time. The procession, however, is not made up. It comes from an account of the Ptolemaia eight years later, over the top as it is! Nobody did over the top like the Ptolemies!
The stars paled over Alexandria in anticipation of the glowing orb of the sun. Already some noise filtered over the garden wall, people in the streets getting an early start to this day of days. I stole a piece of bread from the kitchen as though I were no more than a boy again and went to eat it on the bench beneath the young peach tree, its branches in bud but not yet blooming, away from the bustle in the house.
Demetria found me there. "Hello father," she said, plopping down on the bench beside me. "I thought I'd find you out here." She was already dressed, her white chiton spotless and her hair pinned up at the back of her neck in a dozen bronze pins which it was already escaping from. There were no pins that could contain her energy, no dress that could survive her for long, no matter how hard she tried to be grave and solemn.
"Right here," I said, and put my arm about her waist. "You look nice."
"Like a liberated city?" she asked with a smile.
"Not really," I said. "But I'm not sure I get the point of that." Demetria had a part in the parade which she was very proud of, marching with a dozen other girls of good family her age as Liberated Cities of Asia in the pageant. Demetria was Miletus, a nice compliment, and one I was sure I should thank Bagoas for. She had a very elaborate headdress with buildings made out of gilded cartonnage. It made her look less like the city of Miletus and more like a fourteen year old girl in a funny hat, but she was very proud of it. "You're prettier without it," I said.
Demetria gave me a dubious look. Are a father's opinions of one's appearance to be trusted, particularly when he's an old man out of touch with modern fashion? I thought so. She had my dark hair, almost black as mine had been, and her mother's gray eyes. Alexander's eyes. She was the only one of the five children with Alexander's eyes, Demetria the youngest, the child of my old age.
"Don't you need to get going?" she asked. "Mother's going to take me to the staging point at the gymnasium before she goes to the reviewing stand, but don't you need to go to the palace first so that you can do whatever you're doing?"
"I do," I said. Of course I did, but I might savor another moment more with her. On a morning like this it seemed that the years had passed so swiftly. They were passing still. In a few short years she'd be married and here no more.
"The boys have already left," she said. Her older brothers both had places in the parade, Isidoros with his regiment and Hephaistion with the ephebes of the city. "You're going to be late."
"You are as bad as Bagoas," I said, getting to my feet. "Hurry, hurry, hurry. I'll hurry to the palace and stand around a century waiting for your grandfather when I might have breakfast in comfort here."
Her eyes were grave. "Does he really mean to do it then?"
"What better time?" I asked lightly, but I also wondered. Could it be done? I knew what Ptolemy contemplated was no mere ceremony. I, of all people, knew that.
Demetria said nothing. She got to her feet and leaned up to kiss my cheek. "Good luck then," she said. "I'll see you in the parade. Well, I probably won't see you, because I can't actually lift my head wearing the city, but you'll see me!"
"I'll see you," I said. "You'll be perfect."
My litter was ready with my arms inside. They were too heavy to wear all day comfortably if I didn't have to, and for once I didn't have to. I would put them on when the time came. The bearers set off at a comfortable pace, and I opened the curtains to watch the sun rise over Alexandria.
The Canopic Way was cordoned off because of the parade, though thousands of people on foot hurried along
The stars paled over Alexandria in anticipation of the glowing orb of the sun. Already some noise filtered over the garden wall, people in the streets getting an early start to this day of days. I stole a piece of bread from the kitchen as though I were no more than a boy again and went to eat it on the bench beneath the young peach tree, its branches in bud but not yet blooming, away from the bustle in the house.
Demetria found me there. "Hello father," she said, plopping down on the bench beside me. "I thought I'd find you out here." She was already dressed, her white chiton spotless and her hair pinned up at the back of her neck in a dozen bronze pins which it was already escaping from. There were no pins that could contain her energy, no dress that could survive her for long, no matter how hard she tried to be grave and solemn.
"Right here," I said, and put my arm about her waist. "You look nice."
"Like a liberated city?" she asked with a smile.
"Not really," I said. "But I'm not sure I get the point of that." Demetria had a part in the parade which she was very proud of, marching with a dozen other girls of good family her age as Liberated Cities of Asia in the pageant. Demetria was Miletus, a nice compliment, and one I was sure I should thank Bagoas for. She had a very elaborate headdress with buildings made out of gilded cartonnage. It made her look less like the city of Miletus and more like a fourteen year old girl in a funny hat, but she was very proud of it. "You're prettier without it," I said.
Demetria gave me a dubious look. Are a father's opinions of one's appearance to be trusted, particularly when he's an old man out of touch with modern fashion? I thought so. She had my dark hair, almost black as mine had been, and her mother's gray eyes. Alexander's eyes. She was the only one of the five children with Alexander's eyes, Demetria the youngest, the child of my old age.
"Don't you need to get going?" she asked. "Mother's going to take me to the staging point at the gymnasium before she goes to the reviewing stand, but don't you need to go to the palace first so that you can do whatever you're doing?"
"I do," I said. Of course I did, but I might savor another moment more with her. On a morning like this it seemed that the years had passed so swiftly. They were passing still. In a few short years she'd be married and here no more.
"The boys have already left," she said. Her older brothers both had places in the parade, Isidoros with his regiment and Hephaistion with the ephebes of the city. "You're going to be late."
"You are as bad as Bagoas," I said, getting to my feet. "Hurry, hurry, hurry. I'll hurry to the palace and stand around a century waiting for your grandfather when I might have breakfast in comfort here."
Her eyes were grave. "Does he really mean to do it then?"
"What better time?" I asked lightly, but I also wondered. Could it be done? I knew what Ptolemy contemplated was no mere ceremony. I, of all people, knew that.
Demetria said nothing. She got to her feet and leaned up to kiss my cheek. "Good luck then," she said. "I'll see you in the parade. Well, I probably won't see you, because I can't actually lift my head wearing the city, but you'll see me!"
"I'll see you," I said. "You'll be perfect."
My litter was ready with my arms inside. They were too heavy to wear all day comfortably if I didn't have to, and for once I didn't have to. I would put them on when the time came. The bearers set off at a comfortable pace, and I opened the curtains to watch the sun rise over Alexandria.
The Canopic Way was cordoned off because of the parade, though thousands of people on foot hurried along
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