Page 21 of Cleopatra

“This smells foul,” she said.

I gently removed the vial from her hand and placed it back on the rack. “That is a healing balm I have been working on.”

My work was another attempt at eliciting my god’s attention. Given Isis’s healing attributes hadn’t come to me naturally, I thought that if I exercised the skill, I might yet summon the power in it. I had requested that Archibios train me in all he knew.

“Can you teach me?” Arsinoe asked.

I was surprised. Arsinoe had already proved her lack of interest in scholarly matters. She had mastered the Egyptian and Greek languages, but that was all.

I was delighted to show her my recent projects, but she quickly grew bored.

“I’m hungry,” she said with the petulance of a girl half her age. “I saw the cooks stuffing a goose with dates to roast. I should like to eat it fresh from the fire.”

I had always been bewildered by Arsinoe’s penchant for poultry despite her connection to Qar. The ibis hadn’t joined us on the journey to the library and I wondered whether Arsinoe’s true woe was that she missed him.

The voyage back to the palace felt longer than usual. Perhaps because I felt more tension in my shoulders than I had on the way there.

The rowing boat moved through the waves towards Antirhodos, the guards cutting through the ocean with their oars. I recalled the scholar’s words from earlier: “Have you noticed the Nile has not flooded since her coronation?”

What if the gods are punishing Egypt for my shortcomings? What if Isis has deemed me unworthy of the throne?

Arsinoe’s voice drew me back from my thoughts.

“There’s another boat there that is not one of ours.” She pointed.

I peered closer. Arsinoe was right. Moored at one end of the harbour was a sailing boat with a hull far wider than anything we used.

“Pharaoh? What would you like us to do?” Ahmose asked.

A man was standing at the end of the pier, looking up at the palace. He wore leather armour and a kind of red sash I had seen only once before, on a Roman general. Though opulent, the fabric was threadbare and battle-torn. His hair was unkempt, and his skin blood-streaked.

There was no doubt in my mind that this was the Pompey that Pothinus had spoken of that morning.

“I will go ahead,” I said to Ahmose.

“Cleopatra, what are you doing?” Charmion hissed.

“I will be fine, Charmion.” If I said it, it must be true.

Should I send my guards to kill him and gain Rome’s favour? What I knew of Caesar had painted an impressive figure in my mind, and strengthening Egypt’s relations with him could only be a good thing.

Ahmose followed close behind as I approached the man.

Pompey turned at the sound of our footsteps, and I was surprised to see a smile on his lips.

“Pharaoh—”

There was a blur of white feathers and the distinctive caw of an ibis as Qar appeared in the sky above. He dived for Pompey, striking him in the eye.

I heard Charmion shriek behind me as blood and fluid burst from Pompey’s face. I flicked my wrist at my guards to intervene, but Arsinoe reached Pompey before them.

She held a sabre, and with one quick thrust she buried it in Pompey’s neck.

As Pompey collapsed bleeding at her feet, his dying breath rattling in his throat, Arsinoe began to cry.

I swallowed my surprise and went to comfort my sister.

“Why did you do that, Arsinoe?”