Chapter Twenty-Three #2
“Join me. Let us celebrate our partnership,” I said, offering him space on the chariot.
“Our partnership?”
“Rome and Egypt, allies once more. For today I fulfil my obligation.”
“I was beginning to think we would never dine together,” he admitted. “But I see now that this will be a day like no other.”
The streets teemed with cheering Alexandrians, many also wearing masks of Sōter. Some wore images of Isis, and a few even mimicked Venus.
Caesarion had insisted on taking the reins, and I had let him, supervised by his tutor of course.
My lions prowled beside us—for I had many more now than just Maahes and Bastet.
Each had its own keeper, who held it on a gold chain leash.
As we moved through the city, petals shed from my train, leaving a fragrant trail in our wake.
“You are lovely today, Pharaoh,” Antonius said.
“Am I not every day?”
He looked at me searchingly, but my mask hid any hint of my thoughts. “Lovelier each day.”
His gaze brought sweat to my brow like the heat of a noonday sun. “Look,” I said, pointing to the harbour. “We conclude the parade here.”
A procession of two hundred servants lined the shoreline, each holding a clay jar in both hands. I raised my arm, and in formation they lunged forward, throwing the jars into the air.
Wine sprayed from the shattered pottery, filling the streets. My citizens cheered as it ran, red as arterial blood, towards the sea. Many fell to their knees, cupping the liquid between their hands and drinking.
Antonius jumped from the moving chariot and joined them. I laughed behind my mask, watching as his lips turned red.
I imagined what it would be like to kiss the wine from them.
The festivities did not end there. I had told Faunus that I expected grandeur, and he had delivered.
We erected a tent, many stadions long, and filled it with golden couches.
Interspersed with the dining tripods were fig trees in full season for my guests to sample at their leisure.
I did not ask how Faunus had managed it, but I knew it would have taken much effort to source and replant so many trees.
“This was a dinner worthy of my impatience,” Antonius said. We sat apart from the revelry, beneath a silk canopy.
I smiled, but it waned as I asked, “You will return to Rome tomorrow?”
The question was left unanswered. Antonius’s attention was on a group of dancers who swayed to lute music in front of us.
“Dance with me,” he said suddenly.
“Dance? I am no harlot.”
“Have you ever tried?”
“I am a pharaoh—we do not entertain, we are the entertained.”
Antonius stood and held a hand out to me. “It is simple enough.”
“Marcus, I cannot. The entirety of my court is here, it would not be becoming.” I still cared how I was perceived, but Antonius would soon come to rinse that from me.
He began to turn, moving his hips in time with the music. I was shocked at such a wanton display.
“Come now, Pharaoh, you cannot leave a triumvir of Rome to dance alone,” he called to me. “I insist upon it.”
“Your terms for our deal have changed?” I asked.
“Yes—consider this part of the dinner.”
The game continued.
I stood and went to him, letting him touch my waist as we moved to the music. Without my mask he could see my face, and his gaze did not stray from it.
“One more night,” he said. “I will stay one more night.”
Did he feel my muscles relax? Did he sense my relief at knowing I would have another day in his company?
“Mama.” I turned at my son’s call. “What are you doing, Mama?”
Caesarion’s little face frowned up at us and I pushed Antonius away.
“Dancing,” Antonius answered.
“Is that something they do in Rome?” he asked. My stomach twisted at his ignorance. He knew so little of his Roman heritage.
“No, it is not. I was just trying something different,” I said gently. Caesarion copied Antonius’s movement, jerking his little hips back and forth.
Antonius didn’t mock his efforts, instead he encouraged them, and soon it was Caesarion and he who had taken to the dance floor in front of me.
I watched them laughing and my heart, which had for so long been closed to love, opened a little more.
“Mama, Antonius says he is staying another day. Can we take him hunting with us tomorrow?”
Every waxing moon we would go hunting, a tradition of my father’s that I had continued. It had been Arsinoe who had enjoyed the outings, and excelled at them, and in this way I secretly honoured the sister whose death I had ordered.
“Sometimes we go fishing, sometimes fowling or boar hunting. Mama says these are skills I must learn as Pharaoh. I am not very good at it, but Mama says that she wasn’t good at it either and we must practise to be worthy—”
“Caesarion, pause for breath, my son,” I chastised him, and he dipped his head in acquiescence.
Antonius watched me as he replied. “Hunting? That sounds like a very enjoyable way to spend the day. Then perhaps your mother will dine with me again tomorrow evening.”
I gestured around us. “Did I not already satisfy my side of the bargain?”
He grew serious. “I am yet to be satisfied.”
“Two thousand gallons of wine in the streets and a feast to feed three thousand. That is not enough for you?”
“It is but one dinner. And I never specified how many.”
The pieces moved on the game board once more.
—
The next day we departed to go fishing on the Nile.
Antonius and I stood on the bow of the boat, watching Caesarion cast the first line. The boy giggled as a fish immediately darted towards the hook but did not latch.
“You do this every month?” Antonius asked.
“Yes, I think it is good for Caesarion to learn how to live off the land.”
Antonius laughed. “Surely he will always have someone to do that for him?”
“It is not about the outcome, but the act. Hunting teaches him to respect the land. And he must respect Egypt to be Egypt.”
“How can one embody a country?” As I have said before, Antonius knew me for me, before all else.
“Egypt is more than a country, and Alexandria is its beating heart. There is no greater city in the world.”
“Except Rome,” Antonius said.
I shook my head. “You are wrong.”
“Mama, Antonius, it is your turn,” Caesarion demanded, interrupting what had surely been going to be a lively argument. I felt a pang of disappointment.
“I have an idea,” Antonius said. “Let us enter a wager. Whoever catches the most fish wins.”
“And what is the prize?” I asked cautiously.
“If I am victorious, then it is settled: Rome is the greatest city in the world. And if you win, then Alexandria is.”
“A worthy battle.” I cast out my line before he could call “start.”
There was a reason I chose fishing that day. Of all the hunting skills, it was the only one in which I had bested Arsinoe. I knew these waters like I knew my own blood, and it wasn’t long before I was reeling in fish after fish.
At first Antonius had poor luck, but he quickly improved and soon his bucket was filling up too.
Then he was overtaking me. I was astounded. I had been fishing in these waters all my life. But then I saw, from the corner of my eye, one of his servants retrieve a fish from my bucket and slip it into his.
The Roman is stealing from me. It was a simple trick, and one he would surely reveal at the end, but I was not going to give him the satisfaction of a false win.
“Charmion,” I called out.
She came to my side and I whispered my plan.
When the evening came to an end and Antonius brandished his teeming bucket with triumph, I looked at him sincerely. “An adept fisherman you have proven to be: show us your bounty.”
He tipped the contents of the bucket onto the deck.
“Caesarion, come, help me identify the fish,” I said.
My son, keen to be of service and prove his knowledge of all things, began to list the fish in Antonius’s catch. “Catfish, carp, eel, perch…Mama, what is this? I haven’t seen this one before.”
Caesarion held up a small silver fish.
“Charmion, do you recognise it?” I asked lightly.
Charmion pointed to an empty platter next to my bucket. “It must be the salted herring I served earlier, my queen. I did not mean for it to fall into your catch.” She did well at looking abashed.
“My catch,” I said, looking at Antonius. “Now, how ever did that get into your bucket, Marcus?”
The Roman took the fish from Caesarion’s hands, and upon touching it knew the ruse was over.
He laughed, unashamed of being caught. If anything, he seemed even more pleased to have been played so well.
“I suppose I must concede that Alexandria is the greatest city in the world.”
“It is, as I told you,” I said.
“Tomorrow, might you give me a tour?”
I looked at him. “Tomorrow?”
He met my eyes levelly. “Yes.”
And so he stayed another night in my country.