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sighs and puts his arm around me.
    “Well, daughter,” he says, squeezing my shoulder.
    “Well, Father,” I reply, playfully mimicking his tone. We often start our conversations that way, and it usually makes him smile. This time it does not. “You seem troubled, Father,” I say.
    “You’ve observed correctly, Cleopatra.” He lets go of me and grips the boat rail with both hands. “I’ll tell you why. Antiochus has warned me that the agreement I made with the Romans isarousing anger among the people. Many of my subjects resent the enormous amount of money I promised the triumvirate to keep them from interfering in Egypt. They claim that I burdened them with ruinous taxes in order to stay in power.”
    Can they be right? I wonder, but quickly push the thought out of my mind. I dare not question my father’s decision. He has his reasons , I tell myself, and wait for him to continue.
    “What I have done is for the good of Egypt!” he declares. “I have ruled this country for more than twenty-three years, and I believe that in time most Egyptians will see the wisdom of my decision. I have undertaken this journey to greet the people of the Nile Valley and reassure them that I have acted in their best interests. By the time we return to Alexandria, we will have learned if I have fallen into disfavor.”
    “But you are their pharaoh!” I exclaim. “Your subjects have to accept your decision.”
    “Correct again, daughter. It is not necessary to have their approval, or their love. Not all pharaohs are beloved,” he adds thoughtfully. “People who hate you usually find a way to undermine what you want to do. And sometimes to get rid of you entirely.”
    “I understand,” I say, thinking of Tryphaena and Berenike. But is he also thinking of them? Is he aware of their selfish ambitions? Or are there others who want to see him stripped of his crown?
    “I’m not sure you do understand, Cleopatra.” Father turns and takes my face in his hands so that I am forced to look into his eyes. “I’m not sure you realize yet that my wish is for you to rule Egypt someday, and that burden—and the power—will then become yours.”
    I stare at him in disbelief. “But that is impossible! My sisters are next in line!”
    “True, they are—and they make it clear that they believe one of them will be queen and that they are prepared to challenge my choice. But the gods have their own plans for us. I certainly never expected to become pharaoh. You are in your eleventh year, Cleopatra. It’s time for you to hear this story.” He pauses, gazing out into the darkness. Neither of us speaks. At last he breaks the silence. “The Ptolemies have a history of bloodshed. I was not even in line to become pharaoh. My brother and I were living in Syria when our cousin, Ptolemy XI, strangled his new wife only three weeks after their marriage. This so infuriated the citizens of Alexandria that they fell upon him, dragged him off, and stabbed him to death. After these two murders, the people turned to me, the natural son of Ptolemy IX, and chose me as their next pharaoh. My brother was given the crown of Cyprus. I was in my thirties, no longer a young man. I was inexperienced as a ruler, but I was not naive—I, too, could be killed at any time. I saw immediately that, if I were to survive, I could trust no one ever again. Believe me, Cleopatra, that is a lonely fate for any ruler.”
    I listen to his story, astonished by what my father is telling me.
    “It’s a brutal world, my girl,” Father concludes. “I don’t believe in shielding you from the truth. If you are to rule one day, as I desire, you must learn now to be watchful. Of everyone ,” he adds, and I believe I understand: He means for me to keep a sharp eye on Tryphaena and Berenike. He is aware of their ambitions.
    He bids me good night and places a kiss on my forehead. I bow low and reach out to touch his feet before he dismisses me.I hurry off to my quarters, where