“Is it the king you carry?” the soldier asked Antony’s men.

“It is Mark Antony,” they answered.

“You carry the king of Egypt, the honored husband of our queen,” the soldier said.

Beneath his covering, Antony’s lips curved into a painful smile. He’d never imagined that he would die a king.

5

The boy darted back through Alexandria, singing to himself. He’d delivered his message to Mark Antony and seen the great man in person. He was still heroic to look at, despite the dirt of battle upon him. His dark hair was iced with silver. The boy had seen it in the dim light of the building. But his arms were still ropy with muscle, and his chest was wide and armored.

One day, perhaps, the boy would grow up to be a warrior, and if he did, he hoped he would be tall and strong like Mark Antony. The great soldier looked down upon the boy, and the boy saw that he controlled the sun and the moon. He patted the boy’s shoulder. His body still vibrated with the honor.

By the time he reached the boundary of the city, the Gate of the Sun was open, and the boy skittered through it, toward the Roman camp. A tall, broad-chested man emerged from the tent and looked at him carefully, his lips tight.

“Did you see him?” he asked the boy.

“I did,” the boy said proudly.

“You’re certain?”

“It was Antony,” the boy insisted. “He fell to his knees when I told him the queen was dead.”

The man shook his head, and the boy wondered if he was angry. He turned and led the boy back to the tent where he’d first received his assignment.

A slight, light-haired man sitting on a three-legged stool waited there. He appraised the boy with pale gray eyes.

“Your messenger has returned,” the boy’s guide said tersely. “I would not have had it done this way. Antony was outnumbered. It was only a matter of time.”

The gray-eyed man lifted his chin and shot a fierce look at his general. “Do you question my honor, Agrippa?”

Agrippa did not answer. He looked steadily at his cohort for a moment and then turned on his heel and left the tent. The boy nervously watched him go.

“I did not ask for your advice,” the boy’s benefactor called after Agrippa.

His expression changed as he looked at the boy. “You’ve delivered my message to Antony?”

The boy blushed with pleasure at having completed his mission successfully.

“It is done,” he said.

“Good,” said the man, and winced slightly. He closed his eyes for a moment. “Good.”

6

There was a sharp clattering from above, rocks being thrown against the window bars. Cleopatra jolted up from where she was kneeling, the knife still clutched in her hand. Who was coming for her? Antony? Or Octavian?

Charmian ran down the stairs, her face pale.

“Your husband is here,” she whispered, her voice panicky. “His men have brought him.”