Page 88 of Cleopatra

Despite his innocence, I did not dare leave him in Alexandria alone. I underestimated a sibling once, and I would not make the same mistake again.

Caesarion, seeing his uncle, squawked in Caesar’s arms until his father released him to the ground. The boy then proceeded to run towards Ptolemy, who greeted him with a polite lack of interest.

“Must we attend? Why can’t we stay here?” I asked, watching as Caesarion attempted to regain Ptolemy’s attention with a dance. Charmion led the boy away with a dance of her own, always there to capture his heart.

“You must,” he said firmly and I raised an eyebrow. “The procession is a little tedious, but the jesters and games will be enjoyable for Caesarion.”

“And what will be enjoyable for me?” I drawled. I still did not have a fondness for revelry, and the Roman triumphs were known to be raucous.

Caesar tightened his grip on my hand and said, “You will want to come—I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?”

His eyes glinted in the morning sun and I felt myself conceding.

—

Half a day later I deeply regretted my choice. The procession moved slowly through the city, beginning in the Field of Mars and winding through the streets to the Capitol, ending at the Temple of Jupiter.

The parade was filled with details of Caesar’s victories, including maps, figurines of the enemy, and paintings of the battles. I found the whole thing dull, but Caesarion loved the spectacle of it.

When we reached the temple, Caesar led the tributes to Jupiter by slaughtering two white oxen across the temple steps.

He smelled of blood as he came to stand next to me. “Your first surprise awaits.”

“First?” I said.

He nodded. “You will have two today.” Then he said to a guard next to him, “Bring out the prisoners.”

I frowned, confused, but I dutifully watched as the prisoners of war were led to stand on the bloodied steps.

As every new bound captive joined the procession, the cheering of the crowd grew louder.

Then came the final one. A woman, the weight of the chains around her wrists pulling her arms straight and her chest forward. Her braided hair had come loose, falling over her face. But still I recognised her.

“Arsinoe,” I whispered.

“We captured her fleeing east with the remaining traitors of the Egyptian court,” Caesar said, his voice thick with pride.

It had been many seasons since I had thought of my sister.

Was I happy to see her bound and beaten? I should have been. I should have rejoiced that her treachery would finally cease. But as I have told you before, I truly loved Arsinoe, far more than any of my other siblings. We had fought so frequently as children that in some ways I thought that this conflict would be resolved just as simply: with a song to lift our spirits and an embrace to forgive.

But it could not be so. There was no going back to the people we had been. Arsinoe had proven time and again that she had not been satisfied with that. It wasn’t enough to be my sister. It wasn’t enough to simply be loved by me.

Squawk-caw.

I would know that sound anywhere. Circling above the procession was Qar.

Did he see my face shift from hate to love and back again? Was he telling her what he saw?

I had not missed his eyes on me.

“What do you intend to do with her?” I asked Caesar.

“Execution,” Caesar said. The word sealed the fate of the first prisoner, and I watched as an axe severed his head. The crowd cheered all the harder.

One by one, each prisoner was paraded past the triumph before being sacrificed to Jupiter.