Keeper of the Flame Read Online Free

hands.

Three
    T he little boat surged and dipped through the waters of the Great Harbor, until Cleopatra, in her flax cocoon, thought she might be sick. The idea amused her, actually. What would Sophia say about her precious carpet then?
    Ah, Sophia. Cleopatra smiled and felt her tense muscles relax. She’d counted on her former tutor for reassurance and support, and Sophia had not failed. It had been good to spend the hours with her. Cleopatra felt strengthened for the task ahead.
    “How much farther, Apollodorus?”
    The servant shushed her. “We are too near other ships for conversation, my queen. It is not much farther. I can see the entrance to the royal harbor.”
    I have been gone too long.
    She rubbed her cheek against the roughness of the fibers and sighed, remembering the lovely harbor built at the base of her palace, exclusively for royal use. Wrapped up as she was, she regretted that she would see none of the marble steps that led from the harbor to the palace entrance, the terra-cotta pots overflowing with yellow chrysanthemums, the jumping fountains in the center of the royal gardens.
    Ah well, tomorrow all would be changed.
    Cleopatra had no doubts regarding her plan, nor her ability to succeed. She had been trained for this moment by a family of ruthless politicians, a city obsessed with beauty, and a tutor who had filled her mind with enough knowledge and quick thinking to impress any man. Yes, she was well equipped to deal even with Julius Caesar, the Conqueror.
    “Quiet now, my queen,” Apollodorus warned, and then she heard the bumping of other small craft tied up to the dock and the lap of seawater against the stone pilings. She remained motionless, ears sharp to identify her servant’s every movement as he climbed from the boat, pulled the rope, secured it to the cleat, then returned, steadying himself in the bottom. She felt his hands under her body and turned slightly to face downward as he lifted.
    No doubt he is glad I have grown thinner in exile.
    The boat pitched and rolled, and she felt certain they would both be in the chilly water in a moment, but then Apollodorus regained his balance.
    A few steps across and one step up, and she felt they were on the solid marble of the palace quay. She exhaled her relief, and her breath came back to her, warm, and still perfumed with honey.
    She smiled in her dark shroud. I am coming, Caesar. And we shall see who is the conqueror.
    Her father, the late Ptolemy XII, had constructed his palace to appear as though it fronted both the harbor and the city. Cleopatra bounced inside the carpet, through what she knew were the gardens that spilled down to the edge of the harbor, along the colonnaded hall that bordered the harbor garden, and up the eight marble steps that led to the entrance. Even at night the marble would be gleaming white, the light of a dozen courtyard torches reflected from the polished stone.
    She shifted inside her wrappings, trying to dislodge Apollodorus’s bony shoulder from her ribs. She felt him slow and held still.
    “State your business.” The hard voice called through thenight, and her heart seized. Ptolemy’s men could be anywhere about, ready to run her through if she were spotted. But these two spoke Latin, not Egyptian.
    “A gift for Caesar,” Apollodorus replied.
    Cleopatra heard the scrape of metal and the shuffle of boots. Two soldiers, perhaps.
    “What kind of gift comes at this hour?”
    “Only the finest,” her servant answered. “Too precious to risk being seen.”
    The voice moved closer. “You speak like a Roman and dress like an Egyptian merchant. Which is it?”
    Apollodorus rolled his shoulder under her. She tried to lift her weight from him in part.
    “Born in Sicily, but long on the seas, finding my fortune.”
    The smooth scrape of metal again, as though a sword had been drawn. Cleopatra held her breath, half expecting to be run through with that sword, and tasting fear for the first time.
    “You will