livia.
And every afternoon a sweet reminder of why my brother chose you for his wife.”

I risked a glance at Julia, but her eyes were fixed on the wooden loom in front of her, and for the next hour we worked in silence while the men enjoyed themselves in the river. As the heat rose and it became unbearable even in the shade, no one moved. Octavia wiped the sweat from her brow with a small square of white linen. Julia’s hair had gone limp in the heat. I thought of my brother pushing through the cool waters of the Tiber and felt a mounting anger. My mother had always given the two of us the same opportunities. If Alexander was allowed to swim, then so was I. If he had lessons in the Museion, I went with him. Nothing had ever been forbidden to me simply because I was a girl.

When the men returned, my brother had the good sense not to look too pleased. Instead, he saw me suffering in the heat and asked uneasily, “So how was the drawing?”

“Hot,” I said curtly in Parthian. “And your swim?”

“It was all right.”

I glowered at him. “I’ll bet it was better than sitting here with the Gorgon.”

“I’m sorry.” He hesitated. “I won’t go next time—”

“That’s not what I want,” I said petulantly.

He looked at Livia. “She really is a monster, isn’t she?”

“Can you imagine if we were living with her?”

My brother shivered. “Come.” He held out his hand. “Gallia’s taking us to the Circus Maximus.”

“And will I have to stand outside and watch through the arches?”

My brother chuckled. “Marcellus says anyone can go.”

“I guess women’s money is just as good as men’s.”

Julia watched us, trying to follow our conversation, and when my
brother went inside the stables to change, she asked me, “How many languages can you speak?”

“Four. Plus a little Hebrew.”

“But how did you learn them?”

“I was raised with them. Like you were raised with Latin.”

“And did you study them in school?”

“Six days a week.”

Julia was thoughtful. Then she said quietly, “Sometimes, I wonder how it would be if your father’s ships had won at Actium.”

“He probably would have had you killed,” I said honestly.

“Or perhaps I would have come to Alexandria and studied in the Museion with you.”

When the men returned from the changing rooms, Octavia instructed Gallia to bring us home well before the sun set. “I want them in the villa in time to have a rest and take a bath. And don’t let Marcellus spend every last denarius, even if he’s being charitable to his guards.”

“Are you coming?” Marcellus asked Tiberius.

“To the Circus? No, thank you.”

“What?” Marcellus laughed. “You have something better to do?”

“Drusus and I are studying with Agrippa.”

“More Sallust?” I questioned.

“We finished Sallust two years ago. We’re studying Rome’s greatest generals now. My brother knows the entire history of Catiline from his career with Pompey to his revolt against the Republic.”

“So why doesn’t he study with us in the ludus?” I asked.

“He’s only nine. But even he knows that watching horses run around in a circle is a waste of time.”

As we started to walk, Julia demanded, “Why do you invite him when he’s so nasty?”

“I feel sorry for him,” Marcellus admitted.

“Well, you shouldn’t,” she said. “He’s just like his mother.”

“Only because she bullies him.”

“So what?” she exclaimed as Gallia led the way. “He allows it!”

“And what other choice does he have?”

“He can be silent.”

Marcellus made a face. “Tiberius will never be silent. His dying breath will be a complaint.”

“But why does Livia stand for it?” my brother asked. “She doesn’t stand for anything else.”

Julia and Marcellus exchanged meaningful looks.

“Because he’s her greatest hope,” Marcellus said. “She wants to see Tiberius as ruler of Rome. Even though he’d rather join the army and go off fighting the Gauls.”

“But
you’re
Octavian’s heir!” Alexander exclaimed. “Not Tiberius!”

“For now. But what if something should happen to me? What if I’m wounded in battle, or I fall from my horse—”

“Marcellus!”
Julia cried.

“What?”

“From your lips to Juno’s ear,” she reminded him. “You shouldn’t say such things.”

“Why?” He laughed dismissively. “Do you think the gods really care what we say?”

“My father says so.”

“Because that’s what he wants the plebs to think. A religious people is a people with purpose. So if the grain fails, or the aqueducts turn muddy, it can be Jupiter’s fault, not his.”

Julia hesitated. “I could believe it. Everything with my father is a show. And that’s why he’ll make you his heir, and not Tiberius. You’re willing to act.”

“You mean I’m willing to be his puppet.” When he saw that Julia was going to protest, he smiled. “I don’t mind. But it’s Alexander and Selene who need to be careful.”