Chapter Eleven #2
Caesar’s chuckle reverberated in my chest. “That is impossible, Cleopatra. The one piece of advice I will grant you is this: you do not rule, the nobility do. You are merely their shepherd.”
“That is not how it shall be.”
“Think on this little rebellion Pothinus has brought to your door. The ships in the harbour? They are all courtiers coming to his aid. He is beholden to them, as you are, for his promises brought them to the fight.”
I bridled at this. “I spent many years being schooled in warfare and politics. I do not need you to lecture me so. But I will say again, this is not how I rule.”
Caesar cocked his head. “So how do you rule, exactly?”
“Reform in coinage. Redistributions of wheat to the famine-struck areas. Devolving the governor-run ministries in the smaller cities.”
The last had come to me during my visit back down the Nile and perhaps was touched with a little spite from all the ruling class who had refused my summons.
“And a hospital next to every gymnasium, led by acolytes of Isis, where people can come for healing.”
“You have many plans. And I have many more questions. This is the first.” He looked at me seriously. “Where can I acquire more of this palm wine?”
I laughed, feeling myself relax for the first time since he had entered the room.
—
The rest of the morning passed quickly. We discussed politics and languages, military strategy and trade. It wasn’t until I noticed the sun dipping down from its zenith that I realised how late in the day it was.
There were few people who could match my intellect and interest in scholarly pursuits like Caesar.
We took pleasure in each other’s company, as equals.
Being a pharaoh meant I was second only to Isis.
But Caesar had already dismissed my god, and rather than being offended by his blasphemy, I found him thrilling, his wit sparring with mine.
We were discussing the writings of Timagenes when a Roman soldier ran to Caesar’s side.
He whispered in his lord’s ear, his rumblings too low to hear.
Caesar nodded once, then turned to me, his face grave.
“Your brother and sister have fled the palace in one of the royal barges. They have taken a cohort of soldiers with them. Guards loyal to you sought to stand in their way but were cut down.”
I was already running.
“Follow her,” I heard Caesar bark in Latin.
I did not care that my robe came undone, or that my hair fell from the knot Charmion had spent an hour braiding. When my crown tipped to the side I flung it from my head. My slippers pounded the ground as it went from tile to stone to sand.
Soldiers’ bodies littered the harbour, their blood seeping into the beach, but my gaze was on the horizon.
The barge had not got far but was gaining speed. I ran to the end of the pier.
Arsinoe stood at the balcony’s edge, clad in blue, a crown I had never seen before on her brow. Theos stood in her shadow, glinting in heavy gold armour—a gift from Arsinoe last akhet season. It made me question how long she had been planning this very flight.
“What did Pothinus offer you to betray me?” I shouted across the water.
She smiled and called back, “That is not the question you should ask. You should be asking, what did I offer him to betray you?”
I felt my knees begin to buckle. All this time I had thought Pothinus the sting in the scorpion’s tail. But it had been my sister.
Tears fell down my cheeks.
“So weak.” The insult carried over the sound of the waves. “It was not difficult to convince the governors of your inability to rule.”
“You seeded the rumour,” I murmured. There was no way she could have heard me, but she saw the realisation on my face.
“A queen must be cunning, dear sister.”
Queen.
I gave in to my shaking knees and hit the ground.
Arsinoe was making a bid for the throne.
I have overlooked her ambition so completely. When I thought of her, I saw a fickle child prone to tantrums and brooding. But that is the curse of siblings: no matter the years that stretch between child and adulthood, you will always see the echoes of who they used to be.
And in turn she saw me as the older sister I had once been—cautious and considered. She would call it weak. But I had changed too, and was changing still.
I was capable of ruthlessness, as she would come to know.
A pained groan drew me out of my daze. One of the soldiers who had fought Arsinoe’s guards lay not a handful of paces from me. I recognised him.
“Ahmose!”
Blood seeped from a wound in his gut. His eyes fluttered as I kneeled beside him.
“Pharaoh, your sister, she seeks to betray you,” he murmured, blood flecking his lip.
“I know. Rest now, do not worry.”
Ahmose would not survive this injury. It was too deep, too wide. I felt my throat tighten with grief.
Charmion came running up behind me. She made a strangled noise when she saw who it was.
“Get my potions, Charmion.” But she had frozen to the spot, her eyes fixed on the wound in Ahmose’s side.
“Charmion!” I shouted. It startled her from her shock and she nodded, dashing away.
“It was a pleasure to serve you, Pharaoh,” Ahmose said.
“And you will continue to serve me, this is not the end.”
Isis, please send me the power to heal him.
I pulled his skull cap from his head and stroked his hair. “You have many more years of service in you.”
“Will you tell my mother of my death? Send her my uniform, please, to gift to the gods.”
I shook my head. “You will not die today.”
Charmion returned, thrusting the bag of my tinctures at me.
I rummaged through them, knowing that I had nothing to heal a wound this dire. But I had to try.
I unstopped a vial of propolis and applied it to a strip of linen. Then I bound it to the wound at his waist. He screamed as I applied pressure, until his screaming abruptly stopped.
“Cleo,” Charmion sobbed beside me. But I couldn’t look at her. I couldn’t bear to see the pain his death would inflict.
He was still breathing—just.
“Save him!” Charmion cried. She loved him, I could hear it in her voice.
I dived into my bag once more.
Please, Isis, grant me my gift so I may bring him back from the brink of death.
Nothing but divine power could save him. And I had none.
I slumped, my hands going slack. Then my eyes spotted a label on a jar: opium.
“I cannot save him, Charmion,” I said gently. “But I can ease his passing.”
Her sobbing grew so heavy it became silent, just the shaking breath of grief.
“May you find peace in the afterlife, Ahmose.” I tipped the entire contents of the jar into his mouth.
He shuddered once, twice, then was still.
I helped Charmion up and held her against my chest. My tears had dried, my shock mellowing to a deep heartache that left me numb.
Caesar watched me from the end of the beach, a regiment of soldiers at his back. I should have felt threatened to approach him, but I did not.
Eiras, another of my handmaidens, ran forward, and I handed Charmion to her. Then I turned to Caesar.
“I have never seen a ruler grieve for a soldier,” he said.
“He has been with me for many years. He was loyal, a friend.”
Caesar’s hand reached out as if to touch me, then he stopped himself. “I am sorry for your loss,” he said. “May your gods welcome him in the beyond.”
“They will, I will make sure of it.”
I called for a nearby servant and gave instructions for Ahmose’s body to be interred in the necropolis.
“He shall have a tomb on Antirhodos. Inform his parents of his passing and bring them to the palace. I wish to offer them roles on my staff.” I spoke plainly, my lips unfeeling.
When the servant had gone, I turned once more back to Caesar.
“It was Arsinoe behind it all. She wishes to be queen.”
“I heard.”
I lifted my chin. “I will not allow it.”
Caesar met my gaze. “Neither will I. You know what comes next.”
I looked to the ocean where the royal barge had become just a speck on the horizon. I smiled, though I felt no joy.
“War.”