Cleopatra’s Daughter

draw. I’ve also learned which kinds of stone are appropriate for building and where to use them.”

“Black lavapesta?” he asked, to test me.

“Flooring. It can be trimmed with white tesserae.”

“Sarnus stone?”

“Flakes can be used on a ceiling to create the impression of an indoor cave.”

“Timber-framed rubble and mortar?”

I grinned. “Houses too cheap to last the first winter.”

Vitruvius sat back and unfolded his hands. “Where did you learn this?”

“In Alexandria. We could choose some of the subjects we wanted to study in the Museion, and I chose architecture.”

He watched me with interest. “And you’re determined, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I know my drawings are pretty, but they aren’t accurate. I want to be able to draw real plans.”

“That takes a knowledge of mathematics. Specifically geometry.”

“Which I’ve learned.”

“So why didn’t your tutors show you how to apply it to building?” he asked.

“They would have, but my education in the Museion was cut short.” I didn’t need to say why.

He sighed again, then held out his hand. “Let’s begin with the mausoleum.”

Immediately, I opened my book of sketches to the page with the best drawing of my mother’s mausoleum. “She built it entirely of white marble,” I said, passing my book to him. “The floors had inlays of mother-of-pearl, and the columns were carved into caryatids.”

He studied the image. “You say it was built entirely of marble?”

I nodded.

“And was there something in front? A tall, pointed pillar?”

“Yes. Two obelisks. Both made of granite.”

Vitruvius took out a stylus and began to write quickly. “What color were they?”

“Red. Why? Does Caesar want obelisks?”

“He wants exactly what he saw in Alexandria, with very few changes.”

“I can tell you everything,” I promised, and by that afternoon I was so full of my own success with Vitruvius that I didn’t even mind when Julia insisted I paint her eyes exactly how my mother painted hers.

“I want to look like an Egyptian queen,” she said, sitting in my bathing room while Gallia painstakingly beaded her hair.

“You understand that before we go to the theater, Domina, all of these beads must be taken out?”

“Yes,” she said impatiently. “But just this once…. And then perhaps Selene can draw me.”

“I don’t sketch people!”

“But you draw buildings,” she pointed out. “And how else am I supposed to remember this?”

“I don’t know. Look in the mirror.”

“Please,” she begged. “I can’t use a real painter. My father would find out. And after all this trouble Gallia’s gone to.” She pouted, and when I looked at Gallia, I saw that I had no choice. Julia would only make Gallia do it over again until I agreed.

I fetched my book of sketches and cursed silently at the idea that one of my pages would have to be spent on Julia. And she would probably want to keep it as well, which would mean tearing a piece from the book.

“Will it be in color?” Julia asked when I returned.

“No. Black and white.”

“But how will I remember the faience beads and paint?”

“By using your imagination.” I twisted the cap off a bottle of ink and carefully dipped my reed pen inside.

Julia studied herself in the mirror while I drew. “I should have been born in Egypt,” she said longingly.

“Then you would be me, and would have lost your kingdom.”

“But you’re happy here, aren’t you?” She looked back at me through a fringe of dark lashes, completely unaware of what Alexander and I had suffered.

Gallia clicked her tongue. “She is a prisoner, Domina.”

“But she’s living in Octavia’s villa,” Julia protested. “She’s going to the ludus and studying architecture.”

“In Rome,” Gallia rejoined. “Her home is in Egypt.”

Julia sighed. “My home should have been in Egypt,” she repeated as Gallia strung the last bead onto her hair. She rose from her chair and studied herself in the polished bronze. “No wonder you miss Alexandria,” she said thoughtlessly. The swath of violet silk she had purchased had been sewn into a pair of tunics, and while mine hung straight and shapeless as a stick, hers clung to the emerging curves of her body. I had combined red ochre with blue azurite to make a violet paint for her eyelids, and with the faience beads in her hair, she did look like a princess. “Give me your diadem,” she said suddenly, and when I hesitated, she frowned. “It’s just for the sketch.”

I took off the pearl band that had once symbolized my right to rule over the kingdoms of Cyrenaica and Libya, and although Gallia’s eyes narrowed with disapproval, I handed it to Julia.

She nestled it among her black curls. “Is this how your mother looked?” she whispered.

I knew the answer she wanted. “Yes.”

“And are you drawing the diadem?”

“If you stay still.”

“Should I sit or stand?”

I hesitated, looking down at my drawing. “Keep standing. I’ll include your sandals as well.”

I was surprised by how still she could be when she wanted something. She stood patiently while I drew the folds in her tunic, then turned quietly when I asked to see her beaded hair in profile. When at last I said, “Finished,” she clapped her hands together.

“I want to see!” she exclaimed, and when I turned the book toward her, she drew in her breath. She looked first at Gallia, then at me. “Am I really that beautiful?”

I set my jaw. “Ink drawings are always flattering.”

“But you’ll color it, won’t you?”

“With what?”

“I’ll have a slave send over paints. Look how beautiful it already is, and think how pretty it will be in color.”

A sharp knock on the door cut off my protest. “Quick!” I cried. “What if it’s Octavia?”

But Julia didn’t move. “It isn’t. It’s Marcellus. Gallia,” she said merrily, “let him in!”

I stared at Julia. “How do you know?”

She smiled. “Because I told him to come.”

Marcellus and Alexander entered, and when my brother saw Julia in my crown, he paused. “Is that your diadem?”

“Just for a moment,” I said quickly.

Marcellus gave a low whistle, and Julia turned for him.

“Well, what do you think?” she asked.

“As beautiful as Selene.”

Julia’s eyes flashed angrily in my direction. “You mean you think we look alike?”

“Of course. I mean no. You’re the most beautiful princess of all!” But he winked at me when he said it, and I felt a strange fluttering in my chest.

She grinned. “And what do you think of my paints?”

“I hope they wash off,” he said seriously. “Because my mother is coming.”

Julia gave a small shriek of terror, then pushed my diadem at me and fled back into the bathing room. “Hurry!” she cried. “The beads!”

Marcellus laughed while Julia scrubbed at her face. “What did you think would happen?” he asked.

“She’s supposed to be doing charity work in the Subura. Don’t just stand there. Help!”

The four of us rushed to take off the beads, and Gallia hid them in a small jar next to my couch.

“Not with Selene,” Julia complained. “I want them!”

“You should keep them here until my mother leaves,” Marcellus suggested. “Everything makes her suspicious