Cleopatra’s Daughter

by men who would buy them for work as well as pleasure, and my brother covered his mouth at the sight of grown men whose testicles had been removed.

“Eunuchs,” Marcellus said angrily. “Some men like them, and they go for a higher price. Don’t look,” he suggested, but there was nothing else to see on the streets but starving dogs, jostling merchants, and mosaics whose crude images depicted men in various positions with women. “This is the unsavory part of the city.” He twitched the curtain closed and sat back against his seat. “In a moment, we’ll be at the Temple of Jupiter. Then it’s a short ride to the top of the Palatine and we’ll be home.”

You’ll be home, I thought. We’ll be prisoners waiting for Caesar’s Triumph. My brother reached out and took my hand. Then there was a sudden clamor of voices outside our carriage, and Marcellus opened the curtain again. The road was filled with petitioners being told to step back, and Marcellus said proudly, “Almost there.”

My brother pointed to a strange structure peeking out from a grove of oaks. “What is that?”

“The Temple of Magna Mater.”

“How is that a temple?” I asked rudely. It was a simple altar bearing a heavy rock.

“The goddess came to earth in the shape of a stone, foretelling Rome’s victory over Hannibal.”

I wondered what foolish story the Romans would concoct for Octavian’s victory over Egypt. Marcellus indicated a crude hut whose muddy walls would never have withstood the first gale in Alexandria. “And that’s where Romulus lived,” he said. “Do you know that story?”

Alexander and I both shook our heads.

“Your father never taught it to you?” he exclaimed. “Romulus and Remus were twins. When their mother abandoned them, they were raised by a she-wolf. That doesn’t sound familiar?”

We shook our heads again.

“They founded Rome, and this hut was where the she-wolf raised them. It was Romulus who first built walls on the Palatine. And when Remus mocked his brother’s work, Romulus killed him. But there weren’t enough women in Romulus’s tribe, so he decided to steal them from the neighboring Sabines. He invited their men to a festival, and while the men were drinking and enjoying themselves, Romulus’s men carried off their wives.”

I gasped. “Is that what’s meant by the Rape of the Sabine Women?”

“Then you’ve heard of it?”

“Only the name.” It was an event my mother had always alluded to when talking about the barbarism of Rome.

“Well, the Sabine men wanted revenge. But their king could never defeat Romulus, and since the women didn’t want to see their husbands die, they begged for peace. It’s a disgusting tale,” Marcellus admitted, “but the beginning of Rome.” We had arrived at the top of the Palatine, and the carriage rolled to a stop. “Are you ready?”

He stepped outside, then held out his hand, first for Alexander, then for me. “Rome,” he announced, and beneath the Palatine spread the most disorganized city I had ever seen. Markets and temples crowded together while brick kilns belched smoke into the blazingly hot sky. People crushed one another on the narrow streets, rushing from one shop to the next. Although the Palatine was far above the stink of the urine used in the laundries, the pungent scent wafted upward on the breeze. Even Thebes, which had suffered destruction at the hands of Ptolemy IX, was far more beautiful than this. There was no organization, no city plan, and though buildings of rare beauty stood out among the brick tabernae and bathhouses, they were like gems in a quarry of jagged stone.

“So this is Rome,” I said, but only Alexander understood my meaning.

“And this is my mother’s villa.”

I turned, and a sprawling home filled the horizon above us. There were villas up and down the Palatine, but none of them commanded such a beautiful view or boasted such elaborate columns. The shutters were carefully painted the same earthy color as the tiled roof, and a pair of metal-studded wooden doors were thrown open onto a broad portico. A crowd had gathered on the steps, watching as the soldiers unloaded Egyptian statues and rare ebony chests filled with cinnamon and myrrh.

Octavian led the way, and I took Alexander’s arm. The group on the portico chattered excitedly, and when Octavian mounted the marble steps with Marcellus, one of the women stepped forward.

“That must be Caesar’s sister, Octavia,” I whispered to Alexander in Parthian.

The woman wore a silk stola of Tyrian purple, and though her clothes subtly suggested great wealth, her face conveyed simplicity. She had not painted her eyelids with malachite, or even lined them with antimony, as my mother would have done. Her light hair had been pulled back into a simple chignon, and when she spread her arms to embrace her brother, I saw that her only jewel was a thin golden bracelet.

“Salve, frater,” she said warmly, and for the first time since meeting him, I saw Octavian’s smile reach his eyes. “You look well. And only a little red this time. But I suppose that conquering the world is difficult work.”

“Not the world,” he said without a trace of irony. “Just Egypt.”

“Well, there will be a feast tonight. Your wife has arranged it.”

A woman appeared behind Octavia, and I felt my brother tense at my side. This was the woman Marcellus had warned us against.

“Livia,” Octavian said, and though he’d embraced his sister, he simply squeezed his wife’s hand.

“Mi Caesar.” There was nothing to distinguish her from any woman on the street, and if Octavia’s dress was simple, then Livia’s was austere. Her stola was made of simple white cotton, and her dark hair had been braided before being swept back into a tight bun. She was small, and while my mother’s build had been slight, at least her voice had been remarkable. There was nothing remarkable about Livia. Yet Octavian had wanted her, wooing her while she was still married to another man and pregnant. She looked up at him with wide-eyed adoration. “All of Rome is waiting for your Triumph,” she said breathlessly. “And while you’ve been gone, I’ve arranged it all.”

“You have the notes?”

She nodded eagerly. “You may look them over tonight. Or even sooner, if you wish. They’re right here.” She held up a scroll she’d been concealing in her stola.

Octavian unrolled it and skimmed the contents. “So the celebration will last for three days.”

“Your sister thought it should be longer, but I knew you wouldn’t want to appear like Antony, turning your victories into endless Triumphs.”

“I hardly think five days is an endless Triumph,” Octavia said sharply.

“Five days or three, it doesn’t matter,” Octavian ruled. “We will only be participating on the first day. The rest is just entertainment for the plebs, and since Livia has planned for three, that’s what it will be.”

Livia preened a little, smiling smugly at Octavia, and I thought that if she were my sister-in-law, I would want to slap her.

Octavian handed the scroll to Agrippa. “Look this over and prepare the soldiers. I’ll wish to see the final plans tomorrow.”

“And are these the children?” Octavia asked.

Octavian nodded. “Alexander and Selene.”

She blinked rapidly. “They are beautiful.”

Marcellus laughed. “What did you expect? A pair of Gorgons?”

Octavia walked down several steps so that we were standing on the same level. Instinctively, Alexander and I moved back, but there was no menace in her face. “I know you must have had a terrible voyage,” she said, “but welcome to Rome.” She smiled at us, then turned to her brother, whose face did not reflect the same tenderness. “Shall we?” she asked him, and the group followed Octavia onto the portico. Although Alexander and I were the last in the party, there was no doubting that we were of the most interest. The women craned their necks around Agrippa to see us, and Juba even stepped back so that a young girl could get a better view.

“Caesar’s daughter, Julia,” Alexander whispered. Although many of the girls on the portico were attractive, there was no one with the same dark beauty as Julia. Her mass of black hair shone in the sunlight, and her large dark eyes were framed by long lashes. Even her mouth was pretty, not small or thin-lipped like the rest of her family’s. Her gaze shifted from me to my brother. Then Marcellus went to her and whispered something in her ear so that she giggled. I felt a strange annoyance, but didn’t have time to understand why.