The Memoirs of Cleopatra Part 104

I felt the color draining from my face. So I was to be judged only as a foreigner, while Antony was exempt from blame, being a Roman?

He, however, has looked haughtily and disdainfully upon my efforts, and will neither be pardoned though we would fain pardon him, nor be pitied though we try to pity him.

Let no one fear him on the ground that he will turn the scale of the war. For even in the past he was of no account, as you who conquered him at Mutina know clearly enough.

In the past he was of no account! I trembled with the lies. Did no one remember? Did no one in Rome remember Gaul, and Pharsalus, and Philippi? Oh, the littleness of men's memories, the erosion of their deeds! Then was Caesar dead indeed, with no hope.

And even if he did at one time attain to some valor by campaigning with us-- even if he did at one time attain to some valor by campaigning with us-- .

Campaigning with him him? When Octavian lay sick and cowering in his tent? Oh, the lies!

--be well a.s.sured that he has now spoiled it utterly by his changed manner of life. It is an inevitable law that a man a.s.similates himself to the practices of his daily life. A A proof of this is that in the one war he has waged in all this long time, and the one campaign that he has made, he returned in utter disgrace from Phraaspa, and lost ever so many men besides in his retreat. So, then, if any one of us were called upon to execute a ridiculous dance or cut a lascivious fling, such a person would surely have to yield the honors to him, since these are the specialties he has practiced, but now that the occasion calls for arms and battle, what is there about him that anyone should dread? His physical fitness? But he has pa.s.sed his prime and become effeminate. His strength of mind? But he plays the woman and has worn himself out with unnatural l.u.s.t. His adherents? So fong, to be sure, as they expected to get rich without danger, some were very glad to cleave to him, but they will not care to fight against us, their own countrymen, on behalf of what does not belong to them at all. proof of this is that in the one war he has waged in all this long time, and the one campaign that he has made, he returned in utter disgrace from Phraaspa, and lost ever so many men besides in his retreat. So, then, if any one of us were called upon to execute a ridiculous dance or cut a lascivious fling, such a person would surely have to yield the honors to him, since these are the specialties he has practiced, but now that the occasion calls for arms and battle, what is there about him that anyone should dread? His physical fitness? But he has pa.s.sed his prime and become effeminate. His strength of mind? But he plays the woman and has worn himself out with unnatural l.u.s.t. His adherents? So fong, to be sure, as they expected to get rich without danger, some were very glad to cleave to him, but they will not care to fight against us, their own countrymen, on behalf of what does not belong to them at all.

He was disgusting! I was so angry I could hardly continue reading.

Why fear him at all? Because of the number of people with him? But no number of persons can conquer valor. Because of their nationality? But they have rather practiced carrying burdens than actual warfare. Because of their experience? But they know better how to row than how to fight at sea. I, for my part, am really ashamed that we are going to contend with such creatures, by vanquishing whom we shall gain no glory, whereas if we are defeated we shall be disgraced.

Whom do we really fight against? I shall tell you! Who are Antony's generals? There is Mardian the eunuch, and Iras, Cleopatra's hairdressing girl, and Charmian, her wardrobe mistress! Those are your enemies--to such depths has once-n.o.ble Antony fallen!

As if Mardian would not be a better general than if Mardian would not be a better general than you! you! I thought. You weak, coughing invalid, as helpless as a turtle on its back without Agrippa-- how dare you even compare yourself to Mardian? I thought. You weak, coughing invalid, as helpless as a turtle on its back without Agrippa-- how dare you even compare yourself to Mardian?

Yet Octavian's audience would not know the truth. How many had come of age since Philippi? How many had pa.s.sed off the stage of life since the Ides of March took Caesar? Truth could not exist like a granite outcropping all by itself; it was infinitely changeable, it was altered by what surrounded it. Octavian's speech would enter the public record and the dust of time would sanctify it. If it survived. Truth was a matter of chance survival--a sc.r.a.p here, a fragment there, spared by accident.

Antony returned, without Cossus, and picked up the folded speech. "And I thought Cicero was bad," he said lightly.

"Cicero laid the foundation that Octavian has built on," I said. "Long ago he smeared you for drinking and keeping low company. He even castigated you for cowardice, just because you weren't with Caesar in Spain. Remember his vow: 'I will brand him with the truest marks of infamy, and will hand him down to the everlasting memory of man'? It's been fulfilled. We have him to thank for sowing the field that Octavian is reaping now!"

"Cicero," Antony repeated unhappily. "It looks as if Octavian will be able to leave his back secure. A few more of those speeches, and we won't have any supporters left in Rome--or none that will dare admit it. There will always be those who keep low and wait for the outcome before rearing their heads."

"Then we must a.s.sure the outcome!" It all came down to that.

In addition to his speeches, Octavian's agents began discovering "omens" that they trumpeted to the credulous. Antony's statues were selectively struck by lightning all over the Mediterranean, so it was said, or else they mysteriously began sweating blood. If it wasn't Antony's statues, it was statues of Hercules or Dionysus, his G.o.ds. Then they claimed that a group of boys had spontaneously begun playing war in Rome, calling themselves Antonians and Octavians, and lo and behold! the Octavians won. What a sign! sign!

Probably the truest indication of the real feelings in Rome was the report that a man had trained two ravens, one to say, "Hail Octavian, victorious Imperator," and the other, "Hail victorious Imperator Antony." He meant to make a sale, no matter what.

I was not afraid. I felt we could not lose unless we made an overwhelming mistake, and that seemed impossible. Had we not foreseen every possibility? We had prepared to meet the enemy anywhere up and down the coast of Greece, by land or by sea. We had ships ranging from "threes"--the fastest ships afloat--to "tens," which were floating castles, bound with iron, armed with catapult towers. In the army, too, we had a mixture of the core Roman legions with cavalry and auxiliaries. No matter what the enemy came up with, we could match it. There would be no taking us by surprise.

Of course, we had some weaknesses. By far the worst was the problem of maintaining our forces in fighting readiness over the winter. The army was stationed in different areas to make the burden of feeding them a little less onerous; like locusts, an army will strip its surroundings of food. We were importing the food, but the very presence of an army is like the weight of an elephant on the ground around it. Most of the legions were concentrated near us in Patrae, and Antony visited them regularly to keep up their spirits-- and his. There was the Third Legion--the Gallica--first raised by Caesar, which had fought with him at Munda and with Antony in Parthia. There was the Sixth, the Ironclad, which had fought with Caesar in Gaul, Pharsalus, Alexandria, and Munda, and with Antony at Philippi and Parthia--glorious history. Then there was the famous Fifth Legion, the Alaudae, "Crested Larks," native Gauls who had served Caesar in their home territory and in Spain, Pharsalus, Thapsus, and Munda, and Antony in Parthia. He drew strength just from walking among them.

I went out with him several times, and I was moved almost to tears by their obvious care for one another. I had heard it said that Caesar had an almost amorous bond with his men, but I had not understood it until now, because I had not seen it with my own eyes. The way they looked at one another, Antony and his soldiers, the tone beneath the hearty ring of their voices, the eagerness to please, the bond of the possible ultimate sacrifice required, all cemented them into a single unit of men and commander. It is a magic that can never be predicted, since it requires a certain type of man on both sides.

They were showing the strain of waiting, like a horse wanting to run. I could see that, too.

"When, Imperator?" they would call, pulling at his cloak.

"When the enemy is sighted," he would say. "It will not be long."

It was worse for the navy than for the army. Lying in harbor is something normally to be avoided; it rots ships and morale. True, Agrippa had maintained a winter naval station when he was training his crews, but it was for a shorter time, and they were kept busy with exercise. Ours languished at their oars.

"Antony, is it to be a sea battle or a land one?" I could only ask the question safely when we were completely alone. I did not see how it could be both, and yet we were maintaining both services at full strength.

"I don't know," he had admitted, stunning me.

"You don't know?" I could only repeat it back. "Aren't you supposed to decide? Take the initiative?"

"It will depend on how things develop. It would be fine if we could knock them out on sea and prevent their ever landing--fight a pure naval battle. But that would be difficult. Ships are not as manageable as troops. The weather plays too big a part, for one thing. And mobility is a problem. Ships cannot move except by wind or oar, unlike the tramp of feet on solid ground."

"You prefer a land battle." I had noticed the way he had said "tramp of feet on solid ground," so affectionately.

"I admit it. I have much more experience that way. Although I have had some successes at sea, I am a relative newcomer to it." He put his hands on his chin, staring down at a small map of the Gulf of Corinth.

"Ah! You Romans don't have salt water in your veins like the Phoenicians and Greeks," I said. "And you you come from a very old Roman family." I paused. "Of course, s.e.xtus and his father were at home on the water. And Agrippa seems to be." come from a very old Roman family." I paused. "Of course, s.e.xtus and his father were at home on the water. And Agrippa seems to be."

"Another reason I would prefer the land. Agrippa seems like a seal-- graceful in water but clumsy on land."

"Then perhaps we should allow them to arrive unmolested, just to get them on land."

"And not use the navy at all? No, we should use it at least as a barricade. The fewer men they manage to land, the better." He paused. "And if we can lure them to Actium, where our main fleet is, we can overcome their fleet by our superior numbers and smash them."

Another weakness was that our line of defense was so spread out--all the way from northern Greece to Africa. Yet it is an axiom of war that the defense must be wide, whereas the attacker is free to select one spot and concentrate all his force against it--much more efficient and economical.

Still another problem lay in our being so completely dependent on receiving supplies by sea from Egypt, eight hundred miles away.

Yet how could it be any other way? The war theaters covered gigantic portions of the earth's geography. Antony's authority stretched from the Euphrates and Armenia to the Ionian Sea and Illyria, across Africa from Cyrene to Nubia. Octavian's spread from Illyria to the westward ocean, and included Gaul, Italy, and Spain to the Pillars of Hercules. The entire world was partic.i.p.ating in the war, allied with one side or the other. The gains for the victor would be staggering, almost incomprehensible. So would the losses for the vanquished.

Let it begin! I could bear the waiting no longer. I was afraid we would lose our edge if action did not finally commence. But it was Octavian who was to determine the pace. And so we held our breaths at Patrae, still in the grip of late winter, watching the gray, stormy seas.

Chapter 73.

The seas stayed rough all through March. The winter did not want to release its grip on us, as if it were deliberately holding us back from action. Then, I thought it was cruel; now I wonder if it was kind; if the G.o.ds of the winds had pity on us and said, Let us protect them just a little longer, let them live in the glory of the untried, the yet-to-come, spare them what is written Let us protect them just a little longer, let them live in the glory of the untried, the yet-to-come, spare them what is written. . . . Who knows? Or perhaps it was just a fact, unconcerned with human fate at all, and our imaginations endow them with all this feeling and plotting.

In the middle of March--yes, on the Ides of March, I must say the words, that day forever cursed, stalking me through the years--fate struck, as if he had a return appointment with me on that date alone. Regular sea travel had not yet started, but Agrippa took half his fleet, and, risking a dangerous southern course, headed for our naval station at Methone.

Effecting a quick landing, he attacked Bogud, and in the action Bogud was killed. The station was lost--one of our key outposts, guarding our food route, lost in an instant.

The reports came quickly to us--naturally, as we were less than a hundred miles north. Frightened messengers--afraid that we would take out our shock and anger on them--came trembling into our presence, the reports flapping in their hands.

. It had been one of those dreary, gray days, the kind that make you drowsy. We had found it hard to attend to any real business, and were making lazy circles on the maps spread out on our worktable with our fingers. I knew it all by heart, had been over it a hundred times. This cove, this mountain, that island . . .

The appearance of the messengers sent our languor fleeing. Antony was on his feet and reaching out for the dispatches, his face already changed. He, and I, knew something bad had happened. How bad, we did not guess.

"I see/' Antony finally said to one of the messengers. "And you have come from there? How long did it take you?"

"I rode two days and a night," he said. "When I left, there was still fighting going on in the harbor, but it was essentially over. Bogud was dead, his flagship captured and burnt, the fortress-town taken."

Now I did not need to read the report. I looked at Antony; what would we do?

"Taenarum and Zacynthus are still secure?" he asked.

"As far as I know," the messenger said. "I do not think there were two naval actions going on at the same time. All of Agrippa's efforts were concentrated on Methone."

"So far south," said Antony, sinking into a chair. He looked around distractedly, then, out of habit, politely offered the messengers refreshment.

"They need a meal," I said, fastening my mind on the practical, as I tend to do when a crisis occurs. "They have not eaten for days. Go with our attendants," I told them. When they were gone, I turned to Antony. "What does this mean? How could we have lost one of our most secure, and important, harbor fortresses?"

"So far south," he kept repeating. "Who would have expected him to take a long diagonal route and attack us on the southern flank? I expected a crossing in the north, where the distance is much shorter, and we could intercept them. Now . . . now ... is this where the main army is to be landed? Well, it is good that we have stationed our army in the middle, to be deployed in any direction."

Yes, that had been the purpose of it. But it also had the disadvantage that wherever the enemy landed, we would most likely not be there. Again, the hard fact of maintaining a defensive line, trying to antic.i.p.ate an enemy's every move.

"What does it mean?" he said, coming back to my question. "It is difficult to calculate exactly what it means. Our food ships will have to sail farther out to sea now, but they can still get through. No army of Octavian's is in sight yet. We are still waiting to see what ground he will choose."

But it soon became clear what it meant. Agrippa left a strong squadron on Methone, which immediately began to hara.s.s our other naval bases, drawing off ships and men to combat him, weakening our overall defenses. Octavian, with the other half of the fleet, now sailed the expected short northern route and attempted to take our northernmost station at Corcyra. Perhaps he meant to base himself there and attack our main station at Actium. But a storm prevented him from capturing the island.

His hero Agrippa solved the problem by his continuing attacks on our other stations; soon the Corcyra ships were engaged in protecting their brother stations. All the action seemed to be taking place in the south, so the north was left almost unguarded. Under cover of this activity, when all eyes were fastened on Taenarum, Zacynthus, Ithaca, and Cephallenia, Octavian ferried his army the rest of the way across and landed at Panormus, near where Caesar had landed when pursuing Pompey. It was some hundred miles north of Actium, two hundred miles north of us at Patrae.

The army moved southward swiftly, apparently hoping to fall upon Actium and take it by surprise, with Octavian's fleet attacking ours and the army unchallenged. Their speed was astounding: only four days after landing, they had reached the harbor of Glycys Limen, at the mouth of the river Acheron, the last harbor before the entrance to Actium. This is when we were first informed of his arrival. It was as if he had come down from the sky.

So. The time had come at last, and after months of waiting, we must now make a mad dash up there. Octavian had indeed seized the initiative; could we now convert our defensive position into an offensive one?

"He won't take Actium," said Antony, more confidently than I thought was justified; after all, it is easy for an army to take an unmanned area. "The entrance to the gulf is only half a mile wideband'narrowed even more by shallows just outside its entrance. On either side of the entrance we've erected guard towers that won't let anything get past; they will rain down catapult boulders and fireb.a.l.l.s on men and ships alike."

"How soon can we reach it with the army?" I asked.

"Well leave immediately," he said. "The bulk of the army here at Patrae will be ready to march with us; we should get there in two or three days. We have to rescue the fleet; if we don't secure the approaches to Actium on land, Octavian's forces will line the sh.o.r.e and prevent food supplies from reaching our ships stationed in the gulf."

"What about the rest of the army?"

"They will follow as soon as possible. I haven't had a report yet on the size of the army Octavian has landed."

"We can be certain that it is . . . adequate for the task," I said. Agrippa would have seen to that, I thought grimly.

Octavian's attack was beaten back, as Antony predicted. He had attempted to draw our fleet out into open water for a battle, suspecting (correctly) that we did not have soldiers on board, and that the ships were not manned to fight. But our commander thought quickly, and stationed oarsmen and sailors on deck with imitation arms; the oars were poised as if ready for an attack, and the ships drawn up in battle line to face the enemy. It was a good bluff, and deceived Octavian. He withdrew and took his ships around to the only anchorage available to him, the Bay of Gomaros, just above the entrance to the gulf. And it was there we found him when we arrived at Actium.

We had ridden hard to reach Actium as soon as possible, with the army covering ground on a forced march behind us. The rocky, barren landscape we traversed drove home the ugly fact that there was no food to be had here in an emergency.

What kind of an emergency ? The emergency of being trapped at Actium? kind of an emergency ? The emergency of being trapped at Actium? The thought was chilling. I must not allow myself to consider it. The thought was chilling. I must not allow myself to consider it.

I do not think Antony expected me to be able to keep up with him. Once he had set out, he was all fierce determination, pressing on without consideration for himself, his horse, or me. He rode north on his mission, tirelessly, barely stopping. But excitement and suspense gave me strength, and I did not fall behind.

In the gray dawn, from the hills behind it, we first sighted the long, flat gulf wherein lay our fleet. It was large enough to contain our three hundred-odd warships, and they rode at anchor, looking formidable. I felt proud when I saw them.

We rode toward the mouth of the gulf, but it did not take long for me to appreciate the dismal conditions. Surrounding the water, the land was low, marshy, and treeless; we could not approach the sh.o.r.eline very closely, for the ground was treacherous. I caught sight of snakes in the tall gra.s.s, and clouds of insects, buzzing and stinging, rose from the swamps as we pa.s.sed.

Smoke was rising from what appeared to be a camp on the southern peninsula that guarded the entrance to the gulf. This site was the promontory of Actium, and gave its name to the entire campaign. When people say "at Actium," they mean all of it, what happened by land and sea, but correctly it was only this little site.

In proper Roman fashion there were moats, fences, guard gates. Have the Romans ever made a careless camp? Antony and I rode up to the gates, where a guard demanded the pa.s.sword; Antony shouted out, "By Hercules! This is Antony! What other word do you need?"

In disbelief, the guard summoned a fellow, who verified that, yes, this was indeed Antony, as he himself had once seen him. Now the gates were thrown open and we rode in, to the stunned faces of the garrison who had been holding the fortress. They looked glum, too tired and run down even to smile. The winter here had clearly been unhealthy for them.

"O fortunate soldiers!" Antony shouted as he rode down the main street of the camp. "To have been the first to sight the enemy! It is a great honor!"

Antony's purple cloak was mud-stained and his feet filthy, but he looked fresh and shining compared to the soldiers, who simply stared back at him. Finally a faint cheer or two rose from the ranks.

"The army is on its way," he a.s.sured them. "Canidius Cra.s.sus is bringing eleven legions from Patrae, including the old Ironclad. Remember the Ironclad?"

They just looked back at him, wooden-faced.

"More legions are coming from elsewhere. And cavalry as well."

The commander of the garrison, Marcus Grattius, welcomed us into his quarters, when we dismounted wearily. My legs were shaky, and the ground felt odd.

The door shut behind us, Antony clasped the commander's shoulders. "How bad is it?" he asked. "How many of them are there?"

Now it was the turn of Grattius to remember that we were probably hungry and thirsty. But before we thought of even washing our hands, Antony demanded the figures.

"It is a large army," Grattius began cautiously. "You must understand, I have not been invited to review it!" He laughed, a sad-sounding laugh. "But from what I have seen, I would estimate about eighty thousand men. I have no way of knowing how many legions, or which legions. Of course they are all Romans--no foreign allies or auxiliaries." He turned as his attendant brought ewers of fresh water and towels for us. "Ah. Here we are."

Antony held out his hands as the water was poured over them into the basin.

"And where are they?" he asked, speaking above the sound of the water.

"They have established a camp on the northern promontory, on higher ground."

Higher ground. They were smart.

"It is well sited, except that it has no water supply. For that, they must descend to either the river Louros or the springs on lower ground."

A weak spot! I was relieved to hear it.