Song of the Nile by Stephanie Dray Page B

his hand theatrically and the wedding guests gathered round. It was just the opportunity I’d been waiting for. The chance to slip away from the emperor’s couch and return to Juba’s side. The musicians quieted, and everyone leaned in as the poet recited, “ Great bordering regions of the world which the full stream Nile separates from the black Ethiopians. Ye have by marriage made a destiny common to both, turning Egypt and North Africa into one country. May the children of these princes ever again rule with unshaken dominion over both lands. ”
    At these words, my body tightened like a bowstring. I was the rightful Queen of Egypt and through this poem, Crinagoras reminded everyone of that fact. Even the emperor seemed stunned by the man’s nerve. With his gray eyes narrowed, Augustus said, “Crinagoras, how good of you to remember the majesty of Selene’s past.”
    “And her future,” the poet said boldly. I might have choked on my wine if I hadn’t already swallowed it. Did the little poet care nothing for his own safety? I had the emperor’s goodwill, but I couldn’t protect him. Still, Crinagoras went on. “Isn’t the House of Julii powerful enough to encompass all the greatness of the Ptolemies?”
    It was exactly what I wished the emperor to believe—that he should restore me to Egypt where my power could only swell his own. I couldn’t have fashioned better propaganda if I’d tried. But I hadn’t tried and I worried when the emperor turned to me as if this were a plot. “Ah,” Augustus said. “You see, Juba and Selene? Your match has captured the imaginations of the people; they find it fitting. Your marriage is the kind of news that should spread all over the empire. Even to Thebes.”
    Even to my twin , I thought. The emperor wanted Helios to know that I married Juba. He wanted Helios to believe that I’d betrayed him. And perhaps I had.

Four
    AT length, the banqueters filled their napkins with treats to bring home. Meanwhile, Juba and I stood side by side, making our farewells to the guests. “I’d like to offer Crinagoras a place as our court poet,” I said.
    Without looking at me, Juba replied, “Crinagoras is no Virgil; he lacks a grand artistic vision.”
    “Yet his wedding verse today indicates that he has political vision. Did you disapprove?”
    “Of the poem? No.” Juba’s jaw tightened. My new husband obviously disapproved of something . Most probably me. “Selene, if it pleases you, I’ll extend an invitation to Crinagoras. Just be ready to travel at dawn. I’m going into the city tonight and can’t say when I’ll return.” Then he turned with a swirl of his toga and walked away.
    So it was to be like this between us, then.
    Eager to work the knots of tension from my shoulders after the festivities, I hastened to the private baths, where steam made my skin damp even before I undressed. Chryssa followed me into the water with her reed basket of sponges, oils, and scrapers, just as she did the first day I’d come to Octavia’s house. “Will Juba be joining you, my lady?”
    “No,” I said, trying not to sound embarrassed by the question. Egyptian weddings involved a ceremonial bath, but I found it difficult to imagine being naked with Juba after this morning’s cool words. It was only natural that he’d want to say good-bye to his favorite teachers, fellow scholars, and dearest friends. Besides, Juba had—in some sense—given me a reprieve on our wedding night and I ought to be grateful. Soon, though, he’d expect to claim me as his wife. Nervously, I fanned my fingers over my belly beneath the water. I had to know what to prepare for because I didn’t want to let out an undignified cry at the crucial moment. “Chryssa, when the emperor took you to his bed, was it painful?”
    For a moment, the trickling of fresh water out of the fountain mouth of a gilded lion was the only noise in the room. “He—he wasn’t,” she stammered. “He wasn’t physically