Free Pharaoh by Karen Essex Page B

closed, recovering from what was surely the last task in his long
     and demanding day. Kleopatra had snuggled to his side, wrapping an arm around his chest so that his underarm hairs tickled
     her chin. Another remarkable thing about Caesar-he had no disagreeable body odor. He used only the most delicately scented
     oil, one that would not have disguised the masculine effluvium. Though he had exerted himself in pleasure, and though she
     had a nose like a tiger, Kleopatra could detect only the faintaroma of myrrh on his body. Was this yet another of the ways that the gods had blessed him?
    “In a few days I shall leave you.”
    He did not open his eyes to deliver this news. Kleopatra was afraid to sit up. She refrained from tightening her grip around
     his chest.
    “Oh?” She wondered if she sounded authentically curious, or if the shock and desperation she felt infiltrated her tone.
    “I’ve received word that Mithridates of Pergamum is marching toward us from the east with the Jewish legion. They say Antipater
     is escorting the high priest of Judaea himself. I must go to meet them.”
    “I see,” she said. “Will you be coming back?”
    He opened his eyes and looked at her. “Darling,” he said. And then he chuckled.
    “Perhaps I am becoming too much trouble,” Kleopatra said. “Perhaps it would be easier to leave me to face my sister’s army
     on my own.” She despised the anxiety that had crept into her normally confident tone. I sound like some pathetic courtesan,
     she thought. Is this what pregnancy did to women? If so, she would never do it again.
    “I’m leaving a small garrison here to protect you. I’ll be back in a matter of days if all goes well.”
    “What is your plan?”
    “You’ll have to trust me, my darling,” he said, kissing her forehead.
    “If Arsinoe has me killed, will you call an end to the war and support her as queen?” she asked, feeling bile rising into
     her throat.
    He did not respond, but exuded exasperation without uttering a word or a sigh.
    “It would certainly be an easier solution than maintaining a war machine,” she said.
    Was this the time to tell him about his son?
    “Kleopatra, you are so dramatic these days. What is wrong with you? I believe you are proving Aristotle’s claim that a woman
     is irrational and incapable of reason.”
    “Men are rendered irrational in the presence of women and falsely conclude that it is the female who is irrational,” she retorted
     quickly. She had not spoken to Caesar this way in months, and she wondered if he had grown lax in his treatment of her. Did
     he mean to treat the queen of Egypt as an ordinary mistress?
    “Nonetheless, you are not yourself. What is the matter?”
    “I believe it has to do with my condition. They say it causes a woman’s humors to descend and her emotions to rise.”
    “Are you ill, my child?” he asked, and she wondered if he contrived the worried look on his face. “Should I be concerned?”
    “Not unless one considers carrying the child of Julius Caesar a cause for alarm.”
    “I do not consider it so,” he said evenly, no change in his calm expression. She waited, but he said no more.
    “Have you nothing further to say on the matter? Are you not even surprised? Do we mean nothing to you?”
    “I have known for some time, Kleopatra. You can keep nothing from me.”
    “Why is that? Are you all-knowing like the gods?” She wanted to antagonize him. If he did not commit to one emotion or another
     she would go mad.
    “I have lived two and one-half times longer than you, dear girl. There is nothing I haven’t seen. I have thought your thoughts.
     And if I have not, I have observed others thinking them. But no matter. You need not surprise me to please me.”
    “Are you pleased?” She held her breath, trying not to look at him in anticipation. Unable to resist, she shot him as cold
     a glance as she could summon, but inside, her stomach churned. She hoped her anxiety was not