Queen of Kings - Maria Dahvana Headley [147]
At night, roaring could be heard, but it came from no clear location. The earth shook and then was stable again. The soldiers looked to the heavens, thinking of Zeus and wondering which side he was on, that of the emperor of Rome or that of the dead queen of Egypt.
The purses of old women and of augurs filled with coins as they interpreted omens for the marching armies. Overhead, eagles wheeled, and vultures, too, following the leavings of the army.
Agrippa and Augustus, Nicolaus riding beside them, arrived in Alba only to find that the legion that had been garrisoned there had already marched south. Augustus was delighted to see that the army had received their orders and traveled responsively, but Agrippa was uneasy. Perhaps it was the pain of his leg. Perhaps it was something more.
Their next station, Formiae, was similarly emptied of men. Agrippa had sent the orders ahead himself, had written the letters, and yet he mistrusted the quiet. The legion had traveled too quickly. Their dust should still be in sight. Augustus, on the other hand, was exuberant, sweating in the heat of the sun, singing in the cool of the night, reminded once more of his boyhood beside Agrippa, beside Julius Caesar, of the glorious times before he’d become truly Glorious.
At night, the sky filled with stars, and Augustus looked up at them, imagining himself stationed amongst the constellations. He imagined his own gods looking down upon his deeds, approving.
He would win this time. He would win. He had an army behind him and Hercules’ bow upon his back. Who knew what Rome would be when this battle was over?
Who knew what worlds existed to be conquered once Rome had beaten such an enemy?
Selene, in her litter, rocked down the dusty Appian behind the army, her eyes closed, her skin chilled. The seiðkona traveled with her, trying to draw her own strength together. She had so little now. Her time was nearly done.
As the legions marched into Avernus, Cleopatra waited. It was sundown, and the moon rose in a yellow crescent. She could smell the armies coming toward her. She could feel their footsteps and hear their lust for battle. She could feel Augustus and Agrippa.
She had not been in battle since Actium.
She missed Antony, their planning together, the nights before the battle had taken place. She missed her lover, her general, her partner.
She knew, though, that she would have to do this alone. He was gone, and this was her fight, not his. She would fight to save her children and Antony. She would fight to avenge herself upon the man who had taken everything from her.
She thought of Augustus’s heart, and of how it would feel in her hands. She could feel it beating, his excitement as he approached. She could feel Chrysate, too, traveling somewhere in the vicinity of the Romans.
She would finish her task. She would be damned after tonight, if she had not been before. Her ka, if she ever reclaimed it, would fall against Maat’s feather, and the Eater of Souls would take it. She prayed to her own country’s gods, to Isis, long-neglected goddess of mothers. To Thoth, for knowledge.
She prayed not for herself, but for her children, the one who was gone and the ones who still remained. Her hands, when she spread them before her, were tipped with the claws of the lioness. Her body rippled with muscles that were not human.
She could not feel Sekhmet, but she had become a version of her. She could feel herself forfeiting the parts that had been Cleopatra.
The whirlwind where her heart had been no longer disturbed her.
At last, the queen rose to her feet and began to climb the hill toward the crater’s mouth.
The armies of Rome had arrived.
She would meet them.
Chrysate had found a beautiful abandoned cave, and though it smelled of felines, of bats, and of something else as well, it would do. It went deep into the side of the rocks. It was cool and ancient, and the cool soothed her skin, chapped and burnt after days of travel.