The Memoirs of Cleopatra by Margaret George Page A

more than just the body.
    “If you wish us to be, then so do I,” he said.
    “Good, then that’s settled.” I put my arm around his shoulders. “I wish you to show me your animals. Then I’ll take you to our royal menagerie. And then—”
     
    Mardian turned out to be such a delightful companion that I found myself missing him a little the next day. Our friendship grew as we did our lessons, picked flowers, constructed miniature walled cities out of tiny baked mud bricks. Together we built a chariot that could be pulled by black she-goats, and we felt very grand as we were carried in triumph around the grounds.
     
    The next time I visited the class, the teacher was drilling them on the Ptolemies, and looked truly alarmed when he saw me.
    “And the eighth Ptolemy, when he was officially entertaining Scipio Aemilianus from Rome, was forced to walk—” He blanched as I appeared. “That is, his gown—it was—”
    “It was transparent,” I finished for him. “And the sight was very comical, because he was so immensely fat, and gasped for breath after walking only a few steps.” Yes, I knew all the embarrassing stories about my ancestors. I must not flinch from them, or make the teacher change his lesson on my account. The obese glutton was my great-grandfather, nicknamed Physcon—“Fatty”—by the Alexandrians, who love nicknames. “And the haughty Roman said, ‘I have given the people of the city a novel sight: their King actually walking and getting some exercise.’ ”
    The students laughed.
    All these humiliations at the hands of Rome—they went back a long way. And Physcon was not the only fat man in my family tree; many others were huge. In consequence, I was always careful of what I ate, determined to stay slim, although the women in our family seemed not to be afflicted with obesity.
    “Yes, Princess,” said the tutor, flustered. I was sorry I had barged into the lessons; it seemed I could never do a normal thing without calling attention to myself. I must not come there again. But to leave now would cause even more disturbance, so I had to remain until the hour was over.
    Afterward Mardian came over to me, followed by Olympos.
    “I am pleased to see you again,” I said. “But have you studied here all these years, and never let me know?” I scolded Olympos. Was being a princess so intimidating that it drove people to flee from us?
    “Mostly I am taught at the Museion,” said Olympos. “But it is good to escape from the shadow of one’s parents—as you doubtless know. My father, with his scholarly reputation, casts a long shadow at the Museion.”
    “Not as big as the one my fat ancestor casts!” I said, laughing. “It is difficult indeed to move out from under his umbrella.”
    “You know one another?” Mardian looked surprised.
    “We met long ago,” I said. “When Pompey came to Alexandria.” I paused. “Both of us wanted to go to a banquet that we had no business attending.”
    “Olympos probably impressed all the adults—he usually does,” said Mardian.
    “Not any longer,” said Olympos. “I am now too old to get by on precocity. It stops working around the age of thirteen.”
    “Yes,” said Mardian. “Everyone likes a witty child, but beyond a certain age they’re considered tiresome.”
    “Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to be that ,” said Olympos, raising his eyebrows.
     
    We three began to spend time together; Olympos seemed lonely, although he would never have admitted it. Perhaps his intellect and adult demeanor put others off. His interest in medicine had not waned, and he was preparing to study here in Alexandria, where the medical school was the finest in the world. Mardian was also a lone figure, as he approached the age where his condition would make him visibly different from others. And I? I was the princess whose future was in severe doubt, an object of curiosity and speculation and whispers. People kept their distance.
     
    And then the