The Memoirs of Cleopatra Part 75

I opened my palm and stared at its bright beauty. It was an aureus, a gold coin, with the heads of Antony and Octavia. So he was minting money with his wife's head on it! It made me angry, as Olympos meant it to.

As if to cover up his blatant provocation, he then produced another coin. "I thought you might find this amusing." He held it between his thumb and forefinger, turning it around.

"Well, give it to me." I took it and saw that it was a denarius showing s.e.xtus's father Pompey with a dolphin and trident on one side, and a war galley under sail on the other.

"What does this mean?" I asked. It seemed silly.

"s.e.xtus is now claiming that he's the son of Neptune; he's blurring his real father, with his sea command, into the divine one. He takes it seriously enough, and so do the mobs in Rome. They cheered like crazy when a statue of Neptune was carted around at the races, in company with the other G.o.ds; Antony and Octavian had it removed, and they almost rioted. s.e.xtus has even started costuming himself in a blue cloak in honor of his 'father.' "

"He sounds like a clown," I said. How could anyone pay attention to this?

"Oh yes, everyone is a G.o.d these days--or the son of one. I wonder who I should claim?"

"Asclepius, of course," I said.

"He isn't grand enough--he started life as a mortal."

"Well, you have to start somewhere," I said, wishing to end this. I was happy to have Olympos back, but I wanted to be alone to glower at the coins.

After he was gone, I stared at the profiles. Pompey's was certainly a recognizable likeness, but I thought Antony's face looked stretched and flat, as if he had been ill and lost weight. As for Octavia--her profile was behind his, and all it showed was a straight nose and well-formed lips. I thought it looked vaguely familiar, but it might not have really looked like her, if the likeness of Antony was any guide.

So he was proceeding as if this were the only life he had ever wanted, as if he was born to be all the things he now was: Octavia's husband, Octavian's brother-in-law, an exemplary citizen of the patrician intellectual offerings of Athens. Olympos said he had settled into a round of attending lectures, readings, council meetings, and the like, all with his seemly wife in tow. Had his spirits really been extinguished under all that domestic propriety? It would be as sad as the majestic, exotic wild beasts I had seen--tigers, panthers, pythons--turned into broken amus.e.m.e.nts in cages.

I put the coin into a box, where it would be safe, and where I wouldn't see it.

Chapter 53.

The farther south we went, the warmer it got, so that by the time we reached Dendera, even though it was only February, it was basking-hot at noon. I had kept my word to Caesarion, and was taking him to see the temple where he was represented as a full-grown Pharaoh. It had taken eighteen months for the carving to be completed, and it had taken almost that long for him to become proficient in Egyptian. The bargain on both sides had been fulfilled.

Now, as I stood beside him at the railing of the boat, I thought that it was a good idea for us to have come away together. It was also good that he see something of Egypt beyond Alexandria. He had been as enthralled by it as I had been when I first escaped up the Nile. In only a few months he would be ten; it was time for him to explore a new world. He had watched the land sliding past, green-fringed palm trees bristling by the riverbanks, oxen in the fields, the long stretch between the pyramids and Dendera, the first of the temples the Ptolemies built.

"I can see it from here," he said, pointing toward a ma.s.sive sandstone structure, a bright golden color against the endless dun sands and soil.

I remembered the voyage when my father had taken me to other temples, which he had helped build and embellish. Now I was aware of repeating the cycle. It was supposed to make me feel old, to see a son growing tall and being trained to follow in my footsteps, but instead it felt entirely right and natural. His coming adulthood did not threaten me. I was thankful that I had an heir, with two more children behind him.

He all but bounced off the boat, running down the gangplank, rushing past the dignitaries lining the banks. He wanted to see himself, an artistic version of himself, up on the walls.

"Look! Look!" he cried, dragging me by the hand, while he hunted for the carving. The entire outer wall of the temple was filled with representations of divine processions and earthly figures carrying offerings in them. "Where is it? Where is it?"

I pulled him to a halt. "You are going in the wrong direction," I said. "It is on the southwestern corner." We turned that way, pa.s.sing gigantic G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses on the walls high above us. I stopped at the corner and pointed up. "There we are."

Looming over us were two outlined figures, in ancient Egyptian costume, holding incense and offerings in their outstretched arms. They were at least twenty feet high; standing directly beneath them as we were, we could not see their heads clearly.

"We must step back," I said, and we went quite a ways across the hard-packed earth to a vantage point.

"That doesn't look like me!" was the first thing he said.

"No, of course not. It's just a representation--all Pharaohs are made to look the same."

He studied my profile. "And she doesn't look like you, either."

"No. It's a standard queen. You see, there's a certain way a queen of Egypt is always supposed to look, and so she's depicted that way on statues and paintings. So everyone knows exactly who it is."

"And you don't wear clothes like that, either. And I certainly never wear a transparent kilt!" He laughed. "I think the double crown is so big it would snap my head off."

"Yes, crowns can be very heavy. At least that kind can be. So we only wear them ceremonially. When you are crowned at Memphis, you'll have one if you wish. But by that time you'll have a very strong, heavy neck, because I intend to live a long time." I c.o.c.ked my head. "This is the wrong time of day to see the carvings--not enough shadow. We should come back at sunset."

"They've made me as tall as you," he said proudly.

"Well, you almost are. You are tall, like your father." And he had kept the resemblance, with the same broad face and keen, deep-set eyes.

"My father," he said quietly. "It makes me sad that I can never see him."

"Yes, it makes me sad too."

"Well, at least you have have seen him, and can remember. He died before I was old enough to have memories. Did he really look like the bust in my room?" seen him, and can remember. He died before I was old enough to have memories. Did he really look like the bust in my room?"

I nodded. "Yes. Roman art is quite realistic. It is a very good likeness. But, you know, if you learned Latin, you could read his works. His writing was famous. In that way you could come to know him; people can speak to us through what they write."

"But it's just about battles and marches; it isn't about him."

"His battles are are him." him."

"Oh, you know what I mean! He didn't write essays or speeches, like Cicero. That's easier to see someone in."

"I think he did write them, but I don't know if they were published. They may have been among his papers after he died. If so, then perhaps Antony still has them--or knows where they are. He took charge of everything in the house . . . afterward."

"He probably left them back in Rome, and Mardian says he'll never go back to Rome again, that Octavian has shut him out and won't allotu allotu him back." him back."

"That's a lie! He can return whenever he wishes. But why would he wish to, before he's defeated the Parthians? After that, he can go to Rome as ruler, and shut Octavian Octavian out." out."

Caesarion shrugged. "Mardian said that Octavian called him back to Italy and then refused to meet with him. Mardian says that it set Antony's Parthian campaign back by a whole year. Mardian says that's probably what he wanted--Octavian, I mean--"

"Mardian does like to talk," I said lightly. "It's true that Octavian begged Antony to come and bring ships to Italy to help in the war with s.e.xtus, and then changed his mind. But it has not cost Antony any time in Parthia. His general Ba.s.sus has beaten the Parthians out of Syria and back over the Euphrates again. Now the real campaign can begin."

"Good. I think he must be ready to fight at last."

"Did Mardian also tell you that Octavian has been beaten time and again by s.e.xtus? He all but drowned in trying to fight him; half his fleet was wrecked in the Strait of Messina. Scylla on her rock almost devoured Octavian himself; he barely managed to wash ash.o.r.e and crawl to safety." But he somehow always always managed to crawl to safety, I thought--crawl, rest up, and gather his forces. managed to crawl to safety, I thought--crawl, rest up, and gather his forces.

"No, he didn't," Caesarion admitted.

"Octavian's losing is getting to be a joke," I said. "The Romans made up a verse about him: 'He's lost his fleet, and lost the battle, twice. Someday he'll win; why else keep throwing dice?' "

"You seem to know a great deal about him," said Caesarion.

"I make it my business to know," I said.

Someday he'll win; why else keep throwing dice? I shivered, even in the warm sun. I shivered, even in the warm sun.

"Come," I said, steering him in the direction of the anxious, hovering chief priest. They wished to honor us by a meal, held under a shaded trellis.

I saw him watching the temple from his seat, his gaze always going back to the carving of himself in that strange garb. He struggled with Egyptian, trying hard not to lapse back into Greek, and the priest seemed flattered.

The drowsy noontime seemed to lay calming hands on our heads. Here, almost four hundred miles upriver, all the things I was so preoccupied with in Alexandria faded to unimportance. Here we were hidden, protected, given sanctuary. This was the true Egypt, the motherland, where Rome could not reach us. If all else failed, my children could rule here unmolested.

If all else failed . . . but I must not think of failure. It would be failure indeed if Caesar's true heir, and the children of a Triumvir, had to content themselves with less than their due inheritance. And that inheritance, for better or worse, was part of the Roman world.

But, ah! How delightful it was to recline beneath the arbor, luxuriating in the dry heat, seeing the white b.u.t.terflies dancing overhead. Everything here was either brown or green or white.

"Tell me about Hathor," Caesarion was saying. "The G.o.ddess who presides over this temple."

The priest's eyes lit up. "She is our ancient G.o.ddess of beauty, joy, and music."

"Like Isis?" he asked.

"Yes, only older. Although we believe they may just be manifestations of each other. And once the Greeks came, they thought she was also Aphrodite."

How different this Egyptian-style temple, with its solid walls, its carvings, its darkened sanctuary, was from the Roman one Caesar had likewise built to honor the G.o.ddess of beauty. Both saluted her in appropriate ways. Beauty . . . we all worship her, we all stand in awe of beauty. It is the one G.o.d we all seem to agree upon.

"You have been most generous, Majesty, in providing for the temple," the priest was saying. "As were your ancestors."

"As heirs of the Pharaohs, we are honored to do so," I said. We Ptolemies had tried to keep Egyptian religion, art, and architecture intact; Greek influence was confined to only a few cities. Some had accused us of becoming more Egyptian than the Egyptians, by taking up brOther-sister marriage, decking out the temples, honoring the sacred bulls of Apis, and being crowned at Memphis. Others said it was just political guile. Perhaps it was for some, but in my own life I felt a pull toward the ancient Egyptian ways, and the old stones and G.o.ds spoke to me.

As the sun sank low in the sky, we stood once more looking at the figures on the temple. Now the lines were etched dark by shadows, and the Queen and King stood majestically tall, their elaborate headdresses towering above them, every detail of their wigs and jewelry sharp and clear.

"Here you will be Pharaoh for eternity," I said to Caesarion. "You will always be young and handsome, always be offering gladsome gifts to the G.o.ds."

Art allows us to do that, while life hurries us on to our crumbling ends.

We had several events to celebrate. First, there was Caesarion's tenth birthday. Then there was the sudden marriage of Olympos to a quiet, even-tempered woman with a bent for scholarly study. There was the welcome news from Epaphroditus that our harvests had exceeded expectations--owing to a combination of a good Nile and freshly dredged ca.n.a.ls--and our exports of gla.s.s and papyrus were booming. My rebuilt navy was almost complete, with two hundred new ships. Amba.s.sadors from all over the east were flocking to us, courting us. I had even been able to issue new coinage with increased silver content. I had a pile of them on the table, as a proud display. Egypt was not only surviving, she was thriving.

Mardian picked one up and looked at it appreciatively. "There is no weight so pleasing as a heavy silver coin--unless it's a heavy gold one!" He was finely arrayed in a reworked silk robe, and thick gold armlets gleamed on his forearms.

"Perhaps you'd like to contribute your armlets to be melted down," I said, eyeing them.

He laughed and crossed his arms to shield them. "Never!"

Epaphroditus took one of the coins and examined it. "We must be the envy of the Romans," he said. "Lately they have had to debase their coinage, since the menace of s.e.xtus so threatens their food supply--indeed, while he ranges unchecked, their whole economy trembles in the balance."

"Even Antony has felt the pinch," said Mardian. " "Far away from Rome, he too has had to debase his coinage."

So Octavia's face would beam out from a coin that was more copper than silver? Pity.

I put my hands over my own coins possessively. If Egypt was strong and prosperous, it was because of my policies and the good ministers I had.

"Ah! The bridegroom!" I saluted Olympos as he arrived. "We all congratulate you."

It seemed odd to me that he was now married, the first of my inner attendants to be so. Certainly I had urged it on him for years, yet now that it had happened I found myself wondering if his wife would be worthy of him, would understand him. I hoped she was not as lost in her ma.n.u.scripts as some women were in the kitchen. One extreme was as bad as the other. I remembered Olympos saying once, "There is only one thing more tedious than a stupid person, and that is a pedantic one."

"Yes, I have entered the blessed realm," he said. As a joke? "Come, give me some wine!"

"Because marriage is such thirsty work?" asked Mardian archly.

"You said it, not I," said Olympos, taking a cup and draining it. It occurred to me that although Olympos knew an unseemly amount about that side of my own life, I would never know about his. He would never share it with me, as I was forced to share mine with him: a strange privilege of physicians. That did not stop my curiosity, though.

"Is Dorcas to join us today?" I asked. I had yet to see her.

"No, she is at the Library. Besides, you didn't invite her."

"That's her imagination. Of course the invitation was for both of you."

"I will tell her. Later."

I wondered if he had not wanted to bring her. But all that would become apparent in time. Everything does.

"I am happy to be surrounded with all that a queen could want," I said loudly, to get their attention. "In this I am rich. I have the best and most loyal ministers in the world, and a son of whom any mother would be proud, any queen wish to succeed her." Caesarion first beamed, then blushed. "Pray, let us rejoice with one another." I nodded for the servers to bring around the pitchers of wine and platters of delicacies.

At the first opportunity, Mardian whispered to me, "Some Parthians have come, asking for an alliance."

"Are they official amba.s.sadors, or private citizens?" I asked.

"Citizens," said Mardian. "They say they were sent to take a reading, and if the answer is favorable, amba.s.sadors will follow with a formal offer."

"Parthia!" I said. "How puzzling! Do you think they have come to spy, because they mean to attack us next?" They were too far away to bother with alliances, I thought, but not too far away to harbor ideas of conquest.

"No, I think they are on the defensive against the expected Roman attack, and are scratching around for help. Perhaps they see it as black and white: Rome, the west, against the east. Many people do. Are they wrong?"

"Perhaps not." Perhaps it was really that simple. Romans, the west, would keep expanding eastward until they dashed themselves against some stone-- the Parthians? the Indians? How far would they roll, like ocean breakers, until they finally hit a barrier?

"Do you want to grant them an audience? Or shall I send them on their way?" he asked.

I was tempted. In certain moments I had toyed with the idea of an eastern alliance. The Kandake had offered one. It had an allure to it. We could band together with Nubia, with Arabia, with Parthia, Media, perhaps even Hindu Kush, and make a stand against the Romans.

But in the cold light of reason, it did not hold up. Egypt was too far west herself, cut off from those other lands by a ring of Roman provinces: by Syria, Asia, Pontus, and all the half-digested client kingdoms, like Judaea and Armenia. We were isolated, forced to deal directly with the Romans, make accommodation with them.

"Send them on their way," I said. "Hear their proposals first. Ascertain their chances against the Romans. Find out their military situation. Then Then send them back to Phraaspa or Ecbatana or Susa or whichever city they came from." send them back to Phraaspa or Ecbatana or Susa or whichever city they came from."

"Ecbatana, I believe." He adjusted his left armlet. "This is the wisest course. Keep aloof. Make no alliances. Make no promises."