I 



Marble bust 

 of Cleopatra, 

 believed to 

 have been 

 created 

 during her 

 lifetime 

 (69-30 b.c.) 



Twenty-one years have passed since I, Ptolemy's most 

 JQn^^^^fek loving daughter, elosed his eyes and took his crown. 



^^™Av^ Nov\ m) own end has come, and 1 must stand before the 

 ^■^r ^ greatest of all judges. Divine Osiris, do you recognize % 

 the mortal woman who was once worshipped as Isis, your sister-wife? How 

 will you weigh the choices I have made as queen of Egypt? Will you accept my 

 confession, and grant me everlasting life? 



My tale is one of triumph and disaster— of love, betrayal, and loss. It begins 

 in Alexandria, at the western edge of the Nile Delta, the largest and most 

 captivating city in the world. Where else would a visitor find straight, wide 

 streets; a shining lighthouse; and a library holding every book ever written 

 Here, in my family's glittering palace beside the sea, I learned to 

 read and write and calculate; to understand the laws, history, 

 and traditions of the world; to mix potions and poisons; and to 

 speak the languages of many peoples. It was here, in my father's 

 temporary absence, that my sister Berenice seized Ptolemy's 

 throne. Here she killed her husband, a coarse and vulgar man 

 who stank of fish, and then married another. And here, after 

 three years of rule, she was executed by my father. Ptolemy 

 emerged from the bloodshed a poverty-stricken king, our family 

 torn apart by treachery. 



It is easy to underestimate my father, to simply sec him as a 

 corrupt king who ate, drank, and indulged in sexual debauchery, 

 childishly blowing on his flute despite the growing shadow 

 cast by Rome. His reign was one of undisciplined luxury and 

 ostentatious display: the drunken god Dionysos inspired him. 

 Yet for all his revels, he was wise enough to understand that 

 his future was bound up with Rome. Egypt was a fertile, ill- 

 defended land ripe for plucking, Rome a greedy, ever-expanding state with a 

 constant hunger for grain. Weak he may have been, but Ptolemy "the flute- 

 player" managed against all odds to preserve his throne for me. 



Granted, it was not for me alone. The women of my family were fated to rule 

 alongside their brothers. And so I took the crown and throne with Ptolemy, 

 the thirteenth to rule under that name, just ten years old to my eighteen. He 

 was a golden boy: handsome, spoiled, arrogant, and naive. As long as young^j 

 Ptolemy consented to be guided by me, all was well. But when he turned from 

 me, seduced into believing he could rule alone, the gods sealed his destiny. I 

 fled eastward to Syria, where I raised the army that would allow me to reclaim 

 mv throne. In a matter of months Egypt trembled on the brink of civil war— 



4? 



history October 2008 



