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I considered everything I knew about Cleopatra, gathered from what I’d read by the historian Plutarch and the memories that had seeped under my skin. “She was a renowned strategist and a meticulous planner, and it seems inconceivable to me that she’d trust her fate to a wild animal. Aren’t asps famously sluggish creatures?” I shook my head. “No, I think she came to her death prepared.”
“Hemlock, then,” Whit said. “I quite agree, but you have to admit the asp makes for a more dramatic tale, being the royal emblem of Egypt.”
The room had gone curiously quiet and I turned around, expecting to find the wall breached. But instead, Abdullah and Tío Ricardo stared between me and Whit, the pair of them wearing bemused expressions.
“Are you quite finished with your morbid discussion?” Tío Ricardo asked in a dry voice.
I blushed and looked away from Whit. Abdullah finished untying the rope, and handed it to Whit. Then he looked at my uncle and together they each pushed one side of the door, and it swung forward, revealing another room pitched in smothering gloom. Warm air pulsed and whooshedaround my face, tugging at my hair. It tasted ancient, of long-buried secrets and shadowed rooms enclosed by stone.
All the candles flickered wildly and were snuffed out. Flat black smothered us in darkness. Kareem gasped, and I reached for him, finding his narrow shoulders. I squeezed him, letting him know he wasn’t alone. Even if it felt like it. Someone shuffled closer to me, a large presence smelling of sweat and leather.
Whit.
He brushed my fingers with his, and I unlocked my clenched jaw.
“No one panic,” Abdullah said. “Ricardo, the sandal?”
There was a muffled sound as my uncle hurried to obey. A blue flame blazed to life, and I let out a sigh of relief. The men struck matches and relit the candles. I leaned forward to look at Kareem.
“Are you all right?”
He nodded, and shot me an embarrassed smile. I gave his thin shoulders another squeeze. We all stepped through, carrying our various forms of light. My breath lodged itself at the back of my throat, and my heart slammed hard against my ribs. For two thousand years this room had lain quiet in obscurity. Its magnificence hidden away under rock and sand.
Not anymore.
I stood where ancient Egyptians had once stood. Breathed the same tight air, felt the press of the four walls enclosing us. I blinked to adjust my eyes and slowly the room settled in front of me, the edges becoming crisp and clear. Before me stood a raised dais where a sarcophagus rested above the other two flanking it. The taste of roses burst in my mouth, and I knew, without having to look more closely, who was interred in the center.
The last pharaoh of Egypt.
Cleopatra.
“Plutarch was wrong. He wasn’t cremated—Marcus Antonius is on the left,” Tío Ricardo said hoarsely.
“Caesarion on the right,” Abdullah said. The sarcophagus of Cleopatra’s first child with Caesar bore several markings, and behind him stood an immense statue. Above the head of the statue was Horus, in the form of a falcon, the wings spread wide as if he were midflight.
“How kind of Augustus to allow them to be buried together,” Whit said dryly.
“Not kind,” Tío Ricardo scoffed. “Strategic. He didn’t want civil unrest to sweep through Egypt, and Cleopatra was considered a goddess in her own time. Don’t forget, Augustus still had her children to contend with.”
“They are depicted with her on the walls,” Abdullah said. “Extraordinary.”
I felt as if I couldn’t take in all the details in the room fast enough. Beautiful scarabs decorated the walls, their wings spread wide. Hundreds of statues surrounded the three sarcophagi, many of strange animals, and there were eleven long paddles propped against one of the walls.
“For the solar boat,” Whit said, following my line of sight. “It would have taken her and her family to the underworld.”
“Look at this!” Kareem exclaimed.
As one, we all looked in his direction. My uncle’s face twisted in horror. Kareem stood by a jar, one skinny hand holding the lid, and with the other, he’d used his finger to scoop up whatever was stored within. Dark, thick liquid coated his index finger.
Kareem brought it to his lips.
“No!” Abdullah yelled.
Too late, Kareem licked the sticky mass. His expression turned thoughtful, and then he grinned, and replaced the lid. “It’s honey.”
“That honey is overtwo thousand years old,” said Tío Ricardo. “I can’t believe you’d put something like that in your mouth.”
Kareem shrugged. “It smelled good.”
