I knew sometimes people learned to swim by hanging on to an inflated animal skin. They paddled around and got used to the water that way. Now I wished I had done that. But it was too late now.
“Come on!” Olympos was growing impatient. Out of courtesy, Mardian was waiting for me to go first. I had to do it.
I had worn a tunic that stopped halfway down to my knees, and had no extra material to tangle itself around me. Gingerly I took one step out into the water, deliberately making it a long one. The water came halfway up my calf. I picked up the other foot and walked farther out, so that the water now swirled around my knees.
I could feel the tug of the current, gentle though it was. Under my toes the sand eroded, making me sink a little deeper. The water covered my knees. A wave came, lifting me a little, then subsided, settling me back down. I did not like it; it felt like being in a strong wind.
“Are you trying to be as slow as possible?” Olympos sounded irritated. “I’m tired of holding this boat.”
I moved again, and this time the water was growing so deep—up to my waist—that I had to fling both arms out for balance. I hated the feel of it, cooler than it had been on my legs, encircling me. Another step and it was up to my chest. But now the boat was near. All I had to do was move sideways.
Which proved surprisingly difficult. The water felt thick, and the waves—small as they were—pushed against me, seemingly wanting to make me lose my footing. At last—just as a wave sent spray into my face—I grasped the sturdy wooden side of the boat and hauled myself over the side. Behind me, Mardian was wading resolutely through the blue enemy, unsuspecting.
When we were both in, Olympos climbed over the prow, the tie-rope in his hand. “There! I thought you would never get here!” He looked at me sternly. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you had never set foot in the water before!” Then he laughed to show how ridiculous that idea was.
Happily he busied himself with the line and sails, settling himself by the steering-oar. The breeze was coming from the west, and the sail caught it, pulling us over to the right side. I clutched onto the side as I felt the boat lurch, and my own stomach plummet. Olympos was laughing, enjoying the sensation. Even Mardian had a broad smile on his face.
To them it was a pleasurable outing. What is one person’s diversion may be another’s supreme test. And so often we sit beside one another, unknowing.
We were heading out into the harbor, toward the larger boats. I looked down and saw the bottom disappearing beneath us. At first it had been visible, and the sun-dappled spots played on the sandy bottom, where I could also see fish and seaweed. Now the depths were shadowy.
I felt a cold panic rising up in my throat. We were going to retrace that entire journey of long ago, and were on our way to the very spot where the boat had overturned. I shut my eyes and tried to concentrate only on the sensations of the little slaps of water under the boat.
“Whee!” Olympos gave a squeal as we hit some large wave; it felt like running over a barrier, as hard as dirt. Salt spray slapped me across the face, coating my mouth. I licked the crust and swallowed hard.
We sailed around the harbor for what seemed hours, in and out of the wake of the larger ships, and some part of me noted how delighted Olympos was, how his spirits soared. He had ceased paying any attention to me—for which I was grateful. Mardian was absorbed in looking down into the water to try to see squid or sea urchins or even a dolphin. He peered over the side, not minding when waves smacked him full in the face.
There was no canopy here, so there were no reflections. There were no attendants, screaming and jumping about. Those memories were not stirred. But the sounds, the taste of the salt spray, the piercing colors, all assaulted me. This time I was not helpless, not held down, not torn from anyone. I had the strength to hold myself erect, to make sure I was not dislodged from the boat. I was determined to endure this ordeal.
At last—at long last—Olympos turned the boat for the palace dock. The sun was halfway down the sky, and the tide was coming in. I could feel how it bore us to shore. The rocking of the boat was not unappealing; the terror of it had subsided, become manageable.
“Now let’s swim!” Olympos suddenly announced, tossing the rope-encircled stone that served as his anchor out into the water. It sank with a gurgle and jerked the boat to the left when it hit bottom.
Not this! I had thought the torture—which had been gradually abating the whole time we were out—was over. But swimming…I could not swim.
Olympos dived overboard, cleanly and neatly disappearing into the water. My stomach turned over, even though I knew he would bob up a few feet away. Or rather, I hoped that he would. And sure enough, he emerged on the other side of the boat and slapped the water, drenching us with a wall of spray.
With injured dignity, Mardian, already soaked, leapt over the side of the boat, landing like a catapult stone, sending even more water on my head. Then both boys started a water fight, yelling and trying to sink each other. It took them some time to notice that I was still in the boat.
“What are you waiting for?” Olympos shouted. “You act as if you’re afraid of it!” Clearly he thought that was the most insulting, as well as unlikely, accusation he could make.
How deep was it? Was it over my head? I peered over the side, trying to see the bottom, but it was all in shadow.
“Just jump in!” called Mardian. “It isn’t cold!” He was paddling near me, enjoying himself.
I looked at the blue liquid surrounding me, and felt the purest form of aversion I have ever experienced. It was waiting—no, lurking, lying in wait, ready for me, ready to devour me at last. It would not be balked of its prey.
You escaped me once, it seemed to murmur. But not forever. Don’t you know that water is your destiny?
An odd sort of insouciance—I cannot call it courage, it was too offhanded and fatalistic for that—stole over me. Yes, it was waiting. The water, my foe. But I would grapple with it, perhaps take it by surprise. It would not expect that.
Without further thinking—which would have stopped me—I flung myself overboard. In the instant when I hung, poised, above that blue surface, I felt both terror and victory. And now the water was rushing up at me, and I struck its unforgiving face with a hard force. My body sliced into it and I plunged into the depths, hurtling down so fast that I struck the bottom and bounced up again. All this time I had not breathed, and then my head was shooting out above the surface again, and I took a great, gasping lungful of air.
I was flailing about, my arms completely ineffectual. I sank again, then somehow got my head out so I could breathe. I could not feel anything solid beneath my feet. Then my swirling arms succeeded in keeping me on the surface, and instantaneously I sensed how to coordinate my legs so they could assist in buoying me up.
“You’re about as graceful as a hippo on land,” teased Mardian. “Stop thrashing so much! You’re going to attract sea monsters!”
“You know there aren’t sea monsters!” said Olympos. But I saw his dark eyes watching me carefully.
I was able to paddle around without worry of sinking. The water had been unexpectedly vanquished as an enemy. Now it was just something warm and tidal. I felt lightheaded with relief and surprise. Surprise that the dreaded moment had come at last and I had survived it, and surprise at how easily it had happened.
As the sun was setting, we returned to the dock and tied up the boat. Our wet clothes clung to us, and now I could see the beginning of the differentiation between Mardian and other males. Olympos, at almost fifteen, was more compact and muscled; Mardian had shot up, but his limbs—both arms and legs—seemed disproportionately long. And he did not have the beginning of the musculature that was revealed on Olympos; Mardian’s shoulders remained thin and slight.
Olympos returned to his home in the Greek section of the city, thanking us for the outing. Behind us the sun was setting, and Mardian and I sat on the harbor steps.
The sun made a s
hining red path across the gentle waves, and the ships at anchor were reflected in the flaming reflection.
“You never swam before, did you?” Mardian asked quietly.
“No,” I admitted. “But I had meant to learn. It was time.” I hugged my knees and rested my head on them. My wet clothes were chilling me a bit, but they would soon dry.
“It is no accident that you did not know how to swim,” he persisted. I wished he would stop. “You must have gone out of your way to avoid it.”
He saw too much! I merely shrugged. “I had no one to go out with,” I said lightly. “My older sisters were too grown up, my younger one too far behind me.”
“Oh, I imagine you could have found a way. If you had wanted to.” He paused. “It seems that you find a way to do whatever you wish.” There was admiration in his voice. “How did you dare just to jump in like that? Weren’t you afraid you would sink?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “But I had no choice. It was the only way.”
“Then you must have wanted to,” he insisted. “Because you didn’t have to. By the way, you did very well. The first time I tried to swim, I sank three times!”
“I wanted to, because I had to,” I said. “My mother drowned out here—in this very harbor.”
He lost his color. “I knew—she had died. I did not know how. I am sorry.”
“I was with her.”
He lost still more color. “And you…remember?”
“Only colors, tastes, noises. And the loss. And that water caused it.”
“Why did you not tell Olympos? He would never have forced—”
“I know that. But the truth is…how much longer could I live in Alexandria, a sea-city, unable to venture out onto the water?”
He bowed his head, choosing his words carefully. “May all the gods preserve our city in that glory,” he finally said. “In her independence.”
“May my father the King return and take command.” There—I had said the forbidden words. Was anyone listening? “In the meantime I must keep faith. And tackle all fears, everything that would cripple or compromise me. Fear of the water, for an Alexandrian princess, is a grave handicap.”
“So you banished it.” He seemed very impressed.
“Not without hesitation,” I admitted. No one must ever know how much.
It was good to have friends who lived a safe and uneventful life, because in our children’s palace quarters it was anything but that. The four of us were guarded and watched constantly, and doubtless everything suspicious we said or did was reported back to Their False Majesties. I, as the eldest, had the most freedom, but was also the one likely to incur the most criticism. Arsinoe, true to her fretful and spoiled nature, constantly tested the guards and caused trouble in little ways—ways that seemed designed merely to get attention for herself, since they served no other purpose. It struck me as very stupid, for the best way to behave around enemies is unobtrusively.
The two little boys, Ptolemies both, were too young to merit much watching, as they played in their adjoining rooms. There was no treason in them, no plots, just balls and wooden toys.
Age began to work against me, calling attention to my impending adulthood—and potential as a political tool—as nature began to reshape my body. All my life I had been slight, with arms and legs that had little meat on them, and what there was, I ran off with all my activity. My face, too, was long and thin, my features fine as children’s always are. But at about the time Father left for Rome, subtle changes started in me. First I stopped growing taller, and as if in response to that, the food that would have gone into added height now filled out my arms and legs, and plumped out my cheeks. I stopped being sticklike and became softer all over. At the same time, my muscles became stronger, so that I could finally wrench things out of sockets that had been too difficult for me, move furniture that I could not before, and throw balls farther.
And my face! My nose, as if it had a will of its own, began to lengthen, and my little lips expanded, until I had a large mouth. The lips were still nicely shaped, curved and fitted together pleasingly, but they were so…wide. The face looking back at me from polished silver mirrors was rapidly becoming an adult’s. An adult face, which might harbor adult thoughts. Treasonous thoughts?
The changes took me by surprise; I had never watched anyone’s looks alter as they matured. I suppose I had always pictured a miniature version of an adult when I thought of someone’s childhood. Our unpleasant tutor, Theodotos, would have kept the same looks, in my mind, but shrunk down tiny. Now I would see what I was truly going to look like; I had to watch myself being reconstructed day by day. I was most anxious for the answer, because I had got used to myself one way and now would have to see myself another.
Of course I wanted to be beautiful, because everyone wants to be. Failing that, I wanted to be at least pleasant to look at. But what if it was worse? What if I turned out to be ugly? It seemed so unfair to have started out one way, in one category, and then, at twelve or so, be reassigned to another.
I had overheard a merchant once, talking about his wife’s expected child. Someone asked him what he hoped for, and I had assumed he would say that the child be healthy, or that it be clever. Instead—I shall never forget it!—he said, “If it is a girl, I just pray she won’t be ugly.” I always wondered if it was a girl, and if she was ugly.
So I peered anxiously in mirrors (when I knew no one would catch me), trying to divine the future in my face.
My breasts and waist started changing, too. At first it was just a hint that things were different, but after Father had been away for a year, the changes were unmistakable. I wished my breasts would stop growing, for that was the most telltale sign of all. I had to wear looser and looser clothes, and even took to wearing a tight garment underneath to squash myself down whenever I had to see my queenly sisters; I wanted to look young and innocent as long as possible. But in my own quarters I could not bear to wear the binding garment; it was terribly painful.
I had no “wise woman” to help guide me in all this. If I had had a mother…but she might have been too shy to discuss it. What I really needed was a bawdy nurse or attendant. The male guards placed on me by my sisters would definitely not serve the purpose.
Had things been normal, I might have been able to talk to those very same older sisters. But they were Ptolemies first and women and sisters second and third.
And then it came, the great dividing line between childhood and womanhood. I became capable of bearing children, that summer I was twelve and Father away for over a year now. I was prepared for it; I did not think I was dying or any of those things that ignorant girls sometimes do. I knew well enough what had happened, but still it was a momentous change in the way I thought of myself. Never again could I feel there was little essential difference between me and other children, boys and girls alike; that the category “child” applied to us equally and was the most important designation, the most descriptive term, that fitted us all.
Now I would have this element—this fundamental, awesome element—to me for the rest of my foreseeable future. Marriage…I could be married, they would say I was ready. I could be sent away from Egypt! I might have to make my home in a foreign court, wife to some prince. Have children…worry about them…and the cycle so short, myself so recently a child….
The possibility frightened and threatened me as nothing else had—not my sisters’ illegal rule, not the Romans, not even the cruel water in the harbor. It was nature that had done this to me, not another person, and nature could not be pleaded with or dissuaded.
Only Isis, my kindly guardian and wise guide, could understand. During the first days after the great change in me, I spent hours in the temple by the sea, looking at her statue.
She was all these mysteries taken together—womanhood, wifehood, motherhood. Little wonder that women adored her; she personified all their aspects. I could only beg her to protect me in this voyage into the unknown, the frightening land of adulthoo
d, of woman, that lay before me.
6
Partly to stave off these thoughts, partly in rebellion against the role nature was assigning me—without my permission!—I determined to form a group composed of people of my own choosing. I would call it the Society of Imhotep, after the legendary physician and master builder of Old Egypt. In order to belong, someone had to be interested in Old Egypt, of what lay far back both in time and distance. They had to wish to study the Egyptian tongue, and learn the old writing; above all, they had to feel the spirits of those long departed, and listen to what they might want to whisper to us.
A surprising number of students from Mardian’s class wanted to join, as well as both boys and girls who were the children of various palace officials. I suspected it was because a princess was leading it, but as time went on that was forgotten. No one stayed in the group unless he or she was genuinely interested, because we worked so hard that the fainthearted fell away. We wanted to be able to read the inscriptions on the old monuments by ourselves.
One of the great inducements of belonging, though, was that the group, and its outings, had to be secret. Why? I suppose because children—and I was determined not to relinquish my childhood without a fight—love secrets, and it made us feel important and daring. In a palace rife with spies, we took pride in having our impenetrable secret society. (It never occurred to us that no one considered our doings weighty enough to spy on. Also, time and complacency had made my sisters relax their vigilance toward me.)
So for the next two years, while Father’s exile stretched on and on, we sneaked contentedly around Alexandria, studying the ancient language as contained in the scrolls in our great Library, occasionally having a recital of poetry in Egyptian. We also—extremely daringly, we thought—went into the Jewish Quarter and observed their synagogue, the largest in the world. (Was everything in Alexandria the largest in the world? To me, at the time, it seemed so.) So large was it that a man had to be stationed midway down the auditorium to signal with a flag what part of the ceremony was taking place, as those worshipers in the back were too far away to see or hear.
The Memoirs of Cleopatra Page 6