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Mudjet and I continued to keep ourselves occupied as best we were able as we passed into a sultry, languorous spring so very far from home. I had been a year without my freedom, a year since I had rode ahead of my people wearing the vulture crown, nearly a year without seeing Ptah. With each passing day, that past grew more indistinct, less finite in my mind. I began to wonder whether all of it had been a long, frenzied dream. Especially the dreams.
A week after Cicero visited us, a freedman of his appeared with a crate of scrolls and books, with his compliments. I devoured as many as I could, uncertain of how long I would have to enjoy them, reading aloud to Mudjet while she sewed and leaving the lamp by my bed burning late into the night. I would send them back weekly to the old orator with notes full of fragmented thoughts and scattered observations, which he would in turn acknowledge or dispute with his next shipment. We debated the Greek masters and critiqued the Alexandrian poets, and he commended me for being a more faithful literary pen friend than Caesar was. Naturally, I replied, for the Consul was a busy man and I found myself at last the woman of leisure Achillas had promised to make me. The irony was that my days were both too long and too short all at once.
While Cicero and I dawdled on the fringes of Rome, Caesar had returned to Africa to quell the last of the men clinging to Pompey's memory. The fight was costly but he prevailed as he always did, and when messengers from the south rode through Ostia on their way to deliver the good news to Rome, mine were the only eyes that did not follow their lathered horses.
I drifted away from them to the gently sloping ridges that curved down to the pebbly banks of the harbor, and I looked to the south from whence the riders had come. I looked towards the horizon and to Africa beyond it, where Caesar stood in Carthage or Iol, readying his ships to sail not north yet, but east. East to the city of my heart, east to my glorious Alexandria because he might be demon and a fiend, but he was a man who kept his promises. And he had promised my sister to return to Egypt. He had promised that she would be in Rome to see my end.
Once my sister's flotilla had left Egypt, we were moved up the river to Rome and placed in a proper prison again on the Capitoline mount. We were hoisted through the cracked stone streets in a borrowed chair, peering at the crowds through the faded curtains that were there to protect the citizens of Rome from us as much as us from them.
Mudjet and I watched Rome in the eyeful silence of novice travelers and I thought on how being in the capital of Latium was more of a homecoming than an arrival. I had lived here once already, driven from Egypt as a small child fleeing a revolution with my parents and Cleopatra. Ptah had been born under the watchful gaze of the Seven Hills. My mother had first sung the songs of her people to me here, where the Black Land sounded like a place as distant as Atlantis. Now I had returned, now I was the revolution. Perhaps I had always been destined to retrace this thread of history, despite my Greek face and Egyptian heart. Perhaps Rome had placed a secret mark upon my brow that let her call me back to her cobbled alleys and houses of brick. The chains I wore to do so were just a surety that I would come. Now that the final wheels were in motion, I began to prepare myself for what was ahead of me.
––––––––
She arrived in Rome in late summer, a year behind us. Naturally Cleopatra caused a commotion everywhere she went from the moment she came ashore, draped in gold and escorted by her full entourage. She told anyone who would listen that she was a simple visiting dignitary and would keep to herself. Not that anyone believe her in her embroidered silks and her lavish equipage. Though if she had secretly hoped to be honored and celebrated, she would be disappointed. The flinty, fickle Romans loved their republic and had an inborn distrust for royalty, especially the monarchs of the east. Strong men and spectacle were one thing, but kings and queens were quite another. True, many had started to look to Caesar for nearly unfettered leadership, yet there was a reason even he proceeded among them so cautiously. These were a people whose ancestors had murdered their own founder Romulus when he had supposedly grown too kingly.
And then there was the matter of Lady Calpurnia Pisonis. The typical Roman aristocrat was hardly faithful to his wife, though the general understanding was that the lady could rely on a certain amount of discretion about these matters, particularly in intrigues carried on in the city in the midst of neighbors and acquaintances. As she earlier had expressed to me, my sister did not give a fig for any embarrassment her lover's wife might feel by her presence and set out to publicly demonstrate that the poor young woman was a nonentity beneath notice or comment.
As I sat in my new cell awaiting the haughty Queen of Egypt’s pleasure, even a naïf in such matters as myself questioned the wisdom of my sister’s conduct. I knew Cleopatra saw herself as a Macedonian Hellene who ruled Egyptians, but I doubted whether our hosts would make such a fine distinction. The citizens loved their Consul, though they obviously feared his being led by the nose, or perhaps something more valuable, by a woman they saw as nothing more than a scheming courtesan.
I understood their unease. My sister was not be taken lightly, and yet in the end I found their fears unlikely. I had seen them argue, I had seen the heka reach for Caesar and I had seen him repulse it. True, canny Antipater had also eluded its grasp, but my sister had been learning then and the Judean governor had been touched enough to regret his inaction. There had been no weakness in Caesar when Cleopatra aimed for his ka with a heka nearing the zenith of its powers. He had not flung me back into its ghost claws when it bayed at him for my life. So Rome chattered maliciously behind Cleopatra's back and Caesar gave her the run of his villa across the Tiber so she was at least sometimes out of the city and public eye, even if her name continued to be on every tongue.
Caesar spent most of his time during this period shoring up his power base in the Senate and preparing for the unprecedented four triumphs they were allowing him to hold to commemorate his great victories. Because he continued to be a man of varied interests, he was also completing a reform of the Roman calendar and overseeing the final months of building for the grand temple of Venus he was dedicating to his lovely alleged ancestress. My sister convinced him to add a statue of herself as Isis made out of gold for the sanctuary, and then feigned indifference when the Romans studiously ignored the idol even as they left offerings scattered about the still unfinished structure. The Latins had been guardedly fascinated by the moon-eyed goddess, so it was a mark of their dislike for the Queen of Egypt that they shunned such a richly appointed portrait.
––––––––
More distressing to us than Cleopatra's presence in Rome was a long series of delays that kept pushing back the holding of the triumphs, so Mudjet and I went back to waiting through our second summer in captivity. After a great deal of wrangling, the first triumph was held in early September. The defeat of Egypt's rebellion was achieved before the subduing of Pontus, so we at least did not have the longest wait.
Eventually, as the harvest month came to a close, Cleopatra appeared in the early hours at our cell door again as she had a year and half ago. Her waspish waist had returned, and she moved as easily as a snake on water. She was flanked on either side by several young women holding a variety of baskets. The heka curled around her feet like an obedient pet, but it did not have the crushing force it had displayed in Alexandria. Perhaps it knew my sister was not the master of the city it now found itself in.
I bowed my head with a sardonic twist of my lips. I had been waiting for this morning for far too many months to be fearful of her or the day to come. "Greetings, Your Majesty."
She scowled, her eyes flashing. "Oh, so you deign to speak with me now? One would expect more time locked up would make you less uppity, not more."
I shrugged. "Blame the barbarians. They feed me too much."
"You are fortunate Caesar took pity on you when he did,” she spat out. “I could have dragged that out much longer."
"That is not what the physicians said, but no matter. A small miscalculation and poof!" I waved a hand in the air. "You would not be in this position of victory over me that you have coveted so deeply. Today you have your revenge."
"You had better believe that,” she snarled. “We shall see how flippant you are when the rabble of Rome drag your name through the mud."
"You have survived months of that,” I replied. “I think I will manage an afternoon."
Quick as lightning, she slapped me across the face. "You know nothing!” she snapped, kneeling down to glare furiously at my indifference and Rome’s disregard. “Do you think I care that these peasants do not love me? I do not need them to love me! They have their jests now, but they will fear me in the end. I will break them later just as I break you today, sister.”
We stared icily at one another. I felt the heka rear up on its haunches, bristling angrily without striking. Was she holding it at bay? Or could my sister’s magic sense what she could not, that I had battled the Dark Serpent and won. That I was not as defenseless as I might seem on the surface.
Rising, Cleopatra turned her back to me, and for a brief moment, I almost thought I saw a small sag in her shoulders. As if a tiny part of her might regret some of this. The emotion appeared to pass quickly.
"Anyway, it is all too late,” she said to the outer hall beyond the doorway, gesturing back to her companions. “These girls are going to wash and dress you for the triumphal procession. It does Caesar and I no good if we lead you through the streets looking like something we fished out of the Nile."
I could not help the small snort of laughter that escaped me. "Like Ptolemy..." I sniggered.
My sister moved her head enough for me to see her disapproving frown at my joke, before she glided imperiously out of the doorway without another word.
Some of the women laid down their baskets and began pulling out clothing and jewels, while others poured water into a shallow basin. Mudjet took control of the basin and helped me wash.
I studied the outfit that had been chosen for me to die in. It was deliberately, completely Egyptian: I would wear a traditional white linen shift with a hundred expertly folded pleats and an elaborate ebony wig with another hundred intricate braids. A large collar of gold and lapis lazuli, with matching cuffs, and painted sandals. One of the servant girls was arranging pots filled with kohl, eye color, and rouge. I must look the part of a captured foreign queen for the people of Rome. With such adornments, I would have the honor of looking more Egyptian for a Roman triumph than my siblings had appeared at their coronation.
The girl with the makeup stepped forward to paint my face, but Mudjet swiftly moved to intercept her. "No, I will do this,” she said sternly. “You Roman children will not do it properly. My lady is a queen, not a hetaera. If the Queen of Egypt and her jackal want Egyptian, then they shall have it."
Mudjet swirled the sapphire-colored eye paint with a practiced hand and lightly ran the brush over my eyelids. She flicked the rouge in a streak across each cheek, and then with a steady hand drew the heavy lines of kohl encircling my eyes ending with the long kite-tails at the corners. Lastly, she took the smallest pot filled with lip paint and colored in my mouth with as much care as the priests lavished on the noblest of mummies. She retreated a step back to check her work and nodded with satisfaction.
As we finished, one of the girls bent down to tie the sandals on my feet and Mudjet smoothed a plait of hair on the side of my head.
"I wish I could share this journey with you, my lady,” she said, fussing with the lay of the gold collar around my neck even though it was properly in place.
"I know,” I replied, arresting her wrists gently. “But it is better this way. I am glad you will not have to see this."
The mask of her composure slipped down and she pulled me fiercely into her arms. "Do not let them see you cry," she whispered in my ear.
I squeezed her thin shoulders. "Never, dearest." We pulled back from one another and I gave her a small smile before turning to address one of the servants. I inhaled deeply, taking in all the sense memory of this moment, before saying in the steadiest voice I could manage, "You may tell them I am ready."
She bowed and walked out to find our guards. She returned a few minutes later with Titus, who could not help but raise an eyebrow at my elaborate appearance.
"Are you sure you are the Lady Arsinoë?" he asked, pretending to glance behind me. "For there seems to be a courtesan with a bearskin on her head in her place."
His brave attempt to make me laugh succeeded in bringing a grin to my face. "Better to think that Arsinoë leapt into the sea on her way to Rome since you, sir, may be the one who must strangle the courtesan this evening."
He grew sober and looked at me thoughtfully. "It may be so, though the word is that the city is unsettled by the outcome in Egypt. The citizens do not cleave to your sister or her ambitions. My advice is to hold your head up and remind them you are yet a princess. Perhaps this is not your last day, my lady."
With that, I reached back to press Mujet's hand one more time and then followed him out of my cell to our marshalling point on the edge of the Campus Martius. I heard scattered cheers go up from the crowd in the distance. My ka bled as captive soldiers who had fought for me and Ptolemy were led out in chains behind the native beasts brought as exotic curios. To my surprise, many who saw me still bowed in my presence. I opened my mouth to apologize for their suffering, when I recognized Tahu.
His eyes found mine, and he nudged the man next him, pointing. "See? Though we leave this life for the next, we can die knowing our cause was a righteous one for we fought for the Lady of Heaven."
I was startled, never had I been compared to Isis, and yet now multiple soldiers made signs of reverence to me usually reserved for the Excellent Goddess. I felt more dizzy than divine, but if this was the comfort I could give the brave men who had fought for me, so be it. I returned their gazes and gave a short, regal nod of my head to indicate my approval. A few even smiled at this.
Tahu's eyes shone. "May the Lord of the Red Land keep you, my Pharaoh.”
When a quiet chorus from the captives echoed his words, my heart was momentarily too full to speak, so I simply laid a hand across my chest. I swayed against my own dread and prayed to my Lord to help me find the words my people needed to hear. One last time.
“Ta-meriu,” I began quietly. “It is the most glorious privilege to lead you into our final battle. You have fought with honor and bravery and because of this, I shall walk without fear into the Lake of Fire if that is what is required of me. Our people do not fear death, so we shall go before the young gods of the Romans with our heads held high because we belong to the gods who raised the pyramids and flood the Nile. Pray for me in the Duat as I will pray for every one of you.”
“Pray for us, heqat-taui, hemet-netjer,” spoke my soldiers in unison. “We shall meet again in the Field of Reeds.”
Reluctantly, Titus murmured, "We must go.”
He took a set of heavy iron chains from a hook on the nearest wall and gently locked my ankles into my manacles and wrapped a linking chain about my waist before enclosing my wrists. Securing the second wrist lock, he paused to look at me, his eyes sad and his hands unable to let go of mine.
"Thank you,” I said softly. “For everything.”
He inclined his head. "You are an extraordinary person, Your Highness. It has been my privilege."
I lifted my right hand from his and laid it across my chest. The manacle was warm from the heat of the day.
He accepted my gesture and reluctantly let go of my other hand to take his position in front of all of us.
I turned to Tahu for one last piece of intelligence. “Tell me of Dejen,” I whispered hurriedly.
My faithful Mephisian shook his head. “The Lion of Amhara drowned with your brother when the royal flagship was destroyed.”
“He was with Ptolemy?” I asked.
Tahu gave me a loving, sad smile. “He hated Lord Ptolemy, but he knew it would be the wish of our Pharaoh that her brother be spared from harm if possible. He gave his life for your will, my lady, not the boy’s, and he did so with the joy of an Egyptian.”
Love for my comrades stole my speech again, but I knew Tahu saw my gratitude threatening to spill from eyes and make me break my promise to Mudjet. I lifted my iron-wrapped wrists to dab away my tears and signaled to the waiting Titus that we were ready, which he acknowledged with a small nod. I took one final breath and stepped out into the blazing light, the sound of my chains scraping together carving itself into the deepest corners of my ears.
As we shuffled out onto the route, I was taken aback by the relative quiet of the crowd. There was a busy, buzzy hum from many conversations — no raucous cheers or angry hissing. I kept my gaze forward and my step as firm as my shackles would allow, but out of the sides of my eyes I could see people stop their tongues to watch me pass. A few leaned in to speak to a neighbor, though as they did, their eyes slid from me to some point behind us.
I hobbled along in confusion, this was not the horror that I was told of. It was demeaning, to be sure, to be dragged around so that the masses might gawk at me, and yet, the citizens of Rome did not fling rotten fruit at me either. They did not hurl disgusting epithets towards me and my men, no one spat at my passing. They did not seem to know what to make of me any more than I did of them. We clattered along to the rising sound of a thousand mutterings, which made me feel alternatingly terrified and foolish.
Finally we approached the end of the route, where the Clivus Capitolinus loomed menacingly, waiting to lead us to the Temple of Jupiter. Upon reaching the temple steps, where members of the Senate stood off to the sides observing the parade, Titus carefully pulled me aside. I kept my head pulled so high I was afraid the muscles in my neck would snap, but I could not watch my men marched back to the nooses waiting for them without losing all my composure. To honor their sacrifice for me, I had to deny myself a final goodbye glance.
Above the thousand mutterings, I heard Tahu’s strong voice ring out above the fray in one final parting shot to our wardens, “Hai heqat-taui, a'a meret en akhmui-remthu!”
“Hai, heqat Iaitrwedja!” answered half of my men.
“Hail, Arsinoë Soteria Philoaígyptos!” said the others, before their guards beat them into silence. The people of Rome gaped at this last Egyptian insurrection, and I bit into my cheek to hold my tears at bay.
The disquieting unease of the crowd was abruptly shattered by cheers emanating from where we had come on the Campus Martius. They swept through the lingering masses like a brushfire. I turned my head reluctantly and watched as Caesar and Cleopatra made their way down the road I had just dragged myself across like a beggar, their golden chariots gleaming in the bright sunlight. They seemed to fly through the milling throngs too entranced by their beloved general to hiss at my sister.
As they bore down on us, I could see Caesar wore his red-hemmed senatorial robes stitched with golden palmettes and a mantle of purple sewn with elaborate designs in golden thread. He seemed to be looking off at something in the distance, his expression calculating under the laurels resting on his brow even as he occasionally gave a polite acknowledgement to the adoring crowds.
Cleopatra, following in her chariot a scant few lengths behind him, had carefully dressed herself in a Roman stola, though naturally the most luxurious she could manage, the tails of her dove-colored diadem fluttering behind like a banner. The precious silk of the dress had been dyed with expensive saffron, with the instita and limbus in that reddish violet the Romans are so fond of. She had the look of power that she so loved to cultivate, and yet I doubted as to whether that was how she should have come before the people gathered here. People who already mistrusted her, who did not like to see her sit beside Caesar as an equal, who might misconstrue her appearance meant to impress as presumptuous in a land where only properly married women and Vestal virgins wore costly yellow dyes. A richly dressed Kharmion stood in a third chariot drawn alongside that of my sister's, holding Caesarion, to complete the family portrait.
Despite their speed, I stood in what felt like eternal agony waiting for them to arrive at the feet of Jupiter. When they finally stopped the chariots at the bottom of the steps, soldiers materialized to help my sister and Kharmion from their transports. With Caesar at the lead, they climbed to the top of the stairs to a prepared dais so that the crowd might have full view of them. A centurion grabbed the back of my head to push it forward into a bow as they passed me halfway up.
Upon reaching the dais, Kharmion and Caesarion faded to the rear and my sister sidled up to where Caesar stood, her hand resting lightly on his wrist, a quiet gesture of possession meant to defy the local aristocracy and presumably the Lady Calpurnia.
As I was yanked forward to their feet by the rough centurion, I paused to wonder where the shy Calpurnia was. Was she saddened by my sister's presence? Jealous? Or simply resigned, as her husband's affairs were many, infamous, and predated her? My chains rattled noisily on the marble steps as I limped towards them, forced by the manacles into waiting for my back foot to catch up with the one in front.
At the foot of the dais my escort stopped me, Titus moving forward to stand on my left and the rough soldier on my right. This unknown man was the one who addressed Caesar and the crowd:
"Glory unto you, Great Caesar, and unto your towering victory over the rebels to Rome's authority in Egypt and to that of Cleopatra Thea Philopator, friend of Rome!"
Cleopatra smirked at this, even as the multitude was swept by another wave of murmuring. The centurion continued, unfazed. "Citizens of the Republic, we are victorious! Dead is Achillas, assassin of noble Pompey! Dead is Ganymedes, the plotting eunuch!”
I closed my eyes briefly at the names of both these men, my teacher and the brazen soldier I had never quite figured out. I found myself praying for them both, despite Achillas’ treachery. Many steps had brought me here, to where I stood with cold sweat gathering beneath my voluminous wig, Achillas was only one of many.
"Dead is Ptolemy, the usurper to whom the largesse of Rome and his lady sister was not enough!"
This was the hard part to give to the Romans, surely. In a world where women had few practical political powers, how to tell them that my father's firstborn son was not Egypt's rightful ruler? I was certain that they had been told Ptolemy was a troublemaker who wanted independence and that Cleopatra would dutifully bend her knee to their superiority, but would the citizenry believe that tale?
I felt my face flush slightly and I realized that this lie angered me. My pride, that I thought had been burned from my heart in Alexandria, flared up at the idea that my slithery brother be given so much credit. Ptolemy would have licked the dust from Caesar's sandals if it meant he could be the only pharaoh in Egypt. Cleopatra had won by virtue of being cleverer than him, and because she got to Caesar first. I wanted to roar at the crowd that I was the one who wanted independence, I was their troublemaker. I stopped myself, though Cleopatra noticed my agitation and looked at me askance. I met her gaze to remind her that I was not taken in by Roman propaganda and she turned from me back to the centurion.
"And here is Arsinoë, sister of Cleopatra, who seduced the people of Egypt to abandon their anointed queen and the gods so that she might wear a crown as well!”
I saw a furrow in my sister's brow. She never liked to hear of other women being seductive. I pressed my lips together to suppress a smile, even here in this moment I must be less than her. Though it was an interesting choice of words, I wondered who wrote this speech. I glanced at Caesar, who remained sphinx-like and did not see me.
"She has been brought here to be humbled before you and to face the judgment of the gods. Kneel before the Consul of the Republic, wretch!”
The centurion finished speaking, and I knew what I must do, but I could not will my knees to bend. Fear clenched my teeth, though it was something deep within me that placed steel in my legs. I had a flicker of hope that my Lord had traveled across the sea to be with me as I waited to be sacrificed to the enemies of my people. He told me to be brave, perhaps this is what he meant.
I felt the energy of the multitude swell behind me, they saw my defiance. The sound of the crowd at my back bloomed like a storm, but their voices were not angry. They spoke to one another without drawing breath as if they were afraid to disturb me, standing stoically before their Consul and their gods.
I also felt the rising rage of Cleopatra, her heka radiating a fury so intense it was a marvel she did not burst into flames. Though my heart told me not to look at her, that she was not important here.
So, instinctively, I met Caesar's eyes instead. He and I looked at one another for what could only have been a handful of moments, yet they were seconds that stretched on until I began to truly see the man that lived behind those incalculable eyes. The ambitious boy of a diminished house, the fearless young man who scribbled poetry even as he ruthlessly cut down Rome's enemies, the confident dictator whose full attention I now held in my hand like a delicate piece of glass. Soon it would shatter, surely never to return, though in this small sand-grain of time it belonged to me.
In the distance, I heard the muffled shouting of the centurion, the gathering noise from the spectators, but they were so far away. Caesar and I stood somewhere beyond them, the man who could be king of Rome and the girl who was almost queen of Egypt. For just that moment, he might have truly seen me as I was, for good and ill, as I once was afraid he had that night in the Temple of Isis, a lifetime ago.
I was drawn back into the fray by the rough hand of the centurion on my shoulder and the pilum of Titus gently pressed against the back of my knees, which at last sunk me to the ground. I was grateful that Titus allowed me some dignity, rather than a blow I probably deserved that would have no doubt sent me sprawling. On my knees, I broke my eye contact with Caesar and lowered my head slightly to prevent being forced to do so by the centurion. The surly soldier huffed in relief, pleased to have the proceedings back as they should be.
The centurion undid the chain around my waist to produce an iron leash I could be led by. "I now hand this conquered rebel queen over to you, Consul, as the benefactor of the citizenry.”
He handed one end of my chain to Caesar who took it as the centurion and Titus turned me around still kneeling so that I faced the crowd. Without invitation, Cleopatra came forward and took the other end of the chain in her hands. I tried not to recoil as she pulled it taut enough so I could feel her grip. The last of my energy drained out of me through my chains and I found I could not lift my head to look out at the people who stared at me like nervous animals. I stole a glance upward at my sister, who coolly surveyed them with the detachment of a lioness looking at an anthill. Caesar's expression was equally magisterial, though I could spy a tightness in his jawline that makes his pulse visible. I did not have more time to ponder this as I was unceremoniously dragged off the dais and scooped up into a cart that transported me back to my cell to await my execution when night fell.
––––––––
Another wave of calm overtook me as the gold-streaked sky faded into twilight. I removed the heavy wig and jewelry, and set them aside for someone else to gather up. I shook out my hair and removed the golden sandals. I wished for water to wash my face with, but none was forthcoming.
As Mudjet and I sat in silent contemplation, I turned my memories to the happiest I could think of. Sitting under a canopy to escape the oppressive heat of a dying day like this one, writing compositions while Ganymedes lectured to me about Alexander's invasion of India; Baktka telling me old folk stories as she brushed my hair before bed; dancing with Mudjet in an abandoned courtyard during some feast or another, giggling with too much wine; teaching Ptah how to ride. The last I can see so clearly: Ptah trembling before the fine-boned desert mare with the blazing coat who kept tossing her head in the teasing wind.
Will she be gentle? Ptah turned to me with pleading eyes.
Just like riding on the back of your puppy, nedjes, I had said, with a smile of encouragement. Do not be afraid to remind her who is the rider here, like Alexander did with Bucephalus!
Ptah grimaced weakly. I'm just glad you're not making me start out on Erebus.
Erebus, black as pitch, flicked his ears forward at his name and let out a snort before laying them back against his head.
Oh, ignore Ptolemy, I answered flippantly. He has never forgiven Erebus for nipping his backside that one time. He has perfectly lovely manners as long as you as give him his respect. I reached up to stroke my horse on his favorite spot, the space where his brow and mane met behind the ear. The dark stallion shut his eyes and gave himself over to my fingers working his rippling flesh.
But how can I give her respect when I'm supposed to be the master? Ptah asked.
Ah, that is the difficult bit, my love. That is why riders are made, not born.
––––––––
I lost myself in my well of memories as if I had years of time left to examine them. As if pitied by the Night-bark, the evening passed. I continued to dream, and no one arrived. The stars began to fade from the sky and we still sat in our cell. Waiting.
––––––––
As the morning arrived, Mudjet at last whispered, "Why has no one come for us?"
I stood up and went to the door to peer down the hallway to see if any of our guards were there, but the hall was empty.
"I do not know. Something is wrong, though."
We sat there all day, beyond all notice and any news. No one brought us food, let alone information. Every couple of hours, one of us would attempt to sleep while the other kept watch. My heart pounded in my chest, though I clung to the serenity of the night before as best I could. Maybe this was my sister's doing, her last chance to drive me mad with expectation before the end. She knew me about as well as I knew myself — surely by now she had discovered that I was not afraid of dying, and only the delay of the inevitable caused me any true discomfort.
I was startled out of these thoughts by the opening of the bolt on the door. The light from Titus' torch made him fill the doorway, though I could still make out the presence of several men behind him. Their shadows rushed forward on the floor towards me.
"Welcome, sirs,” I said to them, gathering every last scrap of calm I could muster from the depths of my ka. “I pray you make this quick, I do not wish to suffer much more."