Free Cleopatra by Kristiana Gregory

kill Father and me. This thought makes me frantic to leave Rome … now! While we are still alive.
    I asked Father if Tryphaena’s death means we can return to Alexandria.
    â€œOh, yes, Daughter, soon.” His eyes were clear, he looked alert. I enjoy my father when his high spirits are from good news, not good wine. But I do not think he understands the danger we are in.
    Thus, I was quiet when we spoke to Atticus. In his citizen’s toga with his plump white arms he looked like an imperial rich man. We stood in an office of his villa as a scribe wrote down everything that was said. In my heart I believe Romans do not care about us, or who is on our throne. To them, Egypt is merely another province waiting to be seized by their empire. I knew this was true by the way Atticus shrugged his fat shoulders at our report, his big loose lips turned down with boredom. Pompey, too, was casual. He slapped Father on the shoulder and opened his mouth to laugh. A few Latin words tumbled out – I will not repeat them here – but he glanced my way and took a respectful tone.
    â€œFriends,” he said, “we will sup tonight when the moon rises.”
    I have been in my chamber resting from the day’s excitement. Tonight is another banquet, a celebration. In my heart I worry that Atticus and Pompey might be planning to kill Father and me.

To continue…
    Now I sit at the table by my bed. I must think carefully how to tell Father what I have just learned.
    Neva was pouring hot water into a basin for me as I unwrapped my toga and lay it on a bench. A letter fell to the floor, the one I had forgotten about. Turning it in my hand, I saw the seal was from a student at the Mouseion: Theophilus!
    I opened it with happy anticipation, as one who is about to eat a sweet. Theophilus was always pleasant with me, and eager to share something he had just learned, especially if it came from one of the scrolls of his Torah. My eyes fell to the middle of his letter, which he had written in Hebrew, to the words “Berenice has crowned herself queen”. Then I started at the beginning, reading the entire letter several times before I understood.
    Apparently of all the messages delivered to us today, Theophilus’ was the last written, the last to be hurried aboard the ship leaving for Rome. He reported this:
    Hours after Tryphaena was strangled, Father’s few friends who had seen to the deed were, unfortunately, too wise in their own eyes. Congratulating themselves with wine, they soon fell into a stupor. Immediately they were attacked by Berenice’s guards, killed with flying swords.
    Now Berenice sits on Father’s throne! I tried to see her in my mind. Was she haughty and proud of her new role? I did know she would enjoy our dead sister’s wardrobe and jewels. I wonder if she has acquired another monkey. And is she now married, as is expected of Egyptian queens?
    Woe to Berenice. I am frightened for her. She is too bland and timid to stand up to Father when he returns. Did she forget the Romans would be coming, too?

Evening, after sunset
    Father took the news calmly. After meeting again with Pompey, all is as originally planned. As soon as soldiers can be gathered our fleet will set sail, Roman warships escorting us.
    In my heart I wonder if I can trust this plan. Another worry is that, though Father adores me, he is unpredictable. What if the next time he is drunk, he gets it in his head that I, his third daughter, am trying to seize his throne? His officials would kill me.
    At times I feel so burdened by these worries.
    During the meeting last night I sat on a stool next to Father. We heard someone walking towards us through the long hallway. I knew it was a soldier, because of the clicking his boots made against the marble, for all military sandals have iron hobnails in the soles. He entered the room smiling, his helmet tucked in his arm. Over his tunic he wore the brass belt of an officer