Keeper of the Flame Page 3

  No doubt he is glad I have grown thinner in exile.

  The boat pitched and rolled, and she felt certain they would both be in the chilly water in a moment, but then Apollodorus regained his balance.

  A few steps across and one step up, and she felt they were on the solid marble of the palace quay. She exhaled her relief, and her breath came back to her, warm, and still perfumed with honey.

  She smiled in her dark shroud. I am coming, Caesar. And we shall see who is the conqueror.

  Her father, the late Ptolemy XII, had constructed his palace to appear as though it fronted both the harbor and the city. Cleopatra bounced inside the carpet, through what she knew were the gardens that spilled down to the edge of the harbor, along the colonnaded hall that bordered the harbor garden, and up the eight marble steps that led to the entrance. Even at night the marble would be gleaming white, the light of a dozen courtyard torches reflected from the polished stone.

  She shifted inside her wrappings, trying to dislodge Apollodorus’s bony shoulder from her ribs. She felt him slow and held still.

  “State your business.” The hard voice called through the night, and her heart seized. Ptolemy’s men could be anywhere about, ready to run her through if she were spotted. But these two spoke Latin, not Egyptian.

  “A gift for Caesar,” Apollodorus replied.

  Cleopatra heard the scrape of metal and the shuffle of boots. Two soldiers, perhaps.

  “What kind of gift comes at this hour?”

  “Only the finest,” her servant answered. “Too precious to risk being seen.”

  The voice moved closer. “You speak like a Roman and dress like an Egyptian merchant. Which is it?”

  Apollodorus rolled his shoulder under her. She tried to lift her weight from him in part.

  “Born in Sicily, but long on the seas, finding my fortune.”

  The smooth scrape of metal again, as though a sword had been drawn. Cleopatra held her breath, half expecting to be run through with that sword, and tasting fear for the first time.

  “You will find no fortune here, Sicilian. And Caesar is in no need of purchases.”

  “A gift, I told you. I ask nothing.”

  There was a pause, and Apollodorus took advantage of the moment. “Though if Caesar should wish to show appreciation . . .”

  The soldiers laughed, and Cleopatra felt some of the tension in Apollodorus lessen.

  “Who sends this gift for Caesar?”

  “The queen.”

  She loved the way he said it with pride, even now with her in exile.

  More laughter. “Not much of a queen, we hear. Running from—”

  “She is Queen of Egypt. No squalling brother’s claims, nor the claims of his power-lusting advisors, will change that.”

  Careful, Apollodorus. You’re just a merchant from Sicily.

  He continued, as though to soften his words. “And the rightful queen of Egypt sends a gift to Caesar.”

  “Give it over, then. We’ll see that he gets it.”

  “I promised delivery. The queen wishes me to place the gift before Caesar myself.”

  Another pause.

  “Fine. Take it to him then.”

  “Can you direct me to his chamber?”

  “Oh, we’ll do more than that.”

  They started with a lurch, and Cleopatra closed her eyes, relief sweeping her. She trained her ears on the sounds of their feet, and could hear that one soldier led them and the other followed.

  It would not be long now.

  The corridors of the palace, though web-like, were her childhood home, and it took little concentration to follow their route through the audience hall, under the lofty square-cut doorway into the corridor that housed a dozen apartments for officials and royal family members. Though Greek, the Ptolemies had built their succession of palaces with Egyptian architecture incorporated, to please those they ruled with uneasy peace. This corridor especially had been her favorite, with its carved reliefs of the history of Egypt and of the sun god Ra, with his great golden orb, bestowing favor on Ptolemy XII as they sailed the sky together in Ra’s barque.

  Which chambers would Caesar have appropriated for his own? There would be many vacant since her hasty departure. Those who also felt the danger of a knife between the bed coverings had fled when she escaped.

  But they reached the end of the corridor and began ascending.

  Apollodorus grunted with the effort of heaving her up the stairs. Neither soldier offered to help, thank the gods.

  When they finally stopped, Cleopatra fought the anger that heated her blood. Her father’s chambers? These were the rooms the Roman had chosen?

  She forced the emotion down. Anger was not needed now. The moment called for something far more calculated.

  One of the soldiers rapped on the door, was summoned forth, and they were inside the rooms. She inhaled, trying to fill herself with the courage of the great Ptolemaic line of rulers, of whom she was next.

  A wry laugh rang out. “What is this? Deliveries in the night?”

  “He says he has a gift for you, General Caesar. From the queen. He insisted on delivering it himself.”

  The air stilled, and she was certain she could feel Caesar’s eyes on her.

  “Make your delivery then, man,” Caesar said. “It is late, and I am tired.”

  This is my moment. Everything changes now. A chill raised the hair on her arms.

  Apollodorus lowered her carefully from his shoulder and laid the roll of carpet on the floor. She took her last stale breath, even as she felt her servant slice at the cord that bound the carpet.

  And then he began to unroll her shroud.

  She rolled with it, feeling her hair wrap around her, feeling the carpet spin faster with her momentum. Coolness rushed in, then light—and she was free.

  She pulled herself to sitting, leaned her head back, and looked into the eyes of Gaius Julius Caesar, Master of the Mediterranean.

  The shock in his eyes was worth the effort. She let her mouth curve into a slow smile and swept her hair behind her shoulders.

  “What—what kind of goddess is this, delivered to my feet in the night?”

  She remained at his feet a moment. He was fair and handsome, with a fastidiousness of appearance that pleased her. Cleopatra moved to her knees, then stood. She found that her height nearly matched his own, though he was tall. She stood before him, hands at her sides, palms damp. “I am Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt.”

  He said nothing, only studied her hair, her face, her lips . . . then all of her.

  He was lighter of skin than she expected. But the eyes, oh, the eyes were dark as basalt. His hair was beginning to thin, and in his vanity he combed it forward. Even in soldier’s dress he exuded a cultured elegance.

  And then he laughed. Deep and rich. Not the nervous laugh of an interloper, nor the ingratiating laugh of a politician. The full and hearty laugh of a soldier, greatly amused by the woman who stood before him.

  She said nothing, only lifted her chin and smiled into his eyes. He grew serious, and she felt something pass between them. Something heady. Dangerous.

  “I requested audience with you and your brother tomorrow.” He took a step backward and retreated to the cedarwood desk her father kept at the side of his sumptuous room. He leaned over an unrolled scroll, as if too busy to deal with her.

  She narrowed her eyes, preparing for battle.

  “I am not foolish enough to walk into the palace in the daylight with my enemy’s soldiers and supporters lining the streets.”

  He looked up and nodded once. “Very well, you were perhaps wise to be cautious. And you are here now.” He motioned to the soldiers. “Take her to a room and post a guard.” To her he said, “In the morning we will conduct our business.”

  “In the morning my brother will fill your ears with lies and empty promises.” She shrugged. “But perhaps you do not care for the truth. I have heard that Romans are not very intelligent.”

 
Cleopatra thought she detected the hint of a smile, but then his brows furrowed as though she were a disrespectful child. I am no child, Caesar.

  He propped his fists on the desk and leaned forward. “So you would try to fill my ears with your own lies first, I suppose. Before your brother has his chance?”

  She licked her lips and eyed him through lowered lashes. “I seek only to help Caesar understand the situation. Egypt is a complicated land, and family squabbles can be difficult.” She pointed to an amphorae and cups on a side table, beside a window where gold silk window coverings billowed with the breezes from the sea. “A shared cup of wine, some small conversation, and then I will leave you to your sleep.”

  Caesar straightened, then came from behind the desk to stand before her again. She could feel his breath on her and lifted her eyes to face him fully.

  He did not take his eyes from hers but spoke to the guards. “Leave us. I will see to her myself.”

  “General? She might intend harm—”

  “Leave us!”

  She heard the clink of armor retreating and half-turned her head to Apollodorus. “That is all. You have served me well this night. I will call for you soon.”

  He bowed from the room and closed the door, and then they were alone.

  Alone.

  She turned back, unable to take her eyes from her jeweled sandals, her mouth suddenly dry.

  He lifted her chin with his fingers, and her heart raced ahead of her, as though it knew that the battle had begun. She felt a flush begin at the base of her neck and sweep upward with a wave of heat. Focus, Cleo. This is not part of the plan.

  “Now you are quiet? I send them away as you wished, and you have nothing more to say?”

  “Wine,” she whispered. Anything to break the connection between them.

  He half-smiled as though he could read her thoughts. “Of course.”

  He moved away, and she exhaled and took a step backward, collecting herself.

  Her father’s quarters were unchanged since she had left, with his varied tastes in Greek and Egyptian furnishings sprawled through the large front room, and extending back to his bed chamber, only dimly lit now by a small oil lamp on a two-drawered table beside the bed, still richly laid with red and gold coverings and boasting fat wooden posts, a true luxury in this desert land.

  Caesar’s only change to the room seemed to be the addition of a large yet crude soldier’s chest. The sight of it reminded her that he was not a Greek. Not a philosopher, nor a scholar. He was a Roman savage, come to take her land if he could.

  She looked around and made the quick decision to seat herself on one of the four red-cushioned couches that formed a square in the center of the front room—her father’s approximation of the Greek’s andrôn, and his favorite place to host drinking parties.

  She had only finished arranging herself and her robes upon the couch when Caesar was at her side, wine in hand. She accepted the cup. “Thank you.”

  He lowered himself to the couch on her left, then reclined as she did, so that their heads drew close together in the corner. In the heartbeat of silence between them, she heard the scrape of soldiers outside the door and knew that one shout from Caesar could mean her removal.

  “Your men seem quite loyal,” she said, and sipped at the wine.

  “A problem you are not plagued with, I hear.”

  She smiled over the cup. “Only temporary. My brother’s advisors have spread poison in the city. I will soon persuade the people of the truth.”

  “It is an astonishing city,” Caesar said, turning to the window opening. “I have never seen the like.”

  “You have been here only two days. Wait until I have shown you all its wonders.”

  He turned back to her with a tilt of his head, his only acknowledgment of her implied hospitality.

  “But you came to speak of other matters.”

  “I came to meet the man of whom I have heard great things.”

  Caesar drank deeply from his cup, all the while studying her eyes. She felt in that moment that they were like two desert lions, circling the same antelope. Each one calculating the strengths and weaknesses of the other, always with an eye on the prize.

  “Your father incurred a great debt,” Caesar said. “He received the support of Rome, recovered his kingdom. And still Rome has not seen repayment. That is why I am here. It is time for Egypt to pay her debts.”

  “And you think that my brother will pay?”

  “I care little for the machinations of your murderous family.”

  She drew back. It was true, the Ptolemies had a long history of killing off siblings and children who were rivals for the throne. But it was not generally spoken of.

  “I only want my grain,” Caesar said.

  “A strong Egypt will produce enough grain to feed herself and all of Rome. Our mother, the Nile, feeds us well. But Egypt will never be strong with my brother’s three fools ruling from behind the boy’s throne.”

  “How old is your brother?”

  “Thirteen. And still crying in the night for his mother.”

  Caesar laughed. “And how old are you?”

  She reached across and traced a line of gray at his temple. “Not as old as you.”

  He gripped her fingers and held them there. “How old?” The words came out low, husky.

  She stilled. “Twenty-one.”

  He inhaled and looked away. “More than thirty years between us.”

  She pulled her hand along his jawline, until her open palm was beneath his lips. “I care not.”

  He lowered his lips to her hand, then pushed her away and stood. “I will not release Egypt’s debt, even for a reward such as yourself.”

  She sat upright on the couch and steeled her voice. “And I would not sell myself for all the grain in Egypt!”

  Caesar reached a hand down to her hair and touched it. “What do you want from me then, Queen of Egypt?”

  Cleopatra leaned away from his hand and stood. She crossed the room, to the open window, aware that he watched her every movement.

  Outside the window Egypt’s capital sprawled beneath them, its royal quarter overflowing with the succession of connected palaces built by the Ptolemies before her, alongside the Great Library, the Museum, amphitheaters and stadia.

  Capital of the world.

  Caesar came to stand behind her, close enough that his shoulder brushed her own.

  “Have you been to see his tomb yet?” she asked.

  “I have had urgent matters to tend. But I hope to soon pay him honor.”

  “Alexander the Great,” she whispered. “He has lain in his crystal sarcophagus here for nearly three hundred years. We Ptolemies have ruled our part of his kingdom as best we could.” The breeze surged, wrapping the silk draperies around the two of them, secreting them away.

  She turned within the silk to Caesar, their bodies nearly touching. The warmth in her face returned. “But I fear the time of the Ptolemies is ending, and the time of the Romans is coming.”

  “Coming? I would say that we are already here.”

  “Will you rule an empire such as Alexander’s alone, Caesar?”

  “There are many in Rome who will share the burden.”

  “Ah”—she let her lips lift in a knowing smile—“but what do they offer you? Money? Loyalty? I can give you all that, and Egypt, too.”

  Caesar looked over her head to the glittering lights of the city. “You are so willing to give away your jewel?”

  “Give away? Neither of us would find benefit in that. But with me by your side, Caesar . . . We could unite two kingdoms and then move forward together, across the east and to the west, until our boundaries would push past even those of Alexander’s.” The light of conquest leaped into his eyes. She saw it, measured its intensity, and was pleased. “Caesar and Cleopatra.” She pressed fingertips against the tunic that showed above his mail. “The world has never seen the like.”

  Caesar lifted her other hand to his ches
t and gripped both of them there, his black eyes invading her spirit. The triumph she felt a moment before gave way to something else—and fear pounded through her when she recognized it.

  In her battle for control of Egypt, she had made the choice to use the only weapon that her brother did not have—her femininity. But would that choice also be her downfall? I had not counted on my heart interfering with my will. He was an attractive man, it was true. But there was something more. All her life Cleopatra had been surrounded by power-grasping family and those that hung onto their robes. And her lust for power, she knew, was as great as any. But each was weak in his own way. Too weak to do whatever necessary to rule a wild and mysterious people such as the Egyptians. No Ptolemy before her had learned their languages, their religion, their customs the way she had. And still she filled her mind with Greek philosophy and mathematics, astronomy and medicine. All of it had distilled, she knew, into a formidable intelligence and a ruthless will. Never had she met another who matched her intellect, her warring spirit, her hunger to rule.

  Until tonight.

  He still looked down into her eyes, and she saw that he felt it too.

  “You are not a child,” he said, as if to convince himself.

  “Not for a long time.”

  He drew her fingers to his lips. “Caesar and Cleopatra.” He murmured the words against her hands. “The world has never seen the like.”

  Heady victory swept her. She had won. Obtained the support of the one man who could restore her kingdom. The tension in her shoulders eased. But as he bent his lips to her own and she gave herself willingly to him, a whisper of dread played about, warning her that this was a dangerous game.

  In aligning herself with Caesar and Rome, she might lose everything.

  Four

  Sophia pulled herself from the window in the South Wing of the Base, one of four wings that formed a square of rooms around the lighthouse. She crossed the central courtyard and reentered the bottom level of the lighthouse. The night shift of servants worked to load the lift with fuel, then hoist it up to the top platform. Her mind still grasped for an idea of how to protect the Museum, its scholars, and her husband’s legacy from the filthy hands of the marauders. She could not lose it all. Would not.