Page 83 of Cleopatra

His smile was radiant as he looked down at our son. “Your mother says we must celebrate you, and I think that is a fine idea.”

“I will begin the preparations, Pharaoh,” Charmion said. Pharaoh, not Cleo.

“Charmion…” I started, but my handmaiden swept away before I could finish.

I could call her back with a word, but our trust was built as a bridge—she saw me beyond my title, and I saw her beyond hers.

And for the first time, cracks were forming.

—

The feast drew in all the nobility of Egypt, and some allies from neighbouring countries.

The celebration was a political one, a strategy to strengthen my rule. It allowed me to reinforce my image of Isis and Horus while also fortifying a united front between my brother and me.

The kitchens roasted twelve boars for the occasion, and Caesar had sent for several casks of palm wine. A sistrum player chimed a steady melody as courtiers engaged in games of senet and dice.

I watched the festivities from the comfort of my throne, my son laid across my lap. Bastet and Maahes lay by my feet, already grown to the size of large goats. The cubs wore lapis-studded collars that matched the beaded hem of my own dress, and Caesarion was also lavishly adorned: a small circlet lay upon his head, with golden falcon wings coming together above his brow. The linen draped over him was parted to reveal the slip of skin where ink had marked him with the eye of Horus. We were the very image of the gods.

Courtiers greeted us both and laid gifts at our feet throughout the evening. Ptolemy, sitting beside me, complained that he had yet to receive any.

“It is Caesarion’s night, brother,” I reminded him. “But you may choose any gift you desire from the offerings on the morrow. Your nephew is too young to know.” This cheered him.

I was determined to keep my youngest brother happy and placid in his role as a figurehead, after I had failed with Theos. I tried not to think of my brother, deep beneath the waters of the bay.

I was glad of the distraction when a governor approached the dais.

I recognised but couldn’t quite place him.

He bowed low, his long hair fanning out around him. “Pharaoh. My name is Governor Serapion from Memphis. I had the pleasure of joining you for dinner during your tour to Hermonthis.”

I remembered now: he had been the only courtier to answer my summons. He had spent most of the evening speaking to Arsinoe alone. “You were not governor then.”

“No—my father, may he find eternal peace, passed into the next realm at the beginning of shemu season.”

“May he find eternal peace,” I echoed, and he inclined his head at my blessing.

“I have a humble request, great Pharaoh, blessed of Isis. My sister suffers from an unknown malady, I hoped you might use your divine power to cure her.”

There was something in his tone that made me pause. I narrowed my eyes as I scrutinised him. Maahes sensed my disquiet and stood up.

Serapion shifted his feet.

I laid a hand on the cub’s head and he settled again. “Do not worry, he won’t hurt you. Unless you wish to cause me harm, that is,” I said.

Serapion’s laugh was as thick as fresh honey. “No, my queen. I only ask for your help.”

“Bring your sister to the hospital on the mainland; I will be sure to treat her there.”

“I have brought her here with me. If it pleases you, I can send for her now.” His voice had increased in volume and it carried to the party guests nearest to me.

I frowned. “I will prioritise her treatment in the morning.”

“I have travelled far for your fabled touch,” he persisted. “Like many of us here, I seek to bask in your divinity. Grant us this gift, let us see your power in action.”

The silence gathered momentum, and soon a hush had fallen across the feast.

I sensed the trap, but it was too late. Expectant eyes stared back at me. Even Caesar watched with keen interest from across the room.