Chapter Twenty-One #2
I thought of the meal we’d had on the royal barge all those years ago. She and Serapion had been engaged in discussion for most of the night.
What had she said to bind him to her so tightly? What was it about her that secured such absolute loyalty?
She has always been a bird in flight, soaring above the wingless, I conceded. Even now I aspired to be near her, to feel the wind lift me to her heights.
I laughed. Despite everything, I had grudging respect for her determination. “Only death will defeat her.”
Faunus nodded. “What will you have me do?”
I had many more warships in my fleet that I could have sent to support Antonius’s plight. But I had not forgotten how easily the nobility had abandoned me in the siege of Alexandria and I feared sending any more to sea, lest they flee to Arsinoe’s side like Serapion.
“Nothing. We do nothing.”
“But Antonius—”
I thought of how he had left me and Caesarion by aiding the false heir, Octavian, and I cut Faunus off. “I care not for him.”
Oh, how that would change.
—
Antonius and Octavian were victorious later that year. Cassius and Brutus had been slaughtered, along with Serapion. Any arrangements the conspirators had made with Arsinoe were lost in their defeat.
The night after I received word, I woke up drenched in sweat, my eyes stinging, my mind haunted by the remnants of a nightmare: Cassius and Brutus had captured Caesar’s soul in the afterlife, binding him to a cage in the field of reeds.
I could look upon the scene but not infiltrate it, no matter how much I screamed or beat at my chest.
My throat was raw, a great heaviness in my lungs.
“Cleo?” Charmion said drowsily.
“I am fine, sleep now.”
She nodded and pulled Caesarion tighter into her embrace. Since Caesar’s death we had all shared a bed, a routine I was loath to change. Usually it kept my terrors at bay, but not this night.
I rose and padded through my room, wrapping a robe around me. The moon hung a half-smile in the sky and the air was cool for the time of year.
I slipped through the palace like a shadow, clinging to the walls; not to disguise myself, for I rarely hid any more, but to remain undisturbed. Despite the late hour, servants moved in and out of the many rooms, cleaning and preparing the palace for the following day.
The wind cooled the sweat on my body as I made my way through the gardens. The jasmine was in full bloom, its sweetness coating my tongue as I walked towards the temple district.
My temple to Isis had been completed two years prior. A task that should have taken a season to complete had taken six times that. The construction bore the signs of Egypt’s troubles.
We had run out of red granite during the siege and so parts of the columns were made from limestone.
The pool that I had wanted to fill with floating flowers was dry, the tunnel connecting it to the cistern incomplete.
The specialist builder had died during the harbour fire, and I had not found a replacement with sufficient skills to finish it.
Though the temple had flaws, I still found peace within its walls.
I lowered myself in front of the altar and bowed my head.
Over the years I had come to terms with my lack of divine power. But I still never lost faith in my god. I was marked by Isis, and so I was hers completely.
“Isis, I come asking for your help. Please send your husband, Osiris, to watch over Caesar in the afterlife.”
Osiris, in his power, was Lord of Death and king of the realm beyond. Like Isis, he had many faces, with some preferring to call him Dionysus.
I was reminded of Antonius then, and our first meeting—a meeting of gods.
Did he lead the triumphs in Rome? Or did Caesar’s false heir head the procession?
My heart was not yet his, so I did not yearn for him. Time had healed some of the hurt I had felt when he’d allied with Octavian, allowing me to think of him fondly—a connection to the love I had lost in Caesar.
I remained kneeling before the altar until dawn. When I stood, I felt lighter knowing Caesar’s soul was protected by my prayers.
I walked to the harbour, enjoying the mild heat of the morning sun, and looked across the bay.
Theos, do you live beneath the waves still? Are you comforted to know our sister still fights your cause?
An approaching vessel interrupted my reverie. It was smaller than the many warships that had come and gone. I recognised the boat as the type used by Rome to ferry messages and supplies.
It sailed into the palace harbour and I waited patiently as my guards approached the captain, verifying its purpose before allowing the messenger to disembark.
Instead of waiting for the details to filter through the scribes, to Faunus, then to me, I approached the messenger myself.
“Word from Rome?” I asked after the emissary bowed.
“My name is Dellius, Pharaoh. I come on behalf of Marcus Antonius. He requests your presence.”
“Indeed?” I said, making sure my tone implied bemusement. “And his reason?”
The ambassador looked bewildered by my irreverence. “All those who supported Caesar’s assassins are being brought forward for questioning.”
I cocked my head. “And how did I support my husband’s killers?”
He smirked, and I found that I did not like this Dellius. He wore his arrogance like a fine cloak. “Serapion,” he said.
“His betrayal was his own. And my sister’s, that I will concede. But I did not think Romans held one accountable for the crimes of a sibling.”
Dellius slowly shook his head. “It is not for me to speak on. I only come as the voice of Marcus Antonius.”
“You have no voice of your own?” I said.
“If I did, I would be sure to blunt it, for my words would be too sharp for your ears.” Dellius spoke sweetly, despite his graceless insult.
“Choice words,” I scoffed. “Either you lay bare your contempt, or you claim I am too weak to hear it. This is the man Marcus sends to me?”
Dellius seemed to realise he had gone too far. But I was not yet done with my threats.
“Does Marcus wish to incite my wrath?”
“No, Pharaoh,” he said quickly.
“Leave Egypt,” I said. “Go back to Marcus and tell him I will not answer his call. And the next time he wishes to speak to me he must do so in person, not send someone of such little consequence.” I turned on my heel, leaving Dellius to retreat to his ship with neither refreshments nor use of the baths.
That should have been the end of it. But Antonius was obstinate in his pursuit of an audience with me. My message via Dellius had been received unhappily, and the next time I heard from him it was in his voice alone.
The letter was marked with many smudges and blots of ink, having come directly from his hand and not a scribe’s.
Come to Tarsus, Pharaoh. We must discuss Serapion’s defection. The senate wants answers. And I wish to see you again.
I would not have answered had it not been for the final sentence. I replied in ink of my own:
If you want answers, seek them in the Great Library of Alexandria. Then, while you visit, you may see me in the palace.
I could feel his smile in the answering letter.
It is not books that will satisfy me, but the sound of your voice. And I should cross an ocean for it; but my armies tie me to Tarsus. Come to me.
I was shocked by his blatant flattery.
You pay me compliments, but they are worth no more than the paper you send them on. They will not lure me to Tarsus.
The next letter arrived carved into a tablet of obsidian, and I laughed when I read from it.
Not paper, but something more precious, then. Are my words worth more to you now? Come to Tarsus. The weather is mild, though the wine is milder.
My reply was short:
I enjoy the heat of Egypt’s sun.
Though it had been my intention to discourage his attentions, when I did not receive an immediate reply, I found myself growing morose. Our messages had become a game, and I was impatient for his next move.
When the letter did arrive, I was not to be disappointed.
Let my gaze be your sun and you shall bask in it always. Come—the senate grows impatient for the truth, and I impatient for your company.
“Go,” Charmion said.
“Did you say something?” I said, turning to her from the balcony.
“You have read and re-read his letter so many times the papyrus has started to shred. Go to Tarsus.”
I frowned, placing the letter on the table next to me as if I hadn’t realised what I was doing. “He wishes for me to answer for Serapion’s crimes.”
“No, he wants to see you. Serapion’s crimes are just an excuse.”
I wasn’t so sure. Even though I’d had no proof of Serapion’s deception over the years, I had still suspected, and that had been enough to make him a liability on the battlefield. The commander had done great damage to Antonius’s fleet before he died.
“If you do not pen the letter, then I will,” Charmion threatened.
I surrendered. “Fine.”
I will come to Tarsus, I wrote. And there we may put this matter to rest.
And so I took the first step on the path to my death. But first, let me love once more.
Skip Notes
* Although I will have it known that not all historians degraded me so.
The renowned traveller Al-Masudi of Baghdad, whose writings I have always favoured, wrote eloquently of my skills as a scholar and a sage.
It is a reminder that not all roads lead to Rome.
Let it not be the centre of your history, for propaganda is a tool favoured by the West.