"WHILE WE waited for the news to arrive, we played dice. I felt the small ivory cubes stick in my palms as I rolled a pair of ones. "Snake eyes," I said, fanning myself with my hand. Even the stir of a sea breeze though the marble halls of our palace did little to relieve the searing heat that had settled across the city.

"It's your turn," Alexander said. When our mother didn't respond, he repeated, "Mother, it's your turn."

But she wasn't listening. Her face was turned in the direction of the sea, where the lighthouse of our ancestors had been built on the island of Pharos to the east. We were the greatest family in the world, and could trace our lineage all the way back to Alexander of Macedon. If our father's battle against Octavian went well, the Ptolemies might rule for another three hundred years. But if his losses continued..."