They trembled, full of rings, ruby-eyed snakes and sardonyx cameos jangling against one another. It was a symptom of matrimony, this quaking. Before Berenice wed Seleucus, Arsinoe had never seen her sister shake. And now Berenice couldn’t stop shivering. It should be she, Arsinoe, who was shivering—she was the one who had been summoned to the royal atrium. She didn’t see what Berenice had to be frightened of. Slyly, Arsinoe stole a glance at her sister’s husband. Eirene and Layla, the maids who cleaned her chambers and poured her baths, spun tales about him. They called him “handsome,” “heroic,” “strong.” But Arsinoe saw nothing so remarkable in the man. Then and there, she decided that she would never marry. Not now that she’d seen what weaknesses matrimony begot.Old Nereus, her father’s changed adviser, spoke. “My queen, news of the Piper grows ever more disturbing. He allies himself with Pompey. He murders Alexandrians in the streets of Rome. He parcels off our kingdoms to the highest bidder.
