Page 70 of Cleopatra

“I’m pregnant.”

—

When Caesar returned from fighting that day, I was waiting for him in the rooms we now shared. The campaign to reclaim Egypt was progressing slowly. The Romans and my allies had reclaimed Pharos Island and my beloved lighthouse. Arsinoe and Theos’s army had suffered significant casualties from the burning of the harbour and had retreated west. But the war was far from won.

“The rebellion army have been seen pillaging the city for wood to make new ships,” he said as he entered. “I am expecting reinforcements by the end of the season. Mithridates leads the fleet from Cilicia.”

When I didn’t reply, he seemed to sense there was something amiss. He focused his gaze on me and stood before me.

“What has happened?”

As the day had progressed, I had become more and more nervous about telling Caesar. My mind was heavy with worry about the complexities of what an heir of both Rome and Egypt might mean.

He reached for me now, cupping my cheek in his hand.

What if he does not claim the child? The thought didn’t scare me like it should have; instead I found myself pulling away from him. If I had to do this alone, I would.

“I’m pregnant.”

Caesar’s reaction was instantaneous. The smile that spread across his face was enough to bring tears to my eyes. He embraced me, covering us in our enemies’ blood.

“He will be fierce like his mother,” he said as he kissed my palms.

“Our child may be a girl,” I said, smiling in relief.

“Then she will be even fiercer.” He lowered his head to my stomach and kissed me above my navel.

“And kind-hearted like her father.”

He stood, wrapping his arms around me once more.

“You need a bath.” I laughed, pushing him away.

“Join me?”

I let myself be led towards the bathhouse. Our laughter and joy echoed across the palace that night.

Chapter Fourteen

47 BCE

looked up at Faunus, my administrator, who had entered the throne room and said something I didn’t quite catch about Caesar. The old man puckered the symbol on his forehead as he frowned, clearly distraught. I watched as the kohl drawing of the lotus flower encircled by a snake drew upwards—a tribute to the legend of Iphis, a woman blessed by Isis to live the life of a man. Like Iphis, Faunus wore his rebirth proudly.

“Julius is where?” I was lounging on the couch that I had brought in to replace my chair in the throne room. My hands rested on my swollen belly, feeling the kicks of my child beneath my palms.

“Pharaoh, Caesar is missing, presumed dead,” he whispered, but it sounded as loud as a battle horn to my ears.

“No.” I would know if he had been ripped from the fabric of this world. I would have felt the tearing of the threads. Wouldn’t I?

“He accompanied a small fleet to greet the reinforcements from Syria, but the rebellion army ambushed him. They outnumbered the few archers he had on board, killing them swiftly. The ship he was travelling on was sunk.”

“No,” I said again.

“He—”

“Have you seen his body?”

Faunus shook his head.