Dear, irrepressible Mardian! "He can start a collection!" I said, tears of laughter welling up as I pictured a shelf full of Caesar statues, all sizes and shapes. There would be muscular naked Greek Caesars, Syrian Caesars with big eyes and formal robes, desert Caesars mounted on camels, Pharaoh-Caesars, Gallic Caesars clad in wolfskins.
I held my sides and bent over. When I could finally catch my breath, I said, "Oh, Mardian. This is the first time I have truly laughed since--" I shook my head. "Thank you."
He wiped his eyes. "Since everything passes through Alexandria, think of the duty. We shall profit by the fashion!"
Chapter 37.
A high, breezy day in June, when all of Alexandria was an aquamarine set in silver, so bright that I had to shield my eyes.
Today the mosaic Caesar had given me was being installed in the floor of my banqueting hall. My memory had been correct; when I had first seen it I had known it was the exact same colors as the sea at Alexandria, and so it was. The form of Venus rising from the seafoam was rendered so finely that it made all mortal women look crudely executed, disappointing.
I sighed. Was art to inspire us, or depress? Was the fact that no living woman could ever approach such perfection to inspire me to come as close to my own perfection as possible, or did it merely throw all my shortcomings into high relief?
Today, with the glorious light and strong fresh breezes of the morning, I felt inspired by her. Once I had felt this newly created, once I had felt I had just emerged from a sea, eager to stand on the shore and claim my inheritance, my destiny. Would I ever feel that way again?
Her golden hair waved in tendrils over her shoulders, so skillfully depicted that I could see the muscles and delicate roundings in the flesh.
How old are you? I asked her, in my mind. Fifty years? A hundred? You would look very different by now if you were flesh instead of stone. Art cheats truth that way.
"I remember when it was presented." Charmian's husky voice behind me made me jump. The sound of the workmen's chisels had drowned out her footsteps.
"It is magnificent, isn't it?" We both looked at Venus, envying her. "You look more like her than I do," I said. "You have the right hair color."
"No one looks like her," said Charmian. "That's why she has the power she does."
Charmian herself had a Venus-like allure. I had seen how men looked at her, like lovesick schoolboys, even the old scribes.
"Charmian," I said, "I think you should consider marrying. It does not mean you cannot continue in my service. I cannot help but feel sorry for the man who would have been your husband--but you pass him by."
She laughed, that beguiling, low laugh. "I have been thinking of it," she admitted. "But I have found no mortal man yet. You see, just as Venus spoils most women for men, just so Apollo ruins other men for women. I'd like someone like the statues of Apollo, and, well--have you seen any about?"
Yes, I thought: Octavian. But, unlike a statue, he talked, moved, and exhibited unpleasant characteristics. "No, not recently."
"Ever?" She persisted.
"Probably not ever," I assured her, lest she think I was hiding one. "But I will look harder from now on."
A grunting pair of workmen wrenched a stone out of the floor, and shoved it to the side. They were grinning, and I realized they had overheard us. Did they fancy themselves to resemble Apollo?
One had a hairy back, more like Pan than Apollo, and the other was so short, with long forearms, that he looked like an ape.
Barely able to keep from laughing, we hurried from the hall. As we rounded the door, we leaned against the wall and let ourselves laugh silently.
When I said, "That reminds me, where is my monkey, Kasu?" it sent Charmian into hysterics.
"I am serious," I insisted.
"I think--I think--Iras has her in her chambers," gulped Charmian. "She was fond of her."
We were standing on the steps of the palace, which led directly to the private royal harbor. Directly overhead the gulls were flying, white against the sky.
"Let's go for a boat ride," I suddenly said. It was too fine to be indoors today. "No, not sailing, something more--languorous. Where we can lie and look at the colors of the sea and sky." I had all manner of boats to choose from--a pleasure barge, a small sailboat, a shaded raft, a replica of a Pharaonic boat. That I had come to enjoy being on the water was a tribute to my determination of will--perhaps my most characteristic, and valuable, trait. Will can serve when talent, inspiration, and even luck desert us. But when will deserts us, then we are doomed indeed. . . .
Charmian was eager. "I have never been on the Pharaonic boat," she hinted. "The one with the lotus-bud prow."
"Then that is what we shall take."
We descended the wide, gently curving flight of marble steps--like a theater whose rows of seats overlooked waves. On the seabed below I could see the rocks and bright anemones through the clear, clean water. Far out, the ocean was breaking against the base of the Lighthouse, sending up columns of spray, as high and light as an ostrich plume.
I must have a sister-mosaic made for the Venus one, I decided at that moment. It should depict exactly the scene I am looking at now, and the blue of the seas will match. It must show our Alexandria's harbor on a fine day in high summer.
The boats were kept in readiness at all times, so there was no waiting while the captain made adjustments to the Pharaonic one. Charmian mounted the painted gangplank and hopped onto the deck.
"Oh!" She gave a gasp. "Is this real?"
Joining her, I answered. "If you mean is the wood really wood, and the gold really gold, yes."
"I meant only that it is fantastic, in the truest sense of the word."
"It is meant to satisfy a Pharaoh. I have been assured that they really floated about like this." Yes, they had lain on couches in the shaded cedarwoocf deck pavilion; they had been cooled by long-handled jeweled fans, should the winds not oblige; they had run their hands over gold-leafed rails. "Come." I led her to the pavilion, where we sank down on the cushions.
A servitor, dressed in the kilt, collar-necklace, and headcovering of ancient times, appeared, as in a dream, to bring us cool drinks.
We cast off, the rowers pulling silently with their silver-tipped oars, and rocked gently on the warm water.
The sea, the sea was what made Alexandria great. It brought the riches of the world to our doors, and gave us power. I must rebuild our fleet straightaway. As it was, we were powerless to defend ourselves except with the Roman legions that Caesar had posted here. But should they leave--or turn against us at the bidding of some Roman master, one of the assassins, perhaps . . .
The bright day seemed all the more tantalizingly bright for being so unsecured.
My spirits had soared for the first time that day, but by evening, like birds flocking back to their trees, they swooped and fell again. Was I never to be free of this shaded mantle that descended on me? Just as Caesar's love for me had enveloped me, now its absence, and his loss, provided an equally dark cloak that wrapped itself around me, at any time, but most particularly when the light of day faded into night.
I stood watching the stars come out. Venus had appeared first, of course, but one by one the others became visible, taking their assigned places in the constellations. Just so we had stood watching together, here on the roof garden. Just so he had named Orion, his favorite constellation, and recounted the story. . . .
The sky now seemed hard and empty in spite of all the familiar stars. I turned my back on it and forced myself to go to my work desk in the adjoining room, where a pile of treasury ledgers awaited me. At times the figures blurred before my eyes, and it was not because of the flickering of the oil lamps.
Always, even as my mind became absorbed in the additions and subtractions, there lurked that other, that melancholy, just beyond the line of my vision. So I was not unhappy when a servitor announced that Epaphroditus had come to discuss some business. It was a relief to be interrupted.
He was all apologies about the late hour.
"It does not matter," I said, putting down my papers. "As you can see, I was working. Work hours never cease. And the evening is a good time for them."
Out in the warm Alexandrian night, there were people walking the streets, singing, laughing, drinking, while their Queen was shut up in a room with her ledgers.
"Then we are two of a kind." He smiled. "My wife does not appreciate my continual working, but she enjoys the fruits of it."
It was the first time he had ever permitted a personal remark to pass his lips. So he was married. Did he have children? But I would wait for him to tell me.
"I have the final reports about the contents of the three new warehouses, built to replace those destroyed in the fire. We have installed shelves that are narrower, so that no inventory will be hidden. It also makes rat control easier." He handed me the papers proudly.
I waited. It seemed an odd errand for him to come on, at this time of night. He could have sent the papers at any time with a messenger.
"I also wanted to report something I heard from one of the captains who arrived today."
So. I was right. "Yes?"
"This is not official, merely what this man heard. But it seems the assassins have had to leave Rome. Where they will go is anyone's guess. Caesar's heir has come to Rome to claim his inheritance, and has been rebuffed by Antony. It seems Antony treated him with rudeness and tried to scare him away, because he did not want to admit that he--Antony--had spent most of Caesar's money."
The money! Yes, Antony had obtained it from Calpurnia, to keep it safe from the assassins.
"But the young man has not gone away. He has enlisted Cicero on his behalf, and is making a ruckus. Antony will have to come to terms with him. In the meantime, no one seems to be ruling in Rome."
Antony should have known better than to treat Octavian with contempt. The younger and less secure someone is, the more he has to be flattered. "So they are preoccupied with the chaos there?"
"For now," said Epaphroditus. "But will the assassins eventually flee to the east and set themselves up here? That is the danger."
"I wish they would, so we could kill them!" I said.
"With what? The Roman legions here? What if they took command of them themselves?"
"I have thought of that," I said. "What Egypt needs now is a strong navy. I must start to build one up. And I can see that the treasury will permit it."
He smiled, pleased and surprised. "Good."
"I would like to discuss the procurement of the long timbers with you soon," I said. "I know you deal with the Syrians."
"Indeed."
He seemed such an enigma--this cultivated man, immensely resourceful, of limitless energy, with his two names.
"Madam, you seem very dispirited," he observed. "Forgive me if I speak out of turn. May I help?"
I was so startled I could barely keep the surprise off my face. But at the same time I was touched and grateful.
"Not unless you can turn time backward, erase events that have already happened." But I said it gently, wistfully.
"That is beyond man's power," he said. "Only God could do that, and he does not. But he does provide consolation. Our scriptures are full of questions that we put to him, and he answers in verse. Betrayal, and loss--they are all there."
"Teach me/' I said, feeling like a child before a particularly erudite tutor.
"In our main book of poetry, there is one that says, 'Mine enemies speak evil of me, When shall he die, and his name perish? All that hate me whisper together against me: against me do they devise my hurt. Yea, mine own familiar friend, in whom I trusted, which did eat of my bread, hath lifted up his heel against me.' "
Yes. That was exactly the way it had been, with Caesar and his "friend."
" Tor it was not an enemy that reproached me; then I could have borne it. But it was thou, a man mine equal, my guide, and my familiar friend.' "
The hateful Decimus, his kinsman, named one of Caesar's heirs--who had lured him from his house to the Senate!
"I must acquaint myself with your holy book," I said. "It seems to have much of mankind in it. It can ease sorrow by acknowledging it." Not like the philosophers who wished to deny it, or tried to avoid it by advising anyone embracing his wife to think only that she must die, so that when she did, he would have lost nothing.
"We were sorry to lose Caesar, too," said Epaphroditus. "It will be a long time before the Jews can count such a man among their friends again."
Yes ... I remembered the sight of the Jews, keeping a faithful mourning by the funeral site for days.
"He confirmed our rights to the free exercise of our religion, including the right to send the yearly Temple tax unmolested from other countries, he gave us back the port of Joppa, which Pompey had taken, he stopped the abominable practice of 'tax-farming,' which bled us dry, and he exempted us from military service, since it would require us to break our dietary laws and work on the Sabbath. Yes, he was our friend. We lost our champion, just as you did."
"Perhaps he was good to you because he sensed you valued it," I said. I knew how unappreciated he felt most of his gestures were. It was comforting to know that others felt deprived and bereft in this horrible aftermath. "What will happen to Judaea now?" I wondered out loud.
"That will depend on who succeeds Caesar in Rome," he said. "And how successful young Herod is in outsmarting his enemies in Judaea. Antony and he are old friends from the campaign with Gabinius to restore your father to the throne; Herod helped him with troops and supplies. Would he help the assassins now, if they came east and demanded it? Hard to know. He's a clever young man, but the politics of survival in that region are going to be tricky." He paused. "Personally I prefer Herod to his rivals, because he is the only one with the sense to see that a zealot-led country is doomed. He divorces his religion from his politics. But the others . . ." He shook his head. "They will not stop until Judaea ends up completely subjugated and smashed."
"How odd, to have religion run a government," I said. I could not imagine the highest contest in the land being Zeus versus Serapis versus Cybele.
"We are different," he agreed. "That always makes it hard to predict what will happen to us, in the short or the long run."
The wind was starting to stir the curtains dividing the room from the terrace. Outside, the golden lamps in houses were being extinguished. It was getting late, and people had retired. I should let Epaphroditus return to his home. He had done me a favor by coming to me privately to report the news from Rome, but it was far past business hours. Yet I found that every remark he made aroused my curiosity and led me to ask another question.
"Mardian mentioned, almost offhandedly, that you do attempt to predict what will happen to you--that you have books of prophecy, and expect a deliverer, or a messiah. What is that?"
He looked almost embarrassed. "The sacred writings of one people are apt to provoke ridicule when recited to an unbeliever."
"No, I truly want to know. To what was he referring?"
"Over the ages our beliefs have changed," he said. "We never believed in an afterlife--we had our own version of Hades, Sheol, a dark place where shades wander. Nor did we think of the ages as a story, marching forward to some preordained end. But some of our newer writings have begun to see life as continuing after death, of the soul's survival--and the body's, too--and events proceeding to some great change. The agent of this change will be the Messiah."
"But who is this Messiah? Is he a king? A priest?"
"It depends on which prophecy you read. Zechariah, one of our prophets, speaks of two messiahs--one a priest, and one a prince from the line of our great King David. Daniel calls him the Son of Man, and says there is only one."
"But what does he do?"
"He ushers in the new age, one way or another."
"What new age?" I asked.
"An age of purging, of judgment, followed by a golden age of peace and prosperity."
r /> Peace and prosperity. That was what we had in Egypt now--if Rome would allow us to keep it. "That is what I wish for my people, and my land." I looked at him sharply. "Do you believe these prophecies?"
He smiled. "I do not trouble myself with them. I have found that if you have urgent daily business to take care of, the dreams of what may happen seem to recede. I don't disbelieve them, I simply have no need of them. They do not answer any lack in my own life."
"There are also prophecies about a woman savior," I told him.
He grinned at me. "Ah. So now I see. You are wondering if you are she, and unaware of it?"
"No, but I wonder if any of the people see me as that."
He thought for a moment. "It is possible. But you would have to study those writings for yourself. I am not familiar with them."
I sighed. "They are scattered writings. I know one is called the Oracle of the Mad Praetor, another the Oracle of Hystaspes, and there's something called the Potter's Oracle. Then there are many uttered by different sibyls. I shall have to have them copied at the Library and study them."
"If you look hard enough, you are sure to see yourself in them," he warned. "That is the way of prophecies. They expand and contract and always fit the situation at hand. Like fortune-tellers and astrologers." "You don't believe in them either?"
"That they may have some knowledge, yes. That it can be partial, and deliberately mislead you, makes them dangerous. That is why our God has forbidden us to have anything to do with them. Moses told us that God said, 'Do not practice divination or sorcery. Do not turn to mediums or seek out spiritualists, for you will be defiled by them.' "