He found his thoughts drifting, mourning all that had been lost since that other time and place. The last vestiges of innocence had been ground out of him in Gaul and Greece. Perhaps that was why he had shed tears at the sight of Pompey’s dead face. Julius remembered the young boy he had once been, but it was all too far away to know him well. His father, Marius, Tubruk; they were all shadows. There had been too many tragedies, too many memories closed and barred away, somewhere deep. He had dug a wolf trap for Suetonius and let him live. If this Egyptian morning had given him the chance again, he would have killed him without a second thought.

Perhaps it was age that brought the hardness, or the brutal choices of a campaign. He had pulled men back, knowing it would mean the death of other loyal soldiers. He had saved the many at the expense of the few. He had directed surgeons to those who had a chance to survive. He had even sent good men to Pompey’s camp, knowing they could not deliver his message and live. He thought such cold decisions seeped into the bone after a while, numbing the joy of life. Even the sun of Egypt could not reach him, though Cleopatra could. He found his eyes were stinging, inexplicably.

The guards returned and Julius and Cleopatra walked slowly into the gloom, their steps echoing under a domed roof, high above them. It was clearly a place of worship and Julius wondered why she had brought him there. The walls were decorated with reliefs of star patterns in yellow agate, darker lines running through the stone like veins of blood. To his astonishment, he thought he could hear the mewing of cats, and as he looked for the source of the sound he saw a dozen of them padding out toward Cleopatra.

Murmuring words in Egyptian, she reached down and let them rub themselves against her hands. “Are they not beautiful?” she said, kneeling in their midst.

Julius could only nod, wondering which unfortunate had the task of cleaning the marble floors after them. She saw his expression and her laughter echoed in the space.

“They are the guardians of the temple, Julius. Can you see their claws? Who would dare to enter here against such hunters?”

As she spoke, the cats preened and purred around her, content. She stood gently and they followed her, their tails waving lazily upright.

In the far end of the temple was a statue that filled a concave wall. Julius glanced up at it and missed his step in confusion. It towered above them both, so that Cleopatra’s head came up to the knee of the white stone.