Roman Holiday Read Online Free Page A

with this information was never entirely clear, but his attempt to requisition said donkeys for further research was firmly rejected by Dr Bairstow. But whether she wallowed in whey or not, Cleopatra’s skin remained obstinately olive.
    To remedy this, her face was covered in white makeup, emphasising the beautifully shaped but thick eyebrows that gave her face even more character. I suspected she kept the eyebrows to counter-balance the nose. Her eyes, so heavy-lidded as to be almost reptilian, were thickly outlined in kohl. Green eye shadow matched her eye colour and her lips, in contrast to Calpurnia’s, were full and a deep, dark crimson.
    This was not a face to be forgotten. I’d never seen one like it before and I’ve not seen one like it since either. This was a face marked by Destiny. For good or ill, this was the face of a woman who would always be in control – who would take that Destiny and twist it to suit her own requirements. Maybe twist it until it snapped …
    I pulled myself together and tried to concentrate. I wasn’t the only one. Everyone present stared, their mouths hanging open.
    Accompanied by some half-dozen handmaidens – what do handmaidens do? I asked Peterson once and he just laughed and said the clue was in the word ‘hand’ – she paraded slowly around the atrium.
    She was not wearing the white linen with which we always associate Egyptians. Perhaps it still wasn’t warm enough. She wore a long, golden gown of some kind of shimmering silk that trailed along the ground behind her. A blue and gold torque hung around her neck. Gold bracelets climbed her forearms, and on her head she wore the golden uraeus of Egypt. Just in case we’d forgotten she was a queen.
    She reached her throne, turned, and faced the room. You could have heard a pin drop. For what was she waiting?
    And then it happened. First one, and then another, and then a small group, and then everyone, because no one wanted to be the last … In a room full of Romans, republicans to a man, they bowed their heads.
    I would never have believed it if I hadn’t been there. They bowed their heads. Caesar had chosen his queen well.
    She allowed a small, triumphant smile to cross her face, and then, abruptly, she sat. Her dress settled in golden pools around her bare feet.
    A sigh ran around the room.
    I caught Van Owen’s eye and she gestured at our menfolk, every single one of whom was staring, transfixed. She rolled her eyes.
    It was too much to hope we would be presented. In fact, we should leave. The presence of royalty meant the presence of soldiers and our superficial disguise would never stand up to close investigation. The sensible thing to do would be to depart. Immediately.
    Therefore, we stayed. Actually, I don’t think wild horses could have dragged us out of that room. We’re historians. When it comes to sensible thinking, someone else has to do the heavy lifting.
    In our defence, we would have stayed quietly at the back, preferably somewhere near the side entrance in case we had to make a quick getaway. We were just beginning to ooze our way unobtrusively in that direction, when Calpurnia Pisonis reappeared.
    She made a signal and immediately the house slaves began to scoop up the used beakers and dishes and to lay out new refreshments. This time, the platters were of gold and silver. She stood unobtrusively in the corner, quietly directing operations. As yet, the Egyptian queen had beckoned no one forward, talking instead only to members of her own household.
    Calpurnia Pisonis approached the throne, inclined her head briefly – respectful but not obsequious – and spoke. An elderly Egyptian secretary translated, although I suspected Cleopatra spoke Latin as well as Calpurnia herself.
    Having received a brief nod of assent, Calpurnia Pisonis beckoned to us. Oh my God, we were about to be presented to Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt.
    It was Peterson who pulled himself together first. I knew I’d brought him along