Marching With Caesar-Antony and Cleopatra: Part II-Cleopatra

by Peake, R. W.

  “What is it?” I demanded. “What’s wrong? Is Miriam all right?”

  “Yes, master. She is now.”

  I did not immediately take his meaning, and I could feel my mouth pull down. “Now? What does that mean? By the gods, Diocles, what are you talking about?”

  He looked thoroughly miserable as he said, “Master, Miriam lost the baby. I am so sorry.”

  I felt as if my entire body had been dashed with a bucket of cold water, and I could feel my knees begin to shake, but I forced myself to remain calm. “How is Miriam?”

  “She's recovering, master. It happened only a week ago, so she's still in bed. But the physician said she would make an almost complete recovery, that the worst is past.”

  “Almost? What does that mean?”

  Diocles started looking uncomfortable, as if he would rather have been surrounded by a horde of Parthians than standing before me. “I think you need to talk to Miriam, master,” he said quietly. “I think she should be the one to tell you exactly what's going on.”

  I rushed into our bedroom to find Miriam lying on the bed, propped up, looking extremely pale. Her face was puffy with tears shed and unshed, a fresh spate of them starting at the sight of me. Going to her, I sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed, not wanting my weight to jar her, before taking her into my arms as she began sobbing, speaking words in a combination of Syriac and Latin that I could barely understand.

  “Hush,” I said in the most soothing manner I could, holding her tightly, gently rocking her back and forth.

  “Titus, I am so sorry. I lost the baby and I don’t know why. I did everything the physician and midwife told me to, but it still happened.”

  Her body was shaking uncontrollably, while I tried to let her know that it was all right, that I was just happy that she was alive and that she would recover. She did not seem to hear me, continuing to say the same thing over and over, until I finally took her gently but firmly by the shoulders, and held her at arm’s length to look directly into her eyes.

  “Miriam, it's all right. I don’t care that you lost the baby. I care that you're all right. Besides,” I gave her what I hoped was my most winning grin, “that just means we can try again.”

  This had the exact opposite effect that I intended, making her cry even harder, and I felt the first flash of irritation as I struggled, trying to think of something else to say that would stop the crying. She was shaking her head, saying things so rapidly that I could not understand a word, as I looked around helplessly for some hint as to what was going on. Finally, she began to calm down, her crying slowing down until it was a series of hiccupping sobs. Once I judged her to be sufficiently calmed down, I gave her a kiss on the forehead, telling her that I would be back shortly, then went off in search of someone who might know exactly what was going on. Wandering through the house I finally found an old crone sitting at the table in the servants’ quarters, talking to one of the kitchen slaves. Seeing me walk in, the slave jumped up and went scurrying off, leaving the old woman behind, who looked as if she hoped a hole would open up in the ground to swallow her up. But she did not run off, looking up at me with a mixture of apprehension and defiance.

  “Are you the midwife?” I winced inwardly at the sound of my voice, knowing that my tone was excessively harsh.

  “Yes, master.” Her voice quivered with fear as she stared up at me.

  “What happened?” I made a conscious effort to soften my voice, and she responded, visibly relaxing.

  “Your woman went into labor early, master. The babe was not developed enough to survive and was stillborn.”

  “What caused it?”

  She shrugged. “Only the gods know why these things happen, master. I have noticed that women with the frame that yours has seem to run a higher risk of losing the baby as your woman did, but I do not know why that is so. Perhaps it is because of her narrow hips that there is not enough room for a babe, especially one the size of yours.”

  That froze my blood, I can tell you. “What do you mean?”

  The midwife looked down at the table, the uncomfortable look back on her face. “You are a large man, master. And your babe, even as early as it was, was very large.”

  This did not make sense to me. “If the babe was so large, then why did it die?”

  “Its lungs were not developed, master. The babe could not breathe.”

  I immediately regretted asking the question, the thought of my child suffocating like a dagger in my heart.

  Shaking my head to try and clear the image, I asked, “How is Miriam? Was there any permanent damage?”

  The midwife hesitated for a moment, then shook her head. “I do not believe so, in fact I am sure she will make a complete recovery. It’s just that….” She paused then looked me directly in the eye. “You will undoubtedly produce a babe of similar size. Your woman is unharmed in the body this time, but I cannot make any promise that the next time won’t be different. Do you understand?”

  I did indeed, it feeling as if my heart were being squeezed by this old woman’s hand.

  “Yes, I understand,” I said coldly, then reached into my purse for a gold denarius, handing it to the woman while thanking her for all that she had done.

  I returned to sit with Miriam as I thought about what I had learned.

  She looked up at me, her eyes haunted as she searched my face. “What did the midwife say?”

  “That you're going to be fine,” I told her, but she was not fooled.

  “What did she say about having a baby?”

  I hesitated, which caused her tears to start anew. I reached out to hold her, but she pulled away, turning her face from me as she wept bitterly.

  “I don’t care about having a baby, Miriam.” I thought to soothe her, but it did not work and indeed, again seemed to have the opposite effect.

  “Well, I do,” she said fiercely, showing a flash of temper and anger that I had never seen before, telling me how badly this hurt her.

  “Then let’s talk to another midwife,” I replied, though I doubted that the news would be any different, but the thought soothed her.

  “That’s a good idea,” she said, biting her lip. “I did not care for her anyway.”

  With that decided, I held her until she fell asleep, my mind and heart full thinking about how I could avoid putting Miriam in danger again. As far as I was concerned, this was all my fault; after all, I had killed my mother because of my size when I was born, and I could not bear the thought of the same thing happening to Miriam. These were the thoughts that continued to run through my head as she drifted off to sleep.

  Unfortunately I could not afford to spend as much time with Miriam while she recovered as I wished, having to attend to matters with the Legion settling into garrison duty. Not surprisingly, many of the men chose to carry on with their debauching that they started in Antioch. Consequently, the punishment square got a fair amount of business as a number of men had to be flogged for a variety of transgressions, while two men were executed for the rape and murder of a young girl. It was matters like this that kept me occupied, though the problems were no more or less than in the past.

  Antonius, plodding along with the train of plunder given to him by the Median Artavasdes, finally arrived in Alexandria in July, which I thought was strangely appropriate. It was about a month after Antonius arrived in Alexandria that word arrived of an event that I believe was the signal of the beginning of the end for the Triumvir of the East. I suppose he decided that if he were going to turn his back on Rome he was not going to leave any doubt that he was doing so. First, he called all the citizens of Alexandria to witness the crowning of Cleopatra as queen of Egypt, Cyprus, Libya, and Coele Syria, with Caesarion, Caesar’s son who was now about 14, as co-regent. His own children, the twin boy and girl, along with the infant son that Cleopatra had borne him while we were on campaign, he had seated on gilt thrones at his and Cleopatra’s feet, while he and his queen sat on thrones made of solid gold. Although B
albus and Macrianus snorted at this, both Diocles and I had seen the wealth and opulence of Egypt, so neither of us doubted for a moment that they were made entirely of gold. Antonius’ older son Alexander Helios was given Armenia, Media and Parthia, the latter of which we still had to conquer, with the infant they had named Ptolemy made king of Phoenicia, Syria and Cilicia. Both boys were dressed in the manner of the kingdoms over which they were supposedly to rule, with Alexander, who was more commonly called Helios, dressed in the Parthian cap and Median robes, the infant wearing the flat hat of the Macedonians, along with the high boots, no doubt both small versions since he was still a babe in arms. Both boys had the ribbon diadem draped around their respective headgear, and I do not know if it was the diadem or the titles that Antonius insisted be bestowed on the children that caused the most trouble, all of us vividly remembering what befell Caesar because of a diadem wrapped around his statue. For along with the diadem came the title of King of Kings for young Caesarion and his half-brothers, and while having significance to the Eastern ear that we Romans could not comprehend, was doubly offensive to the ears of Antonius’ countrymen, because no Roman could claim the title of king without arousing much hatred. And as foreign-born as Caesar’s and Antonius’ children may have been, and raised in the Egyptian style, they were Roman by virtue of their patrimony, and no Roman can be king. Antonius obviously knew this, for he claimed no title of king for himself during this ceremony, yet it did not matter. Adding to the damage was the idea that Antonius was dispensing Roman territories without consulting the Senate, or his colleague Octavian, and I believe that between his actions with Octavia and this public spectacle, Antonius was announcing to the world that he had completely broken with Rome. Finally, to add even more insult to Romans, he held a quasi-Triumph celebrating his conquest of Armenia, which by all rights should have been conducted in the sacred precincts of Rome and not Alexandria. At the end of the Triumphal parade through the streets of Alexandria, the Armenian Artavasdes was executed, though not in the Roman tradition by strangulation in the privacy of the Tullianum, but in the Eastern way of public beheading, a grievous insult to a man who was a king. However traitorous or despicable the actions of Artavasdes were, he did not deserve such a public humiliation. I believe that ultimately Cleopatra was behind this insult, because Artavasdes had refused, even in captivity, to show any deference to the queen of Egypt and as much as I liked Cleopatra in many ways in those days, she was extremely ruthless when she thought she had been belittled.

  Compounding Antonius’ problems was the reception that Octavia received when she returned to Rome, the people lining the streets to welcome her, shouting their adoration for her all the way from Ostia to the villa she and Antonius had occupied in Rome. Octavian milked the outrage of the lower classes for every drop of political advantage he could squeeze, and he was hugely successful. Octavian addressed the Senate, taking the role of outraged, loving younger brother as well as paterfamilias, asking the Senate to pass a decree of sacrosanctas for Octavia, giving her the same status as a Vestal Virgin, although to say it was a request by Octavian is charitable. In Antonius’ absence, and even with the Senate still loaded with his creatures, Octavian had become the most powerful man in Rome, backed by Agrippa and Maecenas. However, Antonius’ actions, both with Octavia but more importantly with his measures dividing what was essentially Roman territory, had forced even his most stalwart supporters to recognize that the Marcus Antonius they knew no longer existed. It was now clear to everyone on both sides of Our Sea that there would be a final reckoning between the two remaining Triumvirs. The only question was when it would happen. Meanwhile, I found my thoughts turning increasingly to the question of what I would do when the moment came when I would receive the message from Octavian calling in his debt.

  Miriam recovered quickly, physically at least, though she would still burst into tears at odd moments for weeks afterward. Things between us returned to normal, however, which I believe made both of us happy, and I have to credit Pompeia and Uncle Tiberius for helping us through what could have been a very rough time. They resumed their visits and even with my suspicion of Uncle Tiberius, I appreciated the effect the old couple had on Miriam, before long our dinners becoming the same spirited affairs that they were before we left for Armenia. Scribonius, Balbus, and Macrianus were frequent guests, while Gaius was an occasional one, having developed a romance with a girl in Damascus and spending most of his time with her. I tried to keep the topic of conversation away from politics, but soon found that it was a practical impossibility to keep Romans from discussing the events that would have a huge impact on their future. However, none of us forgot Uncle Tiberius’ connection and role with both Triumvirs, so we were all very careful not to give him anything that he could put in a report to either Octavian or Antonius, though if he was disappointed, he did a good job of concealing it. In private, usually back at camp where I could be sure that there was nobody trying to overhear our conversations, Scribonius, Balbus, and I spent many thirds of a watch discussing what seemed to be almost daily developments, trying to formulate a strategy for the day that we all knew would inevitably come.

  “You know we’ll follow you no matter what you decide,” Scribonius said one evening. “At least most of us will, but I think you need to try and feel all the Centurions out so there are no surprises when the moment comes.”

  Despite seeing the sense in that, I was not sure what I would do if I discovered there were Centurions who might try to betray the rest of us.

  “I know,” Balbus said, and even before I turned to face him, I knew what he was going to say. “You tell them that you’ll make their ball sac into a coin purse.”

  Scribonius and I just looked at each other, shaking our heads.

  “All right, beside that, what do I do?”

  Scribonius shrugged. “I don’t know, really. But we'll have to think of something.”

  First the weeks, then months passed uneventfully, at least for us in Damascus. In Rome, as Antonius’ pseudo-Triumph in Alexandria was described in ever more lurid detail by a number of correspondents, few if any of whom were on Antonius’ side in the matter, the uproar over his actions grew steadily louder. Octavian, in order to continue to honor his oath that he would not go to war on a fellow Roman, lay the blame for all that Antonius did at the feet of Cleopatra, making much use of the Queen of Beasts characterization that he had painted her with years before. However, I do not want to put all the blame, if that is even the right word, for what happened on Octavian’s shoulders, because Antonius did not help his cause any. First, he sent a bill of divorce to Octavia, which was bad enough, but along with the bill came a peremptory and curt order for her to vacate his residence in Rome, an act that was loudly decried by all the classes of Rome. Citing this as further proof that Cleopatra had somehow bewitched Antonius, Octavian was relentless in his attack on the queen of Egypt, and indirectly, Antonius.

  Meanwhile, Antonius continued to do nothing to help his cause, seeming to immerse himself completely in the role of Eastern potentate and consort of a queen. If half the stories coming from Alexandria were true, then it was increasingly clear that Antonius had either decided to precipitate the long-coming confrontation with Octavian, or had lost his mind. Octavian, on the other hand, was all about calculation and never making a misstep, having been hard at work consolidating his power. One of the most damning accusations against Octavian in those years was his lack of military prowess, the flames of this calumny being fanned by Antonius, much in the same way that Octavian did the same concerning Cleopatra, through the use of agents, although Antonius went even farther in calling Octavian a physical coward. Of all the things said against Octavian, this was given the most credence and was the most damaging to the younger Triumvir’s reputation. Octavian quashed this talk by going on campaign in Illyricum, even leading an assault on the town of Promona, a Dalmatian stronghold, where he was wounded. Still, even that was subject to controversy. Some men, undoubtedly worki
ng in Antonius’ interests, insisted that it was not a wound, but a broken leg, incurred when he jumped down off a siege tower to run away when the action got hot. The official story, and as far as I know the correct one, is that he received a grievous wound from a slinger’s missile, shattering his kneecap while leading his men onto the parapet of the town. What I can say is that I saw him limping when the weather turned cold, the stiffness clearly coming from his knee area, which to my eyes does not indicate a broken leg. Whatever the truth, as far as the lower classes were concerned, Octavian redeemed himself with his campaign in Illyricum.

  In contrast, Antonius seemingly did everything he could to flaunt the customs and traditions that Romans hold dear. It was somewhere about this point that it came out that Antonius had married Cleopatra before he divorced Octavia, causing even more of an uproar while arousing even more sympathy for Octavia. Some of the reflected warmth from the glow of adoration directed towards Octavia naturally washed over her brother, his stature as a model of upright Roman virtue and decency enhanced when compared to the Eastern debauchery of Antonius. No Roman man in our history had ever been married to two women at once, and of all the things Antonius did, I think this caused the most uproar, while I have little doubt that most of the indignation and outrage expressed emanated from the hearth of every Roman home. Speaking honestly, I do not believe any Roman man really cared whether or not Antonius was married to two women; in fact, I think he would probably be regarded with a great deal of sympathy, but the woman in the average Roman’s life was not going to sit still for the example Antonius was setting. I imagine that it was the fear that other Romans would start emulating Antonius that was the real motivating factor in all the expressed outrage as men spoke the words of protest that were put in their mouths the night before by their women. Even Miriam, shy and quiet woman that she was, gave me an earful revealing her true thoughts about Antonius’ actions, and they were not charitable.