Page 38 of Cleopatra

“You will know when Montu calls to you,” my father had explained three years before. He had chosen the beast that day, pointing a bejewelled finger at the new vessel as I watched.

“But how, Father?” I pressed.

“It is a feeling, like how your patron tethers you to the gods—as you will know, when your power eventually manifests.”

I felt humiliation then, and I felt it now. For Isis had not called to me, and neither did Montu.

My throat began to narrow with panic, and I found myself swallowing over and over again. I looked back and found Neferu watching me expectantly. Arsinoe stood in her shadow, her bored expression only increasing my trepidation. I was not the paragon of authority she could learn from.

Charmion stood apart from the procession of priests. When I caught her eye, she tipped her eyes to the sky with a subtle expression that only I could read: Hurry up, I’m hungry. It was exactly what I needed to prompt a decision. Time was dwindling.

I drew level with the final beast.

He was not the largest of the bulls, nor the plumpest. His horns were a murky cream rather than the polished white of some of the others. But when he looked at me through the grating of his cage, his eyes were as brown and as fathomless as the Nile’s depths.

I convinced myself it was a sign from Montu.

“This one,” I announced. “He will be the god’s vessel.”

The response from the priests was immediate. They stepped forward in formation, each standing in front of one of the other bulls. Neferu moved to stand by me, her hands raised to praise the new manifestation of Montu.

“Come forth, Buchis, our lord almighty. May you live for years untold. May you bask in the sun everlasting. My prayers are yours until you claim my soul to stand by your side in the afterlife.”

The eight priests responded to Neferu’s prayer as one: “I am thy servant, great lord.”

Then, the priests pulled out spears from beneath their robes. The first time I had witnessed the ceremony, I had been surprised to find the holy servants armed. But blood and power have always come as one.

“We honour your presence with this sacrifice,” Neferu said.

I closed my eyes as the priests lunged forward, their spears pointing towards the bulls’ hearts.

Squeals erupted around me as the creatures’ flesh was pierced. Some died quickly, but others were not so lucky, their screams turning to gurgles where the priest’s aim must have missed the heart and punctured their lungs.

The whole process was agonisingly slow. When the courtyard finally grew quiet, I opened my eyes.

The Buchis I had chosen was the only beast left alive. His eyes rolled in his skull, his nostrils flaring and snorting as he smelled the blood of his brethren.

I averted my gaze from the slumped forms of the other animals. It was then that I noticed Arsinoe watching me.

“Sister, are you well?” she asked. Though her tone was concerned, her lips curled upwards mockingly.

“Yes,” I said. “I fear I am just hungry, and it has set my heart a-thunder.”

I rested my hand against my chest, feigning light-headedness. Servants rushed to attend me, but I ignored them: I had been reminded of the threat pressed against the bone of my sternum.

The coin with my profile removed.

And so it began, the erasure of my history.

Chapter Eight

48 BCE

e did not stay long in Hermonthis. Once the enthronement parade was over, I retired to my quarters on the barge. My feet were dusty and aching, my lips cracked and dry from the midday sun.

Arsinoe stayed the night in the city, the festivities luring her in as strongly as they repelled me. She did not return to the boat until the next morning while I was breaking my fast.

I looked up as she sauntered into the dining room. The guards I had left her with trailed in behind her, both looking exhausted.