Chapter Twenty-Four #2
I saw a flicker of hurt in his eyes, but I could not find it in myself to regret my actions. After Caesar I was more guarded with my heart.
We walked through the city in silence, each enjoying the novelty of no guards at our backs. When we reached the market, Antonius pointed out a stall selling trinkets and talismans of the gods.
“Look,” he said, picking up a miniature statue of Isis, delighted.
“Blessed by the Pharaoh, it will bring you great prosperity,” the market seller said.
Antonius raised an eyebrow. “Blessed by the Pharaoh, you say? It must be worth its weight in gold, then.”
“Not gold, not silver, not even bronze,” I said.
The market seller took my words as an attempt to bargain and began to haggle, but I waved him away. “I do not want it. Sell your false talismans to someone else.”
“To me,” Antonius said. He reached into his pocket and placed a gold coin in the seller’s hands.
“Your generosity will draw the crowds,” I said, irritated.
“I mean only to impress you,” he admitted, and all of my annoyance fled in the face of his honesty.
The market seller gaped like a fish. “Th-this is too much…” he stuttered. “You must take something more.” He began to scoop up more of the wooden figurines and tried to pass them off to Antonius, who shook his head.
“As you say, these are blessed by the Pharaoh and are too precious to be wasted on me—keep them.”
I spotted a carving on the edge of the table which held my interest. “Except that one,” I said.
The market seller nodded fervently. “Yes, yes, your wife has an impeccable eye, this is a fine specimen, popular with our Greek brethren—Dionysus.”
Antonius did not correct the market seller’s assumption that I was his wife. His attention was wholly on my hands, cradling the small token.
“Dionysus,” he whispered, and I knew we were sharing memories of the night we’d first met. I held it up to his eyeline. The little carving was finely crafted, depicting the god with a grapevine resting on one shoulder and a cup of wine held aloft in his hand.
Antonius reached for the figure, his hand briefly closing over mine. In turn he offered me the talisman of Isis, seated on her throne with Horus on her knee and the cow-horn crown on her head.
He watched as I placed the carving in my robe against my chest.
“We should move on,” I said quietly. I had noticed that the market seller’s good fortune had already been spotted by two other traders nearby, who were desperately trying to flag us down.
I led the way to the herbalist in the centre of the market. After securing the willow bark, we stopped at one more stall.
“Fresh bread like you will never have had before,” I said.
The baker smiled at my compliment as she pulled the lid off her clay pot, releasing the aroma of the baking bread.
“The smell would make the gods weep,” Antonius said.
“I will take one extra,” I told the baker.
We sated our appetite, Antonius confirming that indeed it was the best bread he had ever had. As the evening grew darker, the market began to quieten, the stalls emptying.
“I must make one more stop before we return.” When I didn’t elaborate, Antonius didn’t press me.
I led us down the quieter streets to the south of the city, where stonework turned to mud bricks, and entered one of the smaller dwellings.
“Who goes there?” The voice was gruff, as if scarcely used.
“Apollodorus, it is me,” I said.
“Pharaoh?” He moved out of the gloom and into rushlight.
I handed him the extra bread I had brought as well as some of the willow bark. “Food for your stomach, willow for your leg.”
His eyes shimmered as he took the bundle, offering me a seat at his table. I had tried offering Apollodorus accommodations elsewhere, but he’d claimed this was home, and so home it was.
“This is Antonius,” I said, gesturing behind me.
Apollodorus bowed low, wincing as he did. “Careful,” I chastised him. “Sit before you cause more damage.”
The weaver lowered himself into a chair, his leg lying straight out in front of him. I could see beneath his tunic that the joint was swollen.
“How goes the pain? I am sorry I have not been able to visit sooner, but I hope the healers I sent were sufficient?”
Apollodorus smiled weakly. “You need not have worried about me, Pharaoh. I have my hands and so I can still weave.”
“Good. I have some more requests for material, but I will send them with a servant on the morrow.”
“You are too giving, Pharaoh. I wish to offer you a drink, but I have only water. With Nilah gone…” His throat bobbed and I bowed my head.
“I heard of your loss and I am sorry. She will be well looked after by my ancestors in the afterlife.”
My words seemed to comfort him.
“We will not intrude on your hospitality any longer, but please do send for me should you need anything,” I said.
Once we left, Antonius didn’t speak for some time. It was only when we had crossed the city and boarded the boat that he spoke again.
“You are more benevolent than the stories say.”
I was unsurprised. “And who tells those stories? Romans who wish to discredit me? Courtiers loyal to my siblings, who want to dethrone me? That’s the thing with stories: you must always know the story of the storyteller.”
A fitting reminder to you, my reader.
Antonius looked thoughtful. “Who was the weaver to you?”
“A man who helped a woman in need.”
“I thought perhaps he was an old lover?”
I barked out a laugh. “Because Caesar was my senior you thought my tastes must tend towards the ancient? No, Apollodorus is a friend only.”
“A friend,” he said, as if the concept was foreign.
“Besides, I am less benevolent than you think. I can be cruel and ruthless and—”
He cupped my chin, his thumb resting on the edge of my lips. “Do not say such things about the Pharaoh.”
I smiled. “I do not think she’ll mind.”
“But I will.”
The boat swayed as he moved towards me, closing the gap between our bodies.
“Marcus,” I said in warning. A warning for him or myself, I wasn’t sure.
“Tell me you do not want this,” he said.
“I do not want this,” I said, and he saw the lie in it.
“Tell me again, Cleopatra.”
Something unspooled in me as he said my name. I leaned forward and pressed my lips against his.
The kiss built like an incoming storm. First came the pattering of our pulse against our wrists, and then the thundering of our hearts. His hands felt like sparks of lightning on my skin as they moved from my face to my lower back, and I wondered if he were Re.
For he was surely a god.
I trailed my fingers from his jaw down to his chest. The kiss deepened and I pressed my body closer to his.
He stiffened beneath me and broke away. “We must stop.”
“Must we?” I said.
It was in that moment that his resolve shattered and with gentle hands he laid me down on the wooden slats of the boat.
The ocean currents swirled with our passion, and no one but the night sky bore witness to the birth of our love.