Page 118 of Cleopatra

“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.

“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.