Song of the Nile (5 page)

Juba stood stiffly beside me, wincing at the thump of Admiral Agrippa’s hand on his shoulder. The emperor’s most trusted lieutenant, and Rome’s finest general, was a grizzled soldier who always looked ill at ease in a toga and today was no exception. Agrippa chuckled, his smile rueful but warm. “By Jupiter, I don’t envy you the task of making this girl into a proper wife, Juba. But you’ll never be bored.”

Everyone laughed except for my new husband. Then Marcella kissed me warmly on each cheek. “I think you’ve bewitched my husband the admiral. I should be jealous.” She said it without malice, for everyone knew that Agrippa couldn’t be bewitched, not even by her. His heart belonged to his mother-in-law, the Lady Octavia, but we’d all learned long ago that Agrippa’s love was always eclipsed by his devotion to duty, as he saw it.

The emperor’s daughter threw her arms around me in heedless abandon, laughing. “Selene, you always find some way to steal all the attention for yourself, don’t you? Now who is going to remember
my
wedding?”

Julia was my dearest friend and I was grateful for her affection in the face of the wicked gossip that now swirled around me.
Augustus has made this Princess of Egypt, this Queen of Mauretania, the richest woman in the world! How does he know she’ ll stay loyal to Rome?
Somewhere else I heard snippets of hushed conversation.
Is it true that she works magic? She’s a witch. They say she charms crocodiles. How eager Lady Octavia must be to get rid of her!

I’d expected some censure, but now that I was in the eye of the storm, heat flamed at my cheeks. I stumbled through the evening under the emperor’s penetrating gaze. He was always staring at me, no matter to whom he was speaking. And while he was watching me, his wife was watching
him
. The serene smile Livia always wore in public didn’t reach her eyes, and I had the strange sensation that I’d somehow made a terrible mistake.

HENCEFORTH, my wedding proceeded like an illusion. I didn’t taste the food, though I ate it. The songs all ran together and the faces of guests blurred before my eyes. My world became a haze. In another River of Time, perhaps it would have been my twin that I took for a husband—to live and love and rule jointly over Egypt as was our people’s custom. Perhaps in some other, happier, River of Time, I
had
taken Helios for my husband. But in
this
life, he’d abandoned me to the Romans, and so it was Juba’s wife I’d become.

We dispensed with the traditional feigned struggle, where the bride was carried off and revelers cried out bawdy jests; such a performance would insult our dignity as royals. When we reached the bridal chamber that Octavia had made ready for us, I ritually adorned the door with wool and smeared it with oil. Slaves and freedmen should have carried me over the green garlanded threshold, but Juba lifted me and carried me to the large bed that dominated the center of the room. This wasn’t the typical Roman sleeping couch, but an exotic Eastern-style bed, truly fit for a king and queen, its mattress piled high with tasseled purple pillows, its festooned frame inlaid with ivory and gold. Marble statues of sternfaced Roman gods and goddesses surrounded the bed in a semicircle, as if to supervise what would happen here.

Outside, amidst the notes of the lyre and the shakes of rattles, the lingering laughter of our guests still echoed. Inside, our bridal suite was quiet enough that I could hear the erratic beat of my own heart. Alone for the first time since the ceremony began, we were as strangers. Juba folded his elegant hands in his lap and I straightened my gown over my legs. He unfastened his cloak, then rolled his shoulders as if to loosen them. I pushed myself up against the pillows, then adjusted my mother’s famous amethyst ring upon my fourth finger, where the nerve was said to run straight to the heart. He started to utter my name, then cut himself off. He wouldn’t even look at me.

Octavia told me that I must pretend to struggle, but I doubted I’d have to playact my reluctance if he should try to take me into his arms. Thankfully, Juba reached first for the laces of my sandals, unfastening the ties and dropping each shoe to the floor. I watched him do it, marveling at his grim concentration. When he was done, he shook his head, whispering harshly, “Who are you?”

“You know who I am, Juba. You’re just angry with me for dressing this way.”

“Do you know what you’ve done?” he snapped, rising to his feet. “You made them think of Cleopatra and Caesar!”

Rebellion swelled in my chest. “So what if I did? The world would be a better place if Augustus were more like Julius Caesar.”

Juba whirled to face me. “Are you so naive, Selene? That was a public and political flirtation. You’ll have Rome gossiping that you and Augustus are lovers.”

Now I recoiled, holding back my indignation with one hand pressed to the base of my throat. “
Lovers?
What an obscene thing to say!”

“It
is
obscene.” Juba was usually a man of the mildest temperament, but now he glowered. “All my life I’ve fought to prove that I’m no barbarian. I’ve become a scholar, trained as a soldier, and mastered Roman law so that no prejudice might be held against me for my Berber blood. Yet in one night, you’ve soiled my name. How will Rome believe I’m fit to rule a kingdom if I can’t even rule my own wife?”

It was only because I’d also tried to prove myself to the Romans that I started to reassure him, but he held up a hand as if forbidding me to speak. “I can forgive you for humiliating
me
, Selene. I’ve suffered humiliations before. But how could you do this to
Augustus
? You and I both came to this city in chains, children of conquered kings and queens, yet he did us the kindness of making us part of his own family.”
No
, I thought.
He kept us hostage.
The emperor never did any kindness that wasn’t rooted in some other motive, but Juba left me no room to interrupt his lecture. “How do you repay him? By putting his life in danger!”

At this last accusation, I sputtered. “Just how could
I
put the emperor’s life in danger?”

“Think, will you? Julius Caesar was assassinated by men who thought he’d been corrupted. He flaunted a foreign queen as his lover and they wondered if he’d destroy the Republic and name himself king. Now there’s a new Caesar and the senators already whisper about how Augustus will destroy the Republic—”

“With good reason,” I interrupted. “But that has nothing to do with me.”

“Gossip doesn’t deal in truth, Selene. Your performance today may have destroyed the reputation of a moral man!” If I’d ever wondered whether Juba’s loyalty to Augustus was feigned, those doubts were now put to rest. Who else could earnestly describe the emperor as a
moral
man? It was true that Augustus worked hard, refrained from excesses of wine and food, and could live quite humbly without complaint. It was also true that darker passions swirled in the emperor’s soul. He could be vicious and petty, murderous and cruel. There was an emptiness in him that no victory could fill. I knew all about the helpless girls who were brought to his bedchamber. Girls who left in tears. Having lived so long with Augustus, Juba should have known it too, but perhaps it was easier for him to shut his eyes to such truths. “Do you hate him, Selene? Do you hate him that much?”

Augustus was my mother’s worst enemy, my father’s false friend, and the murderer of my brothers. But at the hour of my death, even knowing that the gods would soon weigh my heart against a feather on the scales of justice, I might deny that I hated him, for he’d spared my life and still held in his hands the fate of everything and everyone I held dear. Yes, I would deny that I hated him, and not even I would know if I lied.

I shook my head. “Augustus showed no hint of fear for his reputation or his life, and if he isn’t displeased with me, why should you be?” In lieu of a reply, Juba’s gaze wandered up to the red and gold geometric patterns carved into the ceiling. He was silent. Brooding. “Juba, I’m sorry to have upset you.”

Pushing a forelock of hair from his brow, Juba sat down beside me, the weight of his body settling on the bed. “Believe me, Selene, I don’t want to quarrel on our wedding night. We were friends once, weren’t we?”

We
had
been friends and I’d always been drawn to him. Now, in spite of myself, in spite of how I knew Helios would hate it, I wanted to forgive Juba. Maybe it was innocence or youthful pride, but I
had
married him and I wasn’t like the Romans who so blithely wed and divorced at their leisure. “Juba, what differences lie between us, there are no remedies for . . . but I would like to be friends again.”

“More than friends, I hope,” he said, leaning close.

I closed my eyes and let Juba’s lips touch mine. It was my first kiss. It felt forbidden—
alien
—to be this close to someone. His breath on my face was like the hot wind of the desert, and his shaved cheek was smooth against my own. There was a cloying sweetness in that kiss that left me wanting both to flee and to draw him closer. Not knowing what to do with my hands, I let them grip the bed linens, and when we broke apart, I made a nervous sound, like the quaver of a harp.

Juba chuckled, his bad temper fading. “You look like a startled hare, Selene. Haven’t you kissed anyone before?”

“Of course not,” I replied quickly, sounding very much like an indignant Lady Octavia.

His finger traced my lower lip, which still tingled from the kiss. “So you come to me untouched?” I let my potent glare be answer enough for him. My mother had been accused of promiscuity, even harlotry, so when I didn’t come to him dressed in the saffron veil, all modest and weepy, Juba had seen me as the Romans had seen my mother: as an Egyptian whore. Taking hold of the edge of the bed linen, my new husband wiped at my face, removing the cosmetics, swiping at my
wedjat
-painted eyes, my red lips, and rouged cheeks. When at last he was satisfied, he leaned back and said, “Ah, now I can see the maiden in you . . .”

It disarmed me. My mask had been my armor. He kissed me again, and defenseless, I forgot to be angry. Longing welled inside me, a need I couldn’t identify. It was some manner of wanting, one I felt certain I couldn’t satisfy without Juba’s help. We paused and afraid to speak, I bit my bottom lip, the taste of the kiss lingering there. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time,” Juba admitted, his chest rising and falling. “When you first came to Rome, you were such a spoiled little princess, a proud Ptolemy, eager to recite all the languages you knew. I couldn’t blame you for it. You were a clever girl. I knew you’d make a fine royal wife. And you made me nervous. I wanted to woo you with poetry but could never write a worthy verse.”

“I’m sure that isn’t true,” I replied, flattered that he’d wished to woo me with poetry. Astonished that I’d ever made him nervous. Unexpectedly pleased by the way his breath quickened when his eyes trailed down my body. “Everyone says you’re a brilliant writer, Juba, never at a loss for words.”

“Except when it comes to you,” Juba said, drawing close enough to whisper in my ear. “I want us to be more than friends, Selene. Will you let yourself love me?” Over the rush of blood in my ears I wasn’t sure I’d heard rightly. The Romans told me it was my duty to lie beneath this man and be a mother to his children, but it’d never been any part of the bargain that there should be words of
love
. I tried to hush him, boldly offering my lips for another kiss, but he didn’t take them. “Selene, you count the emperor’s daughter amongst your friends, and in spite of all your mother’s animosity for Octavia, you found it in yourself to love
her
. Why resist the idea of loving me?”

Because I knew—I knew better than anyone—how dangerous love could be. Love had destroyed my parents. The emperor had also taught me that love could be exploited to make me obey . . . and what of Helios? I loved my twin more than anything in this world or the next, and being apart from him was an open wound. How could I love anyone else? It would be a betrayal, not to mention foolish, to allow myself to feel for Juba any more than was required. Yet he persisted, nuzzling a soft spot by my ear that made me shiver. “Say that you’ll love me, Selene.”

It was a strange request. Unnecessary. Un-
Roman
. I couldn’t say it. My throat tightened. My tongue swelled in my mouth. Where I’d been pliant and curious only moments before, I now went rigid and his expression darkened. “I have a
right
to you.” I forced myself to perfect stillness as his fingers worked at the knot of Isis between my breasts. He’d expected a different knot and left off after a few unsuccessful tries, a sound of frustration in his throat. It was all going wrong.

“Shall I unfasten it for you, Juba?”

“No,” he said sharply.

I didn’t think my cheeks could get any hotter, but they did. “I forgot to struggle. Is that what you want?”

Muttering a curse, he covered his eyes with one hand and rolled onto his back. “It’s been a very long day, Selene. We’re both overtired. We should sleep.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. Relief mingled with discontent. I should say something, make some apology, but I didn’t know what to say. When I started to rise, Juba caught me by the arm. “Stay.”

I was bewildered because not even the emperor and Livia shared the same bed at night. “Do you intend for us to
sleep
together?”

“Does that disappoint you?” Juba laughed, but it was a sound that lacked all merriment. “If you leave now, there’ll be more gossip.”

The wedding had left me weary, but my eyes remained open until the oil lamps burned out. If Juba slumbered, I didn’t know. When sleep finally swallowed me up, I dreamed that I was swimming in the Nile. The god of the river came to me as a lover, singing, his body merging with mine. The god’s limbs were all pale and youthful and I knew he was my true husband, but no matter where I turned my head beneath his reverent kisses, I could never see his face.