It is said—but you know the saying—that those whom the gods wish to destroy, they first break.
The hem of her cloak drags through redness. Blood? Wine, fine Chian dripping down the marble steps. In the sickly glow of the sun plunging into the harbour behind the Pharos, it gleams like burnished brass. The sword by her side clangs against the fittings of her pteruges; a peal of high-pitched laughter drowns out the blaring of cithara and aulos behind her as she storms out onto the terrace—
how fair the Princess Anna is in this twilight!
you're always watching her
she is like the sun, her hair is like the dawn
you're always staring at her. it's dangerous to look at people like that
how pale she looks—she is like the shadow of a flame in a silver mirror—she must be very troubled
you look at her too much. something terrible may happen—
Worn-down fingernails dig deep into the palms of her hand as she tries to block out the whispers of the hipparch and his page. Her blood mixes with the spilled wine. She barely remembers his name, only the way his locks had shone like gold in the sunlight and how earnestly he had smiled at her when he saved her life unhorsed covered in mud and gore probably concussed on the field. They'd won that day, and she'd taken the earnest young Syrian to her tent to celebrate, and then home to Alexandria—what had she been thinking? Had she been thinking, except in hormones and petulant malice? She should have him killed, command him to kill himself before the king does.
He knows better than to approach her and she kind of wishes he would, she wants something to take her mind off things, needs to feel something other than this for an hour, needs to fuck or hurt or be hurt—she needs blood to flow, needs the pain. Needs some way to fix the mess that is her head, to drown in Lethe's waters until it's all, all finally washed away. She just wants her skin to stop burning.
princess, the king requests you return to the banquet
"I shall not go inside." The Syrian hipparch approaches, her kicked puppy. She regards him and he freezes, blushes.
princess, strategos, it would be better to go inside
"I can breathe out here."
permit that i escort you
you should not speak to her
"How I loathe this city. It is a mausoleum for gods. We are but hecatombs upon their altar."
princess, the king is in a foul mood—
She will not stay. Cannot. She hates the way he stares at her. He stares at her all the while when wine has worked its wonders upon him. It is strange that her brother should look at her like that, her sister's husband. She hates how alike they look, and wonders if that is what draws him towards her when she cannot avoid the capital. Fancy cutting off her hair, that red hair they shared, see how he'd like that, him and his guests, those painted Ionian sophists and perfumed Chaldean sages and bearded Jews arguing incessantly about their invisible god and brutish artless Romans talking in their uncouth tongue, and then—
She bites her lip. These feasts had been easier to bear, the ray of the king's eyes on her skin not as scorching, in earlier days. Across the harbour, Pharos's spire bisects the sun's holy disk. Her gaze trails down the terrace. "Is the queen in her quarters?"
yes, princess, she is confined
what reply shall i give the king?
"I wish to see her."
that is not possible, princess
"I will see her."
the king has expressly forbidden that anyone disturb his sister
is it your pleasure that i bid them bring your horse, strategos? the air in the gardens is fresh
"It is my pleasure that you bring forth the queen."
would it not be better to return to the victory-feast?
we dare not
our lives belong to you, princess, but we cannot do what you command
The Syrian hipparch looks frantic, terrified, enraptured. She purses her lips, smirks. "Ah, but you will do this thing for me, will you not, Christophoros? I know you will do this thing for me." He freezes at the sound of his name. "I think my brother is afraid of her. Do you fear her so, Christophoros?"
i fear no man nor woman but the king has forbidden that any speak to her. he has forbidden even the priest of divine Alexander from speaking to her
something terrible will happen. do not listen to her
In a step she is by his side, the tips of her fingers brush against his beardless chin as he struggles to maintain his composure. Her hips thrust out, she can see him breaking. She will break him. "You will do this for me, Christophoros, you will do this, I know you will, and tomorrow when I ride out to inspect the troops I will let you hold my horse's reins."
princess, i cannot, i cannot
"You will do this for me, Christophoros, you know you will. And tomorrow when I ride out to inspect the troops I will look at you, I will look at you Christophoros, maybe I will smile at you. Look at me, Christophoros, look at me, you know that you will do this thing for me …"
He breaks.
bring out the queen from her quarters, the Princess Anna desires to see her!
how strange the sun looks, like the eye of a dead woman
She laughs.
A door is unlatched, a guard sent. She waits impatiently as Helios plunges below the horizon, extinguishing the world. A gust of wind from the sea runs across the terrace, tears at her cloak. The Syrian paces. Then, a nod. She gathers what remains of her wits and steps inside.
The reception room that adjoins the terrace looks out over the city, and the scents of spices, the salty sea and the sweat and tears of millions lies in the air. The queen stands by the balustrade, slender fingers clinging to the marble. The goddess Cleopatra Elissa is thin, frail even, and paler than ever, but to her eyes she is like a tower of ivory, like a silver statue in a temple, chaste like a moonbeam and slender like a shaft of silver. Then, she turns, sees her, freezes—
princess, princess!
She cannot move. Her sister's gaze holds her like shackles of iron. "My queen—"
Her eyes are full of fear, so bright and wide, like the sea on the isle of Kythera, like the lapis of Bactria, like faience in the tombs of Memphis—"Why do you look at me like that? Bid her leave. I don't want to speak to her."
Ah! Instantly she is at her feet. "Speak more, Elissa! Your voice is music to my ears, it is like thunder. Speak! Speak and command me, tell me what I must do, I am your slave."
princess i beg you to go back
"I want nothing of you. What do you want of me?"
"What I have always wanted, nothing further, what you want also in the heart of your bosom. Would you have me kill our brother? Here is my sword—I will go at once, I will kill him in the midst of his courtiers, I will bring you his heart, bring you his crown. Command me and I will do it. I am your slave, Elissa, O Elissa!"
"Why would you say such things? Leave me, leave me be. I can see the blood on your cloak, the blood on your hands. I always see it, I see it when I close my eyes. I see my son when I close my eyes, I see my child. Leave me."
She grasps her legs, drags herself closer, closer, buries her face in her sister's skirt, breathes in the sweet nectar. Oh, she is lost, lost altogether. "You hate me because I carved your son with this sword, your son whom you would have made king, your son whom I snatched from the field. I carved through his flesh and his bone with this sword, I sent you—do you remember?—I sent you his pieces. On your birthday I sent him to you. On our brother's orders I sent him to you. But I love you, I need you, I crave you. He was handsome, he was young, your boy. Oft you must have kissed his brow, when you would never kiss me. I could not bear it. He had to die, the king had commanded it."
Elissa's voice is faint, so soft, the song of a siren of Anthemoessa, would that she might catch it in a jar and never let another hear it. "I would have poisoned him, my little prince, poisoned him like I poisoned his father, he would have died softly. There was no need. From your own malice you sent him me."
"Our brother's seed will never blossom in you. He cannot bring himself to touch you. He dares not, the thought repulses him. He cannot love you like I do. Perhaps it is because you played together when you were children. Perhaps he knows you are mine, perhaps he dares not because he knows I will smite him. But know he will kill you, Elissa, he will certainly kill you. You have seen the way he looks at me, he will make me his queen to give him heirs. Let me protect you. This sword which has killed your son will avenge him. Oh, but you loved me once. You loved me, sister, you loved me dearly. You came to me in the Cyrenaica, came when you had killed your first husband and you begged my protection. How sweet your kisses then, sweet as the figs of the Nile, as the flesh of the pomegranate, sweet as the lotus of Libya. Nought in the world was so sweet as your kiss!"
"Let me go. I want nothing to do with you."
Her voice catches, she stares up at her like the goddess that she is, lost, fragile like a cup of alabaster. "How I adore your body! Your body is white like the lilies in the field, never touched by the sickle; it is white as snow on the mountains of Sinai. The roses in the garden of Arabia's queen are not so white as your flesh. Not her roses, nor the feet of dawn when they alight on the leaves, not the breasts of the moon on the sea—nought in the world is so white as your flesh—let me touch your body …"
With every word, she pulls herself higher and higher, past her stomach, past her breasts and her neck, tightly grasps her wrists—the queen struggles, pushes against her, stumbles. "Let go of me! Strew ashes on your head, rend your clothes, speak no more to me! I will not listen to your words, I will not see you."
princess i beg of you
Oh, but how could she, how could she? She is hers. She is hers. She is hers. With all her might, she pushes her sister away, she falls, white onto the marble floor, filthy as the feet of beggars, despoiled and corrupted. Why is she doing this to her? Where is her Cyprian sun who had come to her bed in Cyrene? She laughs, even as tears run down her cheeks. "Your body is hideous!" she snarls, like the lash on the back of a slave, "It is like the body of a leper, like a plastered wall where vipers nest, like a plastered wall where scorpions crawl. It is like a sepulchre of loathsomeness. It is horrible, horrible!"
She smiles through her tears as her sister struggles to rise. "Oh, but how I love your hair, Elissa! Your hair is like spun silver, like a sheet of cloth of silver from the great looms of India. Your hair is the milk of boöpian Hera that gave its strength to the son of Alcmene. It is like the moon when she rises above the black sea and puts the stars to shame. The brook in the forest … nought in the world is so fair as your hair! Oh, let me touch it …"
The queen clenches her eyes shut, draws her muslin himation tighter, wears it like armour. "Get away from me. Get away from me, child of my father! The blood of gods flows in my veins, your mother was a slave, a dancing girl, a whore. I never should have let you touch me. I never would have let you touch me had I known what you were."
Fuming, she whirls around. "Your hair is hideous! It is full of filth and dust. It is like a crown of thorns upon your head—like a great white serpent knotted round your neck. I do not love your hair—"
But then she breaks, breaks off, stumbles nearer, lifts her up to her feet with her hands on her cheeks, stares. "It is your mouth I desire, Elissa, your mouth! Your lips are like a band of scarlet on a tower of ivory. It is like a pomegranate carved in half with a silver knife—the pomegranate blossoms in the gardens of Tyre that are redder than roses are not so red." Tears stream down her face. Elissa twists and turns in her arms, but she will not let her go. "The red blasts of trumpets that herald the coming of kings and put fear into the hearts of their foes are not so red. Your mouth is redder than the feet of the doves that live in the temples and tread upon the altars of the gods. It is redder than the feet of the girls that tread the grapes in the vineyards. Your mouth is like a branch of coral in the twilight of the sea, like the vermillion in the mines of Moab, red as the vermillion of kings! Nought in the world is so red as your mouth!"
Her voice is hoarse, Elissa in her arms, stiff and unmoving. Her arms locked around her waist like a girdle of bronze. They stand cheek to cheek, half-supporting, half-supported, and Elissa will not look at her, if she would but look at her, turn to face her and look at her face. She would see her need. "Let me kiss your mouth …"
Her sister is crying, silent and resigned. She moves her hands, cups her breast with one, the mound between her legs with the other, desperately grinds her hips against Elissa's body. "Let me kiss your mouth …"
princess, princess
princess who is like unto a garden of myrrh, who is a dove among doves, speak no more to her, speak not such words to her, i cannot bear it, i cannot endure it
"Let me kiss your mouth," she whispers, and Elissa trembles in her hands as the Syrian hipparch storms, reeling, out onto the terrace, "Let me kiss your mouth, Elissa. Let me kiss it, let me kiss it. I am yours, I have always been yours. I think I have been yours since before I laid eyes on you, since before I was in the womb of my mother. I think even if we were to be reborn a thousand times I would still be yours. A thousand lives I would be yours, and is there not one life in a thousand where you might be mine? One life in a thousand where you love me as I love you, one life in a thousand where you might let me kiss your mouth?"
"Let me go," she says, doesn't she know this is meant to be? Doesn't she know how good she can make her feel if only she'd let her? "Are you not afraid, sister? Hear you not the beating of the wings? It is the Keres circling over the palace."
Her voice is but a breath, she buries her face in the nape of her sister's neck and drinks in her scent. It is heady like fine wine, intoxicating like the blood of a foe. "Is there one life in a thousand? One life in a thousand thousand? I must kiss your mouth, Elissa, I must kiss it. If I cannot kiss your mouth a thousand times in one life I will kiss it one time in a thousand lives." She closes her eyes. "I fear I shall perish if I cannot kiss your mouth. I fear I shall break, for I am not as yet broken, not so long as I may dream of your red lips. Tell me, Elissa, when will I kiss your mouth? Say it, I beg of you, say it out loud, or I shall go mad with longing. I shall break."
And what shall she do but break? "Never, murderer. Monster. Never."
She lets go of Elissa. Her sister flees without another look back, and she sinks to her knees. Mindless, wordless, now worldless. She prostrates herself, presses her brow against the cold marble. Automatically, she moves her hands between her legs.
By the time she has brought herself to an icy, unfulfilling finish, the moon stands high and sallow above the harbour and her tears have dried on the marble. Like a woman who rises from the grave she wanders out onto the terrace. Every breath she draws is like ice in her lungs. She clings to the balustrade, stares.
where is my sister, where is Princess Anna
why did she not return to the banquet as i ordered
ah, there she is! let us stay here. bring carpets, cushions, i will drink with my guests here
There he is. She does not need to look at her brother to know he is drunk, he takes his wine undiluted these days, in hopes it will help him sleep. She glances at him, his face is as red as his hair. Though over a decade her senior, Ptolemaios Hannas is still handsome, but power has not been kind to him. The silver diadem on his brow sits askew, his cloak of purple is dishevelled. Grey upon grey, his words barely register. She stares out over the harbour and lets empty words from empty lips wash around her.
how sweet is the evening air
ah! i have stepped in blood. it is an ill omen
why is there blood here? what is that corpse doing here? who is that dead man?
he is our hipparch, lord
i gave no command he be killed
he killed himself, lord
that seems peculiar. i remember him—the young Syrian. he was very handsome. i recall his languorous eyes when he looked at Anna—take him away!
it is cold out here. there is an ill wind blowing. there is an ill wind and i hear something that is like the beating of wings, like the beating of vast wings. do you not hear?
we hear not, lord. there is no wind, lord
now it is gone. but i have heard it, it was the beating of wings—ah! do you hear?
we hear not, lord, you may be ill, lord
i am not ill, but my sister is. look how pale she is. bring wine!
Anna, come, drink this wine with me, an exquisite wine, the king of Pontus has sent it to me. dip your sweet red lips into it and i shall drain the cup
"I am not thirsty, my king." Across the harbour, Pharos's light gleams like a silver tetradrachm in the dark. At times, it is said, the lovesick leap off it to their deaths on the seashore; at times you hear of vanquished Roman generals falling on their swords. She is vanquished in the field of battle, she is lovesick, she is sick of love. It would be easy, all too easy. She is no Stoic, but she doesn't know if she can endure—
Anna, come, eat these fruits with me. how well i like the mark of your sharp white teeth in a fruit. bite off but a little and i shall eat what remains
"I am not hungry, my king." It would have been easier had she never met her sister, remained in the Cyrenaica where she had grown up. She would have spent her life in ignominy, always beset by the knowledge that part of her was missing, like the blind men in the cave, but she would have lived. Better to live never knowing bliss than to have it within her grasp, yet ever unattainable.
Anna, come, sit with me. you shall sit on your sister's throne
"I am not weary, my king." Perhaps she could leave, leave Alexandria, leave Egypt, travel to barbarian lands. But no—even as far away as Serica, she would be in her sister's thrall, bound by blood and need. She stares out over the harbour, tightly clutches the marble railing. It is a long drop from the terrace, the retaining wall of the harbour below. She takes a deep breath and—
dance for me, Anna
Sniggering from the courtiers, from the guest. They think her humiliated, teased, the victorious strategos asked to submit to their leering eyes at her own victory banquet. She knows better; it is only her brother who humiliates himself, makes a mockery of the pharaonic throne. "I do not care to dance, my king."
Anna, sister of my heart, dance for me
"I will not dance, my king." Stifled laughter. She has never had many friends here, they are in Elissa's thrall as much as she is, though only she knows how cruel she can be.
see how well she obeys you, lord
Anna, Anna, dance for me, i beg you. i am full of sorrow tonight, therefore dance for me. dance for me, Anna! if you will dance for me, you may desire of me whatever you please, and i will grant it
She lifts her head and steps back from the railing. "Will you truly give me anything I desire, my king?"
anything, anything, whatever you desire, even unto half my kingdom
"Do you swear it, my king?"
i swear it, sister
"By what do you swear?"
i swear by my life, by my crown, by my gods!
"You have sworn an oath, my king."
and be it half my kingdom! oh, you will be glorious as queen, beautiful beyond compare—
ah! it is cold here, there is an icy breeze, and i hear … why do i hear the beating of wings? it is as though an immense black bird is circling above the terrace. why can i not see it? the beat of its wings is terrible, it is a cutting wind—
but no, it is not cold, it is scorching! pour water on my hands, give me snow to eat, remove my cloak! my crown hurts me, its silver burns like fire—
With a bright, echoing ring, the silver circlet hits the marble tiles and rolls across the terrace until it comes to a halt against her foot. She glances at it impassively, then kicks it aside. Languorously, she loosens the bands of her sandals, strips them off her feet, and steps forward, into the hipparch's blood. It is still warm between her bare toes. "I am ready to dance, my king."
And so, she dances, dances like the world is ending tonight, because she feels like it might. Her feet are slick with blood, and there is no helping it. She dances like one who is unashamed, dances like a hetaira before her client, as her brother looks on enraptured. Her hips, her arms, her neck—all serve, all must serve. In a way, this is another battlefield, and she can almost imagine the leering courtiers to be a Seleucid army arrayed in bronze and iron, gleaming in the sunlight like a sea of gemstones, can imagine every flick of her wrist to be a stroke of her sword, every gyration of her hips to be the movement of her horse between her legs—the beating of the drum, the discordant melody of the aulos, the strumming of the cithara, blood and wine in the air mix and the world dissolves into a blur of colour and sound and scent. With a flick of her wrist she relieves herself of her sword, drops the cloak around her shoulders, places her breastplate at the floor. The music quickens, quickens like her blood. Her chiton pools around her feet and she is raving like a maenad, now she is astride her brother, can feel his arousal on her nakedness, then she is back in the centre of the terrace, whirling in a dance that would have made Aphrodite proud, and she wonders if Elissa would desire her if she but saw—
The music climaxes, and silence breaks through. She is naked, kneeling on bloodied marble tiles, her breasts heaving with exertion. After a stunned moment, her brother jumps to his feet, red-faced and unable to avert his eyes from her. A cloak is laid around her shoulders.
ah! marvellous! wonderful!
come near, sister, come near, you shall have your reward. i shall reward you royally. i shall give you whatever your heart desires. what would you of me? speak!
She closes her eyes. A faint smile runs around her lips. "I would that at once they bring me, on a silver platter …"
on a silver platter? certainly—is she not charming?—what is it you would have on a silver platter, o sweet, beautiful sister, who are fairer than all the daughters of Egypt? what shall they bring you on a silver platter, tell me—whatever it be, you shall have it; all my treasures are yours, what is it you desire?
She rises and draws the cloak around her body, eyes still shut. Her smile deepens, sweet and innocent. "The head of Elissa."
The world erupts.
no! no!
no, that isn't what you want!
"You have sworn an oath, brother. You have sworn an oath, don't forget that."
i know, i have sworn an oath, i recall it well, by my gods i have sworn
but i implore you, Anna, ask something else of me. force me not to kill our sister, my queen
ask something else of me. ask for half my kingdom, and i will make you a queen in her place
but ask not of me what your lips have demanded
"I ask of you the head of Elissa."
no, not that, i shall not
"You have sworn an oath."
sister, i beg you, insist not on this, have i not always loved you? perhaps i have loved you overmuch, but do not ask this of me!
i shall set her aside, marry you in her stead—hear what i'm saying—but ask not this
listen—i've an emerald, a great emerald, the most brilliant in the world. that's what you want, is it not? ask it of me and it is yours
"I demand the head of Elissa."
you're not listening. you're not listening. talk to me, sister
"The head of Elissa."
you say that only to torment me for looking at you like that. your beauty turned my head. bring wine, i thirst!
Anna, Anna
let us be friends again. think it over
ah, what was i going to say? what was it? ah, yes
sister, you know my beautiful white peacocks that walk freely in the garden between myrtles and cypresses. all of them i will give you. there is no king in the world who has peacocks like that, and i have but a hundred, but i'll give you them all
"Give me the head of Elissa."
Anna, consider well what you ask: your sister is a goddess like our father was. she is holy, they sacrifice her in the temples. you cannot wish an ill fate upon yourself
She closes her eyes. "I wish for the head of Elissa!"
ah! you are not listening. calm yourself, Anna, calm yourself as i am, am i not calm?
listen: i've jewels hidden away, jewels that even our sister has never seen
i've a necklace with four rows of pearls, like moons chained with rays of silver, fit for the breast of a queen
i've topazes yellow like the eyes of tigers and topazes that are pink as the eyes of doves and green topazes that are like the eyes of cats
i've opals that always burn with a flame as cold as ice, opals that sadden the minds of men and are afraid of the shadows
i've chrysolites and beryls and chrysoprases and rubies
i've sardonyx and hyacinth stones, and stones of chalcedony, and i will give you all of them, all you desire, and more
i've fans fashioned from the feathers of Indian parrots and cloaks of Numidian ostrich feathers
i've a crystal at which by law no woman may look. in a mother-of-pearl casket i've three wondrous turquoises—he who wears them on his forehead can see things that are not
these are treasures beyond price, but they are not all i will give you
in a casket of ebony i've cups of amber like apples of gold, that become as apples of silver when poison is poured in them
i've sandals of glass and mantles of silk and bracelets of jade from the land of the Seres
what more could you desire, Anna?
anything you demand, i will give you
anything you ask, you shall have, save one thing
i will give you all you desire, save but the head of one woman
i shall make Delphian Pythia your slave
i shall give you the bones of Alexander!
Tears stream down her cheeks as she clutches the cloak around her naked body, and her words come out as something between a growl and a desperate sob. "Give me the head of Elissa!"
He breaks.
let her have what she demands
she truly is our father's child
Disgusted, he turns from her. Surreptitious courtiers steal away from the terrace. They know better than to remain, know well that the Keres circle above them tonight. Slowly, she rises to her feet, dropping the cloak, and slips her chiton back on.
who has taken my diadem? there was a diadem upon my brow
who has drunk my wine? there was wine in this cup. someone has drunk it
ah! surely something terrible will happen
He too steps aside, and she is alone. The headsman enters the royal apartments, she watches, and every hair on her body stands on edge. She watches and listens, but there is no sound from within. "It's so quiet …" she whispers to herself. "Why doesn't she scream?" Suddenly freezing, she wraps her arms around her body. "If someone came to kill me, I would scream. I would fight them—I would not permit it—strike, strike her, strike her down, but mind her head!" She swallows, licks her lips. "No … not a sound. What a dreadful quiet …"
Then, a dull thump. Is it? Or is it the clash of steel on marble? Something has fallen—something has fallen to the ground—has the headsman dropped his sword? No, it cannot be, it must not be, she must have it! "Ah, he's afraid of her, the slave, he has dropped his weapon at her sight! He doesn't dare kill her, the coward, the slave, send in soldiers!" Wildly, she looks about, spots the dead hipparch and his page kneeling by his side. "Come here, you! You were the friend of that dead man, weren't you? I tell you, there aren't dead enough yet!" He recoils; she does not care. She is broken, broken, broken, words stumble over words, "Go fetch soldiers, bid them go in there and bring me what I need, bring me what the king has promised me, bring me what is mine!" He turns, runs, coward, the guards watching her—"You, you soldiers, draw your swords and go in there—fetch me that woman's head! My king, my king, command your soldiers that they bring me the head of Elissa—"
Her words die in an outcry of delight when the door opens and there, there, there at last—the silver platter shines like the moon as the headsman holds it aloft, shines like the virginal moon, and on it, yes, yes, she is on her feet, she is before it, she takes the platter in her hand and there—"Ah!"
Bliss. Delight. Her heart is filled with her beauty, filled with joy at her side. Her eyes are closed, her features serene, blood seeps from where the head has been severed and pools around it on the platter, like the moon when it is bathed in purple, and her hair so fair so smooth flows like starlight around her sister's face. Enraptured, she sinks to the ground, kneels, recoils, draws near again, looks, looks from every side, reaches out, but does not dare touch it, not just yet, as yet the mystery still lives, how fair she is, how serene she is, one might think she were asleep, "Ah!"
The words come unbidden to her lips. "Ah! You would not let me kiss your mouth, Elissa! Well—now I shall kiss it!" A girlish giggle that might be mistaken for a swallowed sob. "I shall bite into it as one might into a ripe fruit. Yes, I shall kiss your lips, Elissa … I told you, I did, didn't I tell you? I shall kiss your mouth at last—oh, but why do you look at me so, Elissa, Elissa?
"Your eyes, your fearsome eyes, those eyes that judged and despised me, they are now closed. Why are they closed? Open your eyes! Lift up your lids, Elissa! Why do you not look at me?" She rolls around, lies on her back in the blood, twists her neck to give her sister a coquettish smile. "Do you fear me so, Elissa, that you will not look at me? And that tongue—that little red tongue, that darting viper, it moves no more, it speaks no poison, Elissa! Isn't it strange how that scarlet viper no longer stirs?"
She startles, scrambles to her feet, stumbles away from the head on the platter, points at her sister. "You called me 'monster'. You spoke ill of me, your sister, me, Arsinoe Anna, princess of Egypt! Well, I live—you are dead—and your head belongs to me! I can do with it what I wish—I can throw it to the dogs or the birds of the air; what the dogs leave, the birds shall devour …!"
She trembles, stumbles, her legs give out under her and she sinks to her knees. Hesitantly, she crawls towards her sister, approaches her like a penitent slave. With shaking fingers she reaches out, brushes the tip of her fingers against her cheek. A shudder runs down her spine at the touch. "Ah! Elissa. Elissa. You were radiant. Your body was a column of ivory on silver feet; it was a garden full of doves and lilies of silver. It was like a tower of ivory bedecked with silver. Nought in the world was so white as your body … nought in the world was so fair as your hair. In the whole wide world, nought was so red as your mouth. Your voice was a censer scattering exotic perfumes, and when I looked at you, I heard celestial music."
She takes the head, lifts it up in her hands, presses her forehead against hers. Her tears mingle with her sister's blood. "Oh, why wouldn't you look at me, Elissa? You looked at me and saw only your son whom I slew. If you had seen me, you would have loved me." Her breath hitches. "I thirst for your beauty. I hunger for your body. Neither wine nor apples can assuage my need. Oh, Elissa, what shall I do now that you are gone? Neither the Nile nor the sea can quench my desire … Oh, why wouldn't you look at me? If you had but looked at me, you would have loved me. I know you would have loved me, and love is greater than death."
She runs trembling fingers through her sister's hair, clutches spun moonlight in her grasp. She is drunk on her beauty, drunk on the moonlight, drunk on her mouth—shy as a maiden, she looks her in the face, so calm, so pale. Shivers with need, with anticipation.
She kisses her.
Elissa's lips are softer than she remembers. She offers no resistance, but there is no tension, either, no clash of mouth on mouth. When she forces her tongue into her sister's mouth, there is no response. She tastes cupric, tangy. It is unlike any kiss she has ever had, and yet, yet, yet—
she is monstrous. i tell you, she is monstrous. she offends the gods
surely something terrible will happen
Magas, Apollonius, Nicanor, put out the torches! hide the moon, hide the stars! something terrible will happen!
She lingers. Aeons might have passed in that moment. Elissa's mouth is the one balm left to her, the one source of calm at the heart of the storm, and she clings to her head like a drowning man to a raft. When she finally pulls away, tears stream down her face. She is shaking uncontrollably. Elissa's head is as sublime and composed as ever. "Ah … I have kissed your mouth, Elissa," she murmurs, her voice trembling. "I have kissed your mouth … there was a bitter taste on your lips. Was it the taste of blood?" A sob rocks her body. "No … no … perhaps it was the taste of love. They say love has a bitter taste." Thoughtless, mindless, she lowers the head and lifts her chiton. She blindly stares off into the dark, starless sky as her hips buckle towards Elissa's head. "Ah, but what's it matter? Why should it matter?" She closes her eyes and throws back her head. "Ah, I have kissed your mouth, Elissa! I have kissed it at last!"
She loses herself in darkness and bliss. Beyond the terrace, her brother turns towards her one final time. "Have that woman killed!"
She does not see the curtain fall.