Kleopatra by Karen Essex

scythe and four attendants carrying a large silver vessel into which the sacred blood would drain.
    “It is the most solemn thing I have seen,” she whispered to her cousin.
    “The blood of a sacrificial bull must not be spilt sloppily,” he replied, “for when the people eat of the flesh and drink
     of the blood, they consume the god himself.”
    The late afternoon sun slashed a streak of harsh yellow across the stadium. A choir of priestesses silently entered the field,
     facing the bulls. All at once they began the invocation to the god: “Come hither, Lord Dionysus, god of the underworld who
     resurrected his mother from Hades. Come hither, Zagreus, son of Zeus, child who wielded the lightning bolt. Come hither, Lord
     of the vine, of the crops, of all that is green. The Titans tore your flesh; now we sacrifice you so that you may rise again.”
    The priestesses flung themselves to the ground.
    “Save the bulls and kill the king!” An angry choir of voices from the center of the stadium, opposite where the royals sat,
     split the reverent silence. “Save the bulls and kill the king!” More voices joined the chant, growing louder—and closer, Kleopatra
     could swear—gaining ground on the royals. She grabbed her cousin’s arm, but he shook her off, jumping to his feet to shelter
     her with his body, while the other Kinsmen protected the king, queen, and Berenike with their shields.
    “Throw the Roman-lover to the bulls!” someone shouted. His plea was echoed by another row of citizens. “To the bulls! To the
     bulls!”
    The row of troublemakers pelted the royals with eggs that smashed against the Kinsmen’s shields, a slimy yolk dripping in
     front of Kleopatra’s sandaled feet. A swarm of navy uniforms of the king’s troops fell on the upstarts, clubbing them with
     their weapons. Kleopatra saw the soldiers dragging the pummeled bodies of the rebels out of the bleachers. The king brushed
     off his purple robes and straightened his blond headpiece, trying to regain his composure. But the General, still in his Satyr’s
     gear, informed the royals that to be safe they must return to the palace.
    Kleopatra allowed herself to be hustled away under Archimedes’ cloak. Looking back, she saw five hundred scythes reaching
     for the sky, capturing the hot brilliance of the sun god, Osiris. But she did not get to see the moment when his earthbound
     brother, the bull-god Dionysus, went peacefully to his Fate.

FIVE
    To: Gnaeus Pompeius, General
    From: King Ptolemy XII Auletes
    My good friend, the gods have presented an opportunity for you to repay my recent act of loyalty. My support of your cause
     did not meet with the approval of my people. Today I stood within the palace walls listening to the demands of the mob outside—demands
     to end all diplomatic relations with Rome. The people fear our complicity, fear that I shall invite you to share my throne.
     My family is confined to the Inner Palace, where we depend upon the loyalty of the Royal Household Troops to protect us. On
     several occasions, fires were started at the gates. Rumors of an assassination plot against me abound.
    Therefore, I appeal to you, my good friend, to come to my aid as I most recently came to yours—quickly and without hesitation.
     We must demonstrate the ruling Government of this nation has the support of Rome. Surely the mob would prove no match for
     a Roman legion, men trained at your own superb hands. To ensure the continuing safety of your most loyal ally, please respond
     in haste.

    “I am ten years old. I am sick of Meleager’s dull histories,” Kleopatra said adamantly. “It is time for me to study philosophy
     and mathematics. I also wish to increase my knowledge of Roman politics so that I might better serve the court of my father.”
     She stood cross-armed before the king. Though she knew that the sweet approach would have worked better, she was not in the
     mood to be saccharine. Her father was in constant