The Queen's Handmaid (5 page)

He was in front of her now and lifted a stray hair away from her face.

She recoiled at the touch.

“But you know what I want, I imagine. Don’t you, Lydia?” His voice was low, conspiratorial.

Lydia pulled back farther. Her legs trembled under her, and she fought to keep her voice solid. “I should think you want to be king.”

He leaned in, his lips at her ear, his voice a whisper. “Exactly.”

With that he spun and returned to the couch, dropping to the position of ease where she had found him upon entering.

“I am on my way to Rome to gain Antony’s support. And his ally Octavian, I should hope. When I return to Judea it will be in war against Antigonus. And when I have taken Judea as my own, I will also take the High Priest’s daughter as my own. Do you know of my betrothed, Lydia?”

She shook her head. Samuel’s teaching only extended so far.

“Mariamme is the granddaughter of Israel’s High Priest and a Hasmonean—a direct descendant of those popular Maccabees and both branches of Hasmoneans.

When we marry, it will unite my kingship with the royal and priestly blood, and the Jews will have all they could hope for—a king who has become part of their precious noble families, who will rule them with all the intelligence gained from a Greek upbringing in a cosmopolitan world.” He patted the cushion at his side. “Come, sit. Tell me how old you are.”

She paused only long enough to take a deep breath, then crossed the room to sit on the edge of his couch. “I am eighteen.”

“Yes, I guessed it—the same age as my Mariamme. We have been betrothed two years.”

And they were not yet married? But perhaps he was waiting until he had been made king.

Herod ran a finger along the fabric across her upper arm. “You will be good for her, I believe.”

“My lord?”

“For Mariamme. She has your beauty, but she does not have your strength, your confidence. She needs someone to encourage her in that regard. A lady to wait upon her, one who has seen what it looks like for a woman to be a queen.”

A coldness stole over Lydia’s limbs, climbed down into her belly. She met Herod’s gaze for the first time since seating herself beside him. The mustard-yellow tunic gave his skin a sickly pallor, despite his famed charm. “You want me to be lady’s maid to your wife?”

He smiled and shrugged one shoulder. “Why not?”

As if to punctuate the strange response, the door flung open.

Herod’s two guards dove forward, short swords drawn, then fell back at the figure in the doorway.

Cleopatra.

Her gaze traveled the room, took in the two on the couch as though it were not strange to see Lydia with the Idumean governor, and passed to the open window. “You shall catch a fever, Herod, if you do not light more fires. Shall I send for tapestries to block the night air?”

Herod smiled. “You forget I am from the desert, my queen. Your moist sea air is like a balmy breeze.”

“And my son’s nursemaid? Is she also a fresh breeze?”

He laughed, the low laugh of one engaged in a match of manipulation, and got to his feet.

The couch shifted without his weight, and Lydia put out a hand to steady herself.

“She is indeed. We were just discussing the good she could do in Judea.”

“Judea!” Cleopatra’s hard glare shot to Lydia.

Herod folded his arms and inclined his head to study Cleopatra. “Yes, I should think at his age, you would be eager to pass the young Caesarion from his nurse to a tutor. Since he is coregent of Egypt, that is.” He swept a hand toward Lydia. “And I could make much better use of her in Judea, as lady’s maid to my betrothed wife.”

Cleopatra advanced on Lydia, her hand raised. “Why, you scheming little—”

Herod took two quick steps and caught her wrist. “Careful, my lady. I should hate to report to Antony that his latest lover seems never in control of her temper. Not such a good quality for a ruler, would you say?”

Lydia’s breath shallowed but she did not speak. How could it
be that she was being defended by Herod? What strange turn of the stars had positioned a servant girl of little worth between two powerful rulers?

Cleopatra dropped her hand, but her eyes spit fire at Lydia. “Very well. She is nothing to me. Easily replaced. As easily as that whining Andromeda.” She lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes. “You think you are so special, with all your talent for beauty and art. But you are nothing. Palace servants are as numerous as palace rats, and you have no more idea of where you came from than a common vermin in the cellars.”

Lydia rose to her feet, the condemnation echoing in her ears, echoing through the hollow parts of her as if she were no more than a used-up, dry husk.

“I have tried . . . tried to be of value to you . . . to help . . .” Her chest shook.

“Ha! Do you think you are the only one who can sing a pretty tune or sculpt a pretty pot? There are girls lined up to take your place. So go! Go with him!”

Everyone—first Samuel, then Herod, and now Cleopatra—seemed to wish Lydia out of Egypt. But it was the only home she’d ever known. She had sworn by her independence, by her refusal to need anyone. But how could she leave Caesarion? Samuel?

Herod patted her head as though she were a favorite pet. “There now, it is settled. I am pleased—”

“No.” The word bubbled up from her chest unexpectedly.

Both rulers eyed her in surprise, as if they had already forgotten her presence or perhaps her ability to have an opinion of her own.

“No, I have no desire to leave Alexandria.”

Cleopatra chuckled. “You don’t seem to understand. I have no desire for you to remain.”

The fear, the cold fear of being ripped from the cobbled-together family she had created for herself, drove the words from her mind to her lips and into the air before she could stop them. Despite Andromeda, or perhaps
because
of her hideous undeserved death, Lydia spoke aloud what lay hidden in her heart.

She stepped forward, hands tight at her sides. “Who will know which of the plants in your chamber must be kept well watered and which to keep dry? Who will remember which robes and jewels you wore for each city appearance and how to arrange the striped
nemes
and gold uraeus so they frame your face in a way both feminine and regal? Who will help you fool your visitors into believing that it is
you
who knows how to spread a banquet table or furnish a room with luxury?”

Pathetic, all of it, and yet she kept on spewing, as if she could prove her worth with such a list. “And who, my lady, will sing your boy to sleep when he wakes up screaming nightmares of his murderous mother?”

Oh, this last—this last she should not have said. Even Herod seemed to take a step backward, to abandon her there on the field of battle.

Lydia had proven nothing, had won nothing. Only lashed out in pain, the desperate act of a condemned woman.

And she saw her condemnation in Cleopatra’s eyes, though the queen held her tongue. Her lips remained sealed, her jaw tight.

Lydia was empty now, empty like that dry husk waiting to be blown away in the hot wind of Cleopatra’s wrath.

“That will be all for tonight, Lydia. I have business to discuss with our new friend. If it should please you to give us privacy, that is.”

The sarcasm cut as sharply as any rebuke, but it was only the dull leading edge of what was to come.

Lydia bent her head to Herod, then to the queen, and pushed toward the door. As she passed Cleopatra, she could almost feel the cold radiating from the woman’s body.

Lydia reached the hallway alive, which seemed no small miracle.

Andromeda had spoken out of a naive foolishness and had her throat slit for the indiscretion. What would Cleopatra do with a servant whose condemnation had been calculated with intent?

Lydia hurried toward the steps, her hand stealing to her throat to feel the reassuring though unsteady leaping of her pulse.

Whatever was to come, nothing would be the same.

Four

C
leopatra watched with satisfaction as Lydia fled into the hall. The girl’s petite features and slight stature brought to mind a colorful butterfly. Indeed, she had been fluttering around the royal family for years now. If the girl weren’t such a favorite with Caesarion, Cleopatra would have rid the palace of her after Ptolemy’s death.

She slammed the door on the girl’s flight, then turned in one smooth motion to smile at Herod. “I am surprised.” She crossed to a small table along the wall, set with a jug of wine and a platter of Alexandria’s finest cheeses. “I should not have thought you a man to waste your time on servant girls.” She tossed a coy smile over her shoulder. “Especially when there are women of more—consequence—who might claim your attention.”

Herod was at her side in a moment and took the cup of wine she had poured for herself. “And you are indeed a woman of consequence.”

Were his words flattery or mockery? She studied the fine lines at the corners of his eyes, the long lashes. The full lips as he
brought the cup to his mouth. She could not read him, and it was unnerving.

She poured another cup and raised it to his. “To our mutual concerns.”

Herod eyed her over his cup. He had a way of holding one’s gaze for a moment longer than appropriate, then looking away with a smile, perhaps of amusement or perhaps simply pleasure. He crossed the room to the low couch. “Have we mutual concerns?”

“But of course.” She joined him on the couch, sliding too close. He smelled of all parts of the world: deserts sands and Eastern spices and even the flora of his hilly Galilee. His powerful blending of Eastern and Greek influences made him more like her than any man she’d been with, and the attraction was too potent. She pulled away, tried to focus on her objective. “I remember your father well.”

He chuckled. “I should think so. Without his help, Caesar would never have had the armies of Mithridates, nor the Nabateans, to give him success here in Alexandria.”

She sipped her wine. “Hmm, yes, well, the Nabateans are no friends to either of us now, I hear.”

Herod’s eyes flickered in surprise. “Your sources keep you well informed. I have only just come from Malik in Petra. I offered even to leave my nephew as security against my requests for soldiers and funds, but the Parthians got to him first, and he had me dismissed as a common enemy.”

She tsked and shook her head. “Unthinkable. Was not your mother a noblewoman in Petra?”

Herod’s fingers tightened around his cup. “I spent the better part of my childhood there, in protection against my father’s enemies in Judea.”

Cleopatra hid a smile. Men were out of balance when their precious pride was wounded, and she liked it that way. “Well, he is no ally of mine either, I can assure you.”

Herod leaned on one elbow along the couch, distancing himself from her. “And that is saying something, as you are a woman adept at gaining allies.”

She gave him a quick, half-amused smile. “There have been some who found it advantageous to ally with me, yes.”

“Come, don’t be modest. You are something of a legend in Rome. The way you charmed your way into Julius Caesar’s heart within hours of his landing on your shores. You put all your hopes into Caesar, I suppose? Thought perhaps your son would take the throne of Egypt and then be handed Rome as his birthright as well?”

Cleopatra stood and strolled to the wine again but, noticing the shakiness of her hand as she lifted the jug, she thought better of it and took a bit of cheese instead. She kept her back to Herod. This interaction was not proceeding well. She was accustomed to gaining the upper hand from the start of the conversation. The room was chilly, and she crossed to the single burning brazier, lifted the leather-wrapped rod with the torch end in the fire, and used it to light two more braziers. The delay gave her time to consider her next words.

“There was none more saddened than I by the brutal slaying of Caesar. His death was a loss to Rome, and to all the world.”

“Yes, no doubt Antony said much the same thing when he found himself in your bed soon after.”

“Two years!” She turned on Herod, the poker solid and hot in her hand. “It was two years before Antony . . . won my affection away from the memories!”

His smile spoke more than words. He had bested her by wounding
her
pride—a point scored on his side now. They were too evenly matched for comfort.

He stood and came to her, took the rod from her hand, replaced it on the edge of the brazier, but did not release her hand. “What is it you want, Queen of Egypt?”

It was time to take back the power.

She stepped closer to him, until the fullness of her diaphanous linen dress brushed his robes. “I want us to find a way to work for each other’s benefit, of course.”

He touched her lips with his forefinger. “And what would such an effort look like?”

She smiled under his touch. “Your support against our mutual enemies—Malik and the Nabateans. My support of you with Antony.”

“Hmm. Perhaps for that support I would do better gaining the favor of one of Antony’s
wives
.”

She laughed. “Antony’s marriages mean nothing. His latest wife is a step toward power, nothing more. It is I, and our precious twins, who hold sway over his heart.”

Herod said nothing, and she flicked a glance at the guards at his door. “Perhaps we could consummate our . . . agreement without an audience?”

With a cool smile, he ran his finger along her jawline, down to the pulse of her throat, then turned his head slowly to the guards and motioned with his chin. “Wait outside until the queen is ready to leave.”

At their exit, Cleopatra focused on her power, her control. She would not allow him mastery of this night. She breathed a prayer to Mother Isis, Queen of Heaven.

He turned back to her with an appraisal that was too cold. Too condescending. “It seems to me, my queen, that you have little to offer and much to gain by all your alliances.”

She drew back, muscles tightening. “Egypt has more grain than Rome will—”

“But Rome has Egypt.” He shrugged. “Rome has Egypt, and Antony has you, and even your people resent three hundred years of Greek Ptolemies on the throne since Alexander gave them up.”