Cleopatra’s Daughter

the counter came over at once, and when Julia pointed to the marble plaque, his eyes went wide. “Have this sent to Octavia’s villa,” she instructed. “You know the place?”

“Of course, Domina.”

“And you see that tapestry of Venus and Vulcan? That should go to the house of Julia Augusti.”

“This is a very kind present,” my brother said. “Between this and Lucius’s patronage, I don’t see how we can ever leave Rome.”

She grinned. “Good. When Livia returns, I’ll need trustworthy friends on the Palatine.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

25 BC

ON THE morning of our fifteenth birthday, Alexander woke me with a kiss. “Felicem diem natalem, Selene.”

I bolted upright. “What’s the matter? What?”

Alexander laughed. “Nothing! I’m wishing you a happy birthday. Julia and Marcellus are here. They want to take us to the Circus, and then to the theater.”

“Already? What time is it?”

“Almost noon. Good thing you weren’t meeting Vitruvius today. You must have had too much wine last night.” My brother grinned. We had stayed up long past midnight, laughing and talking, but most importantly, helping Marcellus plan for the Ludi Megalenses.

I rushed into a heavy tunic and cloak, sweeping up my hair into a loose bun, and while I dressed, Alexander regarded the handsome marble plaque of the Gemini.

“Do you really think the war will be over in six months?” he asked worriedly.

“I hope not. The longer Augustus stays in Iberia, the better for everyone.”

There was a knock at the door, and Alexander called brightly, “Come in.”

I’d expected Julia or Marcellus, but it was Octavia who appeared, carrying honeyed cakes and a letter. I glanced at Alexander, and he touched the bulla around his neck. While I would wear mine until the day of my marriage, he would offer his to the Lares today. As long as we wore our bullae, we were no threat to anyone. But what would Augustus do with us now?

“Felicem diem natalem!” Octavia exclaimed. “Fifteen years old and a new year before you.” She set the cakes down and smiled. “I hear that my son is taking you to the Circus. That doesn’t seem like much of a treat for Selene.”

I smiled briefly. “We’re going to the theater afterward. Marcellus says it will be a comedy.” I looked at the letter in her hand.

“From my brother,” she said meaningfully. “Seven came yesterday. One was for Agrippa, and a few were for generals in his army. But this one,” she said, taking a spot on the third couch where Marcellus used to sit, “might interest you. Perhaps you’d like to hear it?”

Alexander looked at me, and both of us nodded. Octavia unfurled the scroll and read:

On this, the fifteenth year of their birth, I hope you will wish the Gemini well. There is nothing nearly as momentous as the passing from childhood to adulthood, and it is an occasion that merits serious consideration. When I return, it will be my foremost duty to see that a good marriage is made. Be sure to warn the princess Selene, so that when the time comes she has made herself ready.

Octavia looked up at me with a triumphant smile.

“That’s it?” I panicked. “What about Alexander? What about our return to Egypt?”

Her smile faltered. “I’m sure that will all come in time. My brother’s still at war. When he returns—”

“But why does he have to wait? When Gallus committed suicide,” I challenged, “Augustus named a new prefect while he was still in Gaul.”

“That was a different situation,” she said uneasily. “For now, we should celebrate this news. Another wedding!”

Alexander reached for my hand. “And what if we don’t want to be married?” he asked.

Octavia frowned. “Every girl wishes to marry at least once. And what man doesn’t want to take a wife?”

“We don’t,” I said. “Alexander and I enjoy each other’s company, and I don’t see any reason why we should part.”

Octavia lowered the letter to her lap. “But this is good news, Selene. You’ll have a house of your own, like Julia and Marcellus.”

“Who love each other!” I protested. “You know better than anyone what comes of an unwanted marriage.”

She flinched, and though I regretted hurting her, it was the truth.

“And what will Alexander do,” I asked, “given to a girl he doesn’t even know?”

“Most husbands don’t know their wives. It’s an arrangement—”

“That we don’t want!”

She sat back, shocked by my reaction. But clearly Augustus had known, otherwise he wouldn’t have warned her to prepare me. “We shall discuss this in a few months,” she said. “But I see no reason why the two of you should have to be parted simply because you’ll be married.”

“What if one of us goes to Egypt and the other to Greece? Or what if Alexander isn’t sent to Egypt at all, and we’re sent to live at opposite ends of the empire? Livia might marry us off to anyone.”

“This is not a decision to be made by Livia. It is one my brother shall make.” She rose, looking deeply regretful. “I should not have read this to you. This day should be free from worry. They will be good matches,” she promised, “and happy marriages.” But I didn’t see how she could ensure that.

Julia and Marcellus were waiting for us in the atrium, and when they saw our faces, they wanted to know what had happened.

“A letter from Augustus,” my brother replied.

“Apparently, we’re to be married,” I said.

“To whom?” Marcellus exclaimed.

“Not Tiberius?” Julia asked in alarm.

I recoiled. “No. Livia would never allow that.”

“Well, so long as it’s not him,” she said brightly, “how bad can it be?”

“Think of Horatia,” I retorted, “or any number of terrible marriages. In Egypt, women are allowed to choose their husbands.”

Marcellus put his arm around my shoulders. “Just remember who is heir,” he whispered, and I smiled despite myself.

Aside from the contents of Augustus’s letter, it was a wonderful day, the best birthday I could remember having. As usual, Alexander won his bets at the races. It had rained the night before, but he knew which horses preferred wet tracks to dry, and after taking out the small scroll on which he recorded past performances, he bet on the Whites.

“Fifty denarii to the Prince of Egypt,” the bet-maker said, handing him a heavy red purse. “And another fifty for you.” He passed a second purse to Marcellus.

We took the winnings with us to the Forum, where we all bought nivem dulcem even though we were freezing, then washed it down with warm honeyed wine.

At the theater, Lucius critiqued the dreadful speech making and the five of us shouted, “Bring on the Bear!” It was an awful play, but none of us cared. We laughed at the senator who fell asleep in his seat, and at the woman whose snores were disturbing the actors. By the time Alexander and I returned to our chamber, the sun had long since set, and the guards looked ready to collapse.

“Felicem diem natalem,” he repeated, then embraced me tightly. “Sleep well.”

“Where are you going?”

He smiled.