The Memoirs of Cleopatra Part 91

My children were all safe in Alexandria. Caesarion had returned from Romei escaping whatever vague malevolence Octavian had planned for him. And I would not surrender them to the world so soon. But sometimes there is no choice for princes.

The Median king had even released King Polemo of Pontus, that poor man who had been captured along with the siege train, and he made his way to us in Antioch, carrying the captured Roman eagles from the two slain legions.

All that remained to redeem Roman honor was to take revenge on Artavasdes himself.

"All hail for the birthdays of their most exalted persons, Imperator Marcus Antonius and Queen Cleopatra!" bellowed the chief steward. Antony and I stood at the entrance to the vast hall, decorated with boughs of evergreen and imitation flowers made of dried, colored reeds. So many candles and torches were blazing, it looked like a temple, and filling the chamber were our generals and their officers, military tribunes, and Syrian n.o.bles and merchants. We posed, holding hands, smiling, never betraying our quarrel about what t.i.tles we should use.

In truth, it was a delicate matter. Antony was both more and less than a king; as Autocrator--absolute personal ruler--he made and unmade kings. But the t.i.tle of king was repugnant to Romans. And the t.i.tle Triumvir--the Triumvirate was due to expire in two years, so it was best not to stress that. In Rome, Octavian's person had lately been declared sacrosanct, and he was using "Triumvir" less and less. "Imperator," meaning "commander-general," was a good, neutral t.i.tle, and Antony insisted on it for now.

Our birthdays fell close enough together to be celebrated at the same time, early in the new year. Antony was now forty-eight, and I thirty-five. With a heaviness in my heart, I realized my once-youthful, exuberant lord was approaching the age Caesar had been when I first met him. Where had the years flown? A trite though, but they seemed to have winged past, as I recalled flickering images of Antony--the cavalryman in his late twenties, the oiled and leaping priest of Lupercal in the masterful prime years of his thirties. And now, to be almost fifty . . .

Slow yourself, G.o.d of time, I begged. Halt your wagon, let us rest and look about, give us a moment free of changes. Halt your wagon, let us rest and look about, give us a moment free of changes. . . . But I knew the cruel G.o.d would never grant the request. He was more merciless to those in his grip than t.i.tius. . . . But I knew the cruel G.o.d would never grant the request. He was more merciless to those in his grip than t.i.tius.

I turned to look at Antony's proud profile, still beautiful to me, still commanding, still saying to fate, I'll meet you in single combat. . . .

Lifting my arm high, I was ready to descend.

Strange how I did not grieve for my own lost years; I was incapable of seeing them through other eyes. We always think we we have halted time in his flight, that there still remain many paths for us, unexplored, and of course we shall explore them; yes, we will. . . . have halted time in his flight, that there still remain many paths for us, unexplored, and of course we shall explore them; yes, we will. . . .

A loud shout of salute greeted us. The Incomparables were long gone, and it had been years since we had celebrated in such a raucous fashion, but it fitted our mood that winter night.

Canidius Cra.s.sus, his face more weather-worn than ever, bent stiffly from his waist, then straightened up and slapped Antony's forearm. "To the field once more, Imperator!" he said.

"Jupiter himself grant us victory!" Plancus raised his arm in salute.

King Polemo of Pontus--a soft-voiced and mannered man--presented us with a box of emeralds, and expressed his birthday wishes. "Aristotle says in his Rhetoric Rhetoric that the body is at its best between the ages of thirty and thirty-five, and the mind at its best about the age of forty-nine," he said. "That means you both are in the enviable position of being at the best ages!" that the body is at its best between the ages of thirty and thirty-five, and the mind at its best about the age of forty-nine," he said. "That means you both are in the enviable position of being at the best ages!"

"I think it means together we make a perfect whole," said Antony. "My mind in concert with her body."

Dellius sidled up to us, raising his eyebrows as if picturing something lascivious. I had never cared for his manner. "You are not the oldest general to take to the field," he a.s.sured Antony, as if it were a matter of concern.

"I have not thought of it," said Antony. "The retreat from Parthia under those inhuman conditions proved me young enough."

"True, true." Dellius was appraising him as if unconvinced.

"And in any case, I am sending you to Armenia before the winter ends, so you--being younger--can test yourself in the snows." Dellius looked alarmed. "I wish you to approach Artavasdes with an offer of. . . alliance. A marriage treaty between our children. He will refuse it, of course, and then we will have an excuse to attack. I have heard, from reliable sources, that he is trafficking with Octavian. Neither of them wishes me well. They are two of a kind."

I was shocked at his harsh public appraisal of Octavian--lumping him together with his betrayer Artavasdes!

"Yes, sir," said Dellius, looking about for an escape before Antony could a.s.sign him another unpalatable task. He scuttled--for his movement was sideways, like a beach crab--into the ma.s.s of guests.

The torches burned bright; the walls resounded with glad high spirits. Plancus led the officers in a round praising Antony, calling him "Conquering Hercules" and "Beneficent Dionysus." Their shouts seemed like a platform raising him high, lifting him up to the rafters. He had won their admiring loyalty in the courage and toughness of the retreat from Parthia, which he had borne and led so manfully.

Even the piercing-eyed--and piercing-tongued--Ahen.o.barbus was gentle that night, and presented Antony with a gift of a new sword of Chalybean tempered iron. "A new sword for a new conquest," he said, the light of coming battle in his eyes. "Yet you must keep your old fighting style--coolness in the heat of battle, a splendid daring."

"Now you can give your old faithful one to Alexander, for his heritage," I said.

Antony took the new sword, and ran his thumb appreciatively along its finely honed blade.

"I thank you," he said to Ahen.o.barbus, "my friend."

Five braziers, fired so hot they almost glowed, kept the cold at bay in our sleeping chamber. The festivities over, we had piled our booty--the tribute from our captive guests--on a table and gratefully exchanged our stiff, constricting clothes for Syrian chamber-robes. We sat on thronelike chairs decorated with mother-of-pearl patterns, and sighed with relief.

"That was tiring," Antony admitted. He yawned.

"It was nothing compared with the old days in Alexandria," I reminded him. "Our evenings with the Incomparables . . . remember?"

"I was younger then," he said, without thinking. Then he realized how it sounded. "Perhaps I've just grown bored with it," he suggested. "Same old people, same old songs."

"Not the same old wine, though," I said. In this area, we drank Laodicean, not Falernian. I poured out a cup from the pitcher left for our pleasure, and handed it to him.

"Wine never lets you down," he said, sipping it.

I disagreed, but did not say anything. Wine was a betrayer, and lately I felt it was betraying Antony. He was drinking too much of it, imagining it did not affect him, but it did. He sat silent for a few minutes, savoring the distinctive taste of this particular wine. Finally he said, "Tonight was the unveiling of our new empire."

"What do you mean?" His statement, coming out of nowhere, was puzzling.

"It is useless to pretend any longer--or rather, for me me to pretend any longer. Step by step I have been led into a strange role: ruler of a vast eastern empire, with an empress by my side. By Hercules, I did not mean it to happen!" His voice was touched with anguish, and he set the cup down. He ran both his hands through his hair, as if somehow that would straighten out his thoughts. "Tonight we played the roles well, standing side by side in all our eastern finery, accepting obeisance from our subjects--oh, what have you done to me?" He jumped up from the chair and started pulling at the gown, tearing it off. "Away! Get off!" to pretend any longer. Step by step I have been led into a strange role: ruler of a vast eastern empire, with an empress by my side. By Hercules, I did not mean it to happen!" His voice was touched with anguish, and he set the cup down. He ran both his hands through his hair, as if somehow that would straighten out his thoughts. "Tonight we played the roles well, standing side by side in all our eastern finery, accepting obeisance from our subjects--oh, what have you done to me?" He jumped up from the chair and started pulling at the gown, tearing it off. "Away! Get off!"

Was he drunk? I looked at the cup, but it was only half-empty.

"Off! Off!" He flung the gown away in disgust. "I have been transformed!" He looked down at himself, holding out his thick arms and staring at his hands. "All these rings!" He pulled them off and started throwing them on top of the crumpled gown. Then he kicked off his silk-embroidered sandals. They cartwheeled through the air, and one landed in the brazier and caught on fire.

Antony burst into laughter at the sight of the smoking shoe. But he calmed down. "It is you who have done this," he finally said. "Transformed me from a Roman magistrate into an eastern potentate."

"So Octavian has conquered even you," I said, "with his lies and distortions."

"Behind his statements lies enough truth to be considered." He began to shiver in the cold room, and grabbed a blanket from the bed rather than put on the offensive decorated gown.

So now we must have this talk--and I had not prepared myself for it. I gave a quick prayer to Isis to help me keep my thoughts clear. "You look like a fool, huddled there in that blanket," I said. "Almost as much of a fool as you sound."

He just looked at me, a picture of distress. " "The truth pains me," he finally said. "I do not think I can bear it." He looked so miserable, my heart went out to him. I had never been torn between two worlds as he now was. Life had spared me that particular torture.

I went over to him, where he had sunk down into the chair again. I stood behind him, putting my head near his and encircling his shoulders with my arms, like the statues of Horus protecting a Pharaoh. Now I was the strong one. Let me help him, dear Isis!

"If you have been drawn into it step by step, it is because that was your fate," I finally said. "And no one can repulse his fate. To refuse it is hopeless, and just makes its burden heavier. And each man's fate is tailored to him, like a shirt. There is no second Alexander, no second Moses, no second Antony. You are the first and only to walk this earth. So you have to be the finest version of Antony possible."

I felt his head move from side to side, slowly.

"It does no good to say you would rather be someone else, or covet his lot in life. You have been a.s.signed your own portion. Because you are the foremost living general, it was natural that the rich eastern part of the Roman holdings would fall to you. That being so, it was natural that you would become a part of it. You have a rare sympathy with your subjects--"

"Subjects! I have no subjects! I am not a king!" he cried out.

"Very well, then, your . . . client kingdoms, your provinces." I sighed. What difference did the name make? "You understand them, that is why you belong here. And it is true, the western half of Rome is yoked strangely with the eastern. They do not pull well together. Eventually they will break apart--that is, if they are both ruled by a western-thinking Roman. Only someone like you--a Roman bred and born, who can understand the east as well--can hold them together."

He was sitting as immobile as any Pharaoh's statue. Was he even hearing my words--my raw, unrehea.r.s.ed words? Were they helping at all?

"It is you who are called to preserve Rome," I said. "And it is not only because you have become partly eastern. As if anything could erase your glorious family history, your long years of service to Rome! No, that will endure. All you have done is to add another dimension, a new understanding on top of the old. It is what will make you the ruler Rome has earned, and deserves."

"I am not a ruler!"

"I meant leader," I a.s.sured him. "And when we lead, what a new dawn! The world is much richer than the narrow vision of the Roman patriot, who eats his plain porridge, straps on his st.u.r.dy sandals, and scurries past the altars of foreign G.o.ds, looking neither to the left nor the right."

Antony laughed, faintly. This encouraged me to continue.

"You know the sort. Wearing his rough homespun, speaking only Latin, feeling threatened by Greek poetry, plum sauce, and the sound of sistrums. What would be the fate of all your . . . client kingdoms ... to be ruled by such a man?"

"A rather austere one," he said.

"If your fate is here, then embrace it! Rejoice in it! Give thanks to the G.o.ds that they made you the master of these people you understand so well, and cherish so dearly! It does not make you any less a Roman to be a citizen of the world as well--no matter what Octavian says! It makes you greater!" Was he listening? "And I tell you this--you will be their salvation. If Octavian becomes their ruler--and he will not demur to call himself that, I a.s.sure you--they will suffer. Oh, how they will suffer!"

A long silence hung in the air. Finally he said, " "You understand the east well, but I do not think you understand Rome. You reduce her to the same caricatures that you so resent Romans doing to easterners. The ignorant, barbaric Roman eating his porridge is just as false as the wily, effeminate easterner."

"You see! You have just proved my point! You have the wisdom and understanding to see both sides! It is you, and only you, destined to rule-- lead--the entire Roman world."

"I do see the merits of both," he admitted.

"As did Caesar. He understood, as do you, that all citizens of Rome must be equal, and each side respect the other. Do not shirk your responsibility!"

"And how will they ever accept you, by my side, in Rome?" he asked sadly. "They are not as broad-minded as your idealized world citizens."

"They are being taught to hate me," I said. "But when they see me, in person, when they realize they have nothing to fear from me . . . Anyway, that is a long time coming. First you must remove Octavian!" I repeated the words slowly, directly in his ear. "You . . . must. . . remove . . . Octavian."

"Under what color?"

"First oust him from the seat of Caesar. Declare him a pretender, and prove it, and you have removed his basis of power."

"His basis, yes, but not the power itself. That resides in all his legions. And in his stranglehold on Italy."

"First the basis, then the power itself. Announce the rights of Caesarion, and challenge Octavian. Then be bold, and proclaim the eastern empire as an ent.i.ty. Provoke him. The sooner the fight is held, the surer your chances of victory. Day by day he grows stronger."

"Perhaps fate will do my work for me," he said. "If you believe in fate, then fate will give Rome the ruler she deserves, with no help from us. Octavian is still fighting in Illyria. Perhaps he'll die there. I hear he has injured his knee--"

"Caesar always said if luck did not go our way, then we had to give luck a helping hand," I said.

"I am no second Caesar, as you pointed out."

"I know I am right! Please follow my plan!"

He sighed. "After Armenia--"

"Yes, of course, after Armenia. That gives you time to perfect your plans."

"Yes, my love." At last he turned around and buried his head against my shoulder. "We will make our empire together... my empress." He rose and took my hand. "Come to bed, and celebrate our mult.i.tudinous kingdoms. Let us make love in all their fashions. They are as varied as their clothes and cookingShall we introduce them to Rome? Enrich their lives?" He laughed, my old Antony restored. "Or shall we imitate Octavian's way tonight? I am sure it is unimaginative, but thoroughly and officially Roman."

"No," I said. "Let Livia enjoy it."

"I understand," said Antony, "that Livia is not the only one to sample his practices, whatever they may be. He is busy in the beds of other men's wives."

Then he had not changed much. I would not have such a husband for all the gold in the Temple of Saturn!

"Dear husband," I said, "let us get busy in our own."

Chapter 65.

It was spring, and I was parted from Antony once more, as he pursued his campaign in Armenia. He had mobilized sixteen legions--sixteen, enough to crush Nebuchadnezzar!--and set out to punish his foe. This time there was no suspense, and I had no worries; my face was turned toward what we would do after after Artavasdes was duly chastised. Artavasdes was duly chastised.

I was restless. The fresh breezes blowing across the city made me feel like dancing, enveloping myself in the new light silks that had reached us from far to the east, beyond even India. They were so thin they floated about the body like a mist. Just such garments the Aurae, breeze nymphs, must have worn--I had seen sculptures of them, the streaming gowns curling about the outlines of their graceful limbs as they leapt and flew. Their bodies were as visible beneath as if the material had been wet. Now I felt like one of them, ready to fly high over the city, over the Delta, out over the desert.

Flying being out of the question, I decided to sail to Heliopolis, there to inspect my balsam plantings. It had now been two years since I had brought cuttings back from Jericho, and they had been watered and tended as lovingly as a royal baby. I was eager to see them. If they truly thrived here, the possibility of enormous riches hovered like a mirage.

Heliopolis, the ancient City of the Sun, stood near the place where all the branches of the Nile united to make that long stalk that reaches all the way to Nubia. It had been sacred since long before the pyramids were built; no one really knew how old it was. When my dynasty, the Ptolemies, came to Egypt, they asked Manetho, also a priest of Heliopolis--who presumably had access to old records--to write a history of Egypt. He did so, and provided the only list we have of all the Pharaohs. Knowledge of the past was fading even then; its roots were still vigorous in the ancient holy cities, but its branches elsewhere were nearly bare. Fewer and fewer people could read the sacred writings; fewer and fewer people cared; ancient Egypt was already receding into a mist of the fabulous, the make-believe. The last native Pharaoh had surrendered his throne to Persians over three hundred years ago.

But the past was too strong to evaporate; instead, it dyed the new conquerors in its colors. First the Persian rulers, then the Greeks, became Pharaohs once they were on Egyptian soil. I was a Pharaoh, the beloved daughter of Re, as all Pharaohs were. My father had been a Pharaoh, too. That was why we were crowned at Memphis in the old rites.

Did we feel like Pharaohs? That is hard to say. When I was in Alexandria, no. There was so little that was Egyptian there, or old. It was a brand-new city--a Greek head on an Egyptian body, as someone had once described it. But away from Alexandria--ah, that was different. I had found myself drawn to the "real" Egypt in a way my predecessors had not. I was the only one to leam to speak its language, and the only one to travel up and down the Nile so often, visiting so many towns. Perhaps that was why I had been willing to do so much to keep Egypt from being swallowed up.

On days like the one on which my barge approached the landing-stage of the ca.n.a.l to Heliopolis, gliding on the bosom of the Nile, past the tall papyrus stalks vibrantly green against the blazing blue sky, I felt I would be willing to do even more--that no price was too high to keep Egypt for Egyptians.

Awaiting me was Nakht, the high priest of Heliopolis, who presided over the Temple of the Sun. He was a portly man wrapped in a white linen robe, his shaven head gleaming. He had a bevy of priests under him, young a.s.sistants, acolytes, scribes, and musicians. Here, in this bastion of Re, he reigned supreme, guarding it as I guarded larger Egypt.

"We salute and welcome you, Queen Cleopatra, Netjeret-Merites, G.o.ddess, Beloved of Her Father." He bowed low, and a file of others behind him did likewise.

I wished Caesarion had accompanied me, so he could see this--after seeing Rome. Here he was Ptolemy Iwapanetjer Entynehem Setepenptah Irmaatenre Sekhemankhamun: Heir of the G.o.d that Saves, Chosen of Ptah, Carrying out the Rule of Re, Living Image of Amun. Here he was the heir that would-- that must!--preserve Egypt and carry the burden of her past. Even in a larger empire, Egypt would still be uniquely herself. That was the vision Antony and I could offer, rather than the Roman idea of transforming the rest of the world into another Rome.

"You have missed the morning stars washing the face of Re, and bringing him breakfast," said Nakht. "And you have missed the blessed Re descending in the form of a bird to touch the sacred Benben obelisk at dawn."

Was he scolding me? But no, he just sounded disappointed. "For that I am sorry," I said.

"Stay with us through the night, so you can witness these events," he said. "You, G.o.ddess, the daughter of Re, should behold them."

I had not planned to stay. I thought of all the state business waiting in Alexandria. Then I looked up the row of obelisks lining the gentle slope to the great pylon of the temple, and I felt a strong urge to linger here.

"Depending on the hour, perhaps it will be possible," I said.

The entire company of priests bowed and made a pathway for me to follow through them, while Nakht led me toward the enormous temple, its stone fiercely golden in the intense noonday sun--Re burning down directly overhead. The stone would have looked like solid sand somehow rearing itself high, had it not been for the bright flowers, winged discs of Re, and colored designs decorating it.

Tall, slender palms kept watch behind the obelisks, repeating their lines except in their crowns of bristly fronds.

In the old religion, this hill was believed to be the first piece of land to emerge from the formless waters of Creation, and it was thereby sacred. From here the origins of the world and the G.o.ds were studied; a vast school of astronomy had grown up on the grounds. Here the stories of the G.o.ds, of Nun, of Geb and Nut, of Osiris, of Isis, had been discovered, and written down in holy texts. But more than anything else, the nature of Re, the sun G.o.d, had been understood here. Re in all his forms--the young Khepri of the morning, the strong Re of midday, and the tottering, weak Atum of sunset. They had even divined what Re did after he vanished beneath the western horizon, and how he traveled in his Mesektet-boat, his night barque, accompanied by "those who never grow weary"--men who had been transformed into stars. There at night Re pa.s.sed through great dangers in order to emerge once more at dawn, where he descended to touch the gold-clad obelisk at Heliopolis in the center of the temple.

Beside me, Nakht kept slow, measured footsteps. We pa.s.sed the first pylon, coming into the forecourt. Beyond this point, which no ordinary person could pa.s.s, the secular world fell away. We were now in the realm of the G.o.ds--or rather, the abode prepared for them on earth by mortals. A vast forecourt, open in the center but ringed with pillars and dark, shaded colonnades, spread out on each side. Before us beckoned the deep recesses of the temple.