by Karen Essex
She let herself cry now, both in relief at the confirmation of his love for her and the misery that he was going back into battle. She had adopted his attitude of invincibility toward his safety, but the reality of war erased that confidence, and fear crept back into her heart. “Will you guarantee that you will be safe?” She sounded like a child asking the question. She realized it was foolish, that only the gods might guarantee anything, and they rarely did.
“I do guarantee it, Kleopatra.”
“Oh, my darling, I want to believe you, but I would be foolish to do so.”
“I give you not my word but hers,” he said, casting a glance at the goddess’s face. “She has promised that I will return.”
“How so?” she asked skeptically.
“She is not ready for me yet, Kleopatra. She has told me so.”
“She speaks to you directly?” Why not? Kleopatra had received so many signals from the gods that she did not doubt his assertion.
“You must never say anything about this. There is enough suspicion about me as it is.” He slid his hands down her arms and clutched her wrists so tightly that her bracelets pressed into her skin.
She wriggled one arm away. “You can tell me anything. I believe you know that. If not, ask the goddess and she will confirm my loyalty.”
“She comes to me. That is all. Is it so extraordinary? She is the mother of Aeneas, who founded our city. Aeneas married Creusa, and their first son was Iulus, the first of the Julian clan. Why should she not come to me?”
“Does she visit you in dreams?” Kleopatra had never told Caesar about the dream in which Alexander and Ptolemy the Savior appointed her the dynasty’s next successor, but that was the first thing she thought about.
“Not dreams exactly. She comes during my spells. As soon as my eyes go black, her face appears and she counsels me. I have never told anyone this. But you, who understand so well the communion between gods and mortals, will understand.”
“I do, my darling. It is just one more proof that the gods wish you to take your place among them.”
He shrugged. “The people of Rome practically demand it. The Lupercalian priests are establishing a brotherhood in my honor. There are those who approve, and those who say it smacks of kingship, since the last Roman to be honored with a cult was Romulus.”
“But it is natural for the people of Rome to want to honor the man who has brought them so much.” Kleopatra did not understand why the Roman nobility so fiercely denied the ordinary citizens need to connect the rulers with the gods. She thought the senators merely jealous that both the deities and the citizens of Rome had chosen Caesar and not one of themselves to rule over the empire.
“Yes, but that makes small-minded senators sleep even less well at night. They want their power without having to do anything to keep it. Whereas I have earned every honor and privilege.”
“And that is why you shall prevail against them.”
He kissed her softly. “You will not see me again until I return.”
She was about to protest when she sensed a presence in the room. Caesar’s secretary stood patiently. “Sir? The hour of the next meeting has arrived.”
Caesar walked back with her to the entrance of the temple, where a committee of men awaited him, and Hammonius, her. He took her hand and bowed formally. “Your Majesty, it has been a pleasure discussing matters of state and religion with you.”
“And with you, General,” she said, giving him her finest regal smile, though the pain in her chest cut like a knife when she tried to take a breath. She said a silent prayer for Venus’s infallibility. “Until we meet again.”
She turned her eyes away from him before she gave in to more tears. That would not do before this assembly She searched the crowd for Hammonius, who quickly took her arm, his fine Greek bodyguard falling in line behind them. He led her into the Forum, where she noticed nothing but a long stretch of umbrella pines, their strange inverted branches opening to the sky as if in fervent prayer.
Alexandria: the 20th year of Kleopatra’s reign
Dawn threatens. The light creeps into the windows of her chamber, disturbing the perfect peace of darkness. Iras twitches his nose in his sleep as if the break of day disgruntles him even in his dreams. From the window facing the sea, over the treetops of the Royal Gardens, the queen sees the still-tranquil harbors and the causeway jutting out like a silvery finger, pointing the way to the Isle of the Pharos. On the island, the eternal flame of the tower lights the sea, its fire meeting the first rays of the sun in celebration of the day. Down the coast, Antony lies in the arms of a militia of whores.
Charmion enters, the thin lines around her mouth drawn deeper from lack of sleep. A servant trails her with a cup of steaming infusion of Indian spices on a tray. Following the authority of Charmions pointed finger, the girl places it on the window ledge next to the queen. Having delivered the beverage, she hops back as if she fears being bitten. She is a new girl, one the queen has either not seen or not noticed. Unusual. Charmion allows no strange servants into her private chamber. “The girl was in the Imperator’s retreat,” Charmion says grimly. “I sent her.” The girl steals a glimpse of the queen’s face but quickly lowers her big cow-eyes, wondering if Charmion will punish the insubordination. The queen holds the tea to her face, letting the steam rise to plump her skin and refresh her. The girl is small, perhaps fourteen, of mixed Greek descent. Her simple white chiton is open on the right side in the manner of the Laconian maidens. Through the gap, the queen sees her right leg shake ever so slightly.
“Look at me, child,” she says. The girl obeys, surprised at the friendliness in the queen’s voice. The queen captures and holds her eyes, startled by the fineness of the child’s features. Despite the mingling of foreign bloods her face is gifted with the outline of the Greek ideal. Kleopatra makes a mental note to speak to Charmion about her. Beautiful, guileless. She wonders if her son Caesarion has had her. More likely Antyllus. Like his father, he is given to seducing shy but willing creatures, while Caesarion, though king, requires being seduced.
“What did you see, child?”
“I saw nothing, Your Royal Grace Mother Egypt,” she replies, looking to Charmion.
“I sent her to listen at the door. The servants are quite unreliable and do not speak the languages of the Imperator,” Charmion wearily commands. “The child is facile with many tongues. Her father is a learned Jew, but her mother an outcast. Tell Your Majesty what you heard.”
The child’s eyelashes flutter up and down like little insect wings. Tears well in the corner of her eyes. “Singing, Your Royal Grace Mother Egypt,” she answers with great hesitation.
“Singing?”
“Yes, Your Grace. The Im-Imperator was teaching the ladies songs.”
“Songs?”
“Songs,Your Royal Grace. Songs like riddles. In the Latin tongue. B-b-bad songs. Coarse songs like soldiers sing. About coupling with beasts. Songs of that nature.”
The queen exercises extreme discipline in refraining from laughter. Imitating the stern Charmion, she asks, “At what hour was this? Surely they have finished singing their tunes by now.”
“Less than an hour ago,” Charmion says. “As the child was leaving, she heard the Imperator call out for more wine.”
More wine, after drinking and fucking for twelve hours? The queen had hoped that her husband’s melancholia would have been slightly more difficult to dissipate.
“More wine, and a roast pig, Your Royal Grace.” The girl is beginning to lose her shyness and looks directly at her queen. “The Imperator demanded a roast pig with prune sauce, a pheasant fixed his special way-”
“Yes, yes, baked slowly and braised with grapes and wines. Go on.”
“And a goose with sweets, Mother Egypt. Yes, he said a goose with sweets. And, and, and-“Suddenly the child falls to her knees as if stricken by Caesar’s malady, hiding her face in her hands as if consumed by either disease or a paralyzing shame. Her back heaves up a
nd down beneath the folds of the thin cotton dress.
“Spit it out, child.” Charmion is losing patience. “Control yourself and tell the queen what the Imperator demanded.”
The child raises her face to meet the queen. “And three naked serving girls to carve,” she sputters quickly, lowering her eyes once more. “Your Royal Grace Mother Egypt,” she adds, gasping an intake of breath.
Unable to restrain herself, the queen bursts into laughter. Charmion remains unyielding, suffering with resigned ennui Antony’s antics. The child, however, collapses and weeps again on the floor at their feet, a suppliant awaiting punishment for carrying the news of the queen’s husband’s audacity.
“What else did you hear?” the queen demands of her, signaling to Charmion to lift her up. “Do you know the sounds of lovemaking? Did you hear such things?”
Charmion grabs a handful of the black ringlets and yanks them back, revealing the tear-stained face. “Only singing, Your Royal Grace Mother Egypt. Only song. Forgive me. I believe I would know the sounds of lovemaking, but I heard none. Only the singing and the command for the foods and servants.”
The queen looks at the lady-in-waiting in disapproval. Sighing, Charmion releases the girl’s hair, takes her elbow, and raises her to her feet. She smoothes the loosened curls and almost tenderly straightens the child’s garments, looking back at the queen as if to say, “is this better?”
“You shall be rewarded for your excellent service. I need clever girls who speak languages and are loyal. You shall be called upon again. You may go.”
The child looks to Charmion for confirmation of the order, as if Charmion is queen and Kleopatra the lady-in-waiting. Charmion nods her head at the door and the child walks quickly toward the exit.
At the thud of the heavy door closing behind her, Iras turns on his back and snores, but does not awaken. The hot, sweet concoction slides down the queen’s throat, filling the emptiness inside, hurting as it makes its way into her stomach.
“Does she know not to speak of this?” she asks. She likes the girl and wishes her no harm. She also recognizes that the child might continue to prove useful.
“She is fully briefed, Lady,” Charmion says monotonously, though with the solicitousness she never abandons. They sit in silence, the queen sipping tea, Charmion staring disdainfully at the sleeping form of Iras.
Charmion says, “The early shift heard the sounds of lovemaking.”
“Then we are successful,” the queen replies cheerily. “The first battle is won. Can victory be far off?” She cringes at the hollowness of her own voice.
“Do you wish to meet with Sidonia this morning after she is finished?”
“I wish for nothing less,” she snaps at the good woman who lives for her alone.
“I see.”
She thinks, Once it was I who feasted with Antony into the morning hours. Once it was I to whom he made love between courses of pig and pheasant and goose and wine. Once it was I with whom he laughed and sang the prurient songs of war late into the night. And once, not so long ago, it was I who made Antony forget food entirely for days at a time, while he obliterated in me all thoughts of duty, family, and country. Once. But no more.
Masking those anxieties she says, “It is entirely possible, Charmion, that my plan has reversed itself on me, that Fate in her fickleness has delivered an unexpected outcome. This is what I get for meddling with the gods: Antony is sinking farther into the debauches of wine and women. Watch: He will find the pleasures so intoxicating, so reassuring to his failed manhood, that he’ll never want to fight a war again. Why should he?”
“Yes, Kleopatra, it is entirely possible.” Charmion is terse; her lack of faith in Antony is well-known. “You might do what we discussed,” she adds with hope in her voice.
The queen knows that Charmion believes that she must negotiate with the enemy. The enemy of her husband. The rival of her own son. The monster Caesar hand-delivered to the world.
“I am not prepared to play the suppliant to the monster.”
“The Lady of the Two Lands, Mother Egypt, the Queen descended of Many Kings, need never supplicate,” Charmion retorts. “She need only reveal her will. The kingdom of your fathers has prospered by alliance with Rome. And who is Rome now?”
Kleopatra can hear Charmion answer her own question: Not the man who sings and dances drunk in the mansion by the sea. Not the lascivious man-boy who amuses himself with naked serving girls while his enemy approaches from Greece. Not the man you chose. Not the man you chose this time.
“It is not my will to align with the Typhon,“Kleopatra growls. Charmion is the only person who might suggest such a plan to the queen and retain her head. Kleopatra does not suspect Charmion, but wonders if she is acting on her own intelligence or if she has been approached by others. She is sure that forsaking Antony is not a novel idea in the kingdom. “I believe I make myself clear”
Charmion asks no further questions, but returns to the business of adminis-trating the queen’s day. “The War Minister requests a meeting prior to breakfast with the Cabinet.”
“The queen is currently indisposed with regard to the War Minister. I cannot listen again to his mad raving plans for escape through the east,” she replies, grateful to be relieved of the discussion of the practical logic of betraying her husband. Sometimes the plan makes too much sense to her. “Does he expect the Royal Family and the Imperator to simply disappear into India? If he persists in attempting to sell me this plan I shall have him exiled.
“Cancel breakfast with the Cabinet. Send Sidonia to bed-to her own bed. And leave me alone.”
“What work shall you do, Lady?”
The queen thinks, Charmion is hopeful yet that I shall write to the monster. She believes I am being secretive in my negotiations. From my chamber, she will exit the Inner Palace and go directly to the temple of Isis, where she shall offer a small sacrifice and pray to the goddess for me to desert my husband.
“We shall discuss it at the appropriate time.”
“As you wish. Shall I remove the Royal Hairdresser?”
“I should think so. The queen requires a catnap.”
Charmion opens the door to the antechamber. A tall Ethiopian slave enters,
bowing to the queen. Turning to the bed, he picks up the sleeping eunuch, barely
disturbing his slumber. Iras smiles with half-cloaked dreamy eyes at the queen,
leaning his head against the hard, bare black chest. Curled up like a child in his
father’s arms, he is carried out of her chamber and into further revelry.
The queen’s maidens enter, gathering up the rumpled bed linens like mice scurrying to collect a prize hunk of cheese. They replace the sheets with smooth, clean ones, remove her dressing gown, and place a fresh one over her head. She lies on her bed, big enough to sleep the War Cabinet, and a girl kneels on either side of her, massaging oil into each arm and hand. She is particular in the care of her hands. The shutters are sealed and the room dark once more. One small lamp is lit; through sleepy eyes, the queen watches Charmion in silhouette speak to the slave who carries the laundry in a basket on her head. The slave listens intently and curtsies obediently to the older Greek woman. The basket moves not. The queen’s eyes grow heavy, and within moments, safe in the knowledge that the old sergeant carries her orders to the troops, she falls asleep.
She is still listening to the authoritative calm of Charmion’s voice, to the soft patter of slaves’feet, to the whisper of the servant who extinguishes the candle with her breath, when the ghosts of the past arise and take hold of her dreams.
Rome & Alexandria: the 6th year of Kleopatra’s reign
To: Kleopatra VII, Queen of Egypt in the city of Rome
From: Hephaestion, Prime Minister of Egypt in the city of Alexandria
To Her Majesty the Queen,
Recent events require your immediate return to Alexandria. Our sources have uncovered evidence of a worldwide conspiracy directed against y
ourself and the prince. I no longer trust the privacy of our correspondence, so I will reveal no further details until we are face-to-face. One of Hammonius’s ships is leaving Ostia in two days. It is a luxury vessel, I am assured, and fit for you and the prince and whatever members of your party you wish to accompany you. Take no security risks. Employ all methods used from your time in exile when conditions were also uncertain. Above all, trust no one but your closest aides. Make certain that Charmion is always in attendance with the prince. It is my burden to have to alarm you, but it is also my duty. The urgent situation calls for your presence, as dynastic succession is at stake. Do not alert the Romans that there is trouble in Alexandria. Information was leaked to Caesars legions here in the city, but I have personally seen to it that has been countermanded. I believe we are safe now in that regard. The excuse you must give for your hasty departure is the illness of your brother, the king. We believe he has been infected with the plague and the urgency of his condition requires your immediate return to Egypt.
Forgive my familiarity in expressing this sentiment, but I am looking forward to being in the Royal Presence once more. We have been through many trials together, and recent events suggest that our challenges are not yet over. Please do not delay your return.
Eternally your servant, Hephaestion
The last time she had entered her city’s harbor she was wrapped stiff and suffocating into a musty carpet slung over the shoulder of a pirate, mentally practicing what she would say to the dictator of Rome to encourage him to support her over her now-dead brother. Whenever she became gloomy, thinking of the mountains that were yet to be climbed before she and her son and the kingdom of their mothers and fathers would be secure, she made it a point to think about how far she had come. Julius Caesar’s only son was the prince of Egypt. A statue of her likeness was standing in a Roman temple, where the citizens would learn to associate her with the Mother Goddess, just as they did in her country. Egypt was still an independent nation. And these things she had accomplished on her own with the help of the gods.