Page 63 of Cleopatra

“Let it be done,” I said.

Here. Here is where I began to harden. I recognise it now, the callousing of my heart. Sentencing a soldier to death was one thing, but my siblings? That was a torture altogether too painful to bear. I had to armour my heart to withstand it.

Caesar nodded grimly. “As you wish, Pharaoh. And the lions? I will do it.”

“No, this is a task I must do alone.”

I sent for my bow.

I didn’t cry as I loosed the arrows.

—

That evening we dined together, alone. Caesar recognised that I needed distracting. The operation to burn my siblings’ ships was commencing that night. Our meal was simple fare: lentils and bread.

Despite the battle that raged beyond the palace walls, these quiet moments were some of my favourite times during the life I’d led in Egypt.

“Sometimes I forget about the war,” I said quietly to Caesar. We had been discussing the merits of Eratosthenes of Cyrene’s work, giving me the barest of glimpses of what my life would have been like had I been a scholar. It had been some time since I had longed for that life, but the wanting never truly went away. Much like the great loves of my life, the need became a part of me.

“It is a blessing to have this respite,” Caesar said.

My gaze had drifted to the window and the city’s outline beyond.

Caesar’s hand reached out and rested on mine.

It wasn’t the first time he had held my hand. The gesture was small but enough to reinforce his interest without being overbearing.

I have told you what began between us was friendship, but that does not mean that passion did not quickly grow. I found that in these quiet moments there was a sweetness to Caesar. Like a sun-ripened melon, he would peel back the toughened shell of his outer layer, revealing a man generous with his affections.

“It feels wrong to enjoy these nights with you, when my people are out there dying.”

He bowed his head. “We acknowledge their sacrifice, but we must not succumb to melancholy. They fight so we can live.”

His words unsettled me and I moved my hand from under his to pick at the bread on my plate.

“Come now, soldiers must die for a war to be won,” Caesar said.

He had mistaken my discomfort. “I am used to people dying for me.”

When I was five years old, my father had sacrificed three men to Isis. The ceremony had been held in my name, and though I’d barely been old enough to understand it, I’d been forced to wash my hands in their blood.

“Then what troubles you?”

“No matter who wins, we all lose. The ships we burn tonight are my people’s ships.”

“Traitors, all of them.”

I considered. “Yes, but also no. They still follow the Ptolemy blood, just the wrong Ptolemy.”

“The wrong Ptolemy, indeed.”

“If we win this battle, I will need to offer mercy, or I will have no subjects left in Alexandria.”

“They will not be loyal.”

“I do not need loyalty, I need obedience.”

Caesar laughed at that. “You are right. Let the loyalty come later, for few people could deny you their devotion after being in your presence.”