Page 11 of Cleopatra

Chapter Three

51 BCE

stood outside the entrance of my father’s tomb. Seventy days had passed so quickly.

“You were a great king, but a greater father,” I whispered. My throat was dry, as were my eyes. By then, I had cried enough to flood the Nile. I had nothing left.

The priests prostrated themselves across the temple steps behind me, their low prayers reverberating in my chest.

“Many are the cries of your subjects here on earth. Osiris, King of Death, King of Eternity. May your judgement be swift and your favour true. Chief of Pharaohs, accept this new king into your realm,” they chanted as one.

I stepped towards the tomb, breaking away from my sister and brothers. Mikro Theos was sniffling and Arsinoe held her hand out for him to clasp. The sympathetic action was at odds with her stoic expression. I had not seen her cry since the day Father died.

Qar circled the blue sky above us, his shadow weaving around my feet as I walked through the entrance of the temple.

The antechamber was full of offerings to Osiris and supplies my father might need in the field of reeds. Woven baskets filled with dried fish were stacked in rows beside barrels of palm nuts and pomegranates. A golden chest held a collection of gleaming yellow lemons, a gift from our allies in Rome. Then there was the treasure twinkling amongst the food: beaded necklaces and gold armour, painted rings and marble statues. And finally, likely to be valued the most by my father, clay pots overflowing with wine.

I walked past these riches to the main chamber where my father’s body lay within a black granite sarcophagus. I kneeled on the ground by his feet and reached into my sleeve for the tribute I had placed there. The wooden flute was small but finely carved, and I’d had my father’s name engraved on its body in hieroglyphics.

“May your song never end.” I placed the flute on the tomb floor. Each tile was flecked with gold leaf.

I pressed my forehead to the ground and said, “Egypt is safe in my hands. I will look after her, for she is me.”

I kneeled there for some time, feeling the silent heartbeat of my country underneath my skin.

After I rose, I beckoned my siblings forward. Each held their own final tribute to our father.

Both Theos and Ptolemy held scarabs painted gold, amulets to ease our father’s passing. They murmured their own quiet addresses before quickly leaving. The air in the chamber was hot and stifling, so I did not chastise them for their haste.

My sister lingered, withdrawing her own gift for our father. To my surprise it was a bronze-headed arrow, fletched with white feathers that I assumed were Qar’s.

“I will always strike true, Father. Just like you taught me,” she said as she placed the arrow beside the flute.

Arsinoe was a keen hunter, a skill Father had nurtured. My sister saw me watching her and nodded before retreating.

I stood beside the sarcophagus and watched the shadows stretch as midday approached.

“Pharaoh.”

Black spots danced across my vision as I focused in on the administrator.

“It is time to seal the tomb,” he said, his voice like grinding stone.

I imagined for a moment how it would feel to be locked in. Relief, because no longer would I be required to play the part of Queen. Regret, because I knew that being Pharaoh wasn’t entirely a player’s performance.

“We are not like the common man,” Father had once said. “We may bleed and die like them, but when we bleed, so too does our land. And we never die, not truly. For there is always another Ptolemy to take our place.”

My father’s lesson hadn’t been meant as a threat, but with my siblings at my back, I would be remiss not to acknowledge how easily the throne could change hands. It had happened enough times in my family’s past.

Egypt is mine. I was surprised by my own conviction, but there was something potent in the air beyond the sweltering heat. Facing death, the thing I feared more than anything in the world, urged me to cling on to life.

“Pharaoh?” the administrator said again uncertainly. “We are sealing the tomb now.”

I nodded and followed him towards the temple entrance.

It took twelve men to slide the granite door across the opening.

Hands touched my waist and I looked down to find young Ptolemy pulling on my dress.