The Egyptian Royals Collection (159 page)

Throughout the city, men were rushing to the Forum. Even merchants were abandoning their stalls to see the fire that was consuming the basilica. It took all my resolve not to turn to see if Juba was still behind me. When I reached Octavia’s villa, there was no one on the portico, and I knew at once where everyone must have gone. But before I could reach the platform in front of Augustus’s villa, Gallia came running.

“Where is he?” she cried.

I thought of Juba bleeding inside his villa with no one to help him, and did my best to look unconcerned. “Who?”

Gallia gave me a long look before whispering,
“Juba!”

I leaned closer. “How do you—?”

“I have been in his confidence since the Red Eagle first appeared,” she said quickly. “Who do you think posted his acta while he was gone? Is he safe?”

I told her what had happened, and her face went pale. “Stay here, and say absolutely nothing.”

I panicked. “But where are you going?”

“To find Verrius.”

I mounted the platform and tried to avoid Augustus’s interested gaze. Immediately, Marcellus and Julia cried out.

“Where have you been?” Julia exclaimed.

“I was caught up in the rush,” I lied, hoping I was as good an actor as Augustus. “I didn’t know where you went. And when I looked back, everyone was gone.”

Augustus studied me. It had been a year since he had last seen me. “They thought perhaps you’d been crushed,” he said.

“Of course not! I escaped.”

“But hundreds of people were trampled,” Julia said. “Did you see?”

I shook my head.

“Then you must have seen the Gauls escaping from their cages! It was the barbarian invasion all over again,” she said breathlessly.

Augustus watched for my reaction, but I refused to give one. Then he turned abruptly to Livia and said, “I’ll be in my chamber.”

Octavia rushed to his side, and I noticed that both Agrippa and Tiberius were absent.

When Augustus was gone, I looked to Julia. “Is he sick?”

“My father has been ill since Iberia. He says this afternoon will be the death of him, and he’s told Agrippa to find the Red Eagle whatever the cost.”

“I heard the Red Eagle was wounded,” Marcellus added, “and Tiberius thought you ran after him.”

“He’s a
traitor
. Why would I do such a thing?”

“That’s what I said. But he thought you would try and escape from Rome.”

Although all I wished to do was run to Juba’s villa, I remained on the hill and watched the fire burn. When at last even Julia was tired of the show, she asked Claudia whether there was to be a feast.

“No. Your father needs his rest. Perhaps in a few days, when the Red Eagle is dead, there will be a celebration.”

Julia looked at me. “Will you dine with us?”

“Not tonight. I’m not feeling well,” I lied again.

I hurried back to my chamber, hoping that Gallia would be waiting for me, but the room was empty. Then I spotted something dark peeking from beneath my pillow. It was a small black box. I picked it up and read the note that was attached. “In case tomorrow never comes,” it said. I opened the hidden box and took out a necklace of pink sea pearls—my mother’s last gift to me. The one I had given to Juba to purchase Gallia’s freedom. Tears blurred my vision as I put on the necklace. He must have left it in the morning, not knowing whether he would survive the day. And now, his fate was up to the gods.

I paced my room, desperate for any news, and when Octavia returned, I asked if she’d seen Gallia.

“She’s gone home,” she said, and I noticed the half-moons beneath her eyes. She looked drained, as if she’d stayed up for nights on end without sleep. “A fever is spreading through Rome,” she added, “and Gallia tells me that both Magister Verrius and Juba are ill. The physicians say my brother may be suffering from the same sickness. But you are safe.” She reached out and caressed my cheek. A tear wet her finger, and I noticed that she was crying as well. “Shall we pray?”

I followed her into the lararium, where she lit a cone of incense and we knelt before the gods. She whispered her prayers to Fortuna, and I made my silent ones to Isis. I promised all sorts of things to the goddess, swearing to marry whomever Augustus chose, even if he was vile, so long as she would spare Juba’s life. And I vowed to endure my suffering in silence. I would not complain. I would not be embittered. If she would grant Juba’s health, I would never weep in self-pity again.

But the night passed without word, and the next morning, Gallia was nowhere to be found. I paced the library until Vitruvius put
down his stylus and insisted I go outside for fresh air. “If you are worried on behalf of Magister Verrius, you needn’t be. I saw him this morning and he looked well.”

“You did?” I cried. “Where?”

Vitruvius looked at me strangely. “On the Palatine. Coming from Juba’s villa.”

“And what did he say?”

“That Juba is ill.”

“And was Gallia with him?”

Vitruvius shook his head. “No. Not that I saw.”

I hurried onto the portico, hoping to catch a glimpse of Magister Verrius, but the only person hurrying toward Octavia’s villa was Agrippa. When he saw me, he smiled.

“Excellent news,” he said triumphantly.

“Has the Red Eagle been caught?”

“Even better. He’s dead.”

I felt my heart stop in my chest, but Agrippa went on.

“Two men caught him last night attempting to post an actum on the Temple of Apollo. He was already hurt, but they ran him through with
a gladius
as he fled.”

Suddenly the world was spinning. It was Alexander’s death all over again. “And is … is there a body?”

“No. But judging from the amount of blood he left behind, there’s no chance that he survived.”

He went inside to share his triumph with Octavia, and I held on to a column to keep myself from falling. I had to find Gallia. Gallia or Magister Verrius would know what had happened. I raced to the bottom of the Palatine without bothering to demand a guard. I banged on Magister Verrius’s door at the end of the street. When no one answered, I peered through the windows, and a child who was passing by stopped to stare at me.

“There’s no one there,” he said.

“How do you know?”

“I live next door. They haven’t been back all night.”

“What about this morning?”

The boy shook his head.

“Not even Magister Verrius?”

“No.”

I took the shortcut back up the hill. I didn’t dare to approach Juba’s villa, but I went to the Temple of Apollo to see for myself. A group of Praetorians were gathered at the entrance, and I recognized two of the guards as the same men who’d accompanied me to Alexander’s mausoleum. They were talking quietly between themselves, admiring the stain across the marble steps. It was just as Agrippa had described it. No one could lose so much blood and survive. I could feel my throat beginning to close, and the world was growing dark around me when the light-haired guard from the mausoleum shook my arm.

“It’s only blood. Nothing to be worried about.”

“Who stabbed him?” I whispered.

“We did.” He pointed from himself to the familiar dark-haired guard beside him. “I expect we’ll both be amply rewarded.”

I felt sick to my stomach. Suddenly, nothing made sense anymore. When I returned to Octavia’s villa, I shut myself in my room. Charmion, Ptolemy, Caesarion, Antyllus, Alexander, both of my parents. And now Juba; the man who had cared for me all along, protecting me, writing about the injustices I cared passionately about as well, all in the guise of the Red Eagle. It no longer mattered to me whether I lived or died. I lay down and closed my eyes, hoping that someone would steal out of the shadows as they had four months before, only this time, that it would be my life that ended.

But when I awoke, the sun was still high. No one had come to murder me in my sleep. There was noise in the atrium, and when I
opened the door, Octavia and Vitruvius were whispering. They stopped when I appeared, and both of them looked at me.

Octavia approached. Her face was full of concern. “Augustus would like to see you,” she said.

“Really?” I asked indifferently. “Is he angry?”

“I don’t know. He is very ill, Selene. And preparations are being made.…”

I could see she was on the verge of tears, and I softened my voice. “He has always recovered.”

“But this time it’s fever. He’s asked us to bring you.”

When I nodded, she released her breath. She had expected a fight, but I no longer cared what happened to me. I followed her into Augustus’s villa, where dignitaries crowded together in the atrium, and even Julia and Marcellus were there.

“He’s asked to see you,” Julia said nervously. “Do you know why?”

I shook my head.

“I think you’re going to be married.” When I didn’t react, she went on fretfully, “No one knows who it is. I don’t think even Livia knows. But he’s making all his plans. He’s even given Agrippa his signet ring.”

“The one belonging to Alexander the Great?”

She nodded.

“So Agrippa’s his heir?”

“Until Marcellus is twenty.” I could see the fear in her eyes. “Oh, Selene.” She took my hands, but I didn’t move. “Whatever happens, I am here. It will be all right.”

Octavia guided me to the stairs and pointed upward. “The first door on the right.”

I mounted the steps, and as I approached the door, I was aware of a rushing sound in my ears. But why was I afraid? It didn’t matter what future Augustus decided for me now.

I opened the door and realized that I wasn’t entering a chamber,
but Augustus’s office, Little Syracuse. The walls were adorned with maps and scrolls, and where there weren’t books, there were statues. A pale-looking Augustus was seated behind his table, hunched over like an old man trying to fend off the cold. With his hand, he offered me a seat.

“Kleopatra Selene,” he said.

“Emperor Augustus.”

He smiled at the title, but didn’t disagree. “Do you know why I’ve called you here?”

I didn’t lie. “Julia says it has something to do with my marriage.”

“Yes.” He studied me. “You’ve grown very beautiful in my absence.”

“Many things have happened in your absence,” I said shortly.

He raised his brows, but instead of growing angry with me, his voice became strangely regretful. “Yes, they have. And once we die, what we leave behind is not what is engraved in stone monuments, but what is woven into the lives of others.”

“Pericles.”

He nodded. “And I have not woven much happiness into your life, have I?”

I dug my nails into my palms to keep myself from weeping.

“Before I die, I wish to change that, Selene.”

“Are you going to bring Alexander back from the dead?”

He hesitated. “You understand, I hope, that a grown son of Marc Antony and Kleopatra would always be a risk to the stability of Rome so long as he was alive.”

“The stability of Rome, or the stability of your rule?”

“Is there a difference?”

“He never wanted to be Caesar!”

“Many men have no intention of being Caesar. But when offered the opportunity by discontented senators, how many would turn it down?”

I bit my lower lip.

“I did not bring you here to discuss death,” he said quietly. “I brought you here to give you a new life. You had a very fine education in Egypt, and in Rome you have proven yourself capable of rule. If you will accept a dowry of five thousand denarii,” he began, “I wish to make you Queen of Mauretania.”

The study began to spin so quickly that I gripped the sides of my chair. “I don’t understand,” I whispered. “I thought that Juba—”

“Is ill? Yes, but he’s young and very strong. Men like him recover quickly, and he’s waiting for you in the other room.”

I stood so quickly that my seat nearly toppled over.

Augustus smiled. “At the end of the hall.”

I don’t remember whether I ran. I must have, because when I opened the door and Juba took me in his arms, I was breathless. Immediately, I inspected him for signs that he’d been wounded again. “I don’t understand,” was all I could say. “I don’t—”

He put his finger to my lips. “The men at the temple were mine. There was no attack.”

“But the mess—” I whispered.

“It was bull’s blood. I think I’m going to survive.”

“And your shoulder?”

He pushed his tunic away so I could see where Magister Verrius had neatly stitched him closed, and in the bright light of the chamber, I knew there’d never been a more beautiful man. From the time I’d been taken from Alexandria, he must have known that Augustus had intended me for him. Then I thought of the times he’d seen me weeping for Marcellus, and the many times I’d goaded him for being nasty when all of it had simply been an act to keep away suspicion, and my eyes began to burn.

“I hope you’re crying with happiness,” he said, “and not with disappointment.”

“How could I be disappointed?” I cried.

“Perhaps you wanted someone else.”

I ran my fingers through his hair. “No.” I searched his eyes, which were filled with kindness, and I drew my fingers over the handsome contours of his face. “I want you.”

“Me, or the Red Eagle?” he asked cautiously.

“Perhaps both.”

“But you know that the Red Eagle is gone,” he said. “I’ve done what I can in Rome. Someone else must continue the fight.”

“Like Gallia?”

“And Verrius, and many other good people. But Augustus would have suspected it was me eventually. So I’m afraid your Red Eagle is dead,” he said with regret.

“Dead?” I asked him. “Or just flown away to Mauretania?” When he didn’t say anything, I added, “I suspect it’s the latter.”

“There will be no more rebellion. No more daring acts of kindness,” he warned.

“You mean we won’t get to run through burning buildings?” I could see he wanted to laugh, but instead he watched me intently. “What? Why are you staring at me?”

“I’m not staring. I’m observing.”

I smiled through my tears. “And what do you observe?”

He brushed his lips against my ear. “A brave young woman who has always fought for what was right, even when it was unpopular. A woman who can’t return to the land of her birth, but is welcome to cross the seas and rebuild Alexandria in mine. And a woman who has suffered enough in Rome and deserves happiness for a change. Will you come to Mauretania and be my queen?”