Of Scallywags and Sorcery

A Banquet and A Battle

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Note to the contest judges: I have purchased a lemon to cure scurvy for this island :)

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The Mediterranean breeze ruffles my fringe. I push away my empty bowl. I couldn't scrape it any cleaner, as much as I want to. I've never tasted anything as pure or flavourful as the barley soup from Queen Cleopatra's kitchen, not even in any of the countries I've visited in the 21st century.

Queen Cleopatra raises her bold eyebrows. "Not enjoying your meal, Ching Shih?"

My cheeks heat up, not because of this name I'll never get used to—a name that belongs to the pirate captain whose body I'm occupying—but because the question from the most beautiful woman of this time feels more like a chide than a comment.

"I am, Your Majesty. A little too much, in fact."

Cleopatra merely gestures at a servant with a half-smile. He falls over himself to take our plates, just as I fell over myself to answer her. A glance from her had that effect. It could bring the most powerful men of the era to their knees before her.

But not all of them.

There's a cautious festiveness about the group. Mark Antony holds fort with his men at the other end of the table, clapping each other on the backs. The Egyptians join Queen Cleopatra in a relaxed enjoyment of a feast.

Their fear of Octavian is a shadow of the past since the Romans' last attack failed, but I know he's out there, beyond the colonnades looking out over the famous Nile delta.

The story I have fallen into this time doesn't have a fairy tale ending.

The servants present the next course of our meal. On my plate are fresh, bright vegetables and a roasted bird I don't recognise.

"It's stuffed pigeon." Queen Cleopatra picks up her knife and fork and tears the bird apart with beautiful savagery.

I swallow. I have no doubt that is what she will do to me if I don't give her the information she wants and to Octavian and his men if I do.

I wish I could help her, but all I recall is that Octavian and his men launched a sneak attack from the west that defeated Alexandria and led to Cleopatra and Mark's dramatic suicides.

Cleopatra may carve out my heart anyway if I tell her the little I know. She hadn't stood against the Romans for years by being forgiving. Yes, she's alluring, but she's also brutal. That's why her fingernails are like blades and her eyes flash like knives.

The air thrums, tense, telling me something in a language more foreign than ancient Egyptian.

Something is about to happen.

I don't know how Octavian defeated Alexandria. I don't know how to help Cleopatra and Mark win, but maybe it's enough that I'm keeping a watchful eye.

At a prickling sensation on the back of my neck, I turn. Queen Cleopatra continues to cut into her pigeon with terrible grace.

"The wall." I know what I'm looking at but not what it means. "A man is climbing it."

"What?" Cleopatra's fork freezes midway to her mouth. She follows my gaze, frowning. "I don't see anything."

I look back, and sure enough, the city wall is clear.

My ears burn, but I can't shake my unease. I keep one eye on my plate and another on the wall.

Then I see it.

The gates to Alexandria slowly swing open, something Cleopatra would've never consented to during wartime. Everyone else may have let down their guard, and she may pretend that she had, but she hadn't really.

The facts float back to me.

The Romans invaded Alexandria before Cleopatra knew they were there and captured her before she could retaliate.

I stand with no thought for decorum because there's no time. "The gates are opening!"

Murmurs run around the banquet table. Ladies clutch at their jewellery, eyes flashing between each other in alarm. Commanders jump to their feet, hands going to the swords at their hips.

Cleopatra rises, her dress rippling like water, like magic. The force of her presence silences all those within its reach.

Her kohl-rimmed eyes narrow as the first of the Octavian's forces trickle through the gates, striking quickly and silently to incapacitate Alexandria's guards who stand between them and the palace.

"These dogs will not take Egypt from me." Queen Cleopatra exchanges a look with Mark Antony across the table, her eyes saying words only a lover can understand. Within her gaze is a feeling I would've never associated with her: fear.

History always speaks of how formidable she was, but rarely of her as a person, rarely of the children or the life she had to lose.

Mark nods sharply. He and Queen Cleopatra stride out of the hall in unison as the other attendees fall into chaos behind them.

They must have enough experience with battle to know the odds are against them, but they walk like they are gods, like the earth was made to be marked by their feet.

I cling to a column as I watch them. They summon a general after them. Their lips move, but I don't hear their words as they look over their city. The General calls up to the other commanders. They follow him down the stairs and disappear into the palace after him.

Mark takes Cleopatra's hand. She gives him a look I can't read. I don't know her well enough, but he does. He kisses her knuckles.

We watch as the Roman soldiers gather outside Alexandria's open gates. A battle cry sounds as they approach, only to die when they are faced with the medley of Roman and Egyptian forces awaiting them. I can't help but do a little victory dance when nobody is watching me closely enough to judge the indignity of my motions.

The Egyptians welcomed me as one of their own despite my foreign ways. My meddling in the past will change the future I belong to, but they deserve one last chance to save their empire.