Page 48 of Cleopatra

The rock was cold as I ran my hands along it, searching for the hidden handle that would give me the means to push aside the hollow pillar that hid the opening. I found it, and with a shove the pillar moved, releasing a plume of cold air from the tunnel into the room beyond.

Then I stepped into the bedroom of the consul of Rome, and set history on a new course.

“Meretrix regina.” [“The harlot queen.”]

—Propertius, Elegies

“In a single night, after donning a hood, she accepted, in a brothel as a prostitute, the embraces of one hundred and six men.”[*]

—Letters on the Infamous Libido of Cleopatra the Queen

“The prostitute of oriental kings.”

—Boccaccio, Concerning Famous Women

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* I have never been prone to hysterics, but how I laughed when I learned of these forged letters. My eyes turned red from tears, my cheeks aching from the wideness of my jaw. That many men have never touched my skin, let alone taken pleasure in it! But I do not resent the scholars who penned these letters; they were resourceful, mining my myth to fill their pockets. If only I had had the chance to meet them, I would have liked to ask them what experiments they carried out before deciding on the number one hundred and six.

Chapter Ten

48 BCE

have read accounts that I walked into Caesar’s room clad in nothing but a necklace. That I swayed my hips to sway him to my cause.

But it was far simpler than that—we each had something to gain from the other.

He wanted my coin, I wanted my crown.

The plinth made little noise as I slid it back into place behind me. Charmion had the foresight to keep the tiles by its base oiled in case I ever needed a means of escape in the night. Neither of us would have expected the opposite to happen—me breaking into my rooms.

I hope you are safe, dear friend. Worry was eating away at me, but I knew the best way to save Charmion was to persuade Caesar of my right to rule.

I made my way into the belly of the room. Rushlights glowed in clay pots, and I was careful to avoid their flickering light.

The sleeping chamber was silent, the bedsheets pulled taut with no one inside. Incense burned in a gold basin by the door, the smoke winding its tendrils around the bed. Though it was now late at night, Caesar had yet to retire. I had little choice but to wait once more.

The guard who had so carelessly consumed me with his eyes was only a few paces away from me. The door separated us, but I still felt the threat of his greedy hands shiver along my skin.

I needed somewhere to hide. The room was as I’d left it, with the wooden chest containing my garments lying against the back wall of the room. When I opened it, I discovered that my finest clothes had been replaced by Caesar’s sparse belongings.

His linens smelled of myrrh and fresh sweat—not entirely unpleasant. I crawled inside and closed the chest lid. Through gaps between the wooden slats, the flickering of firelight broke up the darkness.

Despite the tension of the day, I found my mind drifting across the chasm that separated wakefulness from sleep. A few times I managed to call my mind back from the brink, but the softness of the cloth that cradled my body and the exhaustion that ached in my bones lulled me quickly to sleep.

The sound that awoke me wasn’t loud. In fact, it was the faintness of it that alerted my sleeping senses. Through a gap I watched as a shadow padded across the room. His body was muscularly built, though shorter than I expected, with a toga made of fine wool draped down from one shoulder. His face was turned away from me.

I shifted in the chest to get a better vantage point. He turned at the sound and I froze. My hand went to the concealed blade at my throat.

Caesar inched closer, his own hand going to his waist where I knew a sword lay. I needed to act now.

I took my time opening the chest lid. I did not wish to startle him, as I valued the blood in my veins.

He inhaled sharply as I unfolded my body from the shadows of his belongings and presented myself before him.

“Julius Caesar, I have heard tales of your charity and have come to exercise the virtue.” I let a smile twist the corner of my mouth to make clear that this was a demand and not a request. A pharaoh does not beg.

I could see his face now. The jaw was softer than I’d imagined, the skin there dusted with the beginnings of new growth, the colour of which was a light grey. His lips were thin, pressed together as he appraised me. His sharp nose and proud brow were at odds with his subtle chin, but the composition was not unappealing. A single lock of curling hair fell over eyes that were as dark as kohl.