Chapter Seven
strode along the promenade of the royal barge. The boat was a thalamegos, one of many in the royal fleet. This one, however, was mine. I’d had it commissioned in the early days of my reign.
It was half a stadion long—the length of four sycamore trees—and crafted from cedar imported from Tyre. The lower level of the barge was fitted with a dining room and two staterooms, while the upper consisted of my living and sleeping quarters.
Serket’s Venom, it was called, after the scorpion god, ally and protector of Isis. So, too, would the vessel see me safely down the Nile.
The boat was a lavish expense, embellished with gold furnishings and granite statues of the gods. My father had taught me how important it was to represent the gods in all their splendour. And since I did not have a divine gift upon which to rely, I compensated with materialistic things.
My wardrobe was vast, each dress beaded with lapis and turquoise, the hems trimmed with gold.
Today I wore a woollen shawl around my neck, dyed green, the colour of a peacock’s plume.
The Isis mark on my neck had been painted with gold leaf to draw the eye and to remind my citizens of my patron.
My arms and wrists were adorned with heavy jewels and my eyes lined with kohl.
In my hair I wore my gilded vulture crown, its wings draped down on either side of my face, the head rearing upwards from my brow, poised as if the bird were soaring among the clouds, waiting for the death of the creature that would become its next meal.
My footsteps had taken me to the stern of the boat, where I leaned over the ebony railing to look out on the Nile.
Reeds lined the fertile soil of the riverbank, the distinctive sunburst head of the papyrus plant swaying in the light breeze. Ducks dived in the shallow waters, hunting for insects and other small prey.
I cast my gaze to the east, where agricultural villages, built from the same clay as the banks of the river, dotted the landscape.
To the west, tombs adorned the horizon, for like the setting sun, it was where the kings and queens of the past were laid to rest. Their impressive pyramids from millennia past were resplendent against the sky.
Tombs so large that they touched the gods themselves.
I shivered, imagining my body buried beneath the weight of so many stones. Death was not a concept I pondered often. Life was, after all, just a precursor to the great beyond. But looking out at the pyramids, I felt the significance of my life diminish in their shadow.
What mark will I leave upon the skin of my land? Will I scar it? Or embellish it?
We rounded a bend in the river and I had my answer. The flax fields on both banks were sun-blistered and starved of water where the Nile had receded.
The drought was still plaguing my reign.
Egypt must live. Always.
My father’s words haunted me. They haunt me still.
Caw-waw, caw-waw.
Arsinoe came up behind me and draped herself over the railing. Qar perched on her shoulder, his talons digging into her skin, but she seemed unaware of the blood his claws had drawn. “The captain said we will arrive in Hermonthis before sunset.”
I let out a sigh of relief. “Thank the gods.” The royal formalwear was growing burdensome and I wished to be rid of it by the night’s end.
Arsinoe was similarly dressed, though she wore no crown, just a simple circlet adorned with an ankh. She seemed more at ease than I in the heavy material of her gowns.
“Are you not fatigued by your attire?” I asked, curious.
She looked up at me, surprised. “I am the Pharaoh’s sister; it is an honour to dress as such for the people of Egypt.”
“Imagine if we had arrived by rowing boat in simple linen cloth and no jewels. Would they have bowed to our authority?”
It was true that every stop we had made on the voyage to Hermonthis had been successful. The dissent brewing in Alexandria was yet to poison all my citizens against me.
But I was not ignorant enough to feel entirely secure in my reign. Worry soured my belly.
“You act like being Pharaoh is a burden, not a gift,” Arsinoe said quietly.
I thought on her words before I answered. “If it felt like a gift then I would never truly be in service to the people of Egypt. With a burden, I must work hard to alleviate the strain.”
Qar chittered into the silence. I wondered what he had said, but Arsinoe’s next words gave me an intimation. “Do you think Berenice thought of it as a burden?”
I tried not to sound affronted. “She was never Pharaoh.”
“No, I suppose not. Father killed her before then.”
I did not like to hear Father’s name spoken with scorn.
He might not have gone down in history as a very great ruler—then again, neither would I—but few could judge a pharaoh.
The role was unlike any other. To be god and ruler both was a unique hardship.
“Do not blame him for his actions, he did what he had to. Your pain will only taint your memory of him.”
“You think I hold Berenice’s death against him?” she said. “No, if anything I believe he should have eliminated the threat earlier.”
I swallowed my shock. “That is a cruel thing to say.”
“Strength can often be mistaken for cruelty.”
Remember those words. For one day I will go on to repeat them.
And believe them.
At the time, I reasoned with myself that Arsinoe had been too young to know Berenice and to love her like I had. “Berenice was our sister, not a threat.”
Arsinoe’s face softened and she looked more vulnerable than I had seen her in a very long time. “You think me a monster now.”
“No.”
“You do, I see it in your eyes. But follow the veins of our family blood, Cleopatra. It has ever been tainted. Murder, sacrifice, betrayal—they are the cornerstones of our ancestors’ tombs.”
“To rule Egypt is to court danger; like the Nile, it gives and takes. As Pharaoh, one must learn to sail upon it.”
“You sound like a priest,” she said, amused.
My sister always had the ability to make me feel young again. And not in the carefree way that a fond memory might invoke. No, she made me feel callow.
“There is no shame in being compared to those most holy.”
“No, I suppose not. But remember, sister, even the priests care for the gods first and people second.”
“You suggest I do otherwise?”
“I know about your secret excursions to the mainland to heal.”
I didn’t question how she knew. There was only one answer: Qar. How I detested that bird.
“What I do for the people of Egypt, I do in Isis’s name.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps you care too deeply. And that is a weakness.”
Her words shocked and wounded me, but I did not show it, for it would only further prove her hypothesis.
“Strength has many forms. You see it too plain.”
“If that is what you think, then it must be so.” She held my gaze.
The tension between us was wound tighter than strips of linen on the flesh of the dead. But then she laughed, releasing me from her scrutiny, and I was reminded of the young child she used to be. Mischievous and cunning, but quick to smile. A lioness without claws.
Qar squawked, craning forward as if to alert us of something.
“A pigeon has returned to the nest on the roof. It must be a message from the palace,” Arsinoe said.
“Charmion?” I called.
“Already sent for,” she said behind me.
Arsinoe and I retired to one of the staterooms while we awaited the letter. I lowered myself onto a couch, conscious that the vulture headdress could topple at any moment. Arsinoe, on the other hand, lounged comfortably, her ankles crossed upon the leopard-skin rug.
A servant arrived, carrying the small scroll on a bronze tray. “Pharaoh, I have retrieved the message.”
I knew it was unlikely she was able to read; few in my household could. A precaution one of my ancestors implemented to keep the court’s secrets close. I had intended to change that policy in time.
But time is the one thing that is constant yet always running out. And I had less time than I could ever have conceived.
“Thank you,” I said to the servant.
She dipped her head before leaving us.
I read the message quickly.
Arsinoe let out an impatient sigh. “What does it say?”
“It is from one of my courtiers in the north. Caesar’s ship has been spotted by the coast. He descends on Alexandria. I must get a message to Pothinus and Theos, but I’m not sure it will arrive before Caesar does.”
Arsinoe worried at the corner of her dress. “Which courtier?”
I frowned, not thinking it mattered. “Elena of Syracuse.”
My sister’s expression grew dark before brightening once more. “We can send Qar with a message to Pothinus. He will fly fast and true.”
It was an adequate solution. Even if we turned around now, we would not arrive back at the palace before the full moon.
“Yes, let me prepare a message.” I called on my scribe to pen a warning to Pothinus.
“He needs to ensure the kitchens are well stocked with the latest produce from Rome,” I instructed. “I recollect Caesar and my father spending many evenings around the dining table and I wish for him to be comfortable.”
“Yes, Pharaoh,” the scribe replied. I looked over her neat penmanship, confirming the message was correctly rendered.
“Add in that we are beginning the return journey tomorrow—”
“We’re returning?” Arsinoe said. She crossed the room to stand over the scribe as if seeing my words in ink would change what I had said.
“Yes. Caesar is an important ally, and Pompey died on our soil. It is important I am there to greet him.”
“But what of the Buchis bull?”
I knew Arsinoe had been looking forward to the adventure of Hermonthis, and I was sad to disappoint her. “There will be another Buchis bull in your lifetime. We will journey back to the temple then. Right now, the best thing for Egypt is for me to return.”
“Do you not think that this will be a slight against the priesthood? Abandoning them for a Roman?”
“They will come to understand once I am able to explain. The royal tour has been a success, whether we reach Hermonthis or not.”