The Memoirs of Cleopatra

by Margaret George

  She sank down with a sigh, and all her clothes seemed to sigh around her. Thick tassels, hanging at the ends of silk cords, rustled and swung at her hem like barley in a windstorm.

  “I know this boy is not your brother,” she said quietly. “But others are all too ready to believe. Why do impostors always attract followers? It is best we deal with him between ourselves. I detest lies and deception, and I especially abhor those who turn their backs on the truth to follow falsehood!” Her eyes—soft, brown, melting ones—flashed as hard and black as obsidian.

  “It is part of the human condition, I fear,” I said. I did not want to stir her up; she seemed terribly agitated.

  Does this mean I was without ideals or honor, as my enemies have said? No. But no one could have grown up in the court I did and held any illusions about what people are capable of. And then there was Caesar…. Ever since he had left, Caesar had destroyed what little belief in men had remained to me. It was touching that Amanishakheto had preserved so much of her original trust. Obviously no one but an enemy had ever betrayed her—never a friend or a lover. It is the latter that crush us.

  “It should be punished whenever it occurs, then perhaps it won’t rear its head so readily!” she said. “Even a born behavior can be whipped out of someone.” She nodded emphatically. “Yes, the lash can cure interrupting, pushing, stealing, and fighting.”

  “But it does not cure hatred or plotting or ingratitude,” I said.

  “No, it cannot cure the heart, only the hands,” she agreed. “But it is the hands that ruin a kingdom. Let people think whatever mischief they like, as long as they keep their hands folded nicely in their laps.”

  I laughed. She had a point. “I think the people of Meroe are fortunate to have such a wise ruler,” I said.

  “And the Egyptians are fortunate to have such a resourceful one,” she shot back at me. She was quick. “I think perhaps we should consider a partnership.”

  I looked at her carefully. In the dull twilight it was hard to study her face without being rude. I had not had the opportunity really to look at her, and before I have a serious conversation with someone I like to have taken their measure. I believe I am able to read much in a face.

  I turned my full attention to Amanishakheto.

  She was giving her equal attention to me, studying me quite frankly. “So young a queen,” she said. “And already so many years of governing—not tranquil years, either. Difficult to manage. It excites the imagination—my imagination, at any rate. Do you really have any intention of sharing power with your brother—your real brother, that is?” She was smiling serenely, a mountain of solidity.

  Such penetrating, deadly questions, asked as if she expected straight answers. “No,” I said, obliging her. “No, I plan eventually to share the throne with, and pass it to, my son.”

  She was nodding in approval. “That is what we do in Meroe. The Kandake’s son will reign—we call him the Qore—but his wife becomes the next Kandake. The truth is that it is the Kandake who has power.”

  “Your son?” Where was he? Was there one?

  “Oh yes, my son,” she said. “He is a naughty boy, doesn’t pay much attention to his duties. But that is typical of men, don’t you find?”

  “I am confused. Is he a boy or a man?”

  “A grown man in years,” she said. “I myself am over forty. My Naughty One, Natakamani, is almost twenty. But he has a good wife, Amanitore, who, thank all the gods, will make a good Kandake after me.”

  “Is there a—the father of Nata—Natakam—?”

  She rolled her eyes, then closed them as if in bliss. “Oh, he has gone to his pyramid.” She certainly seemed happy that he rested there, and not in the palace.

  “May he reside there in peace,” I said piously.

  “I haven’t heard any stirrings,” she replied. “No rustling of his ba.”

  I thought we should leave her unnamed consort to molder, and return to the living. While she was talking my eyes had been caught by the wide, intricately worked gold bracelets she wore on both her upper and lower arms. The patterns and design were unlike anything we had in Egypt; the two heavy halves were secured with a thick pin.

  “Here.” She seemed to read my mind, for suddenly she extended her arm to me. “Look.” She undid the bracelet and handed it to me.

  It was very heavy; it felt almost like a manacle. But the workmanship on it was delicate: a raised figure of the goddess Mut with four outstretched wings, each feather gleaming with a lapis inlay, guarding a patterned wall of geometric lapis stones.

  “Take it. Wear it. It is yours.”

  I was insulted. “No. I wished only to see it. I was not hinting in any way that I expected it for a gift.” I handed it back to her.

  She pushed it back into my hands. “Had I thought that, you can be sure I would never have given it. Did I just not finish saying that I hate falsehood? I wished to give you something I could see for myself that you appreciated and fancied, rather than some trinket that my ministers would find suitable. Besides, we have a plenitude of gold here.”

  That was the usual claim. Even poor countries said that, when presenting a gift. Or hoping to lure someone into an alliance. But Nubia abounded in gold mines.

  “I thank you, then.” Wearing it would require a very muscular arm. “I noticed a great deal of silver,” I said. “Now do not give me any! But it struck my eye because it is rare and seldom used in Egypt. It has a subdued beauty of its own, like moonlight.”

  “I have always imagined that Isis must love silver,” said Amanishakheto. “Silver seems very like her. I have been to Philae in the moonlight, and if ever she was there, it was then.”

  Philae. I forced myself to smile. “Yes, Isis seems like a silvery being,” I finally said. “Your clothing is shot with silver thread, I see. And it is quite different from ours—either Egyptian or Greek.” I waited for her to explain about it—about the tassels and the shawl, and the medals—but she did not. “I noticed when I arrived that your palace servants dress in an ancient manner. The servant who came to my chambers was dressed in the style of someone from the court of Ramses.”

  “Ramses once ruled Nubia. We retained what we liked of that reign, and discarded the rest.”

  “So it is preserved here long after it has vanished in its homeland.”

  “Such is often the case,” she said. “It is the gods who preserve or destroy, by hiding things in odd places.” She stirred on her stone throne. “It is time for me to eat again,” she said suddenly. “I must keep up my weight.”

  “I am afraid I do not understand.” The darkness had come upon us rapidly and suddenly I could barely see her face. A lively wind was whipping the flames of the torches, and swaying the tassels around the hem of her garment.

  “I mean I have to work to be this large! If I let myself become as thin as you, I would be off the throne in an instant! It shows my might to be big, so I can trample my enemies underfoot.” She removed one of her sandals and dangled it before my eyes. I could just make out the stylized depictions of enemy peoples on its sole. That meant that with every step she was treading heavily on them. Poor enemies. “Who would tremble before a woman like you? No one here in Meroe, I can tell you!” I could not see her face well enough to see if she was joking.

  “Are the men required to be large? What about your son? Or your—the late—?”

  “No, of course not! The men are supposed to be tall and bulging with muscles, able to chase their enemies in the desert. But the women are supposed to look like elephants, grave, majestic—and unstoppable.”

  Elephants. I suddenly remembered Juba and his elephants against Caesar. No, no, I’ll not think of Caesar now. Caesar would take care of the elephants, as he had taken care of everything else—Pompey, Ptolemy, Pothinus, Pharnaces. Unfortunately Juba and Scipio’s names did not begin with P.

  “But I will do anything necessary to be Kandake, even eat ten meals a day,” she said cheerfully. “I’ve come to ador
e those fatty ostrich patties, and camel milk with a sediment of honey, and pastry made of ground walnuts, rolled in butter, and coated with honey. The fat of lambs’ tails…oh, it’s been an ongoing battle, but I’ve conquered my aversions, I tell you. I can even relish a platter of fried peacock sausage swimming in olive oil, covered with melted cheese. Umm.” She clapped her hands, and out of the growing darkness her litter appeared. “I will have to return to the palace to partake of my mid-evening meal. Tomorrow we will meet in the throne room, and I will have the impostor brought before you. You may give your verdict on him.” With the help of two bearers, she heaved herself up off the throne. “I trust your quarters are satisfactory. I have assigned a servant of the chamber to wait on you.”

  “That is not necessary,” I assured her. “I brought my own attendant; in fact, she is Nubian.”

  “No, I insist you permit this slave to serve you,” she said.

  “I do not care for slaves. I do not have them in my royal quarters; all my attendants are free men.”

  “This is a slave unlike any you have had before. Utterly discreet, hardworking, amusing, loyal—and green.”

  “Green?” Now she was joking.

  “Yes, green. Her name is Kasu, and she is an African green monkey. Her only drawback is that she has a tendency to steal. On the other hand, she can fetch things down from high places.”

  “A monkey! You have monkeys as chamber servants?”

  “Indeed,” she said, as she made her way majestically—and laboriously—down the steps to her litter. “The King of Punt sent a family of them to me long ago, along with a shipment of other animals destined for Rome. I took a fancy to them and kept them for myself. I suppose I, also, have a tendency to steal. Like master, like servant.” She daintily lifted up her foot to enter the litter. “Now they have bred and are everywhere in the palace. Handy creatures. Well, just try Kasu for one night.” She gave an airy wave of her hand and disappeared into the dark.

  My own litter materialized, but I waved it away so I could walk a bit. My head was spinning. Amanishakheto was no ordinary monarch, and no ordinary woman. Perhaps the two never went together.

  The luxury of the suite of rooms I had been given was more noticeable to me upon returning. Perhaps Amanishakheto did have gold to spare, after all. Iras was attempting to read a commemoration—I assumed—that was set in the wall. She shook her head.

  “This script means nothing to me.”

  “Have you been able to understand better the conversations you have heard?”

  “No, I have to request that they speak the Lower Nubian dialect. You must remember, my family came from near the border with Egypt and were connected with the priesthood; that is why I was serving in the temple at Hermonthis. In many ways we were Egyptianized. For example, I’ve never heard of this lion-headed god they have here, Apedemak.”

  I was very tired, and sank down on the bed. “I have had a most…unusual…evening with the Kandake.” I held up my arm, with its heavy bracelet. “She gives gold as easily as children give away field flowers. And she seems to harbor a great disrespect of men.”

  Iras laughed.

  “I did not say ‘dislike,’ I said ‘disrespect.’ That is unusual in a world where they rule and control most everything—except here in Meroe, evidently.” I lay down, weariness surrounding all my limbs. Then I remembered. “The monkey! The Kandake said there was a monkey in here to serve us!”

  “There has been one, scurrying around,” said Iras. “I saw it sitting up on top of one of the chests, then it ran away. I called to have it removed, but I suppose no one could understand me.”

  “Her name is Kasu,” I said. “She is supposed to see to all of our wants.”

  “Ah, then where is she? Now we are ready to sleep, and no monkey in sight.”

  “Kasu!” I called. “Come, Kasu! We are ready to retire!”

  I never imagined that the creature would appear by the side of the bed like magic; she must have been hiding inside the window curtains. She walked over to us with dignity, bowing her head. She was green. Her stiff, brushlike fur, framing her black face, looked as if it had been tinted. The rest of her fur, except the tip of her long tail, had a similar hue. She was about the size of a two-year-old child. But from what I had heard of monkeys and apes, I knew that, proportionate to their size, they are much stronger than a human. Someone at the Museion had once told me that an ape is eight times stronger than a man—how he arrived at this conclusion he did not explain. That would make Kasu a monkey to respect.

  “Bed, Kasu,” I said, patting it.

  The monkey looked disdainful, as if I were insulting her. Obviously she knew what a bed was, and that I wanted to sleep in it, her eyes seemed to say. She ambled over to a chest and took out bed linens and coverlets, and then put them carefully on the bed. She polished the headrest tenderly with her leathery palm, then cocked her head as if to say, All right, it’s ready now, stupid.

  I disrobed and put on my sleeping garments; Kasu quickly gathered up the discarded clothes and carried them off somewhere. She then prepared Iras’s bed and took her clothes away, and returned solicitously carrying a small lamp, which she placed by our bedside.

  “I hope she did not light it herself!” said Iras.

  “It must have been already lit,” I said, hoping that was true.

  “It looks as if we must go straight to sleep,” said Iras. “Our keeper has decided it.”

  I yawned. “It is just as well. I am exhausted; without this parentlike monkey, we would probably stay up too late.”

  I watched as Kasu made her way over to a far corner of the room; now I could identify a basket that probably served as her bed. She was going to retire, herself. She flopped down and stretched her arms above her head once. Then she sighed and lay down.

  I closed my eyes. What an overwhelming day this had been; what a mythical kingdom I had entered. I removed the bracelet and dropped it on the floor beside me. It landed with a loud clunk that sounded more like lead than gold.

  I slept; I dreamt; I awoke with a start. Moonlight, as silvery as Isis’s garment, spread itself across the floor, lying like a carelessly tossed shawl. It was not brilliantly bright, but diffused; it embraced the lower legs of the tables and chairs and left the rest in shadow. I could see the gold cuff on the floor by my bed, its detailed miniature figures coming alive in the peculiar slanting light.

  Then I saw the cobra. I thought I was dreaming, or that it was a wooden sculpture that I had somehow overlooked earlier. A dark wooden one, against the far wall. It was motionless. Yes, it was a sculpture. I felt my fear drain away.

  Just then it moved. It inched forward and raised its head. My heart stopped.

  It was not especially large. But all cobras are poisonous, even the babies; I knew that. I held as still as I could, and tried to remember everything else I had learned about them. Mardian and his snakes had been part of my childhood; he had had one old cobra that he kept in a pen by itself, with very close-fitting bars. He had been fond of it, but certainly had never handled it.

  “It’s a lie that you can become immune to snakebite,” he had said when I asked him about a tribe of men reputed to be so. “Our happy little fellow here has enough poison in him to kill five men with one bite.”

  Remembering his words, the very tone of his voice, I felt sweat break out all over me. Five men. This snake—the royal cobra of Egypt—could dispatch five men, all in one bite. A good night’s work.

  “And how long does it take to die of snakebite?” I had asked.

  “Some men have succumbed in only a quarter of an hour,” he had said. “Others may take an hour or so. It depends on where you are bitten, and whether the snake has bitten someone else first. It does not seem to be especially painful. Prisoners beg to be executed by snakebite. Of course it would be improper, since the cobra is a royal beast, and divine,” he had said, in his most official tone.

  “Of course,” I had echoed him.

  The cobr
a moved again, gliding away from the wall. He came out into the center of the room, but avoided the patch of moonlight. He just remained still and looked at it quizzically. I could see the bead of his eye, with a smaller bead of light reflected in it. His tongue flicked out; he seemed to be testing the air.

  Could he smell my fear? Could he sense our living presence? Was he going to glide over to my sleeping couch, spread his hood, lean over me and strike?

  I held as still as a statue. I did not dare to speak, or to warn Iras, lest she move suddenly.

  He made his way cautiously into the light, moving only a hand’s breadth at a time. He was banded, and his light and dark skin was beautiful. He was indeed a divine instrument of death—sleek and slender and delicately colored.

  He did not care for the light. He turned his head and slithered to one side, coming still closer to the bed. I gripped the wooden frame, prepared to vault myself in the opposite direction, hoping my arms were strong enough to propel me. Even so, I might not land far enough away; cobras were supposed to be lightning-fast. I had never seen one strike from a distance, as Mardian’s old pet had never been given the opportunity.

  A movement from the other side of the room. Were there two of them? No, it was the monkey, moving in her sleep. The cobra turned so suddenly and sped off toward her so fast that I did not see his actual path. One instant he was near my bed, the next speeding across the room. A dark shape reared up; his hood was spread. I heard noises, scrambling, a hiss, high, raucous squeals, first of anger and fear, then of shock and pain. Another hiss. Then something falling across the room.

  Trembling, I stood up and grabbed the sputtering oil lamp and held it up. Its feeble flame did not reveal much, but I saw the long, dark shape of the cobra disappearing out the open window. At the base was the standing lamp he had overturned. He was gone!

  Kasu was howling, grabbing her tail. I rushed over to her, followed by the dazed Iras.