Chapter Twenty-Three
“haraoh, a Roman ship is approaching the palace harbour.”
I looked up from my work, irritated at being interrupted. “Tell Faunus.”
The guard hesitated. “The dockyard attendants believe the ship belongs to a triumvir of Rome.”
I dropped the reed I was writing with, spraying ink across the papyrus I had been working on all morning.
“Truly?” The three triumvirs ruled Rome. So it could be either Lepidus, Antonius or Octavian.
“Yes, Pharaoh.”
I stood and ran a shaking hand over the front of my dress to smooth it.
The journey back to Egypt had been swift and peaceful. Caesarion had been glad to have me home. In the days since, I had returned to my usual routine and avoided all thoughts of Rome and Antonius. Or tried to.
“Charmion?” I called.
Eiras answered. “She is with Caesarion in the stables.”
“Good.” The stables were at the far end of the palace island. Caesarion would have time to escape to the mainland by the time the soldiers came ashore.
For why else would one of the rulers of Rome come to Egypt unannounced, if not to take my son from me? His very existence posed a threat to Octavian, and Antonius had already let me know where his loyalties lay in that matter.
As I walked to the harbour, I cursed myself for not being better prepared to protect my son.
“Faunus, if we come out of this unscathed, we must implement contingencies for Caesarion’s safety,” I said to him as we marched, flanked as we were by all the royal guards I could call to my side.
Allies or not, I did not trust Octavian’s ambition.
And what would Octavian do with me, once he had dispatched my son?
I will not be led in triumph.
Twice now you have heard these words from me. I’ll say them one more time before the end.
Maahes brushed up against my leg. His mane had grown in as thick and as glossy as tree sap, and I kept one hand in it as we waited for the newcomer to appear.
The ship on the horizon did not belong to Octavian or Lepidus, it transpired, but to Antonius. Though the realisation did nothing to calm me.
“What is he doing here?” I muttered, forcing my lips into a pleasant grin despite the turmoil I felt.
“Isis.” Antonius greeted me as the god that I was. He did not disembark with any soldiers of his own; though this should have put me at ease, it did not. Instead, his vulnerability drew out my own, and I felt myself shifting under the intensity of his gaze.
Maahes noticed my unease and growled.
Antonius took a step back, noticing him for the first time. It was a wondrous thing that I captivated him so much that he was blind to the beast beside me. “You have a lion.”
“Did you come all this way to state the obvious?” I asked.
“Does he bite?”
“Sometimes.”
“Like me, then.” He showed me his teeth.
I laughed despite myself. “I was not expecting you, Marcus.”
He cocked his head. “I believe you agreed to dine with me, did you not? Unless you are a ruler who goes back on her word?”
I mastered my surprise to say, “You have come all this way for dinner?”
“For the company,” he said seriously.
I looked into his eyes and sensed the sincerity within them. I should have predicted how far I would fall, in love and in life.
“Come, then,” I said. “Let us find you some rooms.”
That evening, I hesitated on the threshold to the dining hall.
I wore once again the sheath dress he had gifted me, though instead of the pearl wig, Charmion styled my natural hair in thick braids.
The preparation had taken all day, heightening my anticipation for this very moment.
But now I was here I could not bring myself to enter the room.
Marcus was inside and I would be forced to fulfil my promise.
The game would be won, and he would return to Rome.
Now I had him here, I wanted him to stay. It was no easy thing to admit. I had survived well on my own for so long. With Charmion, of course.
Resolving to keep the game alive, I entered the room.
Antonius looked up as I entered, a smile already on his lips.
“Pharaoh, you look—”
“In ten days,” I interrupted, “Egypt will celebrate Sōter’s passage to the afterlife. The Ptolemaia festivities are an evening worthy of your attendance.”
“We will not dine tonight?”
“No. Let me fulfil my promise in the way of a Ptolemy, with much splendour.”
“You entrap me here with pretty promises.”
It was true, but I denied it vehemently. “I only wish to seal our deal with an evening deserving of the great partnership between Rome and Egypt.”
“You will not sail away again?”
“Where would I go?”
“I have heard tales of your vast river. If you travel along it, I will follow you.”
There was no greater thrill than being hunted by Antonius. But he would come to know I was no prey.
“I will not sail away,” I promised.
“Ten days, then?”
“Ten days.”
Charmion was horrified when I relayed the plan to her.
“But the Ptolemaia is not until the full moon.”
“We will bring it forward,” I said.
I called Faunus to my rooms that night, and if I had thought Charmion was worried, I was ill-prepared for his reaction.
All blood drained from his face. “But Pharaoh, the preparations will take weeks—”
“Not weeks. Days. Ten of them.”
He looked as though he was going to protest further, but he must have seen the resolve in my face as his shoulders sagged in resignation. “We will do what we can.”
“Please,” I said. “Take as much gold as you need. Make this the best Ptolemaia the gods will have ever seen.”
I caught glances of Antonius over the coming days, but I was too busy with the preparations for the festival to have much time to spend with him.
My servants reported that he spent his days walking through the many gardens of Antirhodos.
So one evening I found myself there—only by happenstance, of course.
“Pharaoh.” Antonius started when he saw me.
I lay by the pond in the centre of the north gardens, watching him from beneath the palm fronds held above me by an attendant.
My diaphanous silk robe was dyed in shades of green, making me one with the lush landscape.
The quartz tiling glittered in the sunlight beneath me.
I dangled one hand lazily upon a lotus flower, causing ripples along the still water.
“Marcus. You are enjoying the sights of my palace?”
His eyes travelled from my crown-topped head to my bare feet. “Very much so.”
A hedonist indeed.
“Would you care for some hibiscus tea?” I said. The servant who held the palm frond above me moved to serve Marcus. Free of the shade, I closed my eyes and tipped my head to the sky.
“Bronze,” Marcus said, his voice much closer than it had been.
When I opened my eyes, he was sitting by the water’s edge, resting back on his elbows. His gaze still lingered on me.
“What is bronze?”
“You are. A resplendent statue in the sun.”
“Not gold?”
Marcus shook his head seriously. “No. Gold is luxurious, but bronze is durable. It can weather a storm and emerge in triumph, more beautiful than before.”
I snorted. “You mean tarnish?”
“No; the green patina that comes from exposure is as becoming as the robe you wear.”
“I have never been compared to such a common metal.”
“Then I must beg your forgiveness, Isis. For you are anything but common. My intention was to flatter you.”
“You failed.” He hadn’t failed. “You cannot sway me with simple words like I am a Roman plebeian.”
He had swayed me. But this was a sport, and I could not reveal to him my strategy.
Antonius took a sip of his tea before speaking again. “It is a horror to have caused you such distress. How must I be punished?” His eyes sparkled.
“If you weren’t an ally, I’d suggest drowning,” I said.
“A fitting sentence,” he said seriously. Then, without pausing for breath, he jumped into the pond.
I watched, mouth agape, as he sank beneath the lotus flowers.
A few bubbles drifted to the surface and then the water was once again still.
“Marcus?” I called out across the pond.
My servant shifted uncomfortably beside me as the time stretched out. “Pharaoh, should I send for someone?”
“No, he will surface. Marcus is a jester first and foremost.”
But as we waited, I began to think I had taken our game too far. Had I just killed a triumvir of Rome?
As panic buzzed in my ears, like a bee about to sting, there was a splash in front of me. I had no time to move backwards as Marcus pulled himself from the pond and lay gasping beside me, shaking with laughter and showering me with water.
“I thought you dead,” I said.
“Well, you did sentence me to drowning.”
This elicited a rueful smile from me.
“You deserve to die for pulling such a mean trick.”
“You think so?” he said, getting to his feet.
“Yes.”
I stood also, and grasped his arm. It was the first time I had ever reached for him and both of us stilled. He looked to where my hand touched his skin and I saw a flush rise in his cheeks.
“Cleopatra…” His voice was no longer thickened with mirth, but with lust.
I indulged myself by leaning into him, soaking my robe. I brought up my other hand and rested it on his chest.
Then I pushed him unceremoniously back into the pond.
Denying Antonius was an exquisite pleasure, one no drug could replicate.
I left him floating in the water, whooping up at the sun with tears of laughter in his eyes.
—
The Ptolemaia came around fast enough, but also agonisingly slowly. I didn’t see Antonius again until the morning of the procession. He had seen me dressed lavishly before, but my parade clothes were of a different calibre.
The robe I wore was long enough to trail behind my golden chariot.
It filled the width of Canopic Street, the fabric panelled in gold and purple.
Flowers of all kinds had been stitched into the hem: lilies, papyrus, daisies and lotus.
A garland of the same flowers had been woven into my hair.
Upon my face I wore a golden mask of my ancestor Sōter.
Antonius was struck silent—a rarity.