The Memoirs of Cleopatra by Margaret George Page B

feared day came, the day I had braced myself for all my life. Olympos announced with pride that he had acquired a little sailboat, and wished to take us out in the harbor. Would it be permissible for him to use the inner, royal harbor to practice on? The water was much calmer there.
    “I know all Greeks are supposed to be born with the skill of Odysseus coursing through their blood, but it missed me,” he said. “Still, I love the water.”
    The water: now I would have to confront it at last or admit that I was afraid, and stay on the shore for the rest of my life. Until now it had not mattered. No voyages had beckoned, no friends had issued invitations that involved boats.
    “Of course,” I said. “Take all the time you like to train yourself there. You can tie the boat up at the foot of the palace stairs, the ones that go right down into the water.”
    “Thank you,” he said. “I will practice as much as possible, so I can take you out soon!”
    Unfortunately, I knew he would. By that time I knew him well enough to know he always honored his promises—and his timetable.
     
    High summer, just like …that day. Sun riding overhead, pouring its warmth out, heating the water in the shallow sandy-bottomed harbor to a lulling temperature. The colors, too, were the same—milky blue-green, gentle waves wearing a rim of white foam.
    “Come.” Olympos had waded waist-deep in the water, and was holding the bobbing boat. He expected us to wade out, too, and clamber over the sides. I looked at the water lapping at my toes, seeming innocent. But farther out it got deeper and deeper.
    I knew sometimes people learned to swim by hanging on to an inflated animal skin. They paddled around and got used to the water that way. Now I wished I had done that. But it was too late now.
    “Come on!” Olympos was growing impatient. Out of courtesy, Mardian was waiting for me to go first. I had to do it.
    I had worn a tunic that stopped halfway down to my knees, and had no extra material to tangle itself around me. Gingerly I took one step out into the water, deliberately making it a long one. The water came halfway up my calf. I picked up the other foot and walked farther out, so that the water now swirled around my knees.
    I could feel the tug of the current, gentle though it was. Under my toes the sand eroded, making me sink a little deeper. The water covered my knees. A wave came, lifting me a little, then subsided, settling me back down. I did not like it; it felt like being in a strong wind.
    “Are you trying to be as slow as possible?” Olympos sounded irritated. “I’m tired of holding this boat.”
    I moved again, and this time the water was growing so deep—up to my waist—that I had to fling both arms out for balance. I hated the feel of it, cooler than it had been on my legs, encircling me. Another step and it was up to my chest. But now the boat was near. All I had to do was move sideways.
    Which proved surprisingly difficult. The water felt thick, and the waves—small as they were—pushed against me, seemingly wanting to make me lose my footing. At last—just as a wave sent spray into my face—I grasped the sturdy wooden side of the boat and hauled myself over the side. Behind me, Mardian was wading resolutely through the blue enemy, unsuspecting.
    When we were both in, Olympos climbed over the prow, the tie-rope in his hand. “There! I thought you would never get here!” He looked at me sternly. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you had never set foot in the water before!” Then he laughed to show how ridiculous that idea was.
    Happily he busied himself with the line and sails, settling himself by the steering-oar. The breeze was coming from the west, and the sail caught it, pulling us over to the right side. I clutched onto the side as I felt the boat lurch, and my own stomach plummet. Olympos was laughing, enjoying the sensation. Even Mardian had a broad smile on his face.
    To them it was a