The Passion of Cleopatra (Ramses the Damned 2)

An excellent point, Julie thought. And she now feared his pride might get in the way of whatever revelations this mysterious woman held in store.

They were staring at each other, Ramses and this woman, this queen. Each assessing the other's strength and resolve, it seemed. Two monarchs establishing ground. Would it fall to Julie to prevent an all-out war between them?

"You do not understand the forces that wish to do you harm," the woman said. "You were not even aware of them before now. Make no mistake. I am not one of them." She held his gaze. "I am Bektaten," she said, "queen of Shaktanu, a land that perished before your Egypt was born."

With that, her other servant opened the back door to the first car and she stepped inside. As she did so, Julie glimpsed a beautiful, golden-haired woman spread across one of the car's facing backseats, wrapped in some sort of blanket or shawl.

She couldn't just be sleeping. She must be unconscious.

Bektaten. Shaktanu. Julie could see that Ramses was mystified. He stood there staring forward, clearly in the grip of a storm of questions.

"Come, Ramses," Julie said, pulling him towards the other car. "Come. We have no choice."

Part 3

27

Cornwall

She had yet to wake, this golden-haired woman who walked with the same poise as Cleopatra, so Julie had volunteered to prepare her for bed.

How suspicious and apprehensive Ramses had been as he watched the man called Aktamu carry this strange woman in his arms across the swaying rope bridge! What if the poor mortal woman woke suddenly? What if she saw the perilous drop to the crashing surf and let out a scream that startled her caretaker so badly he dropped her by mistake?

When in all his long existence had he ever stood by silent, and helpless, watching the actions of another male immortal, whom he could not control?

Nothing of the kind took place, and now they were all safely inside this immense castle with its soaring walls and smooth floors of polished stone and its roaring fire and its lustrous draperies.

The furnishings in the great hall were new and suitably grand; there were great expanses of Oriental rugs, their colors muted so as not to compete with the purple and gold that defined the drapes and upholstery throughout. Each chair gathered around the massive card table resembled a kind of throne with a carved wood frame and thick, tufted cushions. The iron chandeliers overhead had been wired with electric replicas of candles, their glow steady and insistent. It was Norman, this castle. The arches in the windows and doorways were rounded and subtle. Ramses preferred it to the jagged severity of the Gothic, a style with which so much of this country remained utterly enthralled.

The man called Enamon lit some of the torches in the hallways. And so it seemed the castle had some corners electrical wires did not yet reach.

They were alone now, he and this queen, her turban like a crown. And in her bearing and in the fluid and patient way with which she moved about the great hall, her demeanor, that of a person who might have come into the world long before his own time, he sensed her age, sensed her deep reserve of control.

She studied him silently, and without any suspicion or disdain that he could see.

"You are my great folly, Ramses the Damned," she said finally. "Do you realize this?"

"How so?"

"That I did not see you. That I did not see the touch of an immortal in Egypt's long history."

"It was not every ruler who called me into service. And there was only one with whom I shared my story."

"Which one is this?" she asked, approaching him.

An astonishing feeling, the presence of one who could act as an authority over him--who outmatched him in experience, wisdom, and life. Indeed, she was the elixir's creator; she must be. For he could feel the quiet strength of her many years.

How would she react, this queen, when he told her what he'd done to Cleopatra? Would she consider it an unconscionable crime? Were they members of a special race of beings, he and this woman? Did she consider herself the arbiter of their laws?

"In time, Queen Bektaten of Shaktanu," he said. "I may tell you all you want to know, in time." And she can destroy you with that potion of hers, the potion that infected those blue-eyed immortals you saw destroyed all around you.

He took a deep breath, and tried to wipe the slightest expression of dread from his face.

She furrowed her brow a little. Mild disappointment in her expression, but not anger.

Just then, Julie returned. She took up a post next to him as if she meant to physically guard him. It was a loving gesture, this protectiveness, and under different circumstances he would have taken her in his arms to show his gratitude.

"The man," Ramses said. "The drunken one who attacked her. Where is he?"