The boy king’s flesh had been dried like old leather when the chanting priests came for him for the last time. Cleopatra had not insisted Julius be there, but he had been drawn to the last ritual, knowing he would never again have the chance to see the secrets of Egyptian death.

He had watched as the priests took a chisel formed of meteoric iron and broke open Ptolemy’s lips with a rocking motion across the mouth. Without the translator Cleopatra had sent to him, Julius would have been lost and appalled at the apparent desecration of the body. The man’s sibilant whisper into his ear still gave him chills in memory.

“Osiris the king, awake!” the priest had said. “I split open your mouth for you with iron of the gods. Live again, rejuvenated every day, while the gods protect you as their own.”

The fumes of incense had swirled around the tiny figure of the boy king, and when the last rites were complete, the priests had moved outside into the air, to give the news to the city. The tomb had been sealed behind them with bronze, gold, and brass.

The horns had begun then, sounding in their thousands. The noise had built and built and every lamp and brazier was lit, making Alexandria shine under the heavens. The gods would see the light and know one of their own was ready to come to them.

Julius watched the festival of death from the high windows of the royal palace, Brutus at his side. Octavian had gone down into the city to lose himself in drink and women with many of the other officers. On the night of a king’s death, there were no taboos, and Julius hoped his men would survive the feasting and debauchery without causing riots. It was probably a vain hope, but the responsibility would be on another’s shoulders for a while. Cleopatra’s barge rocked in the swell of the port, waiting to take him along the coast. They would have to survive without him until he returned. The news Cleopatra had brought overshadowed anything else.

As if he shared the thought, Brutus spoke, looking out over a city lit as brightly as day. He could sense the strange mood of excitement in Julius, though he could not guess at the reason.

“When will you return, do you know?”

“Before the year ends,” Julius replied. “The legions have their quarters here. They have earned a rest. I have sent letters to Mark Antony in Rome. In a month or so the back pay will come. Let them take houses here, Brutus, while they wait for me. Let them grow fat and sleepy.”