Cleopatra, Immortal Queen

chapter I 48 BCE Alexandria’s lights were dim against the cloud-filled sky as the prow of the small ship ground onto the sand. The two-man crew jumped out and began pulling the boat higher onto the beach while Cleopatra allowed Nicodemus to carry her beyond the waves to drier land. In the dark he was a shadowy form, but familiar, someone she could trust. During her early years, while he attended classes at the palace with her, his angelic features and sweet manners had charmed everyone as well as her. The last time she’d seen him the soft lines of youth had disappeared. Now, three years later, he was a man, but she barely noticed, the next few hours paramount in her mind. Faint lights pricked the hillside, but on top of the hill the palace – her palace – blazed with light, and the sounds of Roman soldiers patrolling the perimeter of the gardens carried to her, increasing the anger she felt. "What is it like, Nicodemus?" she whispered, her feet sinking into damp sand as he set her down. The night had turned cold, and she shivered. With difficulty she moved toward the softer, drier ground barely visible near the wall. "Is my city the same as when I left?" If Arsinoe got to the palace first, she would spread her legs for the Roman. Delay could mean defeat even if her sister could never satisfy Caesar’s taste for literature, poetry, and word play like she could. "Not quite, My Lady." He pointed toward the city proper, his voice sober. "Some of the buildings have been razed, others fortified." She tried not to picture the destruction. While she was in exile, Alexandria’s royal image had sustained her, her palace the jewel at the top of the hill. "And my people?" She spoke to stop the inner trembling she felt. Caesar could be compassionate, but he could wipe out whole cities without compunction, including babies at the breast. His mother, part of an impoverished but noble family, had devoted her life to his education. He’d married Cornelia as a young man, a different wife later, and his third wife recently. Whether it was a political alliance or not, it was clear he did not look askance at women. She smoothed the folds of her dress. He would like her magnificent eyes, her shapely body, but she must make him like her. Even though he was old enough to be her father, they had much in common. She could speak nine languages, recite ancient poetry and literature, all of which would appeal to him. His pedagogue had been educated in Alexandria and Caesar had studied many of the same subjects she had. But Egypt had lived under the Roman thumb for decades. The Romans had patronized her father, let him act in foolish ways so they could hold it over his head like a blade to plunge into soft flesh. She hated the thought of Rome, but to save Egypt, Caesar had to be placated. "Some of our people have fled. Others stay in their homes. Others welcome Caesar." Nicodemus held out a hand. "Come. We must hurry. Appolodorus, the Sicilian merchant helping us, waits in his shop." He led her up the beach. Nicodemus’s voice brought her back to the present. She nodded, hating to sneak through the streets like a thief. She’d been queen since her father died, chosen over her siblings, and every day of her exile, she’d chaffed. She belonged on Egypt’s throne, not her half sister, Arsinoe, not her half brother, Ptolmey XIII, and certainly not Caesar. Holding her cloak tightly about her, she hesitated near the Moon Gate. Her gown and jewels covered, her feet in plain papyrus sandals, she looked far from queenly. She’d almost worn a pair of leopard earrings painted black, the leopard's eyes blazing with green feldspar, but it would not do to tempt destiny with signs of the underworld. The pearls she’d selected were some of the costliest jewels in the world and would enhance the image she wished to project. Also, the ribbons of gold and beads of lapis lazuli Iras had threaded through her hair would add to the splendor. She’d look like a queen. She glanced around. Although most people would be sleeping, someone could be returning from a drunken revel or clandestine assignation. "If we get stopped, I'll pretend you're my husband, and we're returning home after a party with friends," she whispered. Nicodemus had become a very successful architect; many Alexandrians would recognize him on sight, hardly glance at her. Acting out dramatic scenarios was a game they had played with Iras and Charmion many times during childhood. Always he had entered wholeheartedly into the fun no matter what role she had assigned him. Now, she imagined he frowned for he did not answer immediately, and the moon continued to hide behind drifting clouds and no light came from the small dark waterfront shops. "So, what say you?" she prodded, the idea of confronting Caesar bothering her more than she liked to admit. "Your Majesty, I am married and many know my wife." Seeing him again, she'd been thrust back to the happy parts of childhood, and in the boat, spray sometimes wetting her face, she had sat close to him and felt safe. Now, she thrust her shoulders back and frowning said, “So we will have to change our story. We cannot be caught.” "We will not be intercepted I have timed the Roman guards on their rounds. We will make it to the rug shop safely. As for my wife, she’s a lovely lady, almost as beautiful as you, My Lady." "Few see beauty, my friend." Too many saw the prominence of her nose or grew frightened of her agile mind. But she'd always felt beautiful when she was around Iras, Charmion, and Nicodemus. Now, he belonged to someone, and she had never belonged to anyone and Caesar ruled her city.