We divided day and night into 12 hours each, and the length of those hours varied with the season. The clock accounted for all of it, and yet Berenice dismissed it with a scoff because she disliked the cut of the statue's nose.
“It's a shame your tutor left for his fool's errand,” Berenice said. “Pharaoh has to act and cannot wait for his return before doing so. Whether or not he agrees to the ransom, the people will see any further delay as the weakness it is.”
“Philostratos might succeed,” Cleopatra said. “There’s still hope for a solution.”
Berenice tutted. “We make our own solutions. Egypt’s hope is in true leadership, not in rented salvation from across the sea.”
She moved to the window where the light silhouetted and accentuated her figure. Amani grimaced. Berenice was not nearly as attractive as she assumed. Besides, adulthood came to everyone. Berenice was nineteen, but it wasn't as if she had earned it.
Cleopatra collapsed onto a couch and crossed her legs so that one bare foot dangled in the air, her sole pointed at Berenice.
“When Pharaoh asks what we should do in this matter,” Berenice said, “I know well what I shall answer him.”
“He won't ask,” Amani said.
“Cyprus is ours,” Berenice continued, “and we will not pay for what we already own.”
“The time will come,” Cleopatra said.
Amani looked surprised. “You think Pharaoh will pay?”
“The time will come when Berenice will be consulted,” Cleopatra said, “if not by father, then by Alexandria.”
Berenice steadied her wig. “The people will bow before me.”
“And your brother,” Amani said.
It was not a kind remark, and in truth, the boys were still young. If Berenice were to take the throne too soon, there were other men of marrying age, hidden away in foreign lands.
Berenice lowered her gaze at Amani. “Remember, you're only here because you're clever. Do you know why I'm here? Because I'm important. I will always be important. Make sure you stay clever, little girl. There's always another to take your place.”
Amani ignored the challenge and asked, “Do you think you'll make a good queen?”
Berenice spun with delight. “I will be radiant.”
“Your mother enjoys being co-regent,” Cleopatra said.
Berenice stopped, and her gown swung lazily from side to side. “Everyone releases their power, eventually.”
A chill crept through Amani's flesh, but she told herself that Berenice's threat was all posturing. She knew the family history of the Ptolemies; the sisters argued as sisters do, but she had always assumed they loved each other. Maybe as adults, they would lose something to the madness of politics, but in their youth, there could still be love. Yet, as was often demonstrated, Berenice was no longer a child. Maybe she had outgrown her sisters.
Amani broke the silence. “Cleopatra would be a good queen.”
“She'd be a joke. A small one which no one gets.”
“You should be nice,” Amani said. “You're family.”
Berenice glanced to the door and lowered her voice. “If you were really one of us, you'd understand. Some things are more important than family.”
Amani settled onto the couch, finding comfort as an act of defiance. “I am one of you. There is no place where I belong more.”
One night soon after, music drifted across Alexandria's dark harbor. By candlelight, Cleopatra dressed Amani in her finest gown. Amani stared at her reflection in the copper mirror as Cleopatra draped a gold necklace around her neck. A single, large pearl fell against the flat of her chest.
Cleopatra's younger sister, Arsinoe, slid a bangle over Amani's wrist. “I want to dress her.”
The view out the window revealed the emblazoned light of the banquet room. Everyone but the children and their servants were in attendance.
Arsinoe drew away from the game. She was a year younger and petite in a way everyone knew she would never outgrow. She bounded across the room to dangle out the window as if she would throw herself into the harbor. “I want to see the cornucopia play.”
“You can hear the music from here,” Cleopatra said.
“I want to see it.”
The cornucopia was an automaton invented by the great Ctesibios. It blew notes through pipes using compressed air triggered by water. His work popped up often around the city, especially in parades, where human-looking giant mechanizations ran through a series of complex movements, to the amazement of the crowds.
A servant offered to bring Arsinoe some fruit.
Arsinoe cried out and collapsed upon the floor. “I can smell the piglets with thrushes cooked inside their bellies. Why can't we go? I don't eat much. You know I don't.”
“Your father has an important speech tonight,” Amani said.
Arsinoe slumped into the nook created by the window. Moonlight reflected off the water and danced across her face. “Speeches come after, and they could send us off to bed before the boring stuff.”
Cleopatra ran her fingers into Amani's wig and tested the weaving of the human hair. “It's dangerous. That's why.”
Amani felt the wig twist and slide with every tug. “What do you think your father will say?”
Cleopatra worked another braid. “I'm not sure it matters.”
“He can show the people who he really is and what he cares about,” Amani said. “Show his passion for Egypt and its people, his love for Alexandria, and a commitment to Cyprus tempered by his respect for Rome.”
With every mention of Cyprus, Amani felt my absence in the pit of her stomach. She tried not to wonder if I would ever return.
“We cannot ignore Rome,” Cleopatra said, “and we dare not fight them on our own.”
Amani watched as Cleopatra looked to the north as if she could see distant lands. Amani had grown used to the idea of keeping my secret from Cleopatra, but she did not like it. As far as the family knew, I was in Cyprus only to find a solution for the Roman invasion.
“Your father need not solve the problem of Rome in one night,” Amani said. “He needs only to be someone the people can trust. Though Rome surrounds us, his first thought will be for our safety. He needs to show he would sacrifice himself to rescue his people.”
Arsinoe released an exaggerated yawn, announced this was a boring game, and ran from the room. The last remaining servant followed after her. Cleopatra worked in silence. Across the harbor, the banquet room went quiet.
“He won't sacrifice himself,” Cleopatra whispered, “and the people would turn against him even if he did.”
They said nothing else until sound returned to the banquet hall, a modest chorus of approval.
“They won't come for us, tonight,” Cleopatra said, “but no one's opinion of my father has changed. When they come, you must flee the palace. It won't be safe here, not for anyone.”
“I will not leave you.” Amani heard in her own voice a certainty and determination that pleased her.
Cleopatra's eyes reflected no light. “What I do and where I go will not be of my own choosing.”
“I will go where you go.”
Cleopatra looked away. “You'll go where you are told, as will I.”
Papyrus 3.01
The island palace was both home and prison, declared so by Pharaoh until the Cyprus crisis passed, for no danger of the Nile ever matched those of the Alexandrian streets; none of its beasts equaled her hunger.
The palace could do no more than physically seclude the children. Amani's mind ran free. Visually, she explored everything, beginning with the lighthouse and the island of Pharos, crossing the land bridge that separated the two harbors until she reached the waterfront with its docks, warehouses, and armories. Large cranes stood like silent sentinels at the harbor's edge. With the power of compressed water, each could lift incredible weights; now, they waited, motionless, resembling skeletal remains of ancient beasts.
The palace district was an uneven crescent moon. Cleopatra's island o
f Antirhodos rested upon the minor point, while various, brilliant buildings curved along the water's edge. It culminated at the greater point of Lochias, the palace peninsula.
Beyond the palaces were the Museum and Library, the theater of Dionysus, and the temples which served both the people as symbols of fidelity and the Pharaoh as the institutions of his bureaucracy, a human infrastructure Rome could not match. The Egyptian government collected its wealth from every stage of production. If Rome conquered Egypt, Egypt would suffer, but if Egypt could control Rome, Rome would prosper.
She and Cleopatra found solace out of the palace and beyond the garden and the red-granite columns, in the temple of Isis, where the statue of the goddess stood silent watch over the entrance.
Sitting on the steps, Amani caught a glimpse of sails on the horizon and recognized their cut.
“Cyprus.”
A crowd gathered. Amani knew Pharaoh must be watching, as were Berenice and her mother, all of them waiting for news. Amani said nothing, but in her heart, she hoped and prayed I would be onboard.
The ship entered the harbor and docked. A fire rose in the lighthouse, and the sound of voices rumbled across the city.
When the voice of the mob washed over the harbor, Cleopatra and Amani were in the palace, sitting in silent vigil, but at their sound, Cleopatra rose to her feet, grabbed Amani's arm, and pulled her to the palace harbor. Whatever had become of Cyprus, it meant the end of Ptolemy's rule.
Amani yanked her arm free. “I'm not leaving. I've lived by your side; if need be, that is where I'll die.”
Instead of answering, Cleopatra wept and threw her arms around her. They held each other as the volume grew, like the bellow of a beast come to swallow them whole.
Amani stayed, and they waited through the night for someone to come. Sitting upright against the wall, she fell asleep. When she awoke to Cleopatra's touch, the morning light had not yet bled into the pure night sky.
“Did Philostratos come?” Amani asked.
Blackened tears smudged Cleopatra's cheeks. “My father has sent men for me.”
“What do you mean they've come for you? They come for us both.”
Cleopatra pulled her into her embrace. “Rather than see Rome strip away his kingdom, Pharaoh's brother has taken his own life.”
As if in response, the voice of the city rose afresh.
“I'm going with you,” Amani repeated.
“The people will kill Pharaoh if they reach him.”
“I'm going with you.”
“It won't be safe for you in the palace.”
“Then let me come.” Amani couldn't hear the pain in her own voice until she saw it reflected in Cleopatra's eyes.
The soldiers came. They had waited as long as they could. Amani struggled to follow after them, but one shoved her to the ground and drew his sword against her.
Amani pushed up against the floor. Let them kill her if they must. She would not stop.
Cleopatra ran between them and stopped the blade with a touch. She led Amani to the family port and handed Amani an oar.
“Go,” she commanded. “Save yourself.”
Amani refused the oar and clung to her. “I can't leave you.”
Cleopatra again pushed the oar into Amani's grasp. “Get into the boat or never see me again.”
Amani could say nothing. When Cleopatra turned to leave, Amani did not follow. Cleopatra looked back, and Amani saw both terror and conviction in her eyes. At last, Amani relented and stepped into the boat. Cleopatra returned to the edge of the dock and pushed the boat away. It glided upon the water, and, as Amani passed out of the reach of the palace lights, Cleopatra turned away.
Amani watched soldiers escort Cleopatra across the rotating bridge. Then, it swept out in Amani's direction, opening the channel between the city and the island, and she glided through.
Cleopatra and the soldiers moved in spurts, from shadow to shadow, hugging the edge of the harbor. She wore no jewels to mark her station, nothing but the tunic she had slept in. Even her feet were bare, but the dainty steps of her run and her prim posture would give her away to any who saw. Amani hoped no one would.
As they approached the land bridge, armed men emerged. Amani stifled a scream. The soldiers turned Cleopatra over without a fight. They surrounded Cleopatra and hurried out along the land bridge.
Halfway to the island, a ship prepared its rigging and opened its sails. Amani pulled hard against the water and closed half the distance between them before Cleopatra's escorts spotted her. Several broke away and lined the shore, one drew his bow. She brought the boat to a stop and quietly begged for Cleopatra to turn and see her.
Cleopatra boarded, unaware, and Amani watched tug boats guide the ship off the quay. Its sails caught the winds. Amani's own boat rocked in the wake and then settled again.
As the men left the shore, one remained behind, slender and refined, but only when the light of a passing torch caught his face did Amani recognize him as Dio. He beckoned Amani to come to him.
Amani rowed to shore, and Dio helped secure the boat. Each movement assured her that Cleopatra had escaped, perhaps never to return, while she remained bound to Alexandria.
Dio pulled off his outer cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders. “I'll escort you to the Egyptian quarter if you don't mind the company.” He held a sword in one hand and her hand in the other, and they walked together along the water's edge.
Papyrus 3.02
Your extended family brought Ma'nakhtuf a daughter to bless on her twelfth birthday. Her name was Iras. Had Amani not gone to live with Cleopatra, they would have grown up together. Instead, they were strangers.
Ma'nakhtuf placed a hand upon her head. “The goddess Maat will watch over you, and you will be watchful in return. Devoted of heart. Just and true.”
Your family blessed children coming of age in the name of gods whose favor they could win for the betterment of the family. Maat personified the order of creation, and by the ostrich feather she carried, Osiris judged the hearts of men.
Ma'nakhtuf took a baby from its mother and brought the child from person to person as if he were revealing a newborn. Amani followed, watching each uncertain step. He lost his footing and fell into a wall, and she watched him guard the child with his own frail body. They looked at each other, and she knew he saw her fear. Although he said nothing, she felt ashamed.
When the others left, she expected him to chastise her.
“The hall of two truths,” he said, his eyes unfocused and distant, “I will stand there soon and recite before the gods the forty-nine negative confessions. My heart will know its guilt or its righteousness. If I fail, Ammit will feast upon my soul.”
Amani listened and dabbed the sweat from his brow. “You will arise with a new day, grandfather, to walk forever in the field of rushes.”
He cupped her cheek. “Who will take care of you when I'm gone?”
“You don't need to worry.”
His hand dropped to her shoulder, and he clung to her garment. “I trusted your care to Philostratos, and he abandoned you.”
“He didn't, grandfather.”
“He ran off to study and broke his promises. He's kept none of them, not one.”
She glanced to the door and whispered, making sure that family in the neighboring houses could not overhear. “That's not true.”
“His word means nothing.”
“His word,” she said, “means everything.”
Ma'nakhtuf caught his breath, but when Amani looked up, his eyes bore into hers.
“How can you still defend him?” he asked. “Can you no longer see the people you serve for what they are? Ptolemy gave you to his daughter as a lie for the people. They see you amid that wealth, and they see themselves. You are the pretense of a voice for those who have none. The palace left our people unaware of their own silence.”
“Cleopatra isn't like that,” she said.
“They're all the same.”
“If I c
ould tell you the truth, I would, but it’s not what you think.”
“It's not your fault, child. I should never have let you go.”
“Promise me you won't tell anyone,” she said.
He frowned. “Who would I tell? Osiris?”
Amani fought back the compulsion to cry. Tears were his intent. The old politician played dirty, even in his last debate.
“Promise,” she repeated.
“Open the door, child,” he said.
She struggled between speaking and silence but finally did as he asked.
He stared out from his bed as the glow of the city competed with the sea of stars above. Amani wanted to warn him against the cold but said nothing. She pulled a blanket off her own bed to drape over him. Then she curled up next to him and felt the slow pattern of his breathing.
He wrapped his spindly arm around her, pressing her to his chest. She waited for him to speak, to give her reason to betray her secrets.
Tell me, he might say, what you've learned of our people.
She would hesitate. She had little proof, but their research suggested a story.
Like other countries, she would say, we look back to better times, but while they were in their glory days, we were already an ancient people looking back to something even greater.
We were the first.
She would whisper in his ear. The first thousand years in the Nile delta, they saw achievements long forgotten and never equaled, but not for a lack of trying.
He fell into a coughing spasm, and she waited until it passed and his breathing returned to normal.
As the other nations emerged from the dark times, we remained under foreign rule, she would say, but we began an effort to solve the mysteries of our beginnings. Our people did their work here, in Rhakotis, away from the gaze of Persian eyes.
He shivered, and she rose to close the door.
The work collapsed under Alexander. His people took our sciences as their own. The Ptolemies took credit for our achievements, one pharaoh after another, at least until the time of Epiphanes.
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