Cleopatra Confesses (12 page)

When my sister and I reach the harbor, we find an old man and a boy dozing in a small fishing boat. Waking them and addressing them in Egyptian, I ask them to take us to the Royal Harbor, part of Alexandria’s Great Harbor. But they are reluctant.

“Order them!” Arsinoë urges. “Tell them who we are!”

“That we are the daughters of the king who has aroused everyone’s fury?” I ask. “Better not to tell them anything.” I turn to the boatmen. “My sister is frightened,” I explain. “I beg you to help us.”

Arsinoë’s tears and one of her gold rings finally persuade the old man.

Their small boat glides almost soundlessly over the black water. There is no moon. I can scarcely make out my sister’s face. No one speaks. I wonder if the others can hear my heart pounding.

The palace is bathed in the light of many torches, and as the boat draws closer, the angry shouting becomes a roar. I point
out the little dock at the rear of the compound, where servants keep a few small boats. The boy helps us climb out. The old man eases the boat away from the dock, and they are quickly swallowed up in the darkness. We feel our way cautiously to a narrow door in the outer wall surrounding the palace compound. This door is always guarded. “He’ll recognize us and let us in,” I tell my sister more confidently than I feel.

The guard is asleep. This makes it easier for us, certainly, but it will also make it easy for anyone to steal in, make his way to the great palace gates, and throw them open to the angry crowd. I shake the guard awake with a warning. “Hold your post!” I order him, and he snaps to attention. Berenike would not hesitate to have him put to death for sleeping on duty.

We circle to the rear of the main palace and cautiously enter through the servants’ quarters. The corridors are empty, but I am not sure if this is a good thing or not. Where is everyone? I steer Arsinoë across a deserted courtyard to her quarters. Her nurse, Panya, rushes out to meet her, carrying Ako. There is much weeping as they are reunited. I wish them good night and turn to leave.

“Where are you going, Cleopatra?” Arsinoë asks, clinging to her monkey.

“To bed,” I tell her. That is a lie. I am going to the king’s palace to find Father. This time, I will not wait for Father to summon me. I must know if he is safe and what he intends to do now.

For perhaps the last time, I forget to worry about my own safety.

Chapter 23

P
ROMISE

An angry mob surrounds the king’s palace. I skirt the hundreds of fist-waving, shouting people who are demanding that King Ptolemy come out and face them. I seize a chance to slip by the distracted guards and race through darkened corridors to the king’s private apartment. Once inside, I find Father huddled with Antiochus and his other advisors, debating what to do. Everyone has a different idea. The men are so deeply involved in their discussion that they do not even notice when I glide in behind a servant. I recognize the girl: She is one of Berenike’s servants. I murmur close to her ear, “I will serve them. You may go.” I dismiss her, but she hesitates.

“It is all right,” I assure her, taking the jar from her hands. “Princess Berenike has asked me to take your place.”

That is another lie. Berenike will be furious when she finds out.

I have never served before, but I have watched often enough to know how it is done. Then Antiochus happens to glance my way. At first it seems he cannot believe it is me he sees.

“My lord,” he says to my father, interrupting him, “your daughter has joined us.”

“My daughter?” The king’s head jerks up. All the men turn to stare at me. “Cleopatra! What are you doing here?”

“I have come to serve you, my lord,” I reply, and begin to fill the men’s goblets.

“You have no business here, daughter,” he says. He sounds weary, drained of energy.

“My business is to be sure that you are served by a friend, not by a spy.”

“Princess Berenike sent the girl to serve us. All the others have retired for the night.”

I say nothing. Let him figure it out for himself.

I carry around a platter of fruit, but I am careful with the wine, adding only a few drops to Father’s goblet. He needs to keep his wits about him.

Annoyed, he holds up his goblet. “If you are indeed here to serve us, Cleopatra, then be kind enough to fill my goblet. To the brim.”

I bow low. “I beg your forgiveness, my lord, but the wine jar appears to be empty.”

My third lie. I think he knows it, and I am a little afraid he will be angry and send me away to bring another jar. Father reluctantly sets down his empty goblet, and the men resume their discussion.

Suddenly, he rises. “I have made my decision. For the sake of Egypt I shall go into exile. I shall leave as soon as my
ships are made ready and provisioned.” The men begin to talk loudly, all at once. Father pounds his fist on the table, and his empty goblet clatters. “I, Ptolemy XII, king of Egypt, have spoken! Antiochus, summon the commander of my ocean fleet.”

His decision stuns me. If his advisors are surprised, they hide it well. Maybe it is what they have urged him to do. The men stand, bow low with hands outstretched to their pharaoh, and leave the hall in silence. I remain still as a statue, unable to move, though my mind is reeling. My father turns to me. His face is lined and haggard, and he looks much older than his fifty-nine years. I long to throw my arms around him and beg him not to leave, but I do not. It has not been our way to express our deepest feelings so openly.

“So, daughter, it seems we must again say good-bye. It saddens me to leave you, but I have no other choice. I am sure you understand that.”

No, I do not understand!
I choke back the words. Tears well up in my eyes, but I control the urge to weep. “Where will you go, Father?” I ask him. I cannot stop the trembling in my voice.

“To Rome,” he says. “Perhaps my friends there will help me again.”

Friends? I am doubtful of the friendship of those Romans. “Will you be gone long
?” And what will I do without you here to guide and protect me?
That question remains unasked.

He gazes at me for a moment. “It may be for a very long time,” he says. “I don’t know. But I must leave at once. It’s not safe for me to sleep in the palace tonight.” He takes my face in both his hands and gently tips my head so that I must look at him and his tired, bloodshot eyes.

Take me with you, Father!
I cry silently.
Do not leave me here alone with my sisters!
But he does not hear my unspoken pleas.

“Listen to me, Cleopatra. While I’m away, I want you to visit the tomb of our ancestor Alexander the Great and pray for guidance. I will return, if the gods are willing. Hear me, daughter! I promise you this on my sacred word: When I do return, you and I will rule Egypt together.”

Have I heard him correctly? He wants me to be the queen by his side? This is a surprise to me, and nothing he has said before has prepared me. Something has surely changed. But what if he does not return? What am
I
to do then? I open my mouth to ask the questions that are already burning. But he shakes his head. “Later, Cleopatra. Later there will be time.” He embraces me, pressing me to his chest. I cling to him tightly. Neither of us speaks. Then abruptly he turns away, and he is gone.

Now that I am alone, I begin to weep. Then I remember his words and repeat them silently, over and over:
You and I will rule Egypt together.
I wipe away my tears, lift my head, and brace myself for whatever lies ahead, as a queen must do.

Chapter 24

A
NNOUNCEMENT

For two days I hear nothing more about Father. The crowds have dispersed, and an uneasy silence lies over the city. Then Demetrius comes to my quarters. “I swore my loyalty to King Ptolemy XII, pharaoh of Upper and Lower Egypt,” he says, anxiously rubbing his bald head, “and I promised your father that I would do everything possible to help you.”

Nice words, but we both know that even the most loyal tutor has no power. “Where
is
my father?” I ask him. “Is he in Alexandria? Can I see him?”

“I believe that he spent two nights in the lighthouse, in disguise, while his ships were being readied for a sea voyage. The royal fleet sailed today at dawn. That is all I know, Cleopatra.”

“My sisters—have you talked with them?”

“Your sisters do not wish to talk with me. That has not changed.” He hesitates. “If I can be of any assistance—”

I cut him off, perhaps rudely, and dismiss him.

With Father no longer in Alexandria, I am deeply worried about what will happen. Who will rule Egypt in his place? When King Ptolemy set out on his first voyage to Rome two years ago, he left his grand vizier, Antiochus, to make the administrative decisions. But I have not seen Antiochus since the night we returned from the Nile journey. Did Antiochus accompany Father into exile, or is he in hiding somewhere near here? Who is in charge now? Who will rule?

My sisters have no doubt already made that decision, without consulting me. Before he left, Father told me that he and I would rule together when he returns. But what did he tell
them
? If he told them this is what he plans, then I am in more danger than I have ever been. I am always in danger from those two!

Or did he tell them they should rule in his absence? Or did he choose one or the other to rule? Or put Antiochus in charge? If only Father had told me what to do in the meantime and what provisions he made for his wishes to be carried out! And the one question I must banish from my thoughts:
What if Father never returns?

As it is, I have absolutely no one to trust, no one I can go to for advice—not Antiochus, or any of the other ministers. The last people in the world I can talk to now are my two older sisters. I hate them, and they hate me. Perhaps they hate each other. If they do, they will destroy each other.

In the meantime, the less I see of Tryphaena and Berenike, the better. The more I can avoid those two and stay out of their sight, the safer I will be.

Irisi and Monifa insist that we must stay quietly in my palace until the situation becomes clearer. “We do not know who are
our friends,” Monifa frets, “and who have become our enemies.” My two servants mistrust the dishes prepared in the palace kitchens, and they decide to take turns going out to the marketplace to purchase food and prepare it themselves.

Irisi returns with a loaf of coarse bread, a bunch of onions, and a pot of cooked lentils. “There is great unrest everywhere,” she reports, laying out our simple meal. “And I can tell you that leaving the palace is much easier than getting back in. The guards have been replaced, and these new men do not recognize me.”

“But who ordered the guards replaced?” I ask. Irisi does not know.

I would like to take a turn in the market as well. I might learn the answers to my questions. But Monifa insists I must not go out, arguing that it is too dangerous. For once I pay attention to her warnings. I, too, am apprehensive, but I believe the dangers are greater inside the palace than anywhere else.

I feel like a prisoner. The walls seem to close in around me. When I can bear it no longer, I decide to obey Father—and disobey Monifa—to visit the tomb of Alexander the Great. It may be the one place in my city where I can find strength in these difficult days.

As Monifa said, leaving the palace is simple. The streets are crowded, as always, and I can feel the tension in the air; ordinary conversations sound more like arguments. I avoid the marketplace and follow side streets until at last I am walking among the graceful columns of Alexander’s tomb. Guards stand motionless, following me with their eyes. In the peaceful silence of the tomb, I kneel beside the sarcophagus. Alexander’s coffin was originally wrought entirely of gold, but I
once heard that my grandfather ordered it melted down to pay his soldiers. Have my people always had to deal with dire financial problems?

The translucent alabaster coffin that replaced the original is splendid in its own way. The mummy, covered with a thin sheath of beaten gold, lies bathed in pearly light. I have heard it said that Alexander was as beautiful in death as he was in life. I wish I had known him, asked him questions, listened to his answers. How would this brilliant leader advise me now?

Every ruler of Egypt has had to meet challenges, going back thousands of years to the pharaohs who ruled Egypt long before the arrival of Alexander—my favorite, Hatshepsut, among them. I understand that I am one more in the long line that came after him. I must believe that one day I, too, shall rule, just as Father promised. Someday, I would make Egypt a great country, her people prosperous and proud.

Feeling strengthened, I rise and hurry back to my palace. Then I must argue my way past the guard, who does not believe I am who I say I am until Monifa comes out to rescue me. And now she is angry with me too, even when I tell her that I was obeying Father’s order.

Four more days have passed since King Ptolemy went into exile, and I receive a surprise visit from Antiochus. I had thought he left with Father. “Princess Cleopatra,” he says, bowing—but not quite low enough—“I bring you a message from your devoted sisters, Princess Tryphaena and Princess Berenike. They say that they have not seen you recently, and they are greatly concerned for your well-being.”

I do not trust this man, and I doubt that my sisters are
“devoted” or worried in the least about my well-being, any more than I am concerned about theirs. They are no doubt pleased that Father is gone and they are free to plot their own path to power. But the grand vizier and I must play out our little scene. “Please tell my dear sisters that I am quite well and thank them for their concern.”

“Your sisters wish you to attend a grand banquet tomorrow night in the great hall of the king’s palace. At that time they will make an announcement of great importance.”

This is not an invitation I can refuse. It is more like a command. That they are holding the banquet in the king’s palace and not in their own is ominous. “Convey my thanks to my sisters for the honor, and assure them of my presence.”