and watched, her stomach writhing with hatred. At that moment, she couldn’t tell whom she loathed more: her father for elevating his concubine to wife, or her mother for letting him. In every day that followed, she’d felt the sharp sting of derision. Even the slaves snickered in her wake. There walks the girl who thought she would be king.
“Take him away. He ought to spend a few hours alone with his hand before he loses it at dawn. If he can find that fine Macedonian cock of his, he might even discover a use for it.”
The man didn’t struggle as he was dragged, naked, from the gymnasium. He went quietly now. The silence was maddening. They should cheer. Berenice looked back to the woman she had rescued. The creature looked as beaten as before, though her babe had stopped its howling. Peasants were never pleased.
“I’ll see no more petitioners,” she said. “Our time in Thebes is short, and we have other matters to address.”
Such announcements were usually met with a certain degree of grumbling; no doubt those gathered had waited long months, even years, to bring their cases before their monarch. The Piper hadn’t proved the most present of kings. Once, when she’d been a child attending her father on a rare journey to the Upper Lands, a doleful wretch had thrown himself before their litter, begging for his time before the king. “Please,” he’d whispered. “I’ve waited so long.” Without a second glance, her father had spat and ordered on the carrier. Berenice wondered what had become of that petitioner, whether he still waited somewhere to make his plea or if he’d grown old and died, unanswered. She wanted to push her father’s foibles from her mind, but the harder she tried, the more they consumed her. It was as though that emptiness inside her, drained of her driving hatred, demanded to be sated by other thoughts of him, by this obsession of picking apart each failed aspect of his rule. As though he were someone else’s father, someone else’s enemy.
Here, now, the crowd had thinned, already dispersing through the western arches. The show had ended, and there was nothing more to see. Only a few lingered—old women, mostly—grousing to each other, and soon they, too, vanished. Berenice turned her attention to the soldiers who remained.
“You are angry,” she told them, looking each man up and down, goading one to challenge her. “There’s no use in denying it. The fury is written clearly on your faces. That’s no concern of mine; rage is the better part of life. Perhaps you hate me. So be it. I don’t need your love. But perhaps you think me weak and womanly. Perhaps you think it is because I have no cock that I took pity on that woman. Perhaps you think I wish to take away your spoils, the spoils for which you’ve fought so hard. To that I say, you are the ones who are coddled. You have grown weak tending your crops and hoarding your riches. I am not my father, and what loose laws he set upon you will not stand under my rule. When we conquer Cyprus, you may take what you like. There you will find your spoils. But don’t confuse the women of Thebes with our enemies. When you’ve won battles, you’ll reap the rewards. The easy work of tilling fields and counting coins merits no such prizes.”
Her voice echoed through the hall. She drank in her rebounding words, the only sounds that pierced the air. She dared these soldiers to defy her, as she stared down each man in turn. But shorn of Agapios, the clerics grew subdued. Not one would look her in the eye, let alone speak out against her. They had a good lot, these men, with their farmlands and their slaves. The rules had changed—and they would heed them. They had no other choice.
The moment bloomed and passed. No one would challenge her now; their silence had lingered on too long. And so she nodded to her advisers, and quit the gymnasium.
Outside, the hot Theban sun scorched her face. The street before her swarmed with
“Take him away. He ought to spend a few hours alone with his hand before he loses it at dawn. If he can find that fine Macedonian cock of his, he might even discover a use for it.”
The man didn’t struggle as he was dragged, naked, from the gymnasium. He went quietly now. The silence was maddening. They should cheer. Berenice looked back to the woman she had rescued. The creature looked as beaten as before, though her babe had stopped its howling. Peasants were never pleased.
“I’ll see no more petitioners,” she said. “Our time in Thebes is short, and we have other matters to address.”
Such announcements were usually met with a certain degree of grumbling; no doubt those gathered had waited long months, even years, to bring their cases before their monarch. The Piper hadn’t proved the most present of kings. Once, when she’d been a child attending her father on a rare journey to the Upper Lands, a doleful wretch had thrown himself before their litter, begging for his time before the king. “Please,” he’d whispered. “I’ve waited so long.” Without a second glance, her father had spat and ordered on the carrier. Berenice wondered what had become of that petitioner, whether he still waited somewhere to make his plea or if he’d grown old and died, unanswered. She wanted to push her father’s foibles from her mind, but the harder she tried, the more they consumed her. It was as though that emptiness inside her, drained of her driving hatred, demanded to be sated by other thoughts of him, by this obsession of picking apart each failed aspect of his rule. As though he were someone else’s father, someone else’s enemy.
Here, now, the crowd had thinned, already dispersing through the western arches. The show had ended, and there was nothing more to see. Only a few lingered—old women, mostly—grousing to each other, and soon they, too, vanished. Berenice turned her attention to the soldiers who remained.
“You are angry,” she told them, looking each man up and down, goading one to challenge her. “There’s no use in denying it. The fury is written clearly on your faces. That’s no concern of mine; rage is the better part of life. Perhaps you hate me. So be it. I don’t need your love. But perhaps you think me weak and womanly. Perhaps you think it is because I have no cock that I took pity on that woman. Perhaps you think I wish to take away your spoils, the spoils for which you’ve fought so hard. To that I say, you are the ones who are coddled. You have grown weak tending your crops and hoarding your riches. I am not my father, and what loose laws he set upon you will not stand under my rule. When we conquer Cyprus, you may take what you like. There you will find your spoils. But don’t confuse the women of Thebes with our enemies. When you’ve won battles, you’ll reap the rewards. The easy work of tilling fields and counting coins merits no such prizes.”
Her voice echoed through the hall. She drank in her rebounding words, the only sounds that pierced the air. She dared these soldiers to defy her, as she stared down each man in turn. But shorn of Agapios, the clerics grew subdued. Not one would look her in the eye, let alone speak out against her. They had a good lot, these men, with their farmlands and their slaves. The rules had changed—and they would heed them. They had no other choice.
The moment bloomed and passed. No one would challenge her now; their silence had lingered on too long. And so she nodded to her advisers, and quit the gymnasium.
Outside, the hot Theban sun scorched her face. The street before her swarmed with
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