When writing SONG OF THE NILE, I spent some time wondering just what that song might sound like. Today we take it for granted that our favorite song can be recorded. We don’t have to hire the band to come to our house; we can just play it on our mp3 players. But while ancient poetry and sculptures have survived the ages, the music of antiquity is lost to us.

Allegedly, a form of musical notation did exist for the Greeks and Romans but generally went unused, because the art and mystery of music was supposed to be passed down from master to pupil. Even so, we know that music was an important part of ancient life because we see musicians depicted in frescoes and other art work that has survived. We even know the kinds of instruments they played.

Among the string instruments were the lyre and the cithara, the former being a smaller instrument for personal use, and the latter being an instrument for the stage. I wanted my heroine, Cleopatra Selene, to use music to charm the emperor, as if to soothe the savage beast. Consequently, I chose the cithara for her because it was closely associated with Apollo, the emperor’s patron deity.

Like a cross between a guitar and a harp, the cithara was played by singers or used in conjunction with a choir. A very close modern day relative of the instrument is the Ethiopian krar. (Here is a video of a woman playing the krar.) Just like modern harpists and guitar players can use a pick to strum on their instruments, so too did the ancients.

As for wind instruments, there were pipes aplenty in antiquity. Flutes, trumpets and horns figure prominently in ancient literature and artwork. Then, as now, they were useful not only for music but as a signal for battle or a warning of some imminent event. The one wind instrument I suspect Cleopatra Selene wanted nothing to do with was the flute. This is because her grandfather, Ptolemy XII, was mocked by the Romans as being a flouncing music-loving king. They called him Auletes, the Flute Player, a taunt that stuck with him throughout his reign.

The most important percussion instrument in the life of Cleopatra Selene would have been the sistrum, which was sacred to her goddess, Isis. Though technically a rattle, it sounds like many cymbals clanking together, somehow mysterious and otherworldly. (At the end of this video around 1:17, you can hear the shake of a sistrum and you’ll hear why it was used often by the priests and priestesses of Isis in their temples.)

How all these instruments came together in song, however, is a mystery. Because we have no recorded music, and only rudimentary notations, reproducing ancient music is an exercise in forensic archaeology. Nonetheless, there are several enterprising musicians who have tried, including Synaulia, whose music has been used on scores for movies like Gladiator.

I often listen to this music when I’m writing, to help me imagine the sounds that Selene would have heard during her lifetime. But the Song of the Nile? That is a call of her homeland, deep inside.

For much of its history, Rome depended upon Egypt for grain. While the Romans considered themselves an agricultural nation, and paid great homage to farming in literature, poetry, and art, the simple truth was that they couldn’t feed themselves.

By the time Cleopatra rolled herself out of a carpet at Julius Caesar’s feet, Egyptian exports accounted for fully a third of the 16.8 million bushels of grain brought to Rome. In short, whoever controlled Egypt could starve the world, which is why it was so important to warring Roman Generals.

However, by the time Augustus Caesar conquered Egypt, the needs of the Roman empire had far outstripped even the grain that Egypt could produce. (And some might argue that with a conquered Queen Cleopatra having committed suicide, there wasn’t anyone competent enough at the helm to turn Egypt into the bigger bread-basket it needed to be.)

That meant that Rome’s first emperor had to find a new way to feed his people, and he had to find it fast. He found a partial solution in Cleopatra’s daughter.

Though she’d been captured as a prisoner of war at the age of nine and marched through the streets in chains, the orphaned Cleopatra Selene was taken in by the emperor’s sister, Octavia, and became one of the favorites in the emperor’s household. At the age of fourteen, she was too dangerous to be married off to a fellow Roman who might take up the mantle of the Antonians. She was also far too dangerous to send back to Egypt where she might be immediately hailed as queen the moment her foot touched the shore.

The wily emperor had other plans for her.

He married her off to Juba II, an orphaned Numidian princeling and sent the couple to North Africa to rule over the Kingdom of Mauretania (modern day Morocco, Tunisia & Algeria).

It made good sense to send Cleopatra Selene to the western frontier of the empire. For one, it got her out of Rome, where her father’s old partisans might use her to stir up trouble. Mauretania was also far away from Selene’s native Egypt, where she might be tempted by her mother’s old allies into rebellion against the emperor.

But beyond political reasons, it made good sense to send Cleopatra Selene to Mauretania because the country was thought to be an untapped resource. Though the kingdom was considered still wild and barbarous, the emperor believed it could be turned into a sea of grain-fields that would help sustain his empire–if only the right people were put in charge of it.

This is where Cleopatra Selene was instrumental. As the last Ptolemaic queen anywhere in the world, her name carried with it a certain prestige. Though Hellenistic rulers were monarchs, they aimed to rule through a concept of harmonia–an idea adopted by Alexander the Great that the conquered and the conquering peoples should mingle and show respect for one another’s ways.

It may have been believed that Selene would soften the blow to the natives in having to be ruled by a thoroughly Romanized king like Juba II.

Moreover, Cleopatra Selene was closely linked with the goddess Isis and appears to have been a proponent of her faith even when it wasn’t politically expedient to do so. Isis was the great mother goddess, linked inextricably with the production of grain. Selene adopted Isis as her patron goddess, promoted her on the coins of the realm, and built a giant Iseum in Mauretania.

Pastures were divided up, distributed to Roman veterans and other land owners, and put to the plow. But the task of turning her new kingdom into a grain factory wasn’t easy. Unlike the Egypt of her birth, Mauretania had no central river like the Nile to flood the farm lands with fertile black soil. Farming in ancient Mauretania, then as now, depended on the rain.

First, the autumn rains were necessary to soften the soil for farming. Crops weren’t harvested in the autumn but sown then. Next, a spectacular springtime rainy season was necessary to help the sprouted plants grow big and verdant in time for a summer harvest. (Of course, the climate of this area was probably a little different in the ancient world then than it is now, and the Julian calendar was relatively recently adopted in ancient Mauretania, so it’s impossible to say exactly when the growing seasons were. However, in modern times, wheat is harvested there from May to August.)

Once the summer harvest was in, it was a race to get the grain loaded onto ships to Rome. The winter seas were a perilous crossing to attempt, so the bulk of grain transport ships would want to set sail before November. (See: The Grain Market in the Roman Empire, by Paul Erdkamp.) This was problematic for Cleopatra Selene and her husband Juba, because the harbor they inherited needed to be improved.

In addition to logistical difficulties were the human conflicts. Rome was a colonial power and the new order Cleopatra Selene and Juba II were sent to impose disrupted the normal way of life for the native Berbers who lived in their kingdom. Roman landowners insisted on fencing in their plantations, refusing summer grazing rights to the Berbers who had used the plateaus of Africa to feed their flocks. This loss drove shepherds and other nomadic Berbers farther to the south, towards the desert, and impoverished their lives.

While Selene was alive, the tensions seemed to be balanced and under control. Perhaps she fostered that sense of Hellenized harmonia, because though the Romans in Africa Nova provoked a war with the native Garamante tribes, the Berbers in Mauretania seem to have been largely pacified.

All of this changed, of course, after Selene’s death. Facing ever more encroachment from farmers, Berber tribesmen eventually banded together in rebellion against both Rome and against the King of Mauretania. Their leader was Tacfarinas, and the war would go on for ten years.

Ultimately, the need for grain won out. And in conjunction with the province of Africa Nova, Mauretania would help provide enough food to feed Rome for eight months of the year–Egypt accounting for the other four.

Today, I welcome fellow historical fiction author Anna Patricio to talk to us about a period of Egyptian history I don’t know as well as I’d like to. Anna is a fellow lover of ancient history, with a particular interest in Egypt, Israel, Greece, and Rome. Her recent novel, Asenath, delves into the biblical story of Joseph. Let’s hear what she has to say. Anna, take it away.

Two Destinies...One Journey of Love. In a humble fishing village on the shores of the Nile lives Asenath, a fisherman's daughter who has everything she could want. Until her perfect world is shattered. When a warring jungle tribe ransacks the village and kidnaps her, separating her from her parents, she is forced to live as a slave. And she begins a journey that will culminate in the meeting of a handsome and kind steward named Joseph. Like her, Joseph was taken away from his home, and it is in him that Asenath comes to find solace…and love. But just as they are beginning to form a bond, Joseph is betrayed by his master’s wife and thrown into prison. Is Asenath doomed to a lifetime of losing everything and everyone she loves?

My novel ‘Asenath’ is about the Egyptian priestess who marries Joseph of the multicoloured coat fame.

I love the story of Joseph, hence my novel on his little-known wife. When I began delving deeper into his story some years ago, I was amazed to come across comparisons made between his story and various tales from Egyptian mythology. I always thought I knew the Genesis account and Egyptian myths pretty well, but I never thought to draw parallels between the two. I found these to be really insightful. Plus, being a mythology aficionado, my interest was duly piqued.

Possibly the most widespread comparison made was that between the Potiphar’s wife episode and the story of the two brothers, Anubis and Bata. As we know, in the Biblical account, Joseph fled the advances of his master’s wife, yet suffered unjustly. In the Egyptian myth, Anubis’ wife too tries to seduce Bata while her husband was out. Like Joseph, Bata spurned her. And like Mrs. Potiphar, Anubis’ wife falsely cried rape, and her husband sought to kill Bata.

The similarities do not end there. Joseph and Bata are long-suffering heroes. As we know, Joseph was in prison for many years until he interpreted Pharaoh’s dreams and was appointed vizier of Egypt. Bata, too, endures a lot but becomes a ruler in the end–a Pharaoh, at that.

Basically, after hearing his wife’s false accusations, Anubis goes after Bata to kill him. The gods then create a river between the two brothers, protecting Bata. When Anubis goes home, he found his wife duped him, and thus kills her. Meanwhile, the gods give Bata a wife. Alas, she is not faithful to him. When she catches Pharaoh’s eye, she marries the king and has her first husband killed.

Bata, however, is reincarnated several times–and murdered several times as well. Eventually, he is reincarnated as his wife’s son (this is made possible when, as a tree, he is cut down and a small chip flies into his wife’s mouth). When he grows into manhood, he is able to get his revenge and then rules Egypt together with his long-lost brother.

There is also a little-known episode of Joseph which takes place during the Exodus. Most people do not seem to be aware of this, probably because it is mentioned in passing, but when the Israelites left Egypt they brought the bones of Joseph with them. There is an interesting rabbinical story in which Moses, before leaving Egypt, calls on Joseph’s coffin which is apparently buried in the Nile. Joseph’s coffin rises up, and Moses then collects it.

This has been likened to the tale of Osiris. As you probably know, Osiris was murdered by his jealous brother Seth and was placed in a coffin, which was then dumped into the Nile. Osiris’ wife Isis went searching for him and later found him.

So, Joseph likened to Bata and Osiris. Intriguing stuff, indeed.

It is really interesting what you find out about these famous Biblical tales when delve deeper into them. There have been so many folktales (or midrashic stories) based on them, so many comparisons drawn with famous myths – the possibilities are boundless and quite astonishing. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to do a guest post on your blog, Ms. Dray!