The centurion grinned. “Very good.”
“And
The centurion made a noise in his throat. “If not her, then him. And we have reason to suspect they were working for the rebel the plebs like to call the Red Eagle.”
“May I see the bag?” Marcellus held out his hand.
“What are you doing?” Julia whispered. “You’ll get us all in trouble!”
The centurion hesitated, then passed him the gold.
Marcellus made a show of inspecting the leather. “She isn’t lying,” he said suddenly. “The gold belongs to her.”
The soldiers raised their voices in protest, but Marcellus was louder. “This comes from the House of Octavia.”
The centurion’s jaw tightened. “I believe if you take a better look, you will discover that you are wrong.”
“No. I’m not.”
“Are you saying,” the centurion’s voice rose angrily, “that the sister of Caesar gives so freely of her gold?”
“No, I do.”
The soldier looked at Gallia, whose face had gone pale, then at Tiberius, who maintained a careful silence. Suddenly, he waved his hand. “Fine. Less work for us,” he announced grandly. “Let them go.”
The man and woman rushed to thank Marcellus, but he shoved the bag at them and said forcefully, “Get out of here.”
The group of soldiers dispersed, though I noticed that the centurion cast a suspicious look over his shoulder before leaving. The four of us watched Marcellus, and I suspected that behind us even the guards were passing questioning glances among themselves. It was Tiberius who broke the silence.
“Well done. Perhaps if we make a visit to the Carcer you can free the rest of the slaves who are imprisoned.”
“That was incredibly foolish,” Julia said. “Who cares what happens to a pair of runaway slaves? They were
“No. They were a husband and wife who wanted to be free,” I replied, and Marcellus’s light eyes met mine. “I think it was kind.”
Julia looked from me to Marcellus and said hotly, “Are we going to the temple or not?” She marched up the remaining steps and Marcellus smiled at me.
“Thank you,” he mouthed.
“This must be quick,” Gallia cautioned. “One look inside and that is all. Caesar is waiting on the Campus Martius.”
We hurried up the steps behind Julia, and as we passed beneath the arch, I blinked back tears. It was just like the temple in Alexandria. The cool interior was painted with the familiar images of Isis and Serapis, and bald- headed priests dressed in long linen robes were dispensing incense from gilded balls. A statue of the Mother Goddess, with eyes of sapphire and necklaces of gold, rose at the opposite end of the temple. Marcellus gave a low whistle.
“Welcome home.” A tall man emerged from the shadows, and I saw Gallia tense.
“The High Priest,” my brother said swiftly in Parthian. “Is that the one—?”
I nodded.
“Prince Alexander and Princess Selene.” The High Priest opened his arms in a gesture of welcome. “And you’ve brought your distinguished friends.”
“How does he know you?” Tiberius was immediately suspicious.
“He must have seen us in the Triumph,” my brother said levelly.
The High Priest stepped forward. “Have you come to see Isis and Serapis?”
“Yes,” I replied, and I struggled to ignore the overwhelming feeling of homesickness. The towering granite statues and pink-veined marble had all been shipped from Egypt. Even the statues in the cleansing pool had probably been sculpted by Egyptian hands. “Shepsit!” The High Priest snapped his fingers and a young woman appeared at his side. “Show our new friends around the temple.”
The girl inclined her head dutifully. While everyone followed her, I remained with the High Priest.
“Aren’t you coming?” Alexander called.
“I want to place an offering. I’ll join you in a moment.” I saw the hesitation in his face, then Julia took his arm and he was gone.
The High Priest looked down at me. “You read my note?”
“Yes. That’s why I came.”
“Then you understand what Caesar plans for you,” he said, directing me toward a room behind a beaded curtain. Baskets and chests filled the little chamber, and I tried not to think of how similar baskets had adorned our palace in Alexandria. “How long do you think it will be until Caesar decides to do away with the last of Kleopatra’s children?”
“I—I don’t know. That’s why I’ve come to you. For help.”
He smiled. “You want to return to Egypt?”
“If our lives are in danger.”
“Of course they are!” He moved closer to me. “What happened to your mother? Your father? Your brothers? What happened to the priests of Isis and Serapis in Alexandria?”
I pressed my back against the marble wall. “They’re gone,” I whispered.
“That’s right.” He stopped walking. “But I can help you escape.”
I glanced at the beaded curtain. “To Egypt?”
“Or India, or any place you wish.”
“And how long would we be in hiding?”
“Until your brother is old enough to raise an army and challenge Caesar.”
“My father failed and he had half of Rome’s legions! What makes you think my brother would succeed?”
The High Priest narrowed his eyes. “He might not. Perhaps in the very first battle he’ll be crushed along with all of his men. But what do you think Caesar will do if he remains here?”
“He’s kept my father’s sons by Fulvia alive. I have older brothers—”
“Who are not the sons of an Egyptian queen!”
We watched each other in tense silence. Even amid so much incense, I could smell his fetid breath. Men with rotten teeth often smelled this way.
“Do you value your life?”
“Of course.”
“Then escape is your only option.”
I searched his face. “And who would help us?”
He reached out and trailed a bony finger along my necklace. “People who would do anything for the right price.”
My necklace could keep a man fed for the rest of his life. It might very well buy a passage to India. But I could never give away my mother’s pearls. “And if I don’t want to pay the price?”
The High Priest grabbed my wrist. “Everyone pays something.”
“Take your hands off of me!”
“Just give me the pearls,” he hissed. “I’ll have you free of Rome for the rest of your life.”
“Step away from her!” Marcellus parted the beaded curtain. Julia stood behind him with four stone-faced guards.
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?”
