Page 20 of Cleopatra

It was one of the rare occasions where I could move through Alexandria largely unnoticed. I slowed my pace and listened in on a couple of scholars.

“Aristarchus’s hypotheses are far superior to those of Aristotle. They will be the foundations of future astrologists.”

“You cannot mean what you say. His work is primitive—the sun a fixed star? No, I repeat, you cannot mean what you say…”

On I drifted, absorbing the animated debates that brought the library to life.

“Cleopatra’s power is yet to manifest.”

I faltered as I heard my name. The guards at my back were forced to make an abrupt stop, causing Arsinoe to trip. She swore but I was too distracted to chastise her.

I moved towards the voice that had invoked my name, careful to hide my presence behind the rows of papyrus scrolls.

“I have heard tales that she isn’t a Ptolemy at all, that the priestess found her by the banks of the Nile and brought her to Auletes. It is why the gods punish us by halting the rain. Have you noticed the Nile has not flooded since her coronation?”

So many blasphemies in so few breaths. I felt my throat blaze with fury.

My mother had passed to the next realm bringing my youngest brother into the world, and denying my legitimacy was an insult to the way she lived and died. Auletes—flute player—was a sacrilegious nickname bestowed on my father, stripping him of the power of his title of Pharaoh.

And the final piece of libel they directed at my character was the wrath of the gods. It was those words that cooled my rage into fear. Until that moment I had only considered the personal burden of my lack of divine magic. Yet here was a citizen of my country, attributing the weather to my shortcomings—a rumour powerful enough to unseat me from the throne.

I peered through the shelves to assign the face to the voice. The man was young, too young to be speaking words with such dangerous repercussions.

Arsinoe pushed her way through my guards to stand beside me. “You should kill him. He speaks treason.”

Her voice carried through the dusty shelves, past the ink-covered scrolls, to the ears of the heretic.

He looked up and our eyes locked through the hollow centre of a scroll. If I thought I had felt fear before, it was nothing like what crossed this man’s features. His lips thinned to pale brown, his cheeks growing sallow, and the black centres of his eyes grew to the size of a tetradrachm coin.

I had a choice: have my guards execute him and end the rumour before it spread, or continue on my way.

I have said before that I did not relish killing. My father would say it was a weakness, and time has granted me the wisdom to understand his reasoning.

“Why ever would I execute him? I heard nothing and no one,” I said softly.

I watched as my mercy took effect, returning blood to his skin. He rose from the table he shared with his companion and kneeled on the ground in front of the stacks. I could no longer see him beneath the shelves, but I felt the impact of my clemency.

Arsinoe scowled beside me. “He will repeat those words for others to hear.”

I turned away from her. “It is impossible to contain a story once it is spoken. Especially here of all places, where Seshat’s blood is the ink we read, her veins the stacks, her skin papyrus.”

I continued through the library to a quieter section where a desk was set into the corner. Only one person moved amongst the notes and scrolls of my work.

“Archibios, how do you fare?” I said.

The librarian startled before smiling and bowing low. The fingers that he clasped by his belt were tipped with ink and paint. His dark skin was glossy from sweat. There was little breeze in this part of the library.

“Pharaoh, I wasn’t sure you would return today,” he said. His Greek was heavy with the tones of the east; he originally hailed from Damascus before the library had lured him here.

I was grateful that Seshat’s will had brought him to my city.

“It was a busy morning, but I thought I would spend some of my day here.”

I dismissed my guards to the far corners of the room. Sometimes their presence was suffocating.

Arsinoe moved towards the desk and began to look through the jars and bottles that were stacked behind it.

“Careful!” both Archibios and I cried.