Cleopatra the Great

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Cleopatra the Great Page 36

by Joann Fletcher


  Although the first four Ptolemaic couples had been cremated following Macedonian custom, their ashes placed in gold chests or urns within the Soma, increasing royal patronage of native practices and burial ‘Egyptian fashion’ had led to the revival of royal mummification by 180 BC. This was something that Cleopatra VII would almost certainly have demanded for herself, following Alexander’s example: mummification was central to her identity as Isis and a crucial step toward resurrection and eternal life.

  Surviving mummies of Ptolemaic officials reveal evidence of high-quality preservation. Cleopatra’s distant cousin Pasherenptah III claimed in his funerary inscription that his body was ‘placed in the West and all the rites for my august mummy were carried out’, much in the manner described in the only two remaining literary sources, Herodotus and Cleopatra’s contemporary Diodorus. Beneath the watchful eye of the chief funerary priest, masked as the jackal god Anubis, the body would be laid out on a stone embalming table and the brain removed down the nose or from the base of the skull. The cavity would then be sealed with warm resin. After the ‘paraschistes’ or ‘cutter-up’ embalmer had opened the left side of the abdomen with a black obsidian blade to remove the entrails, then been ritually chased away for inflicting damage to the body, the ‘taricheutai’ or ‘salters’ used natron salts to dry out the body and reduce its weight by 75 per cent. When the cavity had been rinsed with sterilising date palm wine and spices, the dessicated entrails were replaced inside the body which was then washed and ‘made beautiful with unguent, myrrh and incense’, together with ‘sefy’ (juniper oil) ‘kedros’ (cedar oil) and small amounts of Dead Sea bitumen, ‘for if this material is not mixed into the other substances the cadaver will not last long’. Finally the skin was sealed with a layer of resin and warm beeswax, both key ingredients in Egyptian embalming along with antibacterial honey, as used in the embalming of Alexander.

  Having left instructions for her own mummification, Cleopatra must also have selected the appropriate jewellery and amulets, chief among which would be her royal diadem as insignia of the Ptolemaic royal house. In contrast to Roman burials, forbidden by law to contain any gold other than ‘the teeth of the deceased if fastened with gold’, Egyptian burials were legendary for their wealthy contents. The mummy of one of Cleopatra’s priestly relatives was said to have been ‘made of funerary raiment, gold and silver ornaments with protective amulets of all sorts of genuine precious stones.’

  Presumably she would have left orders to be laid out with her arms crossed over her chest in the regal pose of pharaohs, and adorned with the same large quantities of rings and bracelets. Gold snakes for her forearms would have been based on the creatures’ importance in the worship of both Isis and Dionysos, whose female devotees had live snakes coiled about their arms. A pair of gold serpent bracelets dated c.40-20 BC adorned with pearls and emeralds seem particularly appropriate: the emeralds’ vivid green, the colour of new life, associated them with Osiris, whose own burial had featured the traditional broad-collar necklace subsequently placed over the chest of every mummy as a potent amulet.

  As the texts in Cleopatra’s rooftop Osiris chapel at Dendera revealed, no fewer than 104 separate amulets were required during the mummification process. Her preparations for the burial of the Buchis bull she had installed at the beginning of her reign included a wide assortment of amulets in feldspar, porphyry, lapis lazuli and red jasper to give him the ‘best burial’ of any of the bulls at Hermonthis when his time came. As in human mummification each amulet would be placed at a specific point on the body and activated by appropriate spells from the Book of the Dead funerary texts before being covered in multiple layers of finest linen sealed with warmed resin. Then, after being covered in an outer shroud and bead net to symbolise the starry sky, the funerary mask protecting the head would assimilate the deceased with a specific deity. The mask of Cleopatra would surely be the face of Isis, manufactured to the very highest specifications in gold and precious gems.

  As tradition dictated, the masked mummy was ultimately intended for its coffin which in the case of pharaohs was often made of gold. Although Alexander’s anthropoid (body-shaped) coffin of beaten gold had been replaced in 89 BC by the ‘glass’ one familiar to Cleopatra, it was said that ‘the most highly valued glass is colourless and transparent, as closely as possible resembling rock crystal’. Given that terms could be interchangeable, perhaps Alexander’s casket had actually been made of rock crystal obtained from the coast of modern Sudan and Eritrea. Certainly when a Persian delegation visited the region, they ‘were taken to see the coffins. . . . said to be made of crystal, and the method the Ethiopians follow is first to dry the corpse, either by the Egyptian process or some other . . . they then enclose it in a shaft of crystal which has been hollowed out, like a cylinder, to receive it. The stuff is easily worked, and is mined in large quantities. The corpse is plainly visible inside the cylinder; there is no disagreeable smell, or any other cause of annoyance, and every detail can be distinctly seen as if there were nothing between one’s eyes and the body.’

  Perhaps the inspiration behind Cleopatra’s choice of casket, the fact that such crystal ‘is to be found also on an island called Necron, or Island of the Dead, in the Red Sea facing Arabia’ was known by at least one of her relatives. The type obtained from ‘an island in the Red Sea 60 miles from the city of Berenike’ was also ‘known as “iris” in token of its appearance, for when it is struck by the sunlight in a room it casts the appearance and colours of a rainbow on the walls near by, continually altering its tints and ever causing more and more astonishment because of its extremely changeable effects . . . and in full sunlight it scatters the beams that shine upon it, and yet at the same time lights up adjacent objects by projecting a kind of gleam in front of itself.

  The qualities of such a stone seemingly brought to life by the sun must have appeared quite magical and made it a highly appropriate material in which to place a body which would remain perfectly visible within. Perhaps, following Egyptian tradition, Cleopatra even commissioned a gold shrine to cover her coffin. Alexander’s shrine had a gold and jewelled roof, and even Caesar’s body had been laid in state beneath a gilded shrine modelled on his temple of Venus, the ‘Roman counterpart of Hathor’. She certainly planned to surround her burial with lavish funerary equipment which may have included Book of the Dead funerary texts, figurines of the gods, Greek-style vases, wine amphorae and all her personal possessions from thrones and couches, precious plate and jewelled vessels to her lavish wardrobe, cosmetics chests, perfumes and magnificent jewellery collection. For it was certainly said that, once she had completed her tomb, ‘thither she removed her treasure, her gold, silver, emeralds, pearls, ebony, ivory [and] cinnamon’.

  She also let it be known that the burial goods included ‘a great quantity of torchwood and tow’, which, as intended, greatly alarmed Octavian who ‘began to fear lest she should in a desperate fit set all these riches on fire’ in a huge funerary pyre. So, as as he travelled south through Syria, he repeatedly stressed his good intentions and the offer of a fair hearing — but on condition she killed Antonius. Yet despite countless claims Cleopatra had used and manipulated men throughout her life to achieve her own ends, her husband’s death was something she would not consider, even as a means of self-preservation. And having made all possible preparation for her own death, she turned her attentions to the continuity of her dynasty.

  In 30 BC, four years after the Donations ceremony had been held as part of the great Ptolemaia celebrations, the time had come for the festival to be held again. So in another great spectacle in the Gymnasion stadium, Cleopatra reaffirmed the succession with public celebrations for Caesarion, her heir and co-ruler, as he reached his sixteenth birthday, ‘in honour of which the citizens of Alexandria did nothing but feast and revel for many days’. No doubt his transition into adult society was marked by undergoing the ‘mallokouria’, when his sidelock of hair was cut off. This rite of passage was described by o
ne Alexandrian father who stated that ‘my son Theon had his long hair cut off in honour of the city on the 15th Tybi in the Great Serapeum in the presence of the priests and officials’. Then, following custom, Caesarion was formally ‘registered among the youths’ of Alexandria and publicly acknowledged a man, Cleopatra wanting everyone to see King Ptolemy XV as a capable pharaoh, emerging from her shadow to stand on his own royal feet. Public celebrations were also held for Antyllus, Antonius’ eldest son and heir, who at fourteen underwent a Roman rite of passage, exchanging his boy’s toga with its purple stripe for the all-white toga virilis as he too became a man in the eyes of Roman society.

  Although these were standard events in the lives of all Egyptian and Roman boys, the celebrations were a means for Cleopatra to highlight the power of her dynasty and demonstrate her own procreative abilities in contrast to those of her enemy. Octavian, after all, had had only a single daughter with his former wife Scribonia and had been unable to father children with Livia — who had still managed to produce two sons by a previous husband. Cleopatra wished to show to the world her son by Caesar, her three children by Antonius, and the eldest of his four boys, Antyllus.

  Having made her point in the most public manner, she began to put her survival plan into action and, securing one part of her treasure in her mausoleum, entrusted the rest to Caesarion. For in June 30 BC, ‘at the eve of a favourable monsoon’, mother and son made their farewells at the harbourside as the young pharaoh and his tutor Rhodon embarked on their journey upriver to Koptos. From here they took the long desert road to the Red Sea port of Berenike, presumably making the 220-mile camel journey by night to escape the heat. Then, having safely reached the port after twelve days, they waited for favourable conditions to take them by ship to India and to safety, intending to meet up with Cleopatra at some future time.

  Meanwhile Alexander, Cleopatra and Ptolemy, the three youngest children, were also evacuated in the care of their tutor Euphronios. They were believed to have been taken south to Cleopatra’s supporters in Thebes, from where arrangements may have been made for Alexander Helios and the Median princess Iotape to travel out to her homeland at a later date. The children’s departure cannot have been too soon, as Octavian’s forces had begun to close in.

  To the west Gaius Cornelius Gallus, friend of Octavian’s spin doctor poet Virgil, was already sailing toward the African coast, and although Antonius set out with the couple’s remaining forty ships to take him on he was beaten back and the ships were lost, enabling Gallus’ fleet to press on toward Alexandria. To the north-east, Octavian had reached Phoenicia by the summer, collecting new allies en route including Herod of Judaea who added his military support to the advance on Egypt. Soon the invaders were able to seize the well-fortified border town of Pelusium with little resistance, following collusion by the garrison commander, Seleucus. Cleopatra gave immediate orders for the execution of Seleucus’ wife and daughter to punish the man who had so readily allowed Octavian into Egypt.

  Moving swiftly around the Delta coast, Octavian’s forces pressed on to the resort of Canopus and were soon at the gates of the royal city. But, as their cavalry began an advance, Antonius was ready and, leading his remaining forces out of the Canopic Gate, beat them back against all the odds. Returning to the palace in triumph, he went straight to Cleopatra and ‘armed as he was, he kissed her, and commending to her favour one of his men who had most signalised himself in the fight’. As a reward for the man’s courage and for defending her kingdom against enemy attack, Cleopatra presented him with a golden breastplate and helmet. That same evening the soldier defected to Octavian.

  As he began to undermine the couple’s support within Egypt, Octavian knew it was vital that any native force should be dealt with as soon as possible. Hearing that Cleopatra’s subjects had offered to march north and help in the armed struggle, he acted swiftly to eliminate their figurehead and spiritual leader, the high priest of Memphis. As Egypt’s highest native authority, its members related to the crown, the Memphite dynasty offered unwavering support for the monarchy which made it the natural focus for native unrest. So, regardless of his young age, Petubastis had to be removed. Although classical sources are completely silent on a domestic matter of no particular interest to them, Egyptian evidence reveals that the sixteen-year-old high priest met his untimely death on 6th Mesore, 31 July 30 BC, a date which seems far too coincidental for this not to have been an assassination. With the Memphite dynasty effectively terminated, there remained only the monarchy in Alexandria, where Cleopatra was determined to retain her treasure. Antonius was equally determined to fight, but his offer of hand-to-hand combat with Octavian was once again refused and the suggestion made that Antonius might prefer to find some other way to die.

  So that was it. There would be no life in exile, and there was now only one option for Antonius. But as a true soldier he would fight to the last, so he planned his last battle on land and sea with their remaining troops. On the evening of 31 July, the ‘Synapothanoumenoi’ met for the last time. As the die-hard members of the Suicide Club gathered for a final great banquet, Antonius revealed he could never hope to win and simply desired an honourable death. He may even have contemplated Cleopatra’s suggestion they take flowers she had already poisoned from their hair and drop them into their wine, ‘having gathered the fragments of his chaplet into his cup’.

  In the sombre atmosphere of that hot summer night, the city had already fallen quiet when an unearthly music was heard, ‘the sound of all sorts of instruments, and voices singing in tune, and the cry of a crowd of people shouting and dancing, like a troop of bacchanals on its way’. The disembodied procession seemed to pass through the centre of the city and out through the eastern gate, then suddenly grew very loud before disappearing into the distance towards the enemy camp. Interpreted as Dionysos leading his ghostly band of revellers away from the palace for the last time as Antonius’ god finally deserted him, the event was in fact far more ominous: Dionysos was abandoning the very dynasty he had for so long protected.

  At dawn on 1 August, the Egyptian 8th Mesore, Cleopatra and Antonius made what they believed to be their final farewell. Having briefed the remaining fleet, Antonius reviewed the troops and defiantly led them out of the eastern Canopic Gate and up to rising ground. From there they overlooked the enemy camp, watching as the fleet moved out towards the rising sun to engage Octavian’s ships.

  Yet there was to be no engagement. Hopelessly outnumbered, the couple’s remaining ships simply pulled alongside the enemy, saluted them, and became part of the larger fleet which then advanced as one towards the city. Having seen their naval comrades defect, Antonius’ cavalry did likewise; only the small infantry force attempted a halfhearted attack before they too began to melt away, leaving Antonius alone. Unable to gain any satisfaction from Octavian, he had no choice but to return to the palace as Alexandria formally surrendered.

  As the remnants of her once mighty fleet joined with the enemy, Cleopatra assumed the worst and, believing Antonius had been killed, told her remaining servants to report to any enquiry that she too was dead. Taking up her dagger she went straight to her tomb, accompanied by Charmion and Eiras, perhaps also her attendant Mardion. Once inside they would have operated the mechanism to seal the great stone entrance as they presumably prepared to take their lives.

  Yet Antonius was still very much alive. As he returned to the palace to search for Cleopatra, he was told that she had gone to her tomb. With her personal physician Olympus providing an eyewitness account of the unfolding drama, Antonius apparently mused aloud, ‘Why delay any longer? Fate has snatched away the only thing for which I still wanted to live. I’m not so troubled, Cleopatra, that you have gone, for I shall soon be with you. But it distresses me that so great a general should be found to be less courageous than a woman.’ Passing into his personal chambers, he stripped off his armour and handed his sword to his servant Eros, who instead turned the weapon on himself and fell dead at Antonius’
feet. ‘Well done, Eros, well done, you’ve shown your master how to do what you hadn’t the heart to do yourself, he declared as he drove the blade into his stomach.

  Antonius lay down to wait for the end, but it did not come quickly and, in considerable pain, he called out for someone to finish him off. Although the servants had already scattered in fear, one had evidently informed Cleopatra that Antonius was alive, so she had sent orders via her secretary Diomedes that he should be brought to her. At the news that she too was still alive, Antonius insisted he go to her, and with assistance managed to reach the tomb.

  With its entrance already sealed, Cleopatra looked down from one of the high windows and, with the help of her two women, let down rope winches, either left over from building work or left in place to manoeuvre her heavy coffin into position. As they hauled up the wounded Antonius, ‘it was no easy task for the women; and Cleopatra, with all her force, clinging to the rope, and straining with her head to the ground, with difficulty pulled him up, while those below encouraged her with their cries, and joined in all her efforts and anxiety’. Although he was bleeding heavily, he was successfully brought into the tomb, ‘still holding up his hands to her, and lifting up his body with the little force he had left’. Eyewitnesses claimed that ‘nothing was ever more sad than this spectacle’, which even now was being reported to Octavian.

 

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