Fiction Nebamun was determined and nothing could deter him now. Now was his opportunity. Antony had gone back to Rome being summoned by Caesar. Cleopatra would be alone. Nebamun could offer her his heart. Offer his heart to the goddess of love whom age cannot wither or custom cannot stale – that was how one of Antony’s commanders described her the other day. Let her trample upon his heart if she so chooses. Nebamun was the devotee and Cleopatra was the goddess. The goddess can choose what to do with the devotee and it is the bounden duty of the devotee to obey, to make whatever sacrifice the goddess demands. He stood outside Cleopatra’s royal chamber waiting until she came out. “Your Majesty,” Nebamun drew Cleopatra’s attention when she was about to pass him by as if he never existed. Queens don’t pay attention to ordinary soldiers even if they stand in places where they are not expected. “Yes,” said Cleopatra staring at him. “What do you want? Why ar
Cerebrate and Celebrate