Cleopatra’s Daughter: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page A

Kleopatra Selene. But she calls herself Selene.”
    “The sun and moon,” Juba said wryly. “How clever.”
    “And the boy?” Agrippa asked.
    “Ptolemy,” Alexander replied.
    The muscles clenched in Octavian’s jaw. “That one’s more of his father.”
    I tightened my grip protectively on Ptolemy’s hand, and as we reached the courtyard in front of the palace, Agrippa turned to us.
    “There will be no speaking unless spoken to, understand?” The three of us nodded. “Then prepare yourselves,” he warned as the palace doors were thrown open.
    Evening had settled over the city, and thousands of torches burned in the distance. It seemed as though every last citizen of Alexandria had taken to the streets, and all of them were making their way to the Gymnasium. Soldiers saluted Octavian as we approached the gates, with right arms held forward and palms down.
    “You can forget a horse and chariot,” Juba said, surveying the crowds.
    Octavian stared down the Canopic Way. “Then we will go by foot.”
    I could see Juba tense, and he checked the sword at his side and the dagger on his thigh. He was younger than I had first assumed him to be, not even twenty, but he was the one Octavian trusted with his life. Perhaps he would make a mistake. Perhaps one of my father’s loyal men would kill Octavian before we sailed for Rome.
    We waited while a small retinue was gathered, some Egyptians andGreeks, but mostly soldiers who spoke Latin with accents that made them hard to understand. Then we began the walk from the palace to the tomb. Every dignitary who came to Alexandria wished to see it, and now Octavian wanted to pay obeisance to our ancestor as well.
    I wished I could speak with Alexander, but I kept my silence as I had been instructed, and instead of weeping over my father, or Antyllus or Caesarion, I studied the land.
Perhaps this will be the last night I will ever see the streets of Alexandria
, I thought, and I swallowed against the increasing pain in my throat. On the left was the Great Theater. I tried to remember the first time my father had taken us there, climbing with us to the royal box that was erected so high it was possible to see the island of Antirhodos. Beyond that was the Museion, where my mother had sent my father to become cultured, and professors had taught him Greek. Alexander and I had begun our studies there when we were seven, walking the marbled halls with men whose beards fell into their flowing himations. North of the Museion were the towering columns of the Library. Half a million scrolls nestled on its cedar shelves, and scholars from every kingdom in the world came to learn from the knowledge stored inside. But tonight, its pillared halls were dark, and the cheerful lamps that had always lit the porticos from within had been extinguished. The men who studied there were making their way to the Gymnasium to hear what would become of Egypt now.
    I blinked back tears, and as we reached a heavy gate, a Greek scholar whom I had often seen in the palace produced a key from his robes. We were about to enter the Soma, the mausoleum of Alexander the Great, and as the gate was drawn open Agrippa whispered,
“Mea Fortuna!”
    I noted with pride that even Octavian stepped back. I hadsketched the building a dozen times, and each time Alexander had wanted to know why. He wasn’t moved as I was by the luminous marble dome, or the beautiful lines of heavy columns that stretched like white soldiers into the night.
    “When was this built?” Octavian asked. Instead of turning to either Alexander or me, he looked at Juba.
    “Three hundred years ago,” Juba replied. “They say that his sarcophagus is made of crystal, and that he’s still wearing his golden cuirass.”
    Now Octavian turned to my brother and me. “Is it true?”
    When I refused to answer him, Alexander nodded. “Yes.”
    “And the body?” Agrippa asked Juba. “How did it come here?”
    “Stolen, by his cousin Ptolemy.”
    We