XX

‘What about this?’ asked Diana, holding up one of my better garments, a green tunic with a Greek-key border in yellow along the hem.

‘Surely I’ve packed enough clothing already,’ I said. ‘The shipmaster charges passengers by the trunk, so we should take only what we need for the journey. It will be cheaper to buy what we need when we get there.’

‘Mother will like that. A shopping trip!’ Diana forced a smile. She was not happy about her mother’s trip to Alexandria; she had done all she could to dissuade her. That part of the world was already unsettled and dangerous, she pointed out, and likely to become more so if Pompey had fled there with Caesar chasing after him. Besides that, a sea journey was always dangerous, and autumn was coming; if we stayed in Egypt past the sailing season, we might be stranded there for months, unable to find a ship willing to risk stormy waters. But Bethesda would not relent: to be cured of her malady, she must return to Egypt and bathe in the Nile.

Diana’s greatest worry she left unspoken: that she would never see her mother again if the rigours of travel proved too much for her, or if Bethesda’s true purpose in returning to Egypt was to die.

‘Perhaps – perhaps I should come along,’ she said.

‘Absolutely not, Diana! We’ve already discussed this.’

‘But—’

‘No! You have Aulus to look after and his little brother or sister, as well. It’s unthinkable that a woman in your condition should take off on such a long and uncertain journey.’

‘I shouldn’t have told you.’

‘That you’re with child? You couldn’t have hidden it much longer. You don’t know how relieved I was to find out that your morning sickness was due to pregnancy and not something else. No, you will remain in Rome to oversee the household, and Davus will remain by your side. And don’t worry – your mother and I will be back in plenty of time to see the birth of our grandchild. Do you think Bethesda would miss that?’

Diana forced another smile and busied herself checking the contents of my trunk. ‘What’s this?’ she asked, holding up a sealed bronze urn.

I took it from her and returned it to the trunk. ‘Ashes,’ I said.

‘Ah. Her ashes.’

‘You can say her name: Cassandra.’

‘But why are you taking them to Egypt?’

‘It was Rupa’s idea. Cassandra lived most of her life in Alexandria. He wants to scatter her ashes in the Nile.’

‘I don’t see why she should go along on Mother’s trip.’

‘Don’t forget that it’s her legacy that’s paying for the trip.’

‘Ironic, isn’t it?’ said Diana sharply. ‘If this trip does cure Mother’s condition, it shall have been paid for by the woman who—’ She saw the look on my face and left the thought unfinished. ‘I suppose it is a good thing that you’re taking Rupa with you, since Davus isn’t going along to protect you. Rupa will know his way around the city.’

‘You forget that I lived in Alexandria myself for a while.’

‘But, Papa, that was years and years ago. Surely it’s changed since then.’

The Alexandria of my youth was fixed in my memory, encircled by nostalgia as a city is encircled by walls to keep it safe. It seemed unthinkable that it could have changed, but why not? Everything else in the world had changed, and seldom for the better.

Diana clicked her tongue. ‘But I’m not sure about the advisability of taking Mopsus and Androcles.’

‘I’m an old man, Diana. I’ll need quick feet to run my errands.’

‘So will I, once my belly begins to grow.’

‘I suppose I could take only one of the boys with me, and leave you the other . . .’

‘No, it would be unthinkable to separate them. But they’re likely to get themselves thrown overboard if they behave on the ship the way they behave in this house. They’re such a handful, those two little . . .’ Something caught in her throat. She cleared it with a cough and a sniffle and lowered her voice. ‘A shame you’re not taking Hieronymus. He keeps hinting that he’d like to go. Having lived all his life in Massilia, he’s eager to see the world.’

‘At my expense! No, Hieronymus can stay here. Surely he hasn’t exhausted all the discoveries that Rome has to offer.’

I sat on the bed. Diana sat beside me. She took my hand in hers. ‘There’s something we haven’t yet talked about,’ she said.

‘Your mother? I think she truly believes this trip will cure her. You shouldn’t worry that—’

‘No, not that.’

I sighed. ‘If you wish to finish what you were saying earlier . . . about Cassandra . . .’

Diana shook her head. ‘No. I think it was the Fates who guided your course, and hers, towards an end that neither of you foresaw.’

‘What, then?’

She hesitated. ‘We’ve talked before about the danger in that part of the world . . .’

‘Surely it’s no more dangerous than Rome!’

‘Isn’t it? Ever since old King Ptolemy died, the Egyptians have been as torn apart as we Romans. Young Ptolemy is at war with his sister – what’s she called?’

‘I believe her name is Cleopatra. Marc Antony once mentioned to me that he had met her. He said the oddest thing . . .’

‘What was that?’

‘He said that she reminded him of Caesar. Imagine that! Cleopatra couldn’t have been more than fourteen when Antony met her. She must be about twenty-two now – yes, exactly the same age as you, Diana.’

‘Wonderful! You shall find yourself in Alexandria with Pompey at his most desperate, a royal civil war going on, and a young female Caesar to contend with – if one can imagine such a creature!’

I laughed. ‘At least it shouldn’t be boring.’

‘But still – this wasn’t what I meant to talk about.’

‘What then?’

She sighed. ‘Caesar will be there, too, won’t he?’

‘Very likely.’

‘And if Caesar is . . .’

‘Ah, I see where you’re going.’

‘You’ll already have so much to deal with – and I don’t mean Pompey and Cleopatra and all that. I mean Mother, whether she gets well . . . or not. And the ashes in that urn, and what you’ll feel when you scatter them in the Nile. And I know you’ll be worried about me and the child I’m carrying, back here in Rome. And on top of all that, if you should happen to confront Meto again . . .’

‘Daughter, Daughter! Do you imagine that I haven’t thought of all this myself? I’ve been lying awake at night, pondering this journey and all the places it may lead. But looking ahead serves no purpose. It’s as you say: the Fates lead us to unseen ends. So far, on balance, the Fates have been kind to me.’

There was a noise at the door. Both of us looked up to see Bethesda. She looked pale and delicate, but in her eyes I saw a steady flame that signalled hope. The journey to Egypt had come to mean everything to her.

‘Are you done packing, Husband?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. We leave at dawn. Diana, if you’ve finished helping your father, come help me sort my things.’

‘Of course.’ Diana rose and followed her mother. In the doorway she paused and looked back. Her eyes glittered with tears. ‘Can it really be tomorrow that you’re leaving, Papa? I suddenly feel like Hieronymus; I envy you! You shall see the Nile, and the pyramids, and the giant Sphinx . . .’

‘And the great library,’ I said, ‘and the famous lighthouse at Pharos . . .’

‘And perhaps you shall even meet . . .’

We laughed, knowing we shared the same thought without speaking.

‘Cleopatra!’ I said, finishing her sentence.

‘Cleopatra!’ she echoed, as if that odd, foreign-sounding name were a code for all that was understood between us, spoken or unspoken.

After she left the room, I rose from the bed and stepped to the trunk. I reached down and picked up the bronze urn. I held it for a long time, feeling the metal’s cold rigidity, sensing the heaviness of its contents. Finally I returned the urn to the trunk and slowly, gently closed the lid.