Cleopatra’s Daughter

When the bet-maker came to Alexander, I turned my face away.

“It’s not nice, is it?” Antonia asked. She shared a couch with her sister and Vipsania. On the other side of them, Tiberius and his younger brother, Drusus, were rolling dice. “I try not to watch whenever the men die.”

“Are they all condemned criminals?”

“No. Some are slaves who were purchased for fighting. Aren’t there gladiatorial events in Egypt?”

“No. We don’t kill men for sport.”

“Oh, there’s women, too,” she said sadly. “And animals.”

“Here?”

“Sure. Look.”

The trumpets sounded, and as the gates of the arena were pulled up, a group of sword-carrying men entered from beneath the amphitheater. They wore strange sandals laced up to the knee and short tunics, and I realized with a start that some were mere boys.

“Who are they?”

“Telegenii,” Antonia said. “The consul who built this amphitheater found them south of Carthage and brought them here to fight.”

There was a loud gasp from the crowd in the arena as seven leopards were set loose.

“They’re not going to kill the cats?” I exclaimed.

“Certainly. Or they’ll be killed themselves.”

I sat forward. “Is this what you bet on?” I shouted at Alexander.

“No! No one said there would be leopards.”

“What’s the matter?” Marcellus asked.

“Those animals”—Alexander pointed wildly—“are sacred in Egypt. We don’t kill them for meat, and certainly not for entertainment!”

“Oh, this is just the opening act,” Julia said. “There’s only seven. Then the real fights will begin.”

Alexander glanced at me, and I could see the fear in his eyes. If our mother had been alive, she would never have forgiven us for watching this.

“Do you think they’ve brought this to Egypt?” I asked coldly in Parthian.

“Yes,” he said quitely. “And when we return, we’ll forbid it.”

The announcer narrated the fight, and whenever the crowds cheered I closed my eyes and imagined that I was back in Alexandria, where the Museion towered over the gleaming city and philosophers went to the theater for entertainment.

“It’s not that bad,” Julia said critically. “You can open your eyes. They’re nearly all dead.”

“The leopards or the Telegenii?”

“The leopards. Only two Telegenii have been killed.”

I opened my eyes, but I refused to watch. Instead I turned and looked at Gallia, who was sitting behind us among the men of the Praetorian Guard. When she caught my gaze, she beckoned to me with her hand. I left my position on the couch next to Julia, and Gallia made space for me on hers.

“Not enjoying the Games?”

“No,” I admitted.

“Oh, but you haven’t even seen the best part,” she said dryly. “When the gladiators are done being savaged, two men will come out and get them. One will be dressed as Hermes, the other as Charon.” The messenger god and the ferryman of the dead.

“What do they do?”

“Collect the bodies. But first, Hermes prods the gladiator with a hot iron, and if he moves, Charon takes a mallet and crushes his skull.”

I covered my mouth with my hand. “So even if he could survive, he’s killed?”

“Yes.” The trumpets blared for a second time, and Hermes made his appearance with Charon, just as she said.

“They have all placed bets on this. Even Octavia. And Julia’s enjoying it.”

Gallia nodded. “I know. But perhaps you judge Domina Julia too harshly.”

I glanced up in surprise. “I don’t pass any judgment on Julia at all.”

Gallia smiled as if she didn’t believe me. “She has not had it easy.”

“She’s the daughter of Caesar!”

“And what of her mother?”

I didn’t know what to say.

“Do you see the woman up there?” Gallia indicated a fine-featured matron several rows above us where the women of Rome were forced to sit apart from the men. The woman possessed a fascinating beauty, and she was watching Julia with attention that never wavered. “That is Scribonia, Domina Julia’s mother.”

When Scribonia caught us staring at her, she smiled sadly. I turned to Gallia. “She’s beautiful. Why did Caesar divorce her?”

“She was not obedient. Now she is only allowed to see her daughter from the upper seats of these games.”

“Julia can’t visit her?”

“Once a year, during Saturnalia, she may bring her mother a gift.”

I gasped at the cruelty. It was no wonder Julia had been so interested in my mother. And now, all she had was Livia. Bitter, selfish, jealous Livia. “Do you think she ever visits Scribonia secretly?” I asked.

Gallia gave a little smile. The men of the Praetorian Guard around us were cheering, ignoring us completely. “Of course,” she whispered. “But how can secret visits be enough for a mother? Or a daughter?”

I looked around the amphitheater. “This place is filled with secrets.”

“More than you know.”

I hesitated. “Are there secrets about my father in here?”

She gave me a long, searching look before answering. “Yes.”

“Where?”

She indicated a woman seated below Scribonia. Her eyes were painted with heavy shadow, and her long hair was dressed with small gems and pearls. Only actresses and lupae wore so much paint in Rome. Gallia said, “Domina Cytheris.”

“Does she work in the theater?”

“Not anymore. But when she did, she was your father’s mistress.” She studied my face to see my reaction, but I wasn’t surprised.

“And who is she mistress to now?” I asked. The pearls in her hair and expensive jewels at her throat had not come free, and Charmion used to say that women who couldn’t keep their legs closed couldn’t keep their purses shut either.

“Dominus Gallus. The prefect that Caesar has sent to govern Egypt.” I gave a small gasp, and Gallia placed her hand on mine. “I know it is not easy.”

“So why isn’t she there with him?” I asked bitterly.

“She has told him she prefers to entertain in Rome.”

I thought of the irony that my father’s former lupa, an actress who had performed nude on the stage, now had the choice of living in Egypt’s palace. My mother had been forced to take her own life, and now a woman like Cytheris could sleep in her bed and paint her eyes with her kohl. But Cytheris had turned down the opportunity. Hadn’t she seen paintings of Alexandria? Didn’t she want to know what it would feel like to lie in the palace and listen to the waves crash against the rocks while the gulls called to one another on the shore?

I touched the pearl diadem in my hair, and Gallia said tenderly, “This is why I do not like to tell you these things.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” I lied. “What else?” I ignored the sound of metal on metal and the wild cheering of the crowd. “Is there anyone else here my father would have known?”

Gallia indicated a young man seated below us, whose light hair and broad shoulders seemed strangely familiar. “That is your brother Dominus Jullus by your father’s third wife.”

“He looks just like Antyllus!” Jullus and Antyllus had been brothers, but only Antyllus had made the terrible