Page 139 of Cleopatra

He looked every bit the Greek god as he ran down the pier towards me.

“My son!” He took Ptolemy from my arms and lifted him up, to much giggling. Then, settling the babe in the crook of one arm, he turned to me and slipped the other hand around the nape of my neck before lowering a kiss to my lips.

“How I have missed you.”

I smiled, glad to have Antonius home again, but my smile slipped when I looked past him and saw prisoners disembarking, their wrists bound in gold chains.

“Who are they?” I said.

“The Armenian royal family.”

“Why are they here?”

“Because, my love,” he said gleefully, “we are to have a triumph.”

I thought back to the last triumphal procession I had been a part of, the day Antonius and I had met. Arsinoe had been one of the prisoners paraded in front of the city.

I found myself looking away from the bound monarchs and was glad when two-year-old Ptolemy babbled something incoherent and drew my attention back to him.

“I have brought treasures for all the children,” Antonius said, his expression loving as he gazed at Ptolemy.

“I hope if you have brought Caesarion a weapon, you have brought one for Selene too—you know what happened last time,” I said.

“Of course, how could I forget my warrior daughter?” As if hearing her name, Selene appeared behind me, her arms open to join Ptolemy and Antonius’s embrace. Helios was not far behind, his hand in Caesarion’s; they had just returned from riding practice.

I watched my little family gathered beneath the brightness of the sun, and I thought, Here is my whole world. I need nothing more, nothing less.

—

Charmion and I began the plans for the triumph the next day. It was much like the Ptolemaia, but the focus was on the recent battle and the spoils of war. Aided in the particulars by Antonius, we transformed northern Alexandria into a festival parade. The procession began on the first day of shemu, the air scented with freshly harvested wheat and flax.

Antonius and I rode upon a chariot through the centre of the city. He wore a golden cape and his ivy-wreath crown. Tucked into his belt was the latest addition to his Dionysus outfit, a thyrsus—a giant fennel stalk crafted entirely out of bronze. I wore the crown of Isis and a large shebiu necklace made of turquoise discs. My hair hung in two braids and was beaded with small painted pieces of pottery, which sang a tinkling tune as the chariot moved.

My citizens lined the streets, cheering. Though I had learned to tolerate the scrutiny of so many eyes, I was keen for the procession to reach its destination.

The prisoners from Armenia were paraded in front of the chariot, along with soldiers carrying the treasures found in their coffers. Occasionally a commander would throw a piece of gold or silver out to the crowd, much to the delight of the onlookers.

Maps of Antonius’s route through the world were circulated, with kohl crosses identifying the countries that were now a part of my empire. Wine was passed out along the route, in chalices in the style of Dionysus’s own.

As we reached the gymnasium, the crowds grew thicker. Here we had erected our thrones: one cast in gold for me, with a lower step for Caesarion; and one cast in silver for Antonius. A bronze bench rested on the step below, where the rest of our children now sat.

Antonius helped me down from the chariot, his face flushed with wine and excitement.

“You look so happy,” I said fondly.

“Remember when we danced, the night of the Ptolemaia?” he said, and I laughed as he twirled me around on the gymnasium steps.

The crowd cheered in response.

“Marcus, I will fall,” I gasped.

“Then I will catch you!” he sang back.

Escaping his grasp, I ascended the steps to my throne. I touched each of the children’s cheeks as I passed.

I lowered myself to my throne and set my arms atop the cool gold. Something moved beneath my wrists and I had to bite down on my tongue to stop myself from screaming in front of so many.

I clutched my hands to my chest and inspected what had startled me. Cages had been set into the panels of the armrests; within each writhed a young asp.