Chapter Seventeen
ike all legends, the story of the pearl in vinegar evolved over the years. The Banquet of Cleopatra, your artists have named it, sullying my likeness so crudely. The etchings of the tale lost refinement through time, softening like oil paints on canvas.
But during the early years of my reign, the healing myth endured, silencing the rumours that had blighted my rule.
Peace settled across Egypt. After the siege of Alexandria, Caesar spent the summer by my side, watching our son grow. But his ambition soon drew him away.
Caesar was a warrior first, a dictator second, and a father third.
War was his calling, and so when an opportunity arose to seek vengeance against an old enemy, Caesar left Egypt.
I do not recount this with any agitation; I knew who he was even before our passion began to blossom.
I could have stopped the union then, but I didn’t, not until our love had borne fruit. Still, I wished he could tarry longer.
“Stay another season,” I said, my finger twirling in Caesarion’s curling locks as he slumbered on my chest.
“I cannot let this opportunity pass, Cleopatra. Pharnaces is amassing troops in Zela, and I have the means to intercept him.” He stood a few steps lower than the throne, dressed in his armour, the sword he had once used to kill for me at his waist.
Its blade had been dry for some time.
“From there you will return to Rome?” I said carefully. Though I said “Rome,” I meant “Calpurnia.”
Caesar sighed heavily, as if it was a great burden for him. “Yes.”
His assent did not hurt as it should have. We both knew this had always been on the horizon.
“But I will call for you when I am settled. You will enjoy the sights of my city.”
Could I leave Egypt?
I looked past Caesar to the clerks, working at their desks in the belly of the room. They exchanged scrolls with messengers, their quiet murmuring setting the drumbeat of my country’s flourishing trade. Courtiers moved in and out of the palace, exchanging pleasantries.
Beyond them, through the open door, I could see a slip of sea and the outline of the new harbour full of ships.
Egypt thrived in peacetime. It was such a shame it was so infrequent.
I turned back to Caesar and I realised: yes, I could leave Egypt for him. Not for long, but for a while. Though I needed some assurances. “You once said I was your wife in all ways. Is that still true?”
Caesar bowed before me, his knees striking the floor. “Always. Know that in every battle, I bleed for you. Only you.”
I stood from the throne, stepping down so I could press a kiss to his brow.
“Then go, bleed, my husband.”
Veni, vidi, vici.
—
Pharnaces II of Pontus died shortly after his defeat by Caesar. The campaign was a success and upon returning to Rome, Caesar was named dictator.
The year spent apart strained our love, but it did not wane. In every smile gifted to me by Caesarion, in every serious frown I was granted, I saw Caesar.
We had created something so infinitely precious. Our son.
Egypt continued to prosper. My reforms for the governing of the land were slow, but I was able to stabilise the economy once more. Ptolemy was a simple boy, with simple interests, and I could continue my reign without his interference.
Caesarion and I lived a happy life, full of laughter and joy.
If I had known what was to come, I wonder if I would have been content to stay like that forever.
But Caesar called for me, as he had promised, and so I crossed the ocean.
The bindings tying me to him had not frayed over time, and so when he pulled, I came, as fast as the wind would allow.
—
That first journey to Rome was a year after Caesarion was born. We had arrived during the harvest season and the air smelled of freshly pressed olives and toasted wheat.
Caesar welcomed us all to his private estate across the Tiber, in Trastevere. It didn’t have the grandeur of my palace, but it was comfortable, the milder weather providing a lush landscape for Caesarion to explore.
He tottered around Caesar’s legs, happy to be reunited with the father I had told him so much about.
“He has grown into a capable young man,” Caesar said proudly.
I snorted. “Hardly a man, Julius, he still sucks at the breast.” Caesarion gurgled up at me and I laughed. “Though he does have your way with words, so a man he must be.”
Caesar smiled and lifted the boy with one arm. With the other he reached for my hand and squeezed it. “I am so glad you came. My heart ached without you.”
“A year is a long time,” I remarked. “But you had your successes.”
“Yes. The triumph to celebrate my victories begins later. You, Caesarion and Ptolemy will be honoured guests.”
I looked to my younger brother, who sat beneath the shade of a pear tree. He still travelled with his nursemaid, though he was now thirteen years old.
Despite his innocence, I did not dare leave him in Alexandria alone. I underestimated a sibling once, and I would not make the same mistake again.
Caesarion, seeing his uncle, squawked in Caesar’s arms until his father released him to the ground. The boy then proceeded to run towards Ptolemy, who greeted him with a polite lack of interest.
“Must we attend? Why can’t we stay here?” I asked, watching as Caesarion attempted to regain Ptolemy’s attention with a dance. Charmion led the boy away with a dance of her own, always there to capture his heart.
“You must,” he said firmly and I raised an eyebrow. “The procession is a little tedious, but the jesters and games will be enjoyable for Caesarion.”
“And what will be enjoyable for me?” I drawled. I still did not have a fondness for revelry, and the Roman triumphs were known to be raucous.
Caesar tightened his grip on my hand and said, “You will want to come—I have a surprise for you.”
“A surprise?”
His eyes glinted in the morning sun and I felt myself conceding.
—
Half a day later I deeply regretted my choice. The procession moved slowly through the city, beginning in the Field of Mars and winding through the streets to the Capitol, ending at the Temple of Jupiter.
The parade was filled with details of Caesar’s victories, including maps, figurines of the enemy, and paintings of the battles. I found the whole thing dull, but Caesarion loved the spectacle of it.
When we reached the temple, Caesar led the tributes to Jupiter by slaughtering two white oxen across the temple steps.
He smelled of blood as he came to stand next to me. “Your first surprise awaits.”
“First?” I said.
He nodded. “You will have two today.” Then he said to a guard next to him, “Bring out the prisoners.”
I frowned, confused, but I dutifully watched as the prisoners of war were led to stand on the bloodied steps.
As every new bound captive joined the procession, the cheering of the crowd grew louder.
Then came the final one. A woman, the weight of the chains around her wrists pulling her arms straight and her chest forward. Her braided hair had come loose, falling over her face. But still I recognised her.
“Arsinoe,” I whispered.
“We captured her fleeing east with the remaining traitors of the Egyptian court,” Caesar said, his voice thick with pride.
It had been many seasons since I had thought of my sister.
Was I happy to see her bound and beaten?
I should have been. I should have rejoiced that her treachery would finally cease.
But as I have told you before, I truly loved Arsinoe, far more than any of my other siblings.
We had fought so frequently as children that in some ways I thought that this conflict would be resolved just as simply: with a song to lift our spirits and an embrace to forgive.
But it could not be so. There was no going back to the people we had been. Arsinoe had proven time and again that she had not been satisfied with that. It wasn’t enough to be my sister. It wasn’t enough to simply be loved by me.
Squawk-caw.
I would know that sound anywhere. Circling above the procession was Qar.
Did he see my face shift from hate to love and back again? Was he telling her what he saw?
I had not missed his eyes on me.
“What do you intend to do with her?” I asked Caesar.
“Execution,” Caesar said. The word sealed the fate of the first prisoner, and I watched as an axe severed his head. The crowd cheered all the harder.
One by one, each prisoner was paraded past the triumph before being sacrificed to Jupiter.
I held Caesarion’s face against my skirts to protect him from the blood that ran like a river through the celebrating masses.
I, too, averted my eyes from the slaughter—there was still a softness in me that recoiled at the sight of violence.
But though I did not look, I could not hide from the smell.
The metallic scent of death coated my mouth as I breathed in.
Only when I heard the crowd cry out for the “Egyptian princess” did I look up again.
Arsinoe was dragged forwards towards the shore of the undulating crowd. They lusted for her blood in a way that sickened me. This was not an honourable death.
I will not be led in triumph, I vowed.[*] I am not sure now if they were my own words or if I have heard them so many times since then that my memory has distorted. Nonetheless, the sentiment remains the same. I would do anything to avoid being executed so.
As the axe was brought forth, I found myself paralysed, unable to move, unable to speak. My sister had betrayed me so completely, and I knew if our roles were reversed, she would not hesitate to have me killed.
Arsinoe stood tall as the executioner approached her. She raised her head until she saw me in the crowd.
The look she gave me was one of pride. As if it were not an axe being brought down on her, but a crown.
“Today you kill a queen!” she shouted.
Caesar nodded to someone on the periphery of the procession and then there was the unmistakable twang of a bow string. Then a thud.
A familiar black and white bird fell from the sky.