20

Outside the arena, Nicolaus sprinted through the arcade, his robe catching on the splintery stalls as the vendors packed up their items and began to depart. Somehow, he’d found himself opening the door of Virgil’s house and running through the streets, thinking, perhaps delusionally, that he would convince Cleopatra not to do what she planned.

He knew better than to trust her. He’d searched the city for her to no avail the moment he realized she was gone, and when he saw the posters announcing the venatio, he knew where he would find her.

Help me, she’d said, and he’d felt so guilty there in the hold of the ship, his hand on her empty heart, that he had helped her into Rome, telling himself that if he found her children, she would be satisfied. Telling himself that she was only a woman, a mother, that she could be talked out of vengeance.

He was a fool. Sekhmet controlled her.

His quest through Virgil’s library had unearthed little of use, though he’d read for hours about immortal battles, about immortal monsters. Eternal life might sometimes be relinquished, but this was a dispensation given only by the gods. There were no stories of mortals working such spells. Immortals might kill other immortals in certain circumstances, but that was not helpful either.

Nicolaus was helpless, and he knew the queen suspected as much. He’d thought, in the ship, that she desired separation from the goddess, but now he wondered if she had simply used him to smuggle herself easily into Rome.

The entire city was in or outside the Circus Maximus. It was a trap, he knew. There was no other explanation for the nighttime venatio, the display of the emperor and of Cleopatra’s children, the mention of Antony. They knew she was in Rome and meant to draw her out.

Nicolaus wavered, nauseated. Had he any sense at all, he’d flee this city.

He knew that she would not stop before she killed Augustus, and to kill the emperor, she would have to go through hundreds of people. If this was a planned event, a trap for the queen, Augustus would be guarded by the entire arena.

He saw the imperial procession, litters being carried down the Palatine on their way to the circus, directly in his path. The procession was surrounded by guards, and he shifted his course away from it, dashing in the opposite direction. Agrippa’s men were everywhere, some of them in civilian attire. He could tell the soldiers by their posture. All of them were on alert.

He slipped into the arena with a group of senators, their robes crisp and their bald heads shining. Once he was inside, he spun, searching the crowd. Thousands upon thousands of people were already in the stands, shouting and craning their necks, hoping for a glimpse of the animals. The arena floor was empty as the emperor entered high in the stands, being led to his private box. No sign of Cleopatra in the area surrounding Augustus, but her children were there, positioned around the emperor. Alexander sat on the emperor’s left, and Ptolemy in his lap. They were decked in golden headdresses, their faces painted as young kings of Egypt.