Cleopatra’s Daughter

“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.”