Page 141 of Cleopatra

“Caesarion, you will be fine,” I said, as Antonius laid him on a stone bench. “Charmion, my bag!”

Charmion rushed forward, already removing the needle and thread.

Caesarion whimpered beneath me, and I was plunged back to the memory of the ink and needle.

“This will hurt.” As it will hurt me.

“I will be brave, Mama,” he said, though his eyes were wide and fearful.

How he had grown.

“I will go and deal with the assassin,” Antonius said.

“Do not kill him before I speak to him,” I said. “I wish to know more of the man who thinks he can murder a god.”

Antonius left us.

“Will I have a scar?” my son asked.

It was Charmion who answered. “You see this?” She pointed to where her old wound had silvered, tracing the raised skin from her jaw to the top of her cheekbone. “This was healed by your mother the very same way.”

He smiled through the pain. “I like your scar. I hope mine will look the same.”

What a noble heart he had. What I would give to press my ear against his chest now and listen to the steady beat of it.

Once I had finished stitching, I kissed his brow. “Go now, find your brothers and sister and leave for the palace. Keep your guards close.”

I walked out to the gymnasium courtyard. Crowds still lingered, though all festivities had ebbed.

Antonius had taken the assassin to the palaestra. The soldier lay in a pool of his own blood, his stomach lacerated with shallow cuts. Antonius’s sword dripped crimson. “I don’t believe you,” he was saying. “Someone must have paid you.”

“No one needed to pay me,” the man spat, his jaw clenched tightly in pain.

“You hail from Rome,” I said, and he looked up.

“Do not speak to me, heretic,” he snarled.

Antonius pressed his sword’s edge to the man’s throat, drawing blood. “You will address the Pharaoh as is proper.”

Ignoring me, the soldier spoke to Antonius: “She has bewitched you away from your wife and turned you against Rome. You share the spoils of war with Egypt before your own people. The heretic and her illegitimate child are no longer welcome in Rome.”

“And upon whose authority has this claim been made?” Antonius asked.

“Our lord, Octavian.”

Antonius and I shared a look. “Did Octavian know of the territories you bequeathed to our family?” I asked him.

Antonius didn’t answer, and the assassin laughed. “She speaks like a mortal woman, but we know her to be a siren. Rome will be the death of her.”

No, it would not.

Antonius lunged towards the assassin to silence him, but I held out a hand to halt the killing blow.

At first he looked at me quizzically, but then he heard what I whispered to one of the guards, and nodded. The assassin looked between Antonius and me and cackled.

“It is as they say: she has bewitched you, addled your wit.”

Antonius turned to me sweetly. “Dearest, may I cut out his tongue while we wait?”