Page 23 of Cleopatra

Every seventh day I made this same journey. I wanted my people to know me as their queen. My father had created distance between himself and his people in the belief that this fortified his divinity. But what greater blessing could there be than the presence of a living god? So I hallowed the city streets, often throwing coins and food to the crowds that followed my procession.

I looked through the gap in the curtains and watched as we drew closer to the city’s walls, thick slabs of limestone stacked high above the litter, cleaving the blue sky. Ornate carvings of wheat and lotus flowers twined along an arch that parted the walls. The entrance, known as the Moon Gate, led to the villages that surrounded the Nile Delta.

I sighed as I tugged on a memory from my childhood. When I splayed my toes on the rough carpet of the litter, instead of wool I felt the grit of hot stones. The patter of my calloused young feet reverberated in my ears and the hair at my neck prickled as if tangled by the wind of my memories.

“Be careful!” Charmion cried, too fearful to join me in my adventure on the city’s walls.

But I paid her no heed and dashed along the top of the Moon Gate with a freedom I would never feel again. I had been merely a pharaoh’s daughter back then—the second daughter at that—and had little regard for the people that lived on either side of the city wall.

Now I was surrounded by guards, all armed with spears and daggers. Some of the blades bore signs of blood. It wasn’t uncommon for citizens to lose all sense of reason in my presence.

I looked out at the crowds, which were thinning as we drew closer to the end of Canopic Street, the main thoroughfare of the city. In fact, something was drawing the hordes away.

I leaned further out of the litter and saw the source of the commotion.

“Ahmose,” I called, quietly so as not to wake Charmion.

The litter stopped and Ahmose appeared at the window’s edge. Sweat seeped from behind his skull cap and gathered in the seams of his guard linens. “Yes, Pharaoh?”

“I wish to walk among the people.”

Shortly after Ahmose dipped away, the litter was lowered to the ground. The motion woke Charmion. “Are we at the harbour?”

“No, we’re at the city walls.”

“Why have we stopped?” She stifled a yawn. Since Pompey’s beheading she had suffered from night terrors. Charmion, sensitive to any changes in the waters of the world, felt the ripples caused by Pompey’s death. I should have heeded her fears.

But I didn’t, and so I offered her my hand. “Come with me and you will see.”

She gripped me tightly and I led her out onto the street.

The crowds parted as I neared, dropping to the ground. My guards closed ranks around me and Charmion leaned close. I could not wait for the surprise to be revealed to her.

“The Queen, the Queen is here.” Whispers swirled and faded like smoke on the breeze. A hush fell upon the people until only one voice remained.

“And so Re retires to the sky each night, sailing his boat through the stars above—Oh!” The hakawati saw me, and his words guttered out. His knees struck the dirt and he lowered his grey-topped head to the ground.

“Great Holiness, forgive me, I did not see you approach.” He had abandoned the ethereal tone of his storytelling, and I found his natural voice unpleasantly nasal.

“Rise, elder. I wished only to listen.”

He stood slowly, his dark eyes troubled. “You would like me to tell a story, Pharaoh?”

“You are a hakawati, are you not?”

“I am.”

“Then speak.”

His lip wobbled at my command. But he did as I bade, projecting his voice with verve. “The Pharaoh asks for a gift, the most precious of all gifts. A story. But what tale will satisfy a queen?”

I looked to Charmion. She stood with her lips slightly parted, her eyes twinkling with pleasure. This was the gift the hakawati was truly giving me.

I brought our clasped hands to my lips and kissed her fingers, and she smiled but did not look away from the storyteller.

“Not just a queen, but a Ptolemy?” the hakawati continued. “There is only one tale worthy of such divine ears. The story of our saviour, Sōter, the first Ptolemy to bless our land, and deliver us into peacetime.”

I knew the tale well; the legend of my ancestor’s deeds was performed at every festival. I tried to hide my disappointment, determined to enjoy the moment despite the chosen material.