Chapter Ten #2
I set my jaw. I had not considered peace between Theos and myself; my mind had gone only to war. As I said before, I was naive. It took me many years to appreciate the power of compromise over violence.
“No.”
Caesar’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. I doubted he heard that word often. “You ask me to uphold your father’s will, yet you would deny your brother the same rights.”
“My brother wishes to try me for crimes against the gods. He deceives the nation, assigning misfortune as my misdeeds.”
“He does, but like you, he is a Ptolemy; Egypt is him. I hear that his god power is one to be envied—breathing water like air. What is your god-granted gift, Cleopatra?”
I searched his face for any trace of mockery, but the question seemed sincere. “The goddess Isis has blessed me with an aptitude for healing.”
“Healing? And yet you refuse to heal this rift between you and your brother.”
I met his dancing eyes steadily. “What is it you gain from this union, that you encourage it so, Julius?” I spoke his given name back to him, as he had said mine, but with a hint more mockery.
“You are perceptive.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You thought less of me?”
His gaze ran across the bare skin of my shoulder where I had let the robe slip. “I must beg your forgiveness, my queen, but I had not thought of you much at all.”
“I will forgive you that transgression, as long as it is rectified going forward.”
His eyes lingered on my lips. “Consider it rectified.”
“So? What is it you want from me?”
“The war with Pompey has depleted my treasury.”
“You want money.” Egypt had long been valued for its riches alone, and I was tired of being courted for my coffers. In this regard Caesar disappointed me, and I assumed him to be like all the other generals and kings. I soon learned that Caesar was like no other man.
“Your father was extended credit in Rome. The debts must be repaid.”
“Those donations were to support my father’s claim to the throne during the civil unrest caused by Berenice. I see that your statement holds true—a gift is a debt.”
“Yes, it would seem so.”
I had money. In the last few years of my father’s reign, he had excavated ancient tombs to claim the treasure inside. It funded his opulent lifestyle and filled my treasury.
I levelled my gaze at him. “So, my throne in order to secure yours?”
He inclined his head.
But I remained unconvinced by his sincerity. “You could make this very deal with my brother—why support me?”
Caesar moved past me and returned to the open chest. He lifted out a box from the far end of it. It was intricately crafted, decorated with a carving of the god Sobek—a gift from my brother, then.
He handed it to me and I slid open the lid. Inside, cradled on a bed of salt, was Pompey’s embalmed head.
It took all my will not to throw the box from my hands.
I had laid my head to rest on the empty eyes of Caesar’s enemy.
“Your brother gifted this to me on my arrival in Alexandria.” Caesar shook his head. “My son-in-law degraded to such a petty trophy.”
I had forgotten Pompey’s relation to Caesar.
“He was my last connection to my Julia.”
“Your daughter?” I said, closing the lid with haste. I set Pompey’s head gingerly on the floor between us.
Caesar cleared his throat as if to alleviate the thickness of grief. “Yes. She died in childbirth.”
“But Pompey was also your enemy, was he not?”
“He was, but I do not believe that death should be celebrated, gilded and gifted. Would you have presented this prize so callously?”
I thought what I would have done if I had been there. “I would have sent his body to his family for funeral rites. It is not for us to deny a soul the chance to transition to the next realm. Let the gods judge our enemies.”
Caesar watched me shrewdly. “I agree.”
I shifted under the intensity of his gaze.
“Are you willing to share Egypt with your brother once more?” Caesar asked.
“We never shared it, not truly.”
“I see that, for your light eclipses those who sit beside it.” He relayed the compliment plainly, as if it were fact, but I refused to barter in niceties.
“Theos is unlikely to concede with Pothinus by his side. The regent must be removed from court this very day. I will not abide his presence for a moment longer.”
Caesar nodded. “I’m sure this can be facilitated. And perhaps your garments and rooms reinstated.”
“And my handmaiden Charmion.”
He frowned, until realisation came over him. “The woman who returned to Alexandria dressed in your likeness?”
“Yes. She must be released back into my custody tonight.”
“It was a cunning plan—she must be a loyal servant.”
“She and I are one and the same,” I said.
His expression was still inscrutable. “I will see to her release. They are my guards watching over her, so there should be no delay. Tomorrow, I will invite you to join us for the first meal of the day.”
“What of the soldiers searching for me? I am not safe in the palace.”
“My soldiers stand guard in front of these chambers. No one will enter without their knowledge.”
I laughed. “Like I did?”
“I would very much like to know how you did that.”
I said nothing, and he smiled. “Keep your secrets, as long as no one else knows.”
I shook my head. Charmion didn’t count. “What if my brother sends his own guards to cut them down?”
The muscles around Caesar’s jaw stiffened and a dangerous glint entered his eyes. “I have many more soldiers than your brother, and legions more I can call to the palace from Cilicia with a few weeks’ notice. If he provokes me, he will come to know my wrath.”
“And mine.” I may not have had an army, but I was still his older sister. And he needed to be disciplined.
“Rest assured, you are safe. I will see you on the morrow. For now, you are welcome to your old bed. I will retire elsewhere.”
“Elsewhere?”
He chuckled. “Many of your courtiers have offered me space in their beds this night.”
I had heard of Caesar’s exploits with men and women, but it shocked me to hear court gossip so brazenly confirmed. He must have read my thoughts on my face.
“You misunderstand me. I will partake in the hospitality of their rooms only. Unless,” he said, his lips parting in a smile, “you wish to share space in yours?”
I reached for my palm wine once more and swallowed before I said, “You have already deduced that I do not share.”
The heat of the moment was broken by his hearty laugh. “You are not at all what I expected, Cleopatra.”
“You are everything I expected, Julius.”
He sobered at my words. “I will help you regain your throne.”
“Promise on your god.”
He reached out a hand and grasped mine. His skin was surprisingly rough for a noble. “You have my word, Cleopatra.”
He drew out my name like the start of a poem. When he dropped my hand, I clenched my fingers into a fist to stop them tingling and met his gaze levelly. “Let us hope your word holds true.”
“It will.” Caesar turned to leave.
As he opened the door, I glimpsed the guard who had touched me against my will.
“I have one other request, Julius.”
Seeing me there, two of the guards reached for their blades.
“Peace,” Caesar said, and they dropped their hands. “The Pharaoh will be returning to her chambers tonight.” Then he looked back at me. “How else can I help?”
I raised a finger to the guard furthest from me. “Dismiss him from your army.”
The guard’s expression went slack as he recognised me. There was almost no sound to his voice, only breath. “No.”
“Yes,” I said.
Caesar looked between us, not understanding. I obliged him with the details. “This guard touched me without my permission.”
“I thought she was an apprentice,” he whispered. Sweat had sprung up across his brow.
“Pharaoh, how would you sentence such a crime?” Caesar asked.
We both knew the punishment for the soldier’s violation. But I sensed that Caesar was testing my mettle. He wanted me to say it—to condemn the man with my own tongue.
“Death,” I said without hesitation. If he thought to question my fortitude, he had chosen the wrong means to do it.
I had passed this verdict many times, you may be surprised to learn.
I have not lingered in those memories—not because I am ashamed, but because they are insignificant.
As Pharaoh I courted death often, ushering in the will of the gods for those I deemed beyond salvation.
Do not judge me for this. Judge my other deeds in life, if you must, but not this.
For death was merely the pathway to the afterlife where the soul would receive their final sentence.
Osiris, the King of the Afterlife, would weigh the hearts of the dead against the feather of Maat.
If the scales tipped upwards, sending the heart to the sky, then Osiris would welcome them to his realm.
But if the heart proved heavier than the feather of the sacred goddess, they would be consumed by Ammit the devourer.
Those I sentenced to death, I handed over to higher judgement.
Caesar seemed impressed with my assertiveness. With a fluid motion he pulled his gladius blade from his waist. The hilt was gold and silver, but I had little time to appreciate the short sword before he plunged it into the soldier’s heart.
The soldier slumped forward, his last breath leaving him.
It was the first time Caesar killed for me. There would be many thousands more to come.
I remember the shock I felt, the revulsion at the hot blood soiling the tiles at my feet, but most of all I remember the first tendrils of desire.
He was so much that I was not, or was at least only learning to be: bold, emphatic, self-assured.
His power was contained, like a muscle clenched, ready to release.
I found his strength intoxicating.
He wiped the blade on the edge of his toga before returning it to its sheath. “I will have another guard replace the one we have lost, and the body removed, of course.”
“Of course,” I said.
“Is there anything else you desire?”
Yes.
“My throne will be more than enough.”
“Indeed.” Then he gave me a disarming smile. “Sleep well, Pharaoh. I hope the bed is more comfortable than the chest.”
I returned to the balcony and the wine, my mind heavy with the implications of all we had discussed. Every now and again I would stretch out my fingers, remembering the roughness of his touch.
I don’t know how long I stood like that, but half the bottle of palm wine had gone when I heard a sound at the door. I turned around just in time for arms to wrap around my waist.
The alarm I felt dissipated as soon as I smelled the distinct aroma of Charmion’s hair. Frankincense and cinnamon, a heady mix.
“I am so happy you’re safe,” she murmured into my shoulder.
“Me? It was you I was worried for.” I held her head in my hands and kissed her firmly on the mouth before embracing her once more.
She laughed as I tightened my arms, refusing to let her go.
“I cannot breathe,” she choked out.
I reluctantly released her to arm’s length, analysing every bit of her. “Are you well? Did they hurt you?”
“No. Pothinus was angry when he discovered the ruse, but Theos refused to let him slay me.”
“So there is some good left in my brother?”
Charmion met my eyes sadly. “He has changed very much. Arsinoe too.”
My stomach lurched at my sister’s name. “What do you mean?”
Charmion’s mouth opened, then closed.
“Do not temper your words. Tell me plain.” I’d had enough wordplay with Caesar, and my indulgence in the wine was beginning to give me a headache.
“It seems she was aware of the blockade in the harbour and knew of your impending arrest. It was she who first discovered I was not you. Her disappointment matched that of Pothinus.”
A bitterness entered my mouth and I grimaced. “Of course. Qar must have returned with a letter that she did not share with me.” My heart ached.
Charmion cradled my chin in her hand.
“I have lost two siblings this day,” I whispered.
“They have not departed this life. You may yet make peace.”
Her words echoed Caesar’s. But I doubted there was a path forward where I could trust either sibling again.
Charmion’s hand dropped to the collar of my robe. “What are you wearing?”
I smiled and relayed my tale, for which Charmion proved an appreciative audience. It was only when I described Caesar that she stopped me to ask, “Tell me, what is he truly like? The courts speak of his golden tongue.”
I smiled. “It was no more golden than mine.”
“You like him.” She surmised the truth so quickly.
“Insofar as I like the builders who construct my temple. He is a tool, no more and no less.” I cannot recall if I knew then that I lied to myself, or if I was blinded by my feelings until it was too late to retreat from the doomed cliff-edge of our love.
“They say he once shared King Bithynia’s bed,” she said.
I had heard the rumours, but having met him, I did not believe his dalliances to be so frivolous as to only last one night. “He seems the type of man who loves deeply.”
“And is loved in return?” Charmion asked, her expression curiously neutral.
I was saved from answering as there was a knock at the door. Servants entered to retrieve Caesar’s belongings and return mine.
It was nearly dawn by the time my rooms were back in order.
I slipped beneath the cold sheets. They still smelled faintly of Caesar, despite having been freshly laundered. I pushed him from my mind.
“Do you think my brother and sister will have heard the news that I am back in the palace?”
“No, the time is late. I did not hear any chatter among the palace servants on my way here. It was Caesar himself who released the chains that bound my hands, so the news is yet to spread.”
“Good, I want them to be surprised when they see me,” I murmured, my nose pressed into my blanket. “I would like you to braid my hair for the occasion.”
“Of course.” She hid a smile in her voice.
“And I will wear the golden column dress.”
“A wise choice.”
I was going to request one more thing, but it was lost to sleep. The activities of the evening had fatigued my already tired body.
I had only one more thought before I succumbed: Whose room did Caesar go to this night?