Cleopatra’s Daughter

“Where will you go when we reach the temple?” I asked.

“To the Palatine.”

“And how will you explain your wound?”

“The soldiers were shooting at everyone,” he said shortly. “They’ll simply think I was in their way.”

“But will Augustus believe it?”

He didn’t reply, though when we reached the end of the tunnel, I thought for a moment he might say something more. Instead, he reached down and offered me his dagger.

“What’s this for?”

“You don’t remember your first trip down the Palatine alone?”

“But that was at night!”

“And do you think that criminals disappear in the day? I’ll be behind you,” he promised. “But you must leave first. When the path is clear, I want you to whistle. Then start walking. All the way to the Palatine.”

My hand trembled violently as I took the dagger. I slipped it safely beneath my belt, then opened the door and stepped out onto the marble portico outside the Temple of Vesta. I was shocked to see that the entrance was empty. Everyone has gone to see the fire, I thought. I whistled immediately, and when I heard the door open, I began to walk. Gallia knew where I had gone, and it was possible that Tiberius had heard as well. If I returned to the Palatine with Juba, only a fool would fail to realize what had happened.

Throughout the city, men were rushing to the Forum. Even merchants were abandoning their stalls to see the fire that was consuming the basilica. It took all my resolve not to turn to see if Juba was still behind me. When I reached Octavia’s villa, there was no one on the portico, and I knew at once where everyone must have gone. But before I could reach the platform in front of Augustus’s villa, Gallia came running.

“Where is he?” she cried.

I thought of Juba bleeding inside his villa with no one to help him, and did my best to look unconcerned. “Who?”

Gallia gave me a long look before whispering, “Juba!”

I leaned closer. “How do you—?”

“I have been in his confidence since the Red Eagle first appeared,” she said quickly. “Who do you think posted his acta while he was gone? Is he safe?”

I told her what had happened, and her face went pale. “Stay here, and say absolutely nothing.”

I panicked. “But where are you going?”

“To find Verrius.”

I mounted the platform and tried to avoid Augustus’s interested gaze. Immediately, Marcellus and Julia cried out.

“Where have you been?” Julia exclaimed.

“I was caught up in the rush,” I lied, hoping I was as good an actor as Augustus. “I didn’t know where you went. And when I looked back, everyone was gone.”

Augustus studied me. It had been a year since he had last seen me. “They thought perhaps you’d been crushed,” he said.

“Of course not! I escaped.”

“But hundreds of people were trampled,” Julia said. “Did you see?”

I shook my head.

“Then you must have seen the Gauls escaping from their cages! It was the barbarian invasion all over again,” she said breathlessly.

Augustus watched for my reaction, but I refused to give one. Then he turned abruptly to Livia and said, “I’ll be in my chamber.”

Octavia rushed to his side, and I noticed that both Agrippa and Tiberius were absent.

When Augustus was gone, I looked to Julia. “Is he sick?”

“My father has been ill since Iberia. He says this afternoon will be the death of him, and he’s told Agrippa to find the Red Eagle whatever the cost.”

“I heard the Red Eagle was wounded,” Marcellus added, “and Tiberius thought you ran after him.”

“He’s a traitor. Why would I do such a thing?”

“That’s what I said. But he thought you would try and escape from Rome.”

Although all I wished to do was run to Juba’s villa, I remained on the hill and watched the fire burn. When at last even Julia was tired of the show, she asked Claudia whether there was to be a feast.

“No. Your father needs his rest. Perhaps in a few days, when the Red Eagle is dead, there will be a celebration.”

Julia looked at me. “Will you dine with us?”

“Not tonight. I’m not feeling well,” I lied again.

I hurried back to my chamber, hoping that Gallia would be waiting for me, but the room was empty. Then I spotted something dark peeking from beneath my pillow. It was a small black box. I picked it up and read the note that was attached. “In case tomorrow never comes,” it said. I opened the hidden box and took out a necklace of pink sea pearls—my mother’s last gift to me. The one I had given to Juba to purchase Gallia’s freedom. Tears blurred my vision as I put on the necklace. He must have left it in the morning, not knowing whether he would survive the day. And now, his fate was up to the gods.

I paced my room, desperate for any news, and when Octavia returned, I asked if she’d seen Gallia.

“She’s gone home,” she said, and I noticed the half-moons beneath her eyes. She looked drained, as if she’d stayed up for nights on end without sleep. “A fever is spreading through Rome,” she added, “and Gallia tells me that both Magister Verrius and Juba are ill. The physicians say my brother may be suffering from the same sickness. But you are safe.” She reached out and caressed my cheek. A tear wet her finger, and I noticed that she was crying as well. “Shall we pray?”

I followed her into the lararium, where she lit a cone of incense and we knelt before the gods. She whispered her prayers to Fortuna, and I made my silent ones to Isis. I promised all sorts of things to the goddess, swearing to marry whomever Augustus chose, even if he was vile, so long as she would spare Juba’s life. And I vowed to endure my suffering in silence. I would not complain. I would not be embittered. If she would grant Juba’s health, I would never weep in self-pity again.

But the night passed without word, and the next morning, Gallia was nowhere to be found. I paced the library until Vitruvius put down his stylus and insisted I go outside for fresh air. “If you are worried on behalf of Magister Verrius, you needn’t be. I saw him this morning and he looked well.”

“You did?” I cried. “Where?”

Vitruvius looked at me strangely. “On the Palatine. Coming from Juba’s villa.”

“And what did he say?”

“That Juba is ill.”

“And was Gallia with him?”

Vitruvius shook his head. “No. Not that I saw.”

I hurried onto the portico, hoping to catch a glimpse of Magister Verrius, but the only person hurrying toward Octavia’s villa was Agrippa. When he saw me, he smiled.

“Excellent news,” he said triumphantly.

“Has the Red Eagle been caught?”

“Even better. He’s dead.”

I felt my heart stop in my chest, but Agrippa went on.

“Two men caught him last night attempting to post an actum on the Temple of Apollo. He was already hurt, but they ran him through with a gladius as he fled.”

Suddenly the world was spinning. It was Alexander’s death all over again. “And is … is there a body?”

“No. But judging from the amount of blood he left behind, there’s no chance that he survived.”

He went inside to share his triumph with Octavia, and I held on to a column to keep myself from falling. I had to find Gallia. Gallia or Magister Verrius would know what had happened. I raced to the bottom of the Palatine without bothering to demand a guard. I banged on Magister Verrius’s door at the end of the street. When no one answered, I peered through the windows, and a child who was passing by stopped to stare at me.

“There’s no one there,” he said.