Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
One - SELENE
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve - MAURETANIA WINTER 25 B.C.
Thirteen
Fourteen - MAURETANIA SUMMER 24 B.C.
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen - ITALIAN PENINSULA SPRING 23 B.C.
Eighteen
Nineteen - ROME SUMMER 23 B.C.
Twenty - ROME WINTER 23 B.C.
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three - MAURETANIA SPRING 22 B.C.
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight - GREECE SPRING 21 B.C.
Twenty-nine
Thirty
Thirty-one
Thirty-two - ISLE OF SAMOS, GREECE SPRING 2 0 B. C .
Thirty-three
Thirty-four - ISLE OF SAMOS, GREECE SPRING 19 B. C .
Thirty-five
Thirty-six
Thirty-seven - ATHENS, GREECE SUMMER 19 B. C .
Thirty-eight
AUTHOR’S NOTE
READERS GUIDE
PRAISE FOR
LILY OF THE NILE
“Magical.”
—M. Isidora Forrest, author of Isis Magic
“In this account of the fate of Cleopatra’s daughter in the household of Augustus Caesar, Dray reveals the same events we’ve
seen in Rome and I, Claudius from a very different perspective, that of a teenage girl. Cleopatra Selene has unusual gifts and
problems, but her struggle to understand herself and her destiny is universal. The glimpses of the cult of Isis leave one wanting
to know more, and the story keeps you turning the pages until the end.”
—Diana L. Paxson,
author of Marion Zimmer Bradley’s Sword of Avalon
“Lily of the Nile is graceful history infused with subtle magic and
veiled ancient mysteries, at a time of immense flux and transition.
Cleopatra Selene—regal, stoic, and indomitable daughter of the
legendary Pharaoh-Queen Cleopatra—carries on the spirit of her
mother, the goddess Isis, and the soul of Egypt itself into the lair
of the conquering imperial enemy. Selene, whose skin speaks the
words of queen and goddess in blood, channels the dynastic pride
that is her birthright, and seals the fate of the Roman Empire.
Meticulously researched, thoroughly believable, this is a different
kind of book, and a true achievement.”
—Vera Nazarian,
two-time Nebula Award–nominated
author of Lords of Rainbow and Mansfield Park and Mummies
“With clear prose, careful research, vivid detail, and a dash of magic, Stephanie Dray brings true life to one of Egypt’s most
intriguing princesses.”
—Susan Fraser King,
bestselling and award-winning
author of Queen Hereafter and Lady Macbeth
Berkley titles by Stephanie Dray
LILY OF THE NILE
SONG OF THE NILE
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
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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
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Copyright © 2011 by Stephanie Dray.
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PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley trade paperback edition / October 2011
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Dray, Stephanie.
Song of the Nile / Stephanie Dray.—Berkley trade pbk. ed. p. cm.
ISBN : 978-1-101-54506-5
1. Cleopatra, Queen, consort of Juba II, King of Mauretania, b. 40 B.C.—Fiction. 2. Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt, d. 30 B.C.—Family
—Fiction. 3. Rome—History—Augustus, 30 B.C.–A.D. 14.—Fiction. 4. Augustus, Emperor of Rome, 63 B.C.–A.D. 14—Fiction. I.
Title.
PS3604.R39S65 2011
813’.6—dc22
2011020553
http://us.penguingroup.com
To my mother and my grandmothers,
because like Cleopatra Selene,
I come from a long line of powerful and inspiring women.
Dear Reader,
It’s often erroneously said that Cleopatra VII of Egypt was the last of the Ptolemaic queens. In truth,
that title belongs to her daughter, Cleopatra Selene. Though Augustus would make Selene the most
powerful client queen in his empire, she’s typically overlooked by historians in favor of her notorious
mother. It was suicide that helped to make Cleopatra so famous, but her daughter has always
captivated me because Selene’s story is one of survival.
Cleopatra Selene carved out a new destiny for herself in an uncertain land, but she seems always to
have been looking behind her. She was a woman who forgot nothing.
I wrote this book so that we don’t forget her.
As an author of historical fiction, one of my greatest joys is filling in the spaces the historical
record leaves empty. While Selene is believed to have married King Juba II of Mauretania in 25 B.C.,
she doesn’t appear on the coins of her realm for another five years. Her exact whereabouts during this
time are unknown, but as a nominal member of the imperial family, she had a unique perspective from
which to witness five of the most crucial years in Roman history and religious history.
Though Isis worship would eventually come to dominate the ancient world, the cult frequently came
under attack even before it fell out of favor with Augustus. While the Romans generally tolerated
foreign gods and goddesses, Augustus banned the worship of Isis within the sacred boundaries of
Rome. Cassius Dio tells us that Agrippa also cracked down on the Alexandrine cult in 21 B.C. In spite
of this, or perhaps because of it, Selene actively promoted her goddess. That she appears never to have
been censured by Rome for this—or for any of the more politically provocative actions she took as
queen—tells us that she enjoyed an extraordinary relationship with Augustus.
This novel imagines and dramatizes that relationship.
As in Lily of the Nile, I’ve adopted some conventions that bear explanation. To start with, I’ve
embraced the most familiar spellings and naming conventions for historical figures and ideas. For
example, I’ve used Mark Antony for Marcus Antonius and Cleopatra instead of Kleopatra. I’ve also
used English words for Latin concepts whenever possible. One instance is my adoption of the word
lady when the word domina may have been more accurate. Moreover, I’ve addressed Augustus as the
emperor throughout the novel even though our modern understanding of the word differs greatly from
the traditional Roman concept of an imperator. I stand by this choice because of Octavian’s
nontraditional use of imperator—a title he held lawfully in 43 B.C. and should have relinquished that
same year but continued to use in front of his name until he acquired the new honorific of Augustus.
Whenever the historical record was in doubt, I’ve unabashedly adopted the slant most favorable to
Egypt, Selene, her family, or the faith in which she was raised; the bias against Rome and Augustus
reflects her views as I’ve imagined them, not my own. Also, Selene’s relatively uncritical acceptance
of the idea that native peoples must be “civilized” is not an endorsement, but simply the historical
attitude of the time period.
Finally, though the weddings, divorces, battles, treaties, and imperial politics are all firmly rooted
in historical fact, I’ve tried to respect this work as a novel more than as a biography. To that end, my
choices and changes are explained in the author’s note at the end of this book.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
There are many people I wish to thank. My wise-woman agent, Jennifer Schober, for her guidance and
innate understanding of my work. My warrior-woman editor, Cindy Hwang, who taught me how to
make this story more powerful. My amazing husband, for his infinite patience and encouragement. My
wonderful friends and family—especially my in-laws—all of whom have been so supportive. My
sister, for her friendship and tireless promotion. The Rovets for their hospitality. The generous
bloggers and reviewers who have helped spread the word. Kay Dion for being the most unfailingly
helpful librarian in the nation. Mallory Braus, Julia Drake, Shelly Dunlop, Tanja Pederson, and Anna
Treece for assisting me with publicity so that I could focus on writing. Paul McEndree for help with
sea snail mucus and purple dye. Jessica Cooley for last-minute edits. Victoria Janssen, Rachel
Blackman, Craig Lammes, and Reggie Greenberg for their vivid recollections of Athens. Sheila
Accongio, Christi Barth, Sharon Buchbinder, Mallory Cates, Sabrina Darby, Moriah Jovan, Michelle
Sandmeier, Christine Rovet, Constance Chamberlain, Jen Lazarus, Kai Lawson, Joseph Kelly, and
Stephanie Rice for critiquing early drafts of the manuscript. Becky Wilson and Jamie Michelle for
reading the manuscript after I made changes—and the remarkable Gabrielle Carolina, who gave up
sleep to help me with the book and with study guide questions.
I also couldn’t have written this without Leah Barber holding down the fort and without my Divas
cracking the whip over my head every day. Nor do I think I could have kept track of the enormous
piles of research for this book without the help of Scrivener, upon which I’m hopelessly dependent.
I must again thank Duane W. Roller, Professor (Emeritus) of Greek and Latin at Ohio State
University, who offered his expertise on Cleopatra Selene and Juba II. I’m also grateful to
anthropologist and Amazigh activist Helene Hagen, whose work on Berber culture is fascinating. Both
scholars patiently answered my questions, but any mistakes in this manuscript should be ascribed to
me alone.
Mindful that footnotes distract and that my sources are too numerous to cite here, I would,
nonetheless, like to credit several, including W. W. Tarn’s scholarly paper titled “Alexander Helios
and the Golden Age” as well as Duane W. Roller’s The World of Juba II and Kleopatra Selene,
Margaret George’s Memoirs of Cleopatra, Wilbur Smith’s River God, Pharaoh by Karen Essex, and
the splashy Hollywood film Cleopatra , starring Elizabeth Taylor.
I’m again indebted to authors who have also tried to bring Selene’s world to life, including Andrea
Ashton, whose social awareness about the conflict of Berbers and Romans helped inspire several
scenes in this book. Additionally, I want to thank Alice Curtis Desmond and Michelle Moran, whose
influence can also be felt in this novel. However, it’s Beatrice Chanler’s 1934 novel, Cleopatra’s
Daughter, the Queen of Mauretania that inspired me most. My work is heavily influenced by her
ideas, imagery, and lofty prose. In particular, Ms. Chanler’s book captured my imagination because of
its unusual theory that Cleopatra Selene and her twin brother were religious symbols—a theory that
I’ve extended into the fantastic.
In adopting and modernizing this theory by reimagining Isis worship, I relied not just upon ancient
sources and current scholarship but also upon the worship of Isis as it’s currently practiced. M. Isidora
Forrest’s Isis Magic was invaluable on that count, as was Ms. Forrest herself, who kindly offered
advice on rituals that Selene may have been familiar with. The calling prayer of Isis appears in this
novel with her permission.
While it is a perilous endeavor to speculate about the sexuality of historical figures, I was
emboldened by Virgil in the Renaissance by David Scott Wilson-Okamura and Saara Lilja’s
Homosexuality in Republican and Augustan Rome. I’ve portrayed Selene’s sexual morality through the
lens of mythic Isiac fertility rites as explored in Merlin Stone’s fascinating book When God Was a
Woman, itself inspired by the work of Robert Graves. While no detailed record of Isiac mystery rites
survives, I drew upon the legend that Isis herself had served as a prostitute in Tyre. I was also mindful
of Herodotus’s claim that female adherents of goddess cults gave themselves to a stranger at least
once in their lives—an idea echoed by Strabo. And, of course, I must express appreciation for The
Metamorphoses of Lucius Apuleius, an Isiac work and the only Latin novel to survive in its entirety. I
blended all this information with extant accounts of the Eleusinian Mysteries.
Insofar as this novel is about Augustus, I relied upon ancient historians Cassius Dio, Suetonius, and
Tacitus, freely adopting the latter’s uncharitable views of Livia. When it came to reconstructing
Berber culture as it may have existed in Selene’s reign, I consulted Susan Raven’s Rome in Africa,
Paul MacKendrick’s The North African Stones Speak, and The Berbers by Michael Brett and Elizabeth
Fentress.
For additional sources, please see my website at stephaniedray.com.
CHARACTERS
The Court of Augustus Caesar
AUGUSTUS CAESAR, or Octavian, Gaius Julius Caesar Octavianus, the imperator and victor of
Actium
JULIA, his daughter by his former wife Scribonia, and his only child
LIVIA DRUSILLA, his wife, scion of a powerful noble family, the Claudii
Tiberius, her oldest son by her former husband
Drusus, her youngest son by her former husband
OCTAVIA, his long-suffering sister
Marcellus, her son by her first husband
Marcella, her daughter by her first husband
Antonia Major, her eldest daughter by her second husband, Mark Antony
Antonia Minor, called Minora, her youngest daughter by her second husband, Mark Antony
Iullus Antonius, her ward, son of Mark Antony by his deceased wife, Fulvia
Ptolemy Philadelphus, her ward, youngest son of Mark Antony and Cleopatra VII of Egypt
Alexander Helios, her missing ward, son of Mark Antony and Cleopatra VII of Egypt, twin brother of
Selene
AGRIPPA, his most powerful and trusted general
MAECENAS, his political adviser and overseer of imperial artistic programs Terentilla, the beautiful
wife of Maecenas and mistress of Augustus
VIRGIL, his revered poet and propagandist
ANTONIUS MUSA, his renowned physician, a freedman
The Court of Cleopatra Selene & Juba II
CLEOPATRA SELENE, Queen of Mauretania, only daughter of Cleopatra VII of Egypt and Mark
Antony
JUBA, her husband, the Berber-blooded King of Mauretania and Numidia
Lucius Cornelius Balbus, his adviser, a Roman veteran
Circe, his mistress, a Greek hetaera
CHRYSSA, her Greek slave girl, a hairdresser and keeper of the wardrobe
TALA, her Berber attendant, sister of Maysar, a tribal leader
EUPHRONIUS/EUPHORBUS, her court physician, mage, and priest of Isis from Alexandria
CRINAGORAS OF MYTILENE, her court poet
MEMON, her captain of the Macedonian guard from Alexandria
LADY LASTHENIA, her adviser, a Pythagorean scholar from Alexandria
MAYSAR, her adviser, a Berber tribal leader
CAPTAIN KABYLE, her Berber-born ship’s captain
MASTER GNAIOS, her father’s famous gem cutter
LEONTEUS OF ARGOS, her court tragedian
LADY ANTONIA, also called Hybrida, her long-lost sister, a wealthy widow and daughter of Mark
Antony
Pythodorida, her daughter
Prologue
ISIS
I am nature. I am the mother of everything that has ever been or will ever be. I am all goddesses. And
you know me, for I live inside you. I am in the part of you that feels magic when the wheat is
harvested and cleansing wind separates golden grains from the chaff. I am in the part of you that sees
a woman dance by firelight and understands the sacred power of her body. I am in the part of you that
has suffered dark nights of the soul and survived to see the dawn.
You know me, because I am every strong hand that ever stretched out to help you. I am every soft
kiss that soothed your tears. I am every warm meal that has filled your hungry belly. I have a thousand
names, and yet, you know me.
I am the good goddess. Bona Dea. Call me Hecate or Cybele, Venus or Inanna, Neith or Tanit, Kore
or Demeter. I will answer to them all. But I am properly known as Isis, for it is by this name that the
world has best worshipped me.
They tell stories of how my husband was murdered and how I raised up my son to avenge his father.
This story is true, but it is a son’s story. A daughter’s journey is different. That is why there are other
stories they tell about me. Stories of how my daughter was taken, pulled down into the underworld,
and how I refused to work my magic until she returned to me.
This is one of those stories.
One
SELENE
ROME
AUTUMN 25 B.C.
MY wedding day dawned rosy as the blush on a maiden’s cheek. Like the sun peeking between pink
clouds to warm the sprawling city of terra-cotta roofs below, I must also shine for Rome today. As
morning broke, I surveyed the middling monuments that blanketed Rome’s seven hills. I gazed to the
Tiber River beyond, diamonds of dawn sparkling on its surface, and tried to see this day with my
mother’s eyes.
She was Cleopatra, Pharaoh of Egypt, a woman of limitless aspiration. And I was her only daughter.
She’d wanted a royal marriage for me. She may have even hoped my wedding would be celebrated
here in Rome. But could she have conceived that this wedding would come to me through her bitterest
enemy? In her wildest dreams, could she have imagined that the man who drove her to suicide—the
same man who captured her children and dragged us behind his Triumphator’s chariot—would now
make me a queen?
Yes, I thought. She could have imagined it. Perhaps she had even planned it.
Worn around my neck, a jade frog amulet dangled from a golden chain. It was a gift from my
mother, inscribed with the words I am the Resurrection. On my finger, I wore her notorious amethyst
ring, with which she was said to have ensorcelled my father, Mark Antony. It was now my betrothal
ring, and I hoped it would steady me, for I was a tempest inside.
At just fourteen years old, I had neither my mother’s audacity nor the brazen courage that allowed
her to so famously smuggle herself past enemy soldiers to be rolled out at the feet of Julius Caesar. I
had heka—magic—but had inherited none of my mother’s deeper knowledge of how to use it. I didn’t
have her wardrobe, her gilded barges, nor the wealth of mighty Egypt. Not yet. But the Romans often
said I had her charm and wits and the day she died, she gave me the spirit of her Egyptian soul.
Today I would need it.
It was early yet in the emperor’s household; only the servants were awake, bustling about the
columned courtyard, trimming shrubbery and hanging oil lamps in preparation for the wedding
festivities. They were too busy—or too wary of my reputation as a sorceress—to acknowledge my
presence beneath an overripe fig tree, where my slave girl and I made devotions to Isis. My Egyptian
goddess was forbidden within the sacred walls of Rome, but no one stopped us from lighting candles
and using a feather to trace the holy symbol, the ankh, into the soft earth. The Temples of Isis might
be shuttered here in Rome, her altars destroyed and her voice silent, but my goddess dwelt in me and I
vowed that she would speak again.
Once we’d offered our prayers, my slave girl and I strolled the gardens with a basket because it was
the Roman custom for a bride to pick flowers for her own wedding wreath. The summer had been
ablaze, so hot that flowers lingered out of season. I had my choice in a veritable meadow. Stooping
down, I plucked two budding roses to remind me of my dead brothers, Caesarion and Antyllus, both
killed in the flower of youth. I chose a flamboyant red poppy for my dead father, the Roman triumvir,
who’d been known as much for his excesses as his military talent. Finally, for my mother, a purple iris
because purple was the most royal color, and my mother had been the most royal woman in the world.
The sight of a blazing golden flower, the most glorious in the garden, reminded me of my beloved
twin. But Helios was only missing, not dead, and I refused to tempt fate by plucking that flower from
its vine. Helios promised me that we’d never live to see this day; he swore he’d never let me be
married off to one of the emperor’s cronies, but the day had come and Helios was gone.
A startled murmur of slaves made me turn and see a shadow pass between two pillars. It was the
emperor. Augustus. The first time I ever saw him, he was a dark conquering god, a crimsonfaced swirl
of purple cloak and laurel leaf, ready to mount his golden chariot and bear me away as his chained
prisoner. Today he wore only a broad-brimmed hat and a humble homespun tunic cut short enough to
expose his knobby knees. But the smile he wore with it wasn’t humble. This morning—the morning of
the day he’d give me away in marriage—Augustus looked supremely smug.
He was without his usual retinue of barbers, secretaries, and guards. Even so, the slaves, including
my Chryssa, all dropped to their knees and genuflected. He stepped over their prone bodies as if he
were one of the Eastern rulers he derided for tyranny, for he was the master here. He owned everything
in this garden: the Greek statuary, the marble benches, the colorful flowers, and the slaves. For four
years now, I’d been his royal hostage and he believed he owned me too.
One day soon, I meant to prove him wrong.
“Good morning, Caesar,” I said, sweeping dark hair from my eyes.
Understand that the emperor wasn’t an imposing man. His power was all in the snare of his ruthless
winter gray eyes, which now darkened with suspicion, as if he’d caught me trying to slip past his
praetorians with their crested helmets and crimson capes. “What mischief are you up to, Cleopatra
Selene?”
After all the opportunities I’d declined to run away from him, it was strange that he’d suspect me of
it now. I wondered what accounted for his latest paranoia. “I’m only gathering flowers for my
wedding wreath.”
I showed him my basket, and seemingly satisfied, he glanced over his shoulder through the open
doors to where he received clients and other morning visitors. The tabulinum was now empty except
for the clutter of scrolls, brass oil lamps, and busts of his ancestors, the Julii, each painted to create
the most lifelike rendition. “Walk with me,” the emperor said, and I did, for no one refused him. “This
morning I granted an audience to an ambassador from Judea, Selene. King Herod sends a last-minute
wedding proposal. He wishes to take you as his junior wife.”
The mere mention of Herod’s name made my steps falter. The Judean king had been my mother’s
rival and had long urged the Romans to exterminate my whole family. The news that he wished to
make me, the last daughter of the pharaohs, a part of his harem actually forced a gasp from my lungs.
The proposal would have been more insulting if it were anything other than a pretext to kill me. Herod
had already murdered his most beloved wife to make an end to her Hasmonean dynasty. He wouldn’t
lose a moment’s sleep over my death. “Caesar, you cannot mean to give me to Herod. You swore to
make me Queen of Mauretania!”
Augustus smiled. I think it pleased him to see me lose my footing, to see my confidence waver.