Chapter Twenty-Four
“our city is vibrant,” Antonius said as we travelled down the causeway from the lighthouse to the main thoroughfare.
“It is,” I agreed.
“It has been some time since I last visited and the change is remarkable.”
Palm trees lined the streets, their boughs laden with sweet-smelling dates. I paused beneath one to see the city as Antonius did, with fresh eyes.
The new harbour was to my right, teeming with merchant ships.
To my left stood the newly erected temple for my late beloved—the Caesareum.
Porticoes decorated the entranceway, through which you could see the lemon groves I had sent for from Rome.
As the branches swayed in the breeze I could see glimpses of the statue of Jupiter, surrounded by fountains, in the centre of the courtyard.
One of my greatest regrets is that I was not able to finish the temple during my reign. Four rooms stood empty on the day I died. I had intended to fill them with gold replicas of Caesar’s triumphs, but instead Octavian’s soldiers used them to celebrate their own.
I’m sure Caesar’s grand-nephew thought to honour him by concluding his triumph in the vacant halls of the temple. But I knew Caesar all the better, and he would rather have kept the hallowed grounds peaceful. And kept me alive.
But in this moment, I was still wholly ignorant of my fate, so I simply responded to Antonius, “I am an excellent queen.”
He looked at me, and as usual I felt the strength of his gaze disarm me. “You are.”
The city tour took us through the harbour and the new library, ending at the Hospital of Isis.
As I entered, I was approached by two priestesses with questions about a remedy I had concocted. I advised them while Antonius looked on.
“I had heard of your skills in healing, but I had not quite believed it,” he said softly once they had departed. “Few rulers would consort with their citizens so casually.”
“Potion work is one of the few things in life I understand clearly. It is logical, and a little illogical.”
“How so?”
“Take the plant wolfsbane. If consumed on the tongue or in the blood, it will kill you. But if I dilute its sap with two parts olive oil and one part lemon balm, I can create a tincture that will bring down inflammation on the skin.”
Antonius’s eyebrows rose. “A dangerous vocation.”
“It can be. It is why I wish to educate as many people as possible on the properties of plants.”
He smiled. “You are a very unusual person, Pharaoh.”
I searched his face for the insult, but there was none and so I nodded. “I have always wished to be a scholar.”
“Not a queen?”
I hesitated, unsure whether to divulge the truth. But there was something about Antonius that made me wish to be wholly me.
“No, Pharaoh was never my calling. My sister Berenice was the elder, and so I did not expect to wear the crown.”
“Ah, yes, Berenice,” he said.
I did not want to speak on my sister, and he sensed it.
“Can we go to the marketplace next?” he asked brightly.
I shook my head. “It is too busy. My guards find it difficult to escort me through there safely.”
“For you are loved by your people.”
Again, I studied him for a hidden meaning, but he spoke the words with honesty.
“It was not always so,” I admitted. “I have worked hard to maintain my citizens’ approval.”
“It is clear that they appreciate you now.”
I clasped my hands in front of my waist as if to guard myself from his compliments.
—
That evening, after we had feasted on roast boar and stuffed goose, we retired to the courtyard to enjoy the cool evening air.
Antonius reclined on a couch beside me and I watched him from under my lashes as I sipped my wine. He was smiling faintly, taking in the sights of the garden around us. The bougainvillea was in bloom, its pink flowers like a budding kiss.
“I should like to see the flowers here in the sunlight,” he said.
“So, you do not leave tomorrow?” I did not let him see how much I dreaded his next words. Did I want him to stay, or to leave? Both made me afeared.
“Do you not enjoy my company?” he said with a grin. When I did not return it, he let out a sigh.
“Every morning, I awake and tell myself that today is the day that I must go, and every day I cannot bring myself to leave.”
My hand rested on my clavicle, where I could feel the flutter of my pulse.
“What of Octavian? He cannot be pleased by your absence.”
Antonius’s expression soured and I watched the first cracks between the triumvirs grow.
“It matters not what Octavian wants. In this I am resolute.”
“He is your partner in rule,” I said. “His thoughts have consequence.”
Antonius rarely raised his voice. His anger was quiet, the tone deep, simmering with fury. “Do I not bring my enemies to their knees? Do I not time and time again fight for the rights of all Romans? Do I not dole out justice with mercy and grace?”
I knew his anger was not directed at me but at Octavian, and I did not baulk in the face of it. Instead, I appreciated the warmth the frustration brought to his face and the glint of danger it lit in his eyes.
“I am not a horse to be pulled home by the reins,” he continued. “I will stay in Egypt if I choose it.”
He had flung out an arm in emphasis, and suddenly he winced and clutched his shoulder. I had seen him do it more than once, and tonight the warmth of the wine gave me the confidence to ask after it.
“I was struck by a spear in Philippi,” he said.
“Show me.”
He seemed surprised, but he obliged, pulling his tunic over his head in one motion.
I approached him, closely observing the scar that marked his shoulder, but without touching his skin.
“There is no infection,” I said, “but the muscle beneath is still healing. You need to stretch it to strengthen it. I will make you a poultice of crushed lotus leaves and willow bark to ease the pain.”
“Thank you, Pharaoh,” he said tenderly.
Charmion brought forward my medicine bag, but I was out of willow bark. “I’ll send a servant to the market to fetch some.”
“Why do we not go?” Antonius asked as he pulled his clothing back on.
“I told you, we cannot—it will be impossible to make it to the correct stall.”
“We need not go as Pharaoh and triumvir, but perhaps as Marcus and Selene?”
I looked at Charmion and we shared a private smile. He could not have known how often Selene had been out in the city at night.
He caught our look, and mistook it. “Dismiss the thought—it is too dangerous, I am sure.”
“Selene has never felt in danger in my city,” I said.
He leaned forward in his chair. “So you’ll do it? Go to the marketplace with me? Will your guards allow you to leave unaccompanied? For we cannot give away our true identities.”
I laughed. “Follow me.”
“Are you sure about this?” Charmion whispered as we walked through the palace.
“He won’t harm me,” I said.
“His loyalty is to the Republic; should Octavian ever come for Caesarion…”
“He won’t harm me,” I repeated firmly.
Charmion rubbed her brow, looking troubled. “How can you be so sure?”
“Caesar,” I said simply. “I trust in his love of Caesar; it will always stay his hand against me.”
When we reached my rooms, Antonius hesitated on the threshold. “What are we doing, Pharaoh?”
“You will not pass as a commoner in that garb,” I said.
“There are many Romans in your city.”
“True, but few wear so fine a cloth. Come, Charmion will find you something to don.”
“Bring it for me and I will await you here.” He looked painfully aware that he was about to walk into my sleeping quarters.
“No, we must know each other in guise. Come now,” I said, gesturing to the door.
He glanced at the guards, who stood to attention on either side of the entranceway.
“We can always dismiss the idea if you think it too dangerous,” I said, twisting his words back at him.
The smile he gave me in return was unnerving in its brightness and I had to look away. And as he walked into my chambers, I heard him murmur, “Entering your bedroom is dangerous indeed.”
“Charmion, where are Selene’s clothes? I know it has been some time since I used them.”
Charmion retrieved the ill-fitting linens and helped me undress, while Antonius lingered in the centre of the room looking determinedly away. When I was ready, I said, “Do you recognise me so plain, Marcus?”
He turned and his stare lingered on my body. “You could never be plain. For it is not the clothes or the jewels that make you striking, it is the woman beneath.”
“Lavish words,” I said with a mocking smile, though my heart quickened with the compliment.
Charmion turned her attention to Antonius. “Triumvir, I think you should remove your belt—it marks you as a Roman. And swap your tunic for a chiton.”
Antonius did as Charmion bade, putting on a Greek-style chiton that would disguise him as one of the Egyptian nobility. I did not look away as he changed, my gaze resting on the sheen of his skin above his loincloth. He caught me staring, and the look he gave me was scalding in its heat.
“I name you Helios,” I said quietly, gifting him the name of his guise: god of the sun.
“Who better to accompany Selene, goddess of the moon?” he replied.
I broke his stare and turned to the plinth that hid the steps to the cistern.
Antonius startled at the ease with which I moved the deceptively hollow pillar, and his eyes widened when the steps were revealed.
The smell of seaweed and dead things drifted in from the tunnel below.
“Selene, what is this?” I felt a thrill of pleasure at his once more addressing me by this name.
“Helios, it is our means of escape.”
—
Antonius could not hide his awe as we rowed across the bay to the city. Every so often he would look at me, laugh and shake his head.
“When I think I know the extent of you, I find there is more to unravel.”
“I am unfathomable.”
His expression turned tender. “You are.”
The little boat nudged the shore, severing the gentleness of the moment as I stumbled forward. Antonius reached for me, his hands circling my waist.
“I am well,” I said stiffly, moving away from his grip.