Page 79 of Cleopatra

“Cleopatra—” He spotted our son.

“A boy,” I confirmed.

It was the first and last time I ever saw Caesar weep. “My Venus and Cupid. You are the gods of my heart.”

I did not mind that he likened me to his false god. Isis’s power was vast and had many faces, so when he spoke of Venus, I heard my goddess’s name.

He took the babe from my arms and pressed him against his forehead, wetting the boy’s cheeks with his tears.

“He is bigger than my Julia was,” he whispered. “When your guards would not let me in…” The pain of what might have been had hollowed out the skin beneath his eyes.

I held out my hand to him and he grasped it, keeping Ptolemy cradled to his chest with the other. “I am well,” I reassured him, “and so is our son.”

“Our son,” he said with bewilderment. “Caesarion. You will be the ruler of both Egypt and Rome one day.”

His words had the ring of prophecy, but we all know that did not come to pass.

—

Charmion woke me at sundown when the soothsayer arrived.

“She is in the antechamber—shall I let her through?”

My body ached, but I knew how important the soothsayer’s verdict would be.

“Attend me.”

Charmion helped me to stand. My dress clung to the sticky blood between my legs. “Pass me a robe, and my crown. Where is Caesarion?”

I was still Queen first, mother second.

“He’s here, Pharaoh.” The nursemaid had a quiet voice, and it grated on me immediately. She lurked in an alcove, my son in her arms.

“Strip him of his blankets, the soothsayer will want to see him in his nakedness,” I instructed.

Once I was dressed and my son was not, I welcomed the soothsayer into my rooms.

She was younger than I expected. Naturally beautiful, with dark eyes and full lips that turned down at the corners, giving her an air of exquisite melancholy. She wore her hair in a side-lock style, entirely shaven except for the knot on the side of her head. The undyed linen of her robes was twisted across her chest and her brow was marked in kohl with the sigil of Ptah—the god of creation.

“Pharaoh.” She bowed low. “My regards on the birth of your son. May the gods bless him.”

“Please, come and greet him.” I indicated for the wet nurse to bring him forward.

I watched as she handed over my son to the soothsayer, who began to examine him. My mouth was dry, my breath shallow.

Let it be a bountiful god, like Geb, or Re.

The soothsayer’s eyes narrowed as she searched for the birthmark that tied my son to his deity. She lifted his legs, turned him on his bottom, checked his palms and behind his ears.

My heart began to pound against my chest as her eyes met mine. She shook her head once.

“Empty the room,” I said quietly. When no one moved, I said it again. “Empty the room!”

Charmion began to herd the servants and the handmaidens out of the birthing chamber.

“Even you, Charmion.”

The look she gave me would have fractured my heart if it were not already breaking.