by Angela Hunt
The next day, with Octavian’s permission, Cleopatra left the mausoleum in order to arrange for Antony’s embalming and burial. After she had done so, Octavian had Cleopatra moved to her quarters in the palace. Due to her broken spirit and the wounds she had inflicted upon herself in her mourning, she had grown physically weak.
Octavian charged a freedman, Epaphroditus, with guarding the queen. If he learned that she had plans to commit suicide, he was not to interfere.
On the twelfth day of the eighth month, Octavian summoned me just after sunrise and said his other messengers had failed, so the time had come for me to reunite with the queen. While he met with the citizens of Alexandria in the city gymnasium, I was to go to the palace and obtain an audience with Cleopatra—alone, if I could manage it. I was to offer her safe passage to Rome and assure her of Octavian’s commitment to her happiness. Then I was to report back with her response.
I struggled to sort through my swirling emotions as I went to my tent and selected my finest tunic and himation. How should I address her after so many years? Should I be angry with her for the wrongs done to me and my family? Should I demand some sort of restitution? With Cleopatra defeated and broken, I might actually receive some sort of reparation. . . .
I searched my soul for the fury I had harbored for so many years, but little of it remained. Too much time had passed and I had changed too much. I was no longer the girl who had been sold into slavery—I was a free woman, a midwife, and a confidante of powerful people. I would be none of those things if Cleopatra had not betrayed me.
I stood in front of a polished bronze and stared at my reflection. Without a maid to help me, my hair hung long and straight and I wore no jewelry. My features remained pleasing, I supposed, but I looked like a mature woman who had actually lived in the world. Nothing of the sheltered girl remained.
I smoothed my hair, adjusted my sandals, and stepped out to greet the guards who would be my escorts. We entered through the Canopic Gate, then turned at the Jewish Quarter, where my heart lurched to see so many familiar sights. People stopped and stared as I passed with my Roman guards, yet no one seemed to recognize me, nor did any faces look familiar.
While Octavian and his party walked to the gymnasium, my guards led me to the harbor, where we took a boat and rowed to Cleopatra’s palace on Antirhodos Island. We walked up the dock, moving beneath the impassive gazes of the red-granite sphinxes until we reached the main entrance. A flock of ibises strutted over a patch of grass, their long beaks persistently probing for bugs.
I glanced around, looking for new buildings, and saw several. But one was only half completed and stood on the beach next to the Temple of Isis. That had to be Cleopatra’s tomb, emptied now of its queen and its treasures.
I walked to the palace, following the path I had taken so many times before. I led the guards as far as the main entrance, then stopped them outside the building. “Please—wait here.”
“We have been ordered to escort you to the queen.”
“This is her home,” I said, keeping my voice low. “Everyone has deserted her and gone to the gymnasium. I will be perfectly safe.”
The captain of my guard considered this, then nodded in agreement.
The marble hallways shone as they had in my childhood, but the place seemed smaller than I recalled. I walked to the grand hall where I had attended banquets and watched Urbi contend with her brother and his ambitious advisors, but the cavernous space was empty. Though the floor was littered with dried rose petals and the detritus of a party, an air of isolation hung over the place.
I left the room and moved to the north wing of the palace, home to Cleopatra’s private chambers. Epaphroditus stood outside, and his eyes narrowed when he saw me. “I am Chava, daughter of Daniel the scholar,” I said simply. “I would speak to the queen.”
He nodded. “I will ask her.” He disappeared, and a moment later he opened the door.
The anteroom was empty. I paused before walking into the inner chamber. I had crossed these tiles a hundred times before, but always as the weaker friend, the supplicant, the servant. Things had changed, and this time I held power in my hands—the power to forgive or not, and the power to make things easier for her with Octavian.
But I had never wanted power. All I ever wanted was to be her friend.
I moved ahead into the queen’s chamber. Behind the sheer curtains I saw a woman on the bed. Little about her reminded me of my childhood playmate. Her chest was bright and livid with suppurating sores. Her hair, unwashed and undressed. Her eyes, sunken, and her skin as pale as parchment.
But she sat up when I entered, her eyes widening before they settled into a net of smile lines. “It is you.” Her lips parted, and the ghost of a smile touched her mouth. “My old friend, come to haunt me at the end.”
I sank to the floor and bowed—years of respect for her royal position did not vanish in a mere fifteen years. And when I rose, Cleopatra the queen stood before me, her arm extended and quivering as though she would like to embrace me, but feared I might vanish at her touch.
I broke through the awkwardness by lifting my hand and pointing to the straight white line across my palm. “Blood of my blood.”
“Heart of my heart,” she whispered. “I have often wondered about you.”
We stared at each other across a ringing silence. I breathed in the sweet fragrance of kyphi and was instantly swept back to the day when Urbi and I had taken that vow as girls. How I had loved her! I had been her shadow, longing for nothing more than a lifetime at her side. HaShem had promised that I would bless her, and then He had wrenched me away from her and everything I held dear. . . .
I rose and stood before her. “My queen, I have come here to represent Octavian and his commander Agrippa. They want me to assure you that all will be well if you go with them to Rome.”
She searched my eyes for a moment, then her mouth curved in an endearing smile. “Oh, Chava, look at you! Your loveliness has opened doors to the most powerful men in the world, yet you remain completely naïve.”
“I am not—”
“If you have been living in Rome,” she said, “you cannot believe that they intend me no harm. They will mock me, privately and publicly. They will imprison me as they did Arsinoe. They will put me on public display in one of their gaudy triumphs. And they will murder my innocent children.”
“As you murdered Sefu?” The words slipped from my tongue, but Cleopatra seemed not to hear me. She only looked away and shook her head as if I would never understand.
“Octavian has given me his promise,” I said. “If you surrender, he will not harm your loved ones.”
She smiled, then pulled the braided cord by her bed. “Are you still so gullible?”
“No,” I admitted. “Not everyone is worthy of my trust. I learned that lesson from you.”
Two familiar faces appeared from behind a curtain: Charmion and Iras, her handmaids from long ago. The women were older now, with silver strands rippling through their hair, but they had not otherwise changed. Iras greeted me with a surprised smile, but Charmion stared as though she were seeing a ghost.
“Bring food for our guest,” Cleopatra told Iras. “Anything but swine.”
“I am not hungry . . . and I have come for yet another reason.” I lowered my head in an attempt to meet the queen’s gaze. “For fifteen years I have dreamed of seeing you again. In the beginning, when anger filled my heart, I planned to storm in here and confront you for the terrible wrong you committed against my family.”
Slowly, Cleopatra averted her eyes. “You have come all the way from Rome to berate me?”
“Not to berate you. To confront you.” I raised my chin. “To show you that I could survive without you.”
The royal lips trembled. “You left Alexandria,” she said, rubbing her arms. “After I returned from Rome I sent a message to the prison, commanding you to come to the palace. You were gone.”
The words struck like an unexpected blow
. “Why?” I rasped. “After destroying my family, why would you send for me?”
A flush enlivened her pale face. “I did not intend for you to disappear.” She put her hand to her forehead. “Yes, I had them take you to prison, but I was upset, pregnant, and worried. You were always so frivolous, always wanting to chatter. If you had not been so carefree, so everlastingly dainty and beautiful, I wouldn’t have found it necessary. But he noticed you, of course. And Caesar did not know how to be loyal to only one woman.”
I stared at her in a paralysis of astonishment. For a moment I could not speak, then: “You sent me to prison because of Caesar?”
Cleopatra’s face bore an inward look of deep abstraction—whatever she had felt in those days, she was feeling it again.
“We had just returned from our trip through Egypt,” she said, absently stroking her ravaged chest. “I was carrying his son. I thought he loved me. But at dinner, when I told him how you spurned my offer of citizenship, his face brightened like a lantern. ‘I remember her,’ he said. ‘She safeguarded you in the carpet. A man would have to be insentient to forget that exquisite face.’”
Cleopatra blinked, then narrowed her eyes and looked at me. “In all my life, no one has ever called me exquisite.”
“My queen—”
“That is when I knew you had to go—and not only you, but your family. If I imprisoned you alone, your father would make trouble at court. So I had to keep all of you away from the palace, away from Caesar.” She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I did not enjoy issuing the order. But by all the gods, I wanted you out of Caesar’s sight.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling as though the earth had shifted beneath my feet. Over the years I had imagined a half-dozen reasons why Urbi sent us to prison, but I had never come close to the truth. How could she be so cruel? So petty? How could she destroy my family when we had never done anything but support her?
I had defied my father to remain by Urbi’s side. I had sacrificed the love of a good man, a home, children, everything a Jewish girl should want. I had ignored opportunities and wise counsel from my elders, all so I could remain close to my best friend and somehow be a blessing to her.
“And here you are again,” Cleopatra said, her voice as light as a whisper. “And you probably despise me. Have you come for vengeance? Because though I cannot imagine where you have been living, I am certain your life outside Alexandria was not very pleasant.”
I stifled the scream that threatened to claw its way out of my throat. How could she sit there and calmly admit what she had done? How could she look at me, once her dearest friend, and admit that she had acted out of simple jealousy? Why didn’t she look for me after Caesar died? Why didn’t she search for my father?
I realized the answers when I met her gaze. She didn’t look for me because there would be other men and other alliances. If I were one of her ladies, I would always be a threat. And while she might have occasionally missed my company, she was far too pragmatic to risk her goals.
I should be grateful she did not choose to scar my face instead.
I drew a deep breath, reluctant to speak of a still-painful memory. “My life has not been especially pleasant. After you left for Rome—” my voice broke, but I gathered my courage and continued—“by Caesar’s order, my father and I were sold at auction.”
Cleopatra sank to her bed, wrapped her thin arms around herself, and looked up through the wispy hair on her forehead. “You have been a slave?”
“Fifteen years.”
She looked away and released a sharp laugh. “I have been a slave, too. To Caesar. Antony. Egypt. And, if Octavian has his way, to Rome.”
I struggled to restrain an outraged cry as indignation murmured in my ear. How could she compare her situation with mine? She had lived a life of fabled extravagance, and her so-called sufferings were the stuff of other people’s fantasies.
I closed my eyes as memories played on the backs of my eyelids—the torture of the slave ship, the indignity of farm labor, the horror of that bloody attack. I saw Sefu, whom Cleopatra had murdered, and Arsinoe, who had been executed at her command. Urbi had been a bright and spirited child, but Cleopatra the queen would calmly murder anyone who stood in her way.
As girls we had been as close as two bees in a hive, but the passing years had hardened and hammered us until we had little in common. How was I supposed to bless the proud, defeated woman who sat before me?
From the corner of my eye, I saw Charmion pick up a feathered fan. She gripped the gold-covered handle and waved it gently toward her mistress, sending a puff of air toward my face. I felt the refreshing cool breath of the breeze, and in that instant I heard the voice I had heard so long ago during that Shabbat prayer: Your friendship with the queen lies in my hands. You will be with her on her happiest day and her last. And you, daughter of Israel, will know yourself, and you will bless her.
HaShem was speaking, repeating words that had long been carved upon my heart, but in their familiarity I had grown lazy with them, and I had neglected to remember and consider every word, and no word of HaShem’s is ever wasted: You will know yourself.
By the time Charmion lifted the fan again, I understood. Though I had suffered as a slave, HaShem sustained me. Though I was ill-used, HaShem gave me the strength to avoid bitterness. Though I was tempted, HaShem gave me the strength to remain strong. Adonai went with me through the valleys; He was my light on a dark path. He stripped away the indulgences I adored as a child, then He led me through trials that forced me to develop wisdom and maturity. And now that I knew myself and my God, He had brought me home to Urbi.
Because He meant to fulfill His promise.
A flash of wild grief rippled over me when I realized the significance of this meeting. I had been with Urbi on many happy days, but I doubted I would ever be with her again. So this was her last day, and I needed to bless her.
How? I would offer the most valuable gift I could give. A gift that would cost more than Cleopatra would realize.
I would not curse her for her cruelty. I would not burden her with the hard truths of my history. I would not speak of loneliness or pain or sacrifice.
I placed my arms on the queen’s shoulders and helped her stand. As her confused, wary gaze moved into mine, I drew her into an embrace. “I forgive you, heart of my heart,” I whispered in her ear. “And I thank you for sending me away. I would not be the woman I am if you had not allowed HaShem to work through you.”
Cleopatra did not put her arms around me or respond to my words. When I released her, she tilted her head and gave me a melancholy smile. “The years have changed you.”
“They have.”
“You seem . . . quite formidable.”
“Truly?” I laughed. “No one has ever said that before.”
Her eyes rested on me, alight with speculation, then she smiled. “I have not forgotten.”
“Not forgotten what?”
“What your God told you.”
I wanted to protest, to say anything that would ease her pain, but I could not deny what I knew to be true.
Cleopatra lowered her head, and for the second time in my life I saw her chin tremble as tears welled in her eyes. “But before you go, promise me one thing,” she said, her voice in tatters. “Charge Octavian with the care of my children. They have done nothing wrong and they are no threat to him. Despite all of this”—she lifted her hand, indicating the costly furnishings around us—“my children are my only real joys, my only true treasures.” Her gaze moved into mine. “I should have asked—do you have children?”
“No, but I have become a good midwife.”
Her eyes widened. “I never would have thought so.”
I laughed softly. “Nor I.”
“I always wanted to be more like you.” She smiled and pressed her palm to my cheek. “I am weary and heartsore, my friend.”
“Then I will go so you can rest.” Before leaving, I took her hand and squeezed it. “
Rest well, Cleopatra. You are loved.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I gave Octavian and Agrippa the truth—I found the palace nearly deserted, Cleopatra was resigned to defeat, and she completely distrusted Octavian.
He waved me away with a twitch of his fingers, then bent over his maps. But I did not go.
“Before I leave you,” I said, crossing my arms, “I require one thing.”
Octavian looked up, a frown line between his brows. “And that is?”
“Her children,” I said. “I promised I would charge you with taking good care of them. They are innocents.”
Octavian glanced at Agrippa, who folded his hands. “When we find them, I will entrust them to your care until we are ready to leave. But in Rome, I will have Octavia rear them.”
I nodded, knowing Octavia would make a good mother. The children would have the best in all things, as befitted their station, and Octavia would love them as if they had been born to her.
I smiled my thanks and left the men to their plans.
Standing in the middle of the wide Canopic Way, I spread my arms and lifted my face to the sun, celebrating my status as a free woman.
“Crazy as a bedbug,” I heard one man say as he walked by with his companion.
“Roman,” another said derisively. “What can you expect?”
I ignored them.
I had done what Octavian asked, I had settled things with my former master, and I had come home. I was free to do anything I wanted . . . and I wanted to find my father.
I went first to the Jewish Quarter where I turned a corner and stared, openmouthed, at a new synagogue where a row of homes had once stood. The building was beautiful, gleaming in the sun, and a stela proclaimed in Greek, Egyptian, and Hebrew that the building had been sponsored by Cleopatra VII.