by Karen Essex
It was a little awkward, however, the king’s forces fighting against Caesar while Caesar both befriended and imprisoned him. But Caesar did not allow him to think he was a hostage. He would take long walks with the boy through the palace gardens, asking him for his opinions, and telling him that only together might they resolve this dreadful crisis. When Ptolemy was so bold as to inquire over Caesar’s relations with his sister, Caesar simply looked at him and asked, Are you not a man? He declared to the boy that he was protector of all the children of the dead King Ptolemy Auletes, and not until harmony reigned among the heirs themselves and the heirs and their subjects would he, Caesar, get a good night’s sleep. He was awfully sorry that he had had to execute Pothinus, but the eunuch was damaging the situation by claiming that Caesar was no friend to Egypt, that he intended to make Kleopatra its sole ruler, and worse, that he intended to annex Egypt to Rome’s empire and institute a policy of extracting exorbitant taxes from its population. Ptolemy had reluctantly accepted Caesar’s action, and had almost stopped trying his sister’s patience by complaining about it.
Caesar, too, had made it plain to Kleopatra that she must reconcile with her brother. She did not know if he really meant for this to happen, or if he had a larger plan that he would eventually reveal to her. She did apprehend that her bedroom relations with Caesar did not figure into his political policies. She had once thought otherwise, but now she was forced to sit in this room with her tedious brother and pretend anticipation of the day when the two of them might rule as king and queen, brother and sister, husband and wife. The dictator of Rome had his own agenda, independent of hers. She did not believe he would make concessions to her unless her ambitions were in accordance with his own. She could not figure if he was engaging in a bit of political dissembling by pretending friendship with the king, or if he merely intended to dally with Kleopatra until the war was over and he could safely return to his larger business of conquering the world in the name of Rome. Would he really leave her alone in Egypt with her brother? Didn’t he know that as soon as his ships left the harbor, Ptolemy would have her assassinated and make Arsinoe his queen? And if Caesar knew that reality but was ignoring it, would he think differently when he discovered Kleopatra’s secret?
Aulus Hirtius interrupted their silence. A slender man with a soft voice and a love of literature and fine foods, Hirtius was one of Caesar’s men whose company Kleopatra enjoyed. She had apologized many times to him for her inability to provide those things he loved in any abundance while the war was in progress, and had promised him that as soon as victory was achieved, they would celebrate with fine feasts and a long tour of the Great Library. She had had the cooks prepare meals as best they could while the siege was on, and the Romans seemed suitably impressed, but the banquets were inferior to the delicacies they might experience when supplies were once again flowing abundantly into the palace.
Hirtius bowed formally to the royals, handing Caesar a letter. “A dispatch from our man behind enemy lines, sir. Sealed for safety and authenticity.”
Caesar held out his hand for the knife Hirtius knew to give him, and cut the seal. He unrolled the letter, read it quickly, and then scanned it again. The expression on his face did not change. When finally he looked at Kleopatra, she detected only one eyebrow raised slightly above the other, the singular way she knew that Caesar registered surprise.
“Do prepare yourself for a shock,” he said to the boy king, who immediately clenched even harder the wad of fabric he’d been wringing, as if he were a washerwoman doing laundry.
Kleopatra waited, and Caesar did, too, apparently giving the boy a moment to collect himself.
“It appears that last evening Princess Arsinoe escaped the palace barricade dressed as a Roman page. She went straight to Achillas.”
The boy king jumped to his feet, his robe a net of wrinkles where he had been clutching it. It looked for an instant to Kleopatra as if the spider’s web on his chair had leapt upon his stomach, and despite the news they had just received, she almost grinned at his childish, slovenly appearance. Caesar merely looked at him, waiting for an explanation.
“I had no idea,” Ptolemy protested. “I swear. I swear! She told me nothing.”
“This is a serious blow to the peace between us,” Caesar said calmly. “I trusted you to keep your family members under control.”
“But I didn’t know,” he said. “She tricked me, too.” He looked very hurt, his mouth turned down into a deep frown, his plump cheeks quavering just as his father’s used to do when he got upset.
“Surely you must know that this does not reflect well upon the trust I’ve so carefully built between us.” If Kleopatra had to judge, she would have said that Caesar was seriously grieved by the news. His demeanor was convincing; nonetheless, she did not believe that he was either surprised or upset. “There is more.”
“What more could she do to me?” asked the wretched boy.
“Oh, so much more. I’m afraid your lack of control in the situation has led to an entire chain of unfortunate events.”
“It’s Pothinus, cursing us from his tomb,” Ptolemy cried. “You should have left him be.”
“What is the rest of the news, General?” Kleopatra asked, cutting short her brother’s histrionics.
“She’s had General Achillas murdered. She’s made some eunuch named Ganymedes commander of the Egyptian armed forces.”
“She has no right to do that!” the king exclaimed. “She is not king!”
Kleopatra stifled her own response. Caesar answered quickly, “No, she is not. But she’s managed to get a substantial number of the tribes of the city to declare her queen.”
Kleopatra sat still. She had always known this day would arrive, though she had never suspected it would come so quickly. The Alexandrian populace regarded her brother as an ineffectual child, the puppet of whatever courtier had his ear, and herself as a Roman collaborator. They had despised her father for his propitiating policies with Rome, never understanding that the days of the illustrious Ptolemaic empire were over and that Rome was the immutable beast that would either trample over them or allow them to remain unscathed-the latter only if they made themselves of good use. Kleopatra and her father were resigned to this reality, whereas her brothers, her sister, and the Alexandrian mob preferred to live inside the fantasy that if they defied Rome, if they gathered their forces and put up some resistance, the Romans would just leave them in peace. That had not been the case with the rest of the world, of course, and Kleopatra always knew that Rome would never, under any circumstances, withdraw its interest in this nation that was not only the world’s largest producer of grain, but was also the singular gateway from the west to the coveted lands of the east. She did not intend to play the suppliant to Rome either, but she had a more ingenious plan than engaging in some inglorious war she would inevitably lose. Her battle would be fought on higher ground.
But now Arsinoe had joined the ranks of deluded Ptolemies determined to restore the great glory of the past. Good, Kleopatra wanted to say. When the Roman reinforcements arrived, they would just kill her.
Ptolemy looked beseechingly at Caesar. “What am I going to do?”
“My good young man, you must take control of the situation. The queen has no sway with her sister.” Caesar looked apologetically at Kleopatra. “So you must go to her and this Ganymedes and negotiate.”
“But what if she has turned against me?”
“Do you think she’s capable of that?”
The king exhaled, shaking his head. “No. She’s deceived me, but I do not believe she’s turned against me. Ganymedes has influenced her, that is all. Or perhaps she means to gather her forces and break me out of here.”
Caesar gave him a grave look. “Is that what you and she have been planning?”
“No, no, I have already told you. I had no idea what she was up to.”
“But did you ever say to her that you wished someone would rise up against Caesar and break you
out of your besieged palace? Did you incite her unwittingly? Did you imply to the poor girl that it was her responsibility to free you from me? I heard you say she was your ’most cherished chancellor.’ I will be very displeased if all the while you and I have been discussing peace, you have secretly plotted with your sister against me.”
The boy turned to Kleopatra. “It’s her, isn’t it? You and I were in perfect agreement until she sneaked back into the palace. She’s the one who turned you against me. She’s probably the one who made Arsinoe do this, too.”
“I have no truck with my sister.” Kleopatra’s voice was ice cold. Why couldn’t the idiot see that he had been betrayed?
“You’d better watch your back,” Ptolemy said to Caesar. “She’s going to murder you in your sleep!”
“You are out of control, King Ptolemy,” Caesar said evenly. “You have been deceived by one sister and now you suspect the other. Is Kleopatra outside the barricade heading up an army? No, she is sitting right here, working with us toward our common goal. You are negating all my hard work at peace between yourself and the queen. Really, you must calm yourself.”
Kleopatra almost opened her mouth to ask her brother to realize that Arsinoe had private ambitions. But she felt that anything she said would interfere with Caesar’s private ambitions. She was not privy to them- or rather she no longer believed he had shared with her all of his thoughts-so she decided to sit quietly and allow Caesar to orchestrate his plan, whatever it might be. Hirtius stood immobile next to his commander, his countenance entirely calm. She would imitate his implacability, letting Caesar conduct the scenario. It was difficult for her to remain passive, but she intuitively felt it was the wisest course of action. She did not want to disturb Caesar’s plans. She had no choice but to trust him.
“Your Majesty,” Caesar began, for the first time using the formal salutation to address the boy. “You must go to your army and to your sister. You must gain control of this unfortunate turn of events. I have no wish to harm the young princess. She’s a formidable girl, I know, and headstrong. If she calls off her madness, she won’t be hurt. She will be free to go to Cyprus with her younger brother and there reign in peace. You must tell her that. Caesar’s mercy is known far and wide. She may rely upon my word.”
“But what if she refuses to listen to me?” Now the boy was very nervous. The color had drained from his face and he stood frozen in front of the Roman dictator. His belly moved in jerky little spasms as he breathed. Kleopatra thought he might vomit at Caesar’s feet.
Caesar stood, putting a long arm around the boy king’s shoulder. “You must pull yourself together,” he said. “I-that is to say, Rome- and your country and Queen Kleopatra are depending upon your strength and your diplomacy.”
“You mean, I am to leave the palace and go to her.”
“Yes, of course. I cannot do it myself. I’d be assassinated. Kleopatra cannot go. Who else but you, sire? It is certainly a job for the king.”
The combination of flattery and onus was not lost on Kleopatra, but she saw that her brother remained ignorant of Caesar’s ploys. If he intends to play these kinds of games with me, Kleopatra thought, he will have to be less transparent. Perhaps Caesar stepped up the level of his manipulative techniques as his opponents grew in formidability She certainly hoped so. At any rate, he needn’t have expended any more of his shrewdness on Ptolemy, who was now softly crying as Caesar gave Hirtius orders to prepare for the king’s release to the Alexandrian army.
“Think of me as a father,” Caesar said. “I know your dear King Ptolemy Auletes died when you were still very young. You were not able to benefit from his counsel, but remember always that you shall have mine.”
With those words and an extra admonition not to disappoint, Caesar bid the young king good-bye. Ptolemy looked at Kleopatra, waiting for her farewell. “May the gods be with you,” she said, thinking that he would surely need their help when he finally realized the true nature of his beloved Arsinoe.
“That’s right,” said Caesar, giving the boy one final pat on the back. “See how easily peace might reign between you?”
When Ptolemy was gone, Caesar sat back in his chair. Kleopatra waited for him to explain his true mind to her, but he said nothing, looking at her as if she were a new acquaintance to whom he had decided to be polite but distant.
Kleopatra finally spoke, taking a risk. “That was quite a performance, General.”
“Can you not delineate theater from diplomacy, my dear?” Caesar asked. “I suppose you are correct; it is so like a play. No matter the quality of the performance, the ending is always the same.”
“You have no experience with the women of my family if you think Arsinoe is going to negotiate with our brother.”
“I have ample experience with women of all nationalities, my dear. You must trust me to know their minds.”
“I don’t mean to scoff, General, but my sister will never surrender her power or her new title or her will to my brother.”
Caesar sighed. “Don’t be tedious, Kleopatra. When I wish you to know my mind, I shall enlighten you. Until then, please be a darling and come sit on my lap.”
“I am not your pet,” she said. It would not do to be just another per son who did Caesar’s bidding. She had learned from Hammonius, her informant in Rome, that the dictator had seduced the wives of many of his fellow senators-Gabinius, Crassus, Sulpicius, Brutus, Pompey- and also that she was not the first queen to lay down sexual favors for him. He had bedded the queen of Mauretania, not to mention the king of Bithynia-everyone, reported Hammonius, but his sour-faced, barren Roman wife.
“What is troubling you?” Caesar posed this question as if he was inquiring about the weather in Spain at this time of year. Kleopatra felt her fury rise. Privately, he had acted as if they were partners, equals, queen and dictator acting in concert toward a common goal. She had grown so confident of her power over him, yet now she wondered if he would even take into consideration the fact that she carried their child. Perhaps he would laugh the conception off as another folly of war and return to Rome without giving their son a thought. Her father had had dozens and dozens of unacknowledged bastard brats roaming the palace halls. But he also had five legitimate heirs. She must think carefully before she revealed her news. She must wait until she was certain that Caesar shared the vision. Until then, she would let him make love to her, but she would hold her heart outside the arrangement. For that was a woman’s downfall.
“I am worried over my brother’s safety.” Two could play his game.
Caesar allowed himself the smallest grin. “Then let my old and war-weary arms smother your youthful anxieties.”
She went to him. He took her into his lap as he might have once done his daughter. She laid her head against his chest and listened very carefully for a heartbeat. Relieved when she found it, she let herself rest in its cadence.
Caesar stood on the muddy banks of the Nile in wet soil the color of eggplant. He had forbidden Kleopatra to be with him at this horrible ordeal-not because he thought she would not be able to bear it, but because he did not want her to be linked with the death of the boy king in the minds of the people. After all, she was the one who had to stay and govern them.
When would they learn? Caesar asked himself. How many faces of the dead would he have to see before it was all over, and how many of those faces would be familiar to him? He would never be the one to capitulate, much as he would sometimes like to lay down his sword and go to sleep for a good long while, a sleep that would not be interrupted by a call to battle or an emissary bursting into his dreams in the middle of the night with stolen news of the enemy, or by the snaking dysentery that seemed an inevitable part of every campaign. He was tired of it all. Not physically tired. Physically, he was always the same. He had not been a vigorous young man, so he did not waste his later years mourning the absence of youth’s lost strength. Caesar had found his true physical reserves in middle age, and they remained fresh and int
act now into his sixth decade of life. Just the other day he had found himself jumping ship to avoid a sword through his gut and swimming two hundred yards to another of his ships, all while wearing his heavy armor. Not only that, but he had leapt into the water so carelessly that he forgot that the latest dispatches from Rome were still unread in his breast pocket.
That would teach him to react out of fear, rather than to call upon Mother Venus, who had protected him all his days from any serious injury. She would have stopped the Egyptian swordsman, because she was not yet ready to take Caesar. He knew. He had always known, and that was why he feared neither death nor injury. That was the secret he would never reveal. Whenever the dropping sickness overtook him, he saw her face, and she talked to him, telling him what to do. The last time had been in Pompey’s abandoned tent at Pharsalos. Caesar had felt the spell coming on, and he had asked his men to give him a few moments alone in his adversary’s quarters. The men did not question him; they never did. He had gone inside, struggling to reach Pompey’s folding chair before he blacked out. As soon as he was in the darkness she was there, her eyes as blue and limpid as the waters of a clear lake, and she was telling him to pursue Pompey into Egypt.
Caesar was confident that she would inform him when his time was up, when the gods of the underworld demanded their inevitable meeting with him. Until then, he had no reason to fret. That is why he chastised himself for jumping overboard like a frightened boy, like a virgin in battle, when he might just have whispered her name. As it was, he had had to swim the long way to the other vessel with only one hand to tread the water, the other carrying the letters high above his head. Worse, he had left his purple cloak behind as a souvenir for the enemy. It pained him to think of his garment in the hands of some strutting Egyptian. Very unpleasant. The swim had been neither convenient nor pleasurable, but it did not fatigue him. Yet his men had made such a ruckus when they realized what he had done, saying that Caesar was like the gods, for neither did they age. He had aged all right, but the men were correct about one thing: The body of Caesar did not really tire.