I read Ariston’s translation of the Oracle’s scroll, and a shiver ran up my body. Wadjet had foreseen that her treasured box would be forgotten in a cavern of our library. She had asked me—by name—to make sure her symbols survived time. She tasked me with many things I had no idea how to accomplish.
At the time I didn’t know what to think, being singled out by a voice from a world that had long ago faded away. Not only had Wadjet foreseen that I would find her treasured box, she said I was born with the ability to divine the future. Her symbols, she said, were mine to master. The scroll explained, in detail, the meaning of each divinity symbol—how they worked together to form the geometry of life, and how within that ever-changing geometry, I could discern the answer to any question.
To appease my doubt, I spent untold hours in the library, researching divination in earnest. I read the stories written by famous oracles and seers who had attempted to bridge the barrier between humanity and the heavens. I found the seers of the past to be the most powerful.
In the long-ago world, seers believed divination to be the mother of all knowledge, the soul of philosophy, and the heart of religion. Their mysteries had been preserved in the library’s caverns, wisdom from the ancients who knew how to access the primordial knowledge that surrounds us.
I read countless scrolls that detailed how to interpret dreams, how to read birds’ signs in the sky. I read about powerful seers who had gone to war with their generals and foretold the future of battles before a single sword was ever wielded. I read lists of omens and portents. I learned about the differences between soothsayers—those who made predictions—and oracles, those who spoke from altered states of mind, such as the Pythia at Delphi. I studied accounts from seers who could interpret nature, who could read the messages hidden in a crash of thunder or a bolt of lightning, and the ones who were gifted with prophetic knowledge—the most rare seers of all.
As I read I became even more unsure of where I belonged. Wadjet believed I had the sight. She had written to me directly, as a teacher would a student. But how could I be a seer? Seers were from the families of wealthy politicians and were apprenticed at a young age to those who were already masters. I did not have the charisma or ambition to travel from city to city, gaining followers and prominence. I was just a girl who had found an ancient set of symbols.
If I were truly to become the seer that Wadjet had portended, then I needed to know more. So I began to spend all my time in the lower galleries, learning everything I could from seers whose accounts stretched far back into the shadows of time.
As I put myself through the rigors of my private studies, I failed to notice Egypt was in the midst of even greater turmoil. Perhaps if I had, I could have foreseen the tragedy that was to come.
*
When Cleopatra’s father, Ptolemy XII, died, Cleopatra took control of the throne and married her ten-year-old brother, Ptolemy XIII. They were husband and wife in name only, so they could rule together.
Overnight she transformed into the goddess Isis herself. No longer did she wear simple gowns and roam the library freely with an open scroll in hand, as she had in childhood. Instead she dressed as if she were part of a pageant that never ended. She adorned her body with ornate jewels, armbands, and necklaces. Even her wigs were works of art.
At my family’s dinner table I learned about the gossip—the struggle for power between sister and brother, the manipulations of the royal ministers, who were determined that Cleopatra remain only a figurehead. But Cleopatra was too strong-willed, too smart, to let that happen. She could debate a man four times her age and win.
Cleopatra fled Egypt for Syria to escape the plotting of her ministers. Her plight and the people’s outrage over her exile caught Rome’s eye.
The Ptolemy who had ruled before Cleopatra’s father officially bequeathed Egypt to Rome in his will. But instead of assuming control, Rome had allowed the Ptolemies to continue their reign under its watchful eye: the empire was too busy with problems of its own. When Caesar arrived in Alexandria to assess the situation, Cleopatra seized the opportunity and snuck back into the city to plead her case. Caesar had the power to decide the fate of her country.
No one had ever denied Cleopatra, and it seemed Caesar couldn’t either. She was twenty-one now, a woman in her full glory and revered by the people as their queen and a living goddess.
News quickly spread that Caesar had become Cleopatra’s lover and protector. He returned Cleopatra to the throne and reestablished the joint rule she once shared with her brother. But Caesar had miscalculated the royal ministers, who were secretly fortifying the Egyptian army to sever their ties and end their subservience to Rome.
Caesar had not come to Alexandria with enough men to fight, and his reinforcements from Syria would not arrive in time to save them from defeat. So when the ministers’ treachery became apparent, Caesar picked the most strategic place in the city, a cluster of mansions by the water, and barricaded himself there with his troops. He took control of the adjacent isle of Pharos, where the great lighthouse stood. After securing the entrance to the port, he ordered that both harbors be burned.
Alexandria was the finest port city in the world, with deep waters. Its two harbors could hold a thousand ships, which lit like kindling and stoked the fires for days. We tried to continue on while flames engulfed the ships on the water.
In the throes of worry, I didn’t think to consult the Oracle’s symbols. It’s true but I didn’t think of myself as a seer back then. Seers grasp the future and pull it back into the present, while the rest of us wait for it to find us. I waited. No one knew what tomorrow held. No one knew who would win this war.
*
The night the flames took the city I joined my father outside our home to watch the harbor. We lived in the Brucheion near the royal complex and had a clear view of the port.
Before us an endless sea of red fire stretched across the water like a titan’s arms, traveling in all directions. The flames leaped, full of rage and a strange kind of beauty that both repelled and mesmerized me at the same time. I would never see anything so magnificent again.
Then the sea breeze shifted and the black smoke began to roll toward us like viscous waves, causing me to choke.
“The winds are turning,” my father said, his voice filled with dread.
For days, ever since Caesar had given the order to burn the harbor, everyone worried that the fire would make its way to the library. The wind was now full of malice.
My father called to my brothers. “Ring the bells!” Then he ran after them to the library. He was too seized with panic to notice that I had followed.
Within minutes, the bells were ringing. My brothers had been quick. Soon crowds of people came running to help.