Elizabeth Ann Scarborough - Cleopatra 7.2

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CLEOPATRA 7.2

ELIZABETH ANN SCARBOROUGH

ACE BOOKS, NEW YORK

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

Published by the Penguin Group

Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

Penguin Group (Canada), 10 Alcorn Avenue, Toronto, Ontario M4V 3B2, Canada

(a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RAL, England

Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen's Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin

Books Ltd.)

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(a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

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(a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196,

South Africa

Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R ORL, England This book

is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the

author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or

dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

CLEOPATRA 7.2

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic

form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of

copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

ACE is an imprint of The Berkley Publishing Group.

ACE and the "A" design are trademarks belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

First edition; December 2004

ISBN: 0-441-01206-X

This title has been registered with the Library of Congress.

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

For my mother,

Betty Scarborough,

with love and thanks

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to thank Lea Day for inspiration and the use of books from the huge Egyptian

section of her personal library, as well as for scouring Powell's City of Books for me for

specific references. I would also like to thank Dusti Day for excavating her guest room so that

I had a place to stay when I visited Portland on research trips. To Rick Reaser and Andy

Taylor, as usual, I owe many thanks for the food for thought and the food on their table and

for suggestions and advice on the story. Robert and Sheryl Bronsink and Beverly Berggren

have my undying gratitude for coming to my house one day when I had been stuck for a

month or two and sitting in my living room and letting me read more than two hundred pages

aloud to them with only pizza and pop to sustain us. Dr. Susan Wilson, as she was during the

writing of Channeling Cleopatra, was tremendously helpful with practical details about Egypt

and Egyptians. Eileen Claire was again generous with her personal recollections of

Alexandria and her many photographs and maps. And I would very much like to thank my

agent, Merrilee Heifetz, and my editor, Ginjer Buchanan, for their support. Most especially I

would like to thank the copy editors, Bob and Sara Schwager, for their considerable

contribution to the process of making the manuscript into a book.

CLEOPATRA 7.2

PROLOGUE

The Book of Cleopatra's Reawakening

Herein do I, Cleopatra Philopater, Queen of Upper and

Lower Egypt, the seventh Cleopatra of the ruling house of Ptolemy, set down the

circumstances pertaining to the discovery of my tomb. This I do at the behest of my soul's

companion in this life, Leda Hubbard, who asks it so that a play may be made of it and the

story told to all the world thereby. For this we are to be endowed with, if not a queen's

ransom, at least the price of a modest palace.

To begin with, I was awakened from the dead.

This was done by means of a magic uncommonly known even in these years of miraculous

happenings. Quite simply, a portion of my body still connected to my ba, or body spirit, was

used to connect my ba to another body, that of Leda Hubbard, a woman of low birth but high

intellect. This magic is called a blending. Leda and I first blended as we dreamed. I learned

that she, like myself, grieved for her father and had suffered betrayal. I knew of her love of

books and words, her search for knowledge. But I also knew, even as she slept, that we were

in immediate mortal danger. We awakened to our peril aboard a ship owned by our enemy.

With the aid of Leda's allies and our combined strengths, we prevailed and vanquished our

enemy.

When we were safely ashore in what had once been my beloved Alexandria, I began to

understand that, although I once more breathed and tasted, saw and smelled, was able to touch

and to feel touch, the life I had ended with the cobra would in no way continue. No longer

would I be concerned with the fate of the Egypt I knew, for it was either gone or buried

beneath many generations of sand and captivity.

Octavian, who continued his dominion of both my lands and his as Augustus Caesar, this

viper who murdered Caesar's own son, my Caesarian, is dead. That Marc Antony is lost I

knew before my own death. His son, my Alexander Helios, was murdered like his half brother

by Octavian. My other children, Selene and Ptolemy Philadelphus, were banished from Egypt

and died in foreign lands without the benefit of an Egyptian burial. Thus I had no hope that

they might enter into this afterlife as I have with the aid of that odd little magician, Chimera.

Alas, Leda's body is not capable of childbearing so there will be no more children for me,

even if there are in this new age men worthy of fathering them. All that I loved, all that I lived

for, is gone. Thus is my life ended, and so it begins again, without husband or children, title or

lands or wealth of any consequence, great beauty or great power.

Still, Leda's loyalties are as strong as my own, and I find some comfort that the people whose

fates concern her do seem to be worthwhile.

However, she has not been a queen and was not reared believing she was born to greatness.

Her goals are as modest as her means, and this I must change.

We made a beginning by changing history as Leda's contemporaries have known it. We had

no tension within us at this time, for our thoughts and longings were in unison. Both of us

wished to revisit my tomb and learn what remained.

I imagined I would be able to go straight to it. During my lifetime, I had visited it

clandestinely for years, secreting the most precious of the scrolls I saved from the burning of

the great library. Later, when Antony gifted me with scrolls looted from the library in

Pergamum, I had them copied and personally deposited the originals in the vaults within my

second tomb.

Why a second tomb? Leda asked. But she answered her own question almost immediately.

Grave robbers, of course, were the first reason I chose to have a secret place of interment as

well as my public mausoleum. Anyone who has strolled through the marketplace has beheld

the property that was supposed to be taken into the afterlife with long-dead pharaohs and

other people of substance. Their tombs were built more for grandeur than for security. Looters

broke in and stole their funeral goods and dismembered the mummies so carefully and

expensively laid to "eternal" rest. I value my privacy and my dignity far too much to allow

that to happen to me.

So, though no one knew but myself and one old childhood friend who became my most

trusted priest, there was concealed within my mausoleum an underground passageway.

I have now watched many films and read many books and articles that claim to be about my

life. Some of them say that I am a traitorous and disloyal person. They base their evaluation

on the evidence that I had my brothers and sisters killed, disregarding the fact that my beloved

sibs would have done the same for me had I not, as Leda says, "beat them to it." The truth is

that I have always been a very loyal person and a true friend to those who do not try to murder

me or betray me.

And Anoubus was always, if unobtrusively, loyal to me. He understood my true nature. I

wonder what became of him under Octavian?

Ah well. Anoubus and I discovered the passageway and the tomb when we were children of

perhaps eight and six years. It was within the palace quarter, naturally, or I would not have

been allowed there. We found it while playing in a disused part of the harem. Father did not

keep as many concubines and wives as his forebears, perhaps because he loved wine and song

far better than he loved women, with the possible exception of me.

The passageway was exciting for us, a secret to be shared, but even more exciting was the

tomb at the end of it. I knew in my heart it had been one of the early tombs of my own

ancestor, Alexander. Of course, it was empty then, but by the light of our lamps the marble

walls still gleamed, and the spaciousness of the rooms rivaled that of my father's own private

chambers. We scuffed away the sand to reveal a fine mosaic on the floor, the colors of its tiles

bright even by our flickering lights.

Throughout my childhood, I escaped there often from my older sister, who hated me because

Father preferred me, and my brothers. When I thought of it, I held my breath, fearing that

some new building project would clear the entrance to my private haven, but this did not

happen. When I assumed the throne, I myself cleared the area and had my mausoleum built

over it, under the supervision of my friend.

As intimately as I had known it, when Leda and I tried to find it again, I doubted we ever

would. My beautiful white-columned city, with its wide streets and its great monuments,

might never have been. Now it lies buried beneath tall and ugly buildings, short and ugly

buildings, and the streets are filled with noisy machinery, tearing along at speed far greater

than that of any chariot or natural animal I have ever seen in all the life I knew before I

awakened with Leda.

I knew approximately where the palace quarter had been only from the shoreline of the

Eastern Harbor, and even this was much altered. Leda and I pored over maps from many time

periods. None was more than someone's guess at the layout of the city of my birth, my youth,

my reign, the city I gave to Caesar and to Antony, the city whose people, treasures,

institutions, customs, and monuments I protected with every skill and wit I possess.

Leda showed me the artifacts retrieved from the harbor when it had been drained for

excavation. Soon the sponsors of this excavation and the current government will attempt to

reconstruct the shoreline as I knew it, to rebuild some semblance of my palace and the

monuments of the time. This will be done not to house a new pharaoh or even a president, but

for foreign visitors called tourists. It is a worthy project and I approve of it and mean to have

Leda and myself consulting so that we may instruct the builders on the correct installation of

each feature and structure.

But I digress. We examined these artifacts, most of which were large chunks of stone that

were mere suggestions of the intricately carved and colored statuary and columns, building

blocks and fountains that had once adorned my home. These items, more than any other thing,

including the monstrous modern city, made clear to me how much time has passed since last I

walked these streets. Not that I can walk them now without risk of being crushed by one of

the speeding conveyances.

I saw a blunted and waterworn statue of myself I had commissioned as a gift for what we

hoped would be Caesar's coronation. The cheeks were pitted, the tip of the nose and part of

the chin chipped off. The details of hair and crown, clothing and jewels were mostly lost,

however. It looked, it was, thousands of years old. Many pieces of the colossal statues of my

Ptolemy ancestors whose images had lined the harbor and stood sentinel beside the great

Pharos Lighthouse hulked among the cases and explanatory plaques. The bones of my past.

They saddened me, caused me to shudder. Though I had coolly faced the enemies who were

my kin and the enemy who was the death of my family, as well as the cobra who was my

ultimate deliverer, I was shaken with disorientation, with vertigo. How strange it was to be

there viewing the scene of my former life as if from the wrong end of a telescope that saw

through the distance of time rather than space.

Even so, another part of me, the part my father had trained in the ways of all of the pharaohs

and satraps before us, was reading the plaques. I mentally restored and replaced the objects to

their original installations. Seeing where they had been found from the maps and plaques, I

calculated how far they might have tumbled during the mighty earthquakes that were my

city's ultimate conquerors.

Leda showed me where she found one of my canopic jars. It had arisen from the seabed like

Aphrodite from the sea following an earthquake. The simile is not inapt, as the discovery of

this jar was responsible for my rebirth.

We spent many days and nights, accompanied by Gabriella, Dr. Gabriella Faruk, a close

friend of Leda's and the director of Antiquities for the Biblioteca Alexandrina, poring over old

books and records stored in the new library. At last I identified the area where I had once

lived and approximated the place where I caused my mausoleum to be built. Using miraculous

tools available to us through Leda's employers at Nucor, we located the site on a block of land

containing a European-style hotel. Wolfe, who is to Nucor what we would have called a king,

quietly purchased the building. We did not tear it down, but excavated the basement from

within its walls.

Although Nucor (now calling themselves Helix) brought in their own teams to dig under our

direction with the borrowed authority of Gabriella's position, it took every ounce of royal

command I could pour through Leda to make those people disregard possible damage to the

extant walls and floor of my mausoleum. I insisted they use whatever was necessary to

remove the floor of the basement. "Jackhammers," Leda said. "Use jackhammers."

By the artificial floodlights and the muted roar of the generator, I goaded these on with a

promise of the real treasures beyond. It went against all of their training, this I knew from

Leda's inner wincing, but I was as relentless in this as I once had been in gaining Caesar's

attention and regaining my throne. The building's walls in this section retained the heat, and it

was close, the air stagnant and still.

Perspiration poured from us all. Leda's heavy hair was soaked through, and salty sweat poured

into her eyes and dripped from her chin. Everyone stank like rutting goats. I thought of

bringing incense to the site, but Leda tells me we are allergic to perfume.

When the jackhammers started, we were all forced to wear masks or choke on the dust.

All the time we worked, I feared we would never find it, that the passageway might have

totally collapsed, the entrance lost for all time. I feared that all of my treasures, despite the

careful preparations surrounding their storage, had been damaged by earthquake or water.

I prowled the mosaic floor of my death house like a caged leopard, although we were tortured

by the pain in Leda's arthritic knees and back. Truth be told, Leda was not always there in

spirit. Other bodily ailments also infringed upon her ba, and it had to absent itself for periods

of rest before forced by the intensity of her curiosity to return. That was when I first realized

that at times I might be alone in the body and in sole charge thereof.

Some of the excavators feared me, thought me mad. But I will tell you, of the ones who heard

the rumors that it was Cleopatra Philopater's spirit seeking her last resting place, none who

saw or heard me then doubted it. And at last, because it was there, where it had always been,

once a broken column or two had been removed, I found it. The section of floor

counterweighted to slide down into the passage when a certain sequence of tiles was pressed

had not moved of its own accord.

Leda's ba was back within us when I touched the first of the tiles. Our finger could not seem

to hold true to its target, so hard were we trembling with anticipation. "Let's get a grip here,"

Leda said. "This may not even work after all these centuries. There will probably be a lot

more digging to do, because the passage is bound to be blocked, right?"

At first I feared that was the case, for though I pushed the correct sequence, I am sure, for I

could never forget it, at first the floor lay static and motionless as it had since my burial.

Twice more I pressed it, feeling the restlessness of the workers behind me. I felt like cursing

them all for witnessing my helplessness.

'Sorry," Leda told me. "But no, we cannot have their tongues and hands cut off. They are all

under nondisclosure contracts, however, on penalty of forfeiture of vast sums of cash, and

Wolfe …"

'There!" I said, feeling the merest hint of a drop beneath my finger as I punched the last tile.

"There."

'I think we may just need some WD-40," Leda said, and, turning to the nearest gawking

digger, requested that some of the aforementioned, which seemed to be a magical potion, be

obtained and brought to us. It was nothing but common oil. Olive oil would have worked as

well. We squirted it from a metal can into the spaces around the tiles concerned. They drank it

into them. I pressed the sequence again and nearly fell into the hole that gaped below my

outstretched torso where a moment before the tiles had been.

'No actual cave-in," Leda said, after we examined the hole with an ingenious cold torch called

a flashlight. Like many modern things, it is dependent upon captive lightning for its function.

"At least not here."

The descent was not as gradual as it had been the last time I was aware of entering the

passage. The earthquakes, no doubt, had shifted the passageway from the entrance so that we

had to drop down into the earthen gap before we entered the part I remembered. It was a

tunnel carved from the living stone of the earth. Many times we had to stop to dig away sand

and earth to make room for us to continue. It took us two nights to clear the passage, though I

had been able to traverse the passage in minutes and seek the solace of the deserted tomb,

before I became its occupant.

At last we set foot on the first stair down into the antechamber. It was made of slabs of

alabaster from Upper Egypt, stone much employed in my palace. Having been made for my

illustrious ancestor, this portion of the tomb was Grecian in nature. As we entered the inner

chambers, the flashlights illuminated the wall paintings illustrating my accomplishments and

interests, my cartouche, my marriages, my children. We had to break into the next chamber,

for it was sealed to protect its contents. Now two sets of two lights, each seeming brighter

than Ra himself, were brought forth from above.

'No evidence of grave robbers, at least," Leda noted as we examined the seal.

I felt satisfied. My friend had chosen his confidants carefully, and apparently none had

betrayed me.

The rest of the team was horrified that we would use pickaxes to break the wall, but I was not

afraid of losing valuable evidence. I knew what lay beyond that wall and what was of value

there.

As we finished widening the hole enough to permit us to insert a flashlight to see the interior,

I gasped with dismay. The light reflected against the gleam of water on the floor. The

sarcophagus appeared unaffected, but amphorae and caskets had been swept from their

intended positions and settled into the shallow water covering the floor. Casting the beam so

that it lit each section of the tomb, we saw that the wall paintings had been much damaged,

and the ceiling bore a long, jagged gap that narrowed at the top. My canopic jars had been

stored, at my direction, upon a shelf close to the ceiling. None now remained.

'The earthquakes," Leda said. "The pressure must have extruded the jar I found through all of

the layers of earth. The water would have come from when the dam broke. But it looks as if

the chamber resealed itself enough that the water that did get through seeped away."

'Yes, yes," I said. "But we must break into the adjoining chambers and see what damage is

done there."

'Why?" Gabriella asked. "Your sarcophagus is here. Surely the mummy of Cleopatra is the

most momentous item in her tomb."

'No," I told her. "There is the treasure."

'But your jewels were taken by Octavian before your death, according to historians," Gabriella

said.

'Yes, that is quite true. The greedy pig would have left me naked had he not realized it would

cause him more problems. The Romans did not love me, but my own people benefited by my

rule. Octavian would have had difficulty controlling them had he publicly humiliated me in

Egypt as he planned to do in Rome." Since I am part of a more literal "we" within the same

body, I seldom use the royal "we" when speaking of myself in this incarnation. "However,

jewelry was never my most valuable treasure."

Leda knew, of course. She was as excited as I was and as alarmed to see the water in my

tomb. We struck the first blow to the sealed door between my body and the treasure I had

caused to be collected and interred with it.

I believe some members of the archaeological team actually wept, though I could not

distinguish tears from the sweat that covered us all as we broke into the chamber. To our great

relief, the room did not appear to be touched by water. The vaults lining the walls were dry,

and their contents appeared to be intact.

'Jars?" Pete, Leda's former lover, who was the engineer for our project, asked. "Your treasure

is vaults and vaults full of jars?"

'They're really big jars," Leda said, teasing, as is her custom. "And jars hold stuff."

Pete continued to look puzzled until I reached into one of the vaults and with some effort,

since the urn I chose had settled well and truly into the soft stone floor of the vault, removed

it.

'Please don't break it open here," Gabriella moaned. "We have really done so much damage

already."

'I just want to make sure the documents survived," I told her.

'She's right," Leda said to me privately. "With all due respect, Cleo, being as how this is your

property and everything, since your death we've learned a few things about caring for these

ancient things and preserving them. Wait until we can get them into a temperature-and-

humidity-controlled room, and the scrolls will have a much better chance of being removed

intact."

This vexed me, but since I could see that the urns remained sealed against the elements and

that they appeared to be unbroken, I conceded.

Instead, I returned to the main room to inspect my sarcophagus. There, too, the seals appeared

unbroken. "I suppose you'll insist that I refrain from opening my own coffin as well?" I asked

Leda.

'Absolutely," she said. "Besides, I'm not sure you're going to want to see yourself in this state

anyway. You won't be looking your best, you know."

I decided her argument had merit. If beholding the ruins of statues I had known in their full

glory upset me, how much more would viewing the ruins of the face I had last seen in my

own mirror? I was fifteen years younger than Leda when I died, and though grief and anxiety

had taken its toll, I was still an attractive woman. Then. No, Leda was correct. I did not

especially wish to see my mummy. At least, not yet.

So it came to pass that my unopened sarcophagus was removed to the Museum, along with

the scrolls, my great treasure, preserved from the Alexandria Library and including the

originals of the most important works from the library of Babylon, a gift from Antony.

All that I speak of did not occur in one night only, but events did unfold much more quickly

than would have been the case had I permitted the team to dawdle and exercise the "proper

fieldwork technique," they continually mourned.

Really, you would have thought it was their profession that lay dead in my tomb instead of

me!

I did supervise the removal of my scrolls and the few other treasures I possessed, including

my mortal shell. Working with Gabriella Faruk, I learned that it was she who had intended to

house my ha before Leda took it into herself. Although Leda did not truly regret her choice to

host me, she began regretting denying the benefit of my wisdom and knowledge to her friend.

"If it wasn't for that little misunderstanding over her being responsible for my dad's death, I

would never have blended with you to keep her from it," Leda told me. "Now it looks like we

will be stuck in the basement of the museum translating your scrolls for the rest of our life

because nobody else is qualified." I reminded her that my mummy had been recovered and

that it would contain the necessary cellular material. Thus it came to pass that a second part of

me was blended with a second woman of this time. Gabriella and my second ba within her

can do the menial tasks, since Gabriella is employed to do them anyway. We will, of course,

assist from time to time when it pleases us to do so.

But Egypt has grown poor. It has been conquered and ravished many times since Octavian

ended my reign. The world beyond seems to have become very large. Much of it is rich

beyond anything I have ever known. A poor woman past her first youth has no chance to gain

ascendancy in this time.

So if we are ever to regain power in this barbaric world where royal blood has little meaning

and thrones of a sort are to be had only in deference to wealth, it behooves us to acquire some.

Leda has no opposition to wealth. On the contrary, she loves acquiring objects and bestowing

largesse upon her friends and family members. However, she does not use riches to gain more

riches. She humorously calls herself a "power weasel," but the sort of power she refers to is

the power of a courtier currying favor. She has very little experience at being the person

whose favor is sought.

She will learn. Fortunately, we share a sense of drama, and I can work with that. My little

scenarios, as Leda calls them, won me the hearts of both Caesar and Antony and kept me on

the throne of Egypt. I daresay such episodes can be useful in other areas as well.

CHAPTER 1

Cleopatra awakened to her third incarnation. Since she had been in her mausoleum when she

died, she was not surprised to be there still when she revived. For the most part, it appeared as

it had when last she looked upon it. The leopard skins softened the marble floors. The

frescoes on the walls depicted, Egyptian style, her accomplishments and favorite occupations.

The high, deep windows allowed the light to flood the floor of the anteroom. Through one of

these apertures she and her handmaidens had hoisted her poor wounded Antony so she might

embrace him once more before he died. And yes, there was the overturned urn that had once

held the cobra that killed her. All of these items were as she recalled them.

What she did find surprising was that she now had company. Instead of the single couch upon

which her look-alike handmaiden Charmion had lain, clad in Cleopatra's regal robes to

deceive Octavian into burning the wrong body, there were two gold-inlaid ebony couches

draped in silks and furs. Each of these contained a woman. Neither of them was Iras or

Charmion, and neither was herself. This gave her pause. She viewed the scene from a

detached perspective, seeming to look down, which made her think that she was her own ba,

the spirit that stayed close to the body after death. However, though the setting was the same,

the players were totally unfamiliar. Besides the two sleeping women, there was a small, dark-

haired, black-clad person with features of an Asian cast. This person had a priestly air and

tended a vertical object that appeared to be a scrying glass of a type unknown to Cleopatra.

And then came the voice, her voice and yet a voice apart, emanating both from inside her and

beside her.

'Greetings, Cleopatra Philopater, Queen of Upper and Lower Egypt. Welcome to your new

life."

'Who are you?" she asked.

'You know the answer to that. I am also Cleopatra Philopater, Queen of Upper and Lower

Egypt," her own voice answered. "Think on it! There is one of us for Upper and one for

Lower Egypt. Unfortunately, we are no longer in power."

'Ahh," Cleopatra VII, the third incarnation, said. "I was afraid of that. It was no mere

nightmare, then, the death of Antony and the triumph of Octavian? I most distinctly recall the

cobra's bite. Even with the ill turn our luck had taken, surely we could not have chosen for the

instrument of our death the only impotent cobra in all of Egypt."

'No, the cobra bestowed its fatal blessing upon us. We died, and our subsequent burial in our

secret tomb was carried out by our loyal priests as planned."

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