Although the recent claim that Cleopatra was ‘willing to use her body to gain her political ends’ is intriguingly never made of Caesar or indeed any other male leaders, political matters of an intimate nature were certainly high on his agenda that night. It may well be that as a descendant of Aeneas of Troy, forefather of Rome, whose steamy romance with the North African ruler Dido of Carthage was an entente cordiale he wished to revive, Caesar was obviously attracted to Cleopatra’s status as one of the very few surviving descendants of Alexander the Great. And as a prominent philalexandrotatos, ‘lover of Alexander’, Caesar no doubt fancied his chances with his hero’s equally attractive descendant. As dreams of future dynasties may already have emerged in their increasingly intimate conversation, the two figures were certainly drawn together by their precarious situation and, both effectively trapped within the palace, became the closest of allies within a single night.
Recognising Cleopatra’s abilities in all their forms, Caesar swiftly reversed Pompeius’ recommendation that she be excluded from the throne and before the morning she was fully reinstated. Since Caesar himself states simply that he ‘was particularly desirous of settling the disputes of the princes [sic] as a common friend and arbitrator’, many historians seem to doubt that he had any romantic attachment to her. They support their claim with the fact that he rarely mentions her in his official commentaries, only twice by name and even then in the third person; but this ignores another fact, that Caesar always wrote in the third person and in the same objective style. Since his words were intended as propaganda, gushing prose would have been highly inappropriate and he never revealed his emotions in his work.
So Caesar’s feelings for Cleopatra must be sought in his actions, and these speak volumes. Knowing full well that the Alexandrians had no desire to have her back, because their feelings had been stirred up by Potheinos and were reinforced by Ptolemy XIII’s forces who greatly outnumbered his, Caesar took a massive gamble reinstating her. When her brother arrived at Caesar’s suite the following morning and saw his despised sister relaxing in the Roman’s company, the young pharaoh was so incensed that he rushed from the palace and tore off his diadem, dashing it to the ground in a dramatic display of teenage rage. No doubt encouraged by Potheinos, he shouted that he had been betrayed, rousing up the ever-predictable Alexandrians who once more prepared to storm the palace.
Yet this time Cleopatra did not have to flee her home before the mob, because she was saved by Caesar’s famous powers of eloquence. Calmly walking out before the crowds, he dramatically produced the last will and testament of Ptolemy XII Auletes, which he had no doubt located with Cleopatra’s help the night before. As he began to read aloud its contents in fluent Greek he made it clear that brother and sister were to rule together, revealing that Auletes had called upon Rome to ensure that the will was implemented and that it was his own intention as Roman consul to carry out the late king’s wishes.
As arbitrator in the family’s disputes he announced that the siblings would co-rule in Egypt, and in a masterstroke of quick thinking assuaged public feeling even further by bringing into the succession the two remaining children: the younger Ptolemy and Arsinoe were made joint rulers of Cyprus. Although Rome had taken the island only ten years earlier, Caesar now gave it back to the Ptolemies — a reversal of policy which caused outrage in Rome but bought Caesar valuable time to try to establish a power base within the city. It also showed Cleopatra how former Ptolemaic territories could easily be handed back at the word of one man.
Although Ptolemy XIII and Potheinos were far from happy with Caesar’s dynastic solution, public opinion was placated. To celebrate the restoration of the monarchy a great ceremony was held which marked the formal union of Cleopatra VII and Ptolemy XIII as co-rulers and presumably also a husband and wife in accordance with three centuries of Ptolemaic tradition. Despite no evidence that an actual marriage took place, this is hardly surprising, for while Ptolemaic marriage contracts do exist, it was not necessary to have a religious ceremony to legalise Egyptian marriage. It was brought about by little more than the couple living together, as noted in one second-century BC text which stated that ‘it is a good thing for me to sit down with Tanous so that she may be my wife’. Yet it seems that sitting down together was all that transpired, with Ptolemy XIII’s presence at the celebrations simply for appearance’s sake. Although he, his younger brother Ptolemy and their sister Arsinoe were all officially recognised as monarchs by Rome, all three knew that power really lay with their despised elder sister and her new friend Caesar, partners in every sense of the word.
So Cleopatra once more reigned over her court and its lavish celebrations, presumably held in the formal quarters of the palace. Expanded by each generation of monarchs since its founding by Alexander three centuries earlier, the palace of Auletes and his successors was of such legendary magnificence that its fame was known throughout the world. With its precincts and colonnades embellished by five-foot-long sphinxes in granite and diorite bearing Auletes’ own features, ‘the surge of the breakers was ever to be heard in its airy halls’ where windows of translucent glass overlooked open sea.
Beneath the watchful eyes of the two gold eagles of the Ptolemaic house, set at the highest part of a roof supported by agate columns, ‘the rafters were hidden beneath a thick coating of gold. The walls shone with marble’, the gleaming white stone imported from Turkey, the green and white-veined marble from the Pyrenees, yellow and white from Haute-Garonne in western Gaul and at least two varieties from Greece. Marble and alabaster also covered the floors, and although this was cool in summer, the Romans had to take particular care since their regulation hobnailed footwear was quite unsuited to such surfaces and slipping on duty was not unknown. Further embellished with additions of Arabian onyx, lapis lazuli from Afghanistan, turquoise from Sinaii and the newly fashionable purple porphyry stone from the Egyptian desert, the stone floors were inset with exquisite Macedonian-style mosaics of mythological scenes alternating with still-life studies such as a first-century scene of a small terrier with a red collar sitting beside an overturned wine jug. The similarly inlaid marble walls glittered with inlaid gems, gold leaf and tiny multicoloured sections of millefiori glass. Walls coated in rich red cinnabar were embellished with meticulously executed trompe l’oeil scenes of cityscapes and gardens intersected by ivory panels and doors inlaid with Indian tortoiseshell studded with sparkling green emeralds. An extra layer of brilliance was added by family portraits, statues of the royal family and the gods, carved in marble and bronze inlaid with precious stones and set alongside antique pharaonic pieces.
In a scene glittering in the light cast by elaborate candelabra and chandeliers, guests, reclining on dining couches covered in purple and crimson tapestry coverlets shot with gold, gathered for a spectacular formal banquet. Royal protocol at the Ptolemaic court demanded that the monarchs were placed in the highest position and their most important guests placed closest. Caesar himself followed this Eastern practice of grading diners and ‘while stationed abroad, he always had dinner served in two separate rooms: one for his officers and Greek friends, the other for Roman citizens and the more important provincials’; although it has been suggested that he used this arrangement as a means of distancing himself from his more tiresome guests.
Known to have been on the ‘top table’ couches that night were Caesar, carefully turned out as always, the elderly Memphite priest Acoreus in his finest white linen robes, and possibly the high priest Pasherenptah III and the astronomer royal Sosigenes. The royal party would also have included Ptolemy XIII, his sister Arsinoe and their youngest brother Ptolemy, all hating the obvious relish with which their elder half-sister Cleopatra would have been revelling in her restored status.
Stunningly dressed and covered from head to toe in lavish jewels, Cleopatra’s appearance that night was in complete contrast to the plain-looking matrons of Caesar’s Rome. Permitted a maximum of half an ounce of gold jewellery by law, such wome
n made a virtue of their lack of adornment — the fabulously wealthy Cornelia, once wooed by Physkon, famously claimed that her children ‘were her jewels’. It is therefore no surprise that subsequent descriptions of Cleopatra by Republican sympathisers referred to ‘her baleful beauty painted up beyond all measure: covered with the spoils of the Red Sea, she carried a fortune round her neck and in her hair, and was weighed down by her ornaments’, her body semi-visible through her finest linen robes.
According to Roman etiquette when dining in public, women were expected to ‘take the food with the tips of your fingers; and you must know that eating is itself an art’, although they were also advised ‘to eat a little less than you feel inclined to’ and ‘don’t drink more than your head will stand. Don’t lose the use of your head and feet; and never see two things when only one is there.’ Then, to counteract the effects of wine or spicy food, they should add small amounts of perfume to their drink. The perfume theme was greatly expanded in Ptolemaic dining rooms, where the heady fragrance of incense was complemented by carefully chosen flowers, the floors were strewn with petals ‘like an extraordinarily beautiful meadow’ and guests were presented with floral wreaths.
As a key feature of Egyptian banquets down the millennia, the traditional lotus headband had been partly superseded by chaplets of roses sacred to Aphrodite-Venus and to Isis, the ‘Rose-breasted Lady’ who was honoured with offerings of wine and roses. Initiation into her cult involved a festival banquet ‘in honour of lady Isis’, accompanied by invitations to dine at the table of ‘Lord Serapis’ within the temple precincts. The ‘pleasant social intercourse and conviviality’ which marked the Isis-and-Serapis dining experience seems an apt description of the first formal banquet Cleopatra held for Caesar.
With all manner of exotic foods piled high on jewel-studded gold plates and Memphis-made silverware, vintage wines chilled in silver wine buckets were decanted into goblets of crystal and agate cups. Presented with the best-quality linen napkins, guests were then served by an attentive staff of Greeks, Libyans, Nubians and northern Europeans ‘so fair haired that Caesar said he had never seen hair so red in the Rhine country.’
Yet for all the delicacies on offer, Caesar was apparently quite indifferent to food: at one dinner party in Milan he had been unconcerned that his asparagus had been dressed in rancid oil, and he even rebuked his more discerning staff when they failed to follow his example. But although ‘he once put his baker in irons for giving him a different sort of bread from that served to his guests’, this was probably a reaction to the risk of being poisoned — an occupational hazard for prominent figures in the ancient world, where some claimed that Alexander himself had been killed by drinking poisoned wine. Many employed an official taster, and Ptolemy I once acted as such to Alexander early in his career. The Greek physician Galen claimed that ‘walnut and rue at the the start of the meal counter all poisons’, while Mithridates VI of Pontus commissioned his own designer-made antidote from the pharmacologist Zopyros. When his kingdom was seized by Pompeius Mithridates’ suicide by poison proved impossible and he was forced to resort to a sword. The now unemployed Zopyros was then taken on by Auletes to help avoid his own assassination within the court at Alexandria.
Having narrowly escaped a similar fate himself Caesar, a man who cared as little for alcohol as he did for food, was described as ‘the only sober man who ever tried to wreck the Constitution’, and ‘not even his enemies denied that he drank abstemiously’. For him, the most interesting part of any meal was the post-dinner discussion in the grand tradition of the Greek dinner or ‘deipnon’ where like minds came together to eat, drink and discuss in a group of ‘deipnosophists’. Translated as ‘philosophers at dinner’ or ‘the partying professors’, this was also the title of a multi-volume work by the Egyptian-born Athenaeus of Naukratis. It comprised an entertaining collection of anecdotes, quotations and philosophical debate set against the background of a dinner party and covering subjects from food and drink to Alexander’s Successors and events from Athens, Rome and Egypt to Asia Minor and the Celtic world.
On many such evenings that Caesar shared with Cleopatra, ‘he often feasted with her until dawn’, although at this first state event he fell into deep conversation with her adviser the priest Acoreus. Keen to learn more about the source of the country’s great wealth, the annual Nile flood that made agriculture possible, Acoreus told Caesar the traditional explanation that the waters were sent forth by a ram-headed god from his subterranean cave. The priest then informed him that this had been superseded by the research of Greek scholars, which revealed the flood was actually caused by snows melting in the highlands of Ethiopia. As the conversation moved on to Egypt’s culture and religion, Caesar may well have consulted Acoreus about the ritual ramifications of a formal union between a descendant of Venus-Aphrodite with the Living Isis-Aphrodite.
While the discussion continued long into the night, Cleopatra and Caesar had no idea that they were only moments away from death at the hands of Potheinos’ assassins. Considering whether to ‘slay our cruel mistress in her very bed’ and ‘take Caesar’s life’ or to launch their attack at the banquet when ‘it was possible that the blood of Caesar might be shed over the king’s drinking cups and his head fall upon the table’, they decided such an attack would also place their charge Ptolemy XIII in danger.
But as they wavered over the ideal time to strike, deciding in the end to delay the assassinations until the following day, they were overheard by a figure lurking in the shadows, ‘a busy listening fellow whose excessive timidity made him inquisitive into everything’. Unfortunately for them this was Caesar’s barber, who immediately passed on the news, and ‘Caesar, upon the first intelligence of it, set a guard upon the hall where the feast was kept and killed Pothinus’, avenging Pompeius’ fate by ordering his beheading.
In the ensuing chaos, Achillas managed to escape from the palace and reach his men, the twenty-thousand-strong force newly arrived from Pelusium. They joined up with the Alexandrian Greeks who had formed a people’s militia and surrounded the palace walls, whose fortifications were further reinforced as Caesar set up his headquarters in the adjoining Theatre of Dionysos.
Intense and vicious fighting began in November 48 BC. Caesar quickly realised that his modest force of four thousand could never risk a pitched battle against this far larger enemy, particularly one which included large numbers of Gabiniani, trained in Roman warfare. Left with little choice, Caesar and Cleopatra, with Ptolemy XIII as a hostage, were forced to remain within the relative safety of the palace, hemmed in between the hostile city and the open sea.
Caesar defended the area as best he could, awaiting the reinforcements he had summoned from Anatolia and the Levant when he first landed. But he knew that Achillas would try to block their arrival with ships already in the harbour and so, after no doubt consulting with Cleopatra, ‘he burnt all those ships and the rest that were in the docks’ including the Roman triremes, Egyptian warships of the royal fleet. Yet as the flaming torches were applied to ships, the wind rapidly spread the blaze to the dockside warehouses where many books in temporary storage awaited transfer to the Great Library.
In the smoke and confusion which enveloped much of the palace Arsinoe and her eunuch tutor Ganymedes managed to escape to Achillas’ army and the Alexandrians, who declared her ‘basilissa’, female equivalent of ‘basileus’, the Greek for king, in place of the hated collaborator Cleopatra. Appointing Ganymedes her chamberlain, she decided to change Achillas’ siege tactics, and when the general disagreed she had him killed and replaced with Ganymedes. He sprang into action, cutting off the palace with roadblocks and armed guards amid vicious street-to-street fighting. He also used his detailed knowledge of the palace layout to contaminate its freshwater supplies, pumping seawater into the pipes and underground reservoirs until the equally resourceful Caesar and Cleopatra, who both seem to have known their Homer, remembered descriptions of the region’s freshwater springs and orde
red the digging of new wells.
With the Alexandrians demanding their king back, Caesar decided to buy time and handed him over, perhaps hoping for conflict between the petulant young pharaoh and his sister Arsinoe. Yet so united were they in their opposition to their half-sister and her Roman champion that the pair joined forces, and with their dual monarchy reinstated, the Alexandrians fought with even more vigour than before.
With the situation looking increasingly bleak Caesar’s first wave of reinforcements finally appeared at sea, allowing him to take Pharos Island and its lighthouse and to move all his men to the mile-long causeway linking the island to the city. Caesar himself directed operations, purple cloak flapping in the wind and detailed notes in hand, as the men began to fortify the causeway. Then a sudden enemy attack caused panic. As the men crowded into all the available boats in their attempts to escape, the overloaded vessels began to sink and many drowned. Caesar himself managed to swim some 200 yards to land, keeping his papers dry by holding them in his left hand above the water — not bad going for a man in his fifties still wearing his armour. Despite this setback he continued to fight to protect the palace and, however dire the situation became, he never handed Cleopatra over to her enemies. For not only was he determined to retain her as his ally, if not partner, but in the thick of the war she had discovered she was pregnant.
Much to the couple’s great relief, the rest of the reinforcements from Anatolia, Syria and Arabia finally arrived in early March under the leadership of Caesar’s ally the prince of Pergamon. Joined by three thousand men under Antipatros, father of the future King Herod and prime minister of the Jewish high priest who had wisely changed sides after the battle of Pharsalus, the prince marched across the Egyptian border and took Pelusium by storm, skirting south down the eastern edge of the Delta towards the site of modern Cairo. As Ptolemy XIII took his large army south along the opposite branch of the Delta to halt the enemy advance, Caesar followed at a distance before mounting a pincer movement with his princely ally. In fierce fighting they defeated Ptolemy XIII and his troops; the teenage king, resplendent in his heavy gold armour, drowned in the Nile after a most determined campaign. After retrieving his body to prove his death to any doubtful supporters and to undermine the credibility of any future pretender, Caesar rode back to Alexandria that same evening to give Cleopatra the news of their victory.
Cleopatra the Great Page 14