Free Cleopatra’s Daughter: A Novel by Michelle Moran

merrily about what we would see in Rome, from the Temple of Venus Genetrix to Julius Caesar’s Forum, and for seven days, while the carriages rattled over the roads, he entertained us with stories. At night, when we stopped to sleep in the sprawling villas belonging to Octavian’s friends, I dreamt of Rome. I imagined how much larger it would be than Alexandria, and when the cry came up that we were in sight of the city walls, I threw back the curtains and held my breath. Alexander pressed his face next to mine in the window, then we both drew back.
    “This is Rome?” Alexander asked uncertainly.
    “The greatest city on earth!” Marcellus said proudly.
    For as far as either of us could see, faded brick houses crowded together like cattle in their market-day pens. Posts, which Marcellus called “milestones,” indicated at every mile that Rome was just ahead, but there was no Museion rearing its marble head in the distance, no towering theater crowning any of the hills. A few marble tombs had been constructed on either side of the Appian Way, which seemed to be a favorite burial place for the Romans, but most of the markers were made from roughly hewn stone.
    Marcellus saw my disappointment and explained, “Romans havebeen fighting one another for centuries. It wasn’t until Caesar that there were finally enough slaves and gold to rebuild. But there’s the tomb of Caecilia Metella.”
    The tall, round building was perched on a hill, and though beautiful crenellations decorated its top, it, too, had been made of plain stone. There was a sharp twisting in my stomach, and I could see from Alexander’s face that he felt the same. This was the city whose army had conquered Alexandria. This was where Octavian had studied his Latin, and failed to learn Greek, but had amassed enough power to defeat my father and wipe the Ptolemies from Egypt.
    “Someday,” Marcellus said, “everything you see will be marble. And those are Agrippa’s aqueducts.”
    For the first time, Alexander and I sat forward, impressed. Arching across the horizon, so tall that the gods alone might have reached them, the aqueducts were the largest structures we had seen so far.
    “What do they do?” Alexander asked.
    “They carry water to the city. Agrippa has also built baths. There are more than two hundred of them now. My uncle thinks the only way he’ll remain in power is to give the people a better Rome.”
    So while my father had been adorning himself with gold in Alexandria, drinking the best wines from my mother’s silver
rhyta
, Octavian had been working to improve his city. Was this why my father’s own people had turned against him? I could hear my father’s raucous laughter in my mind. His men in Egypt had loved him, adored him, even. There had been nothing he wouldn’t do for a soldier who’d fallen on desperate times. But the Romans he’d left behind hadn’t known this. They hadn’t known the man who could ride all day and still stay up until the early hours of the morning with me and Alexander on his lap, drinking and telling stories about his battles against the Parthians.
    Our procession of carriages came to a sudden stop, and Alexander and I both looked to Marcellus. “Are we there?” I asked nervously.
    Marcellus frowned. “We haven’t even passed the Servian Wall.”
    “And then we’ll enter Rome?” my brother asked.
    Marcellus nodded, then leaned out of the carriage. There was a commotion happening in front of us. I could hear the raised voices of Agrippa and Octavian.
    “What’s happening?” Marcellus shouted. When no one answered, he opened the carriage door and I caught a glimpse of soldiers. “I’ll be right back,” he promised, shutting the door behind him.
    “What do you think it is?” I asked Alexander.
    “A broken carriage wheel. Or probably a dead horse.”
    “But then why the soldiers?”
    Marcellus returned and his look was grave. “You might as well get out and take in some fresh air. We