They mounted the decorated gangplank; I heard the heavy tread of their boots, detected the wood groaning from the weight. Then the first of them stepped on board, a Roman legate, followed by another staff officer, then an aide. They filed on, staring every which way at the lights in the rigging and the costumed attendants, the mermaids, nymphs, and Cupids gesturing to them in welcome. More officers stepped on deck behind them.
Where was he? Had Antony elected to stay ashore, to make a point? Caesar would have—or would he?
Just then he strode on deck and stood stock-still, staring at me. He even blinked once, before throwing his cloak over one shoulder and approaching.
He stopped in front of me and looked down, where I was lying on the couch.
For a moment neither of us said a word. He stared, expressionless, and I looked back.
I wore a necklace of enormous pearls, and hidden under their strands lay the pendant, which I never took off. Two of the largest pearls ever brought up by divers were dangling from my ears, and my hair curled in tendrils over my shoulders. My feet, in emerald-studded sandals, were tucked up under my gown, as I lay aslant, leaning on one elbow. His eyes went from the pearls to the hair to the hem of the gown before coming back to my face.
“ ‘Deathless Aphrodite, on your rich-wrought throne,’ ” he finally said.
So he knew Sappho! Very well, then, I would quote Euripides. “ ‘I am Dionysus. I am Bacchus. I came to Greece, to Thebes, the first Greek city I have caused to shriek in ecstasy for me, the first whose women I’ve clothed in fawnskin and in whose hands I’ve placed my ivy spear, the thyrsus.’ Welcome, Dionysus.”
He looked about, holding out his hands. “I seem to have forgotten my thyrsus,” he said, with a laugh. “Gaius, go back to headquarters and get it for me!”
“You won’t need it tonight,” I said. I held out my hand, and he reached down and took it and pulled me up to my feet. “Welcome, Marc Antony.”
“It is I who should be welcoming you.” He shook his head and looked up at the rigging. The constellations of lights, lowered on silk lines, floated like magic above him. “You have all the zodiac at once,” he said, in wonder. He seemed a bit dazed.
“You know our Alexandrian astronomers,” I said. “We feel at home with the stars.”
“Yes, doubtless,” he said. “You know many fabled things.” Then he gestured toward his men. “Welcome to Egypt,” he said.
“That is for me to say,” I told him.
“Then say it.”
I gestured to my musicians and had them play a tune of welcome. “We greet you, and welcome you,” I said to all the company. Servers began to pass gold goblets of wine around. Antony took one and tasted its contents appreciatively. His square fingers caressed the jeweled surface of the cup.
“I am most happy to see you,” I said. “It has been a long time.”
“Three years, five months, and some ten days,” he said.
I was taken aback. He must have had his scribe figure it out, when he grew angry at my refusal to come. “Truly?” I did not remember the date of our last meeting; I was barely aware of the exact date of my departure from Rome.
“Or my secretary cannot count,” he said. He ran his hand through his hair. “I also seem to be without my ivy crown,” he noted. “I feel downright naked without it!” His smile faded. “I am pleased that you are here. You look well. The years have been kind to you.”
If he only knew! I gave a wistful laugh.
“No, I mean it,” he said.
And how did he look? The demands that had been placed on him had changed him, made him seem tougher and more commanding. Yet his good looks remained untouched, if anything, heightened. “For that I thank you.” I was finding it surprisingly difficult to talk to him. The old banter had died between us. “I did not help Cassius,” I said, as we seemed mired in seriousness. “You must know that he appropriated the legions that I was sending to Dolabella.”
“Yes, I am aware of that.”
“And you also know I did all within my power to bring ships to you. It cost me a fortune, I might add!”
“Yes, I know.”
Why did he keep saying that? “Then why did you charge me with acting against you?”
“Things were confusing, the reports conflicting. I wanted you to explain what had actually happened. After all, you remained in the east, in a privileged vantage point, and you have a better idea of what went on than we do.”
“That is not what your letter said.”
He threw up his hands, and just then an obliging server removed his empty cup and replaced it with a full one. Antony took a long swallow before answering. “Forgive me,” he said disarmingly. “It was wrong of me.”
This was too simple. “I do.” I smiled. “I could not believe the tone. I thought we were friends.”
“Friends, yes, friends,” he repeated. He took another drink, draining the cup. It got replaced immediately.
“Come, friend,” I said. “Let us seat ourselves at the banquet.”
We descended to the banqueting chamber, where twelve couches were waiting, tables before them, ready for the feasters. Antony would face me, on the adjoining couch, in the place of honor.
A server crowned him with flowers. “Here is your crown for tonight,” I said. It made him look very unsoldierly.
“Ah,” he said. “Now I wear a crown as well.”
“Would you like to?”
He smiled. “I will not fall into that trap,” he said. “Words have a way of returning at inopportune times.”
So he would, then. Well, there was no one alive who would spurn a crown, if offered. Except a few Republicans—but with the death of Brutus, they had lost their leader.
“The battle of Philippi—I have offered innumerable thanks for it to the gods. Now I must offer my thanks directly to you, who brought it about. My eternal gratitude, Antony. I can never repay you.”
At once his manner changed, and I realized it was the first kind, personal thing I had said to him this night.
“It was in the hands of the gods,” he finally said. “But the outcome was entirely right. Our Caesar is repaid now.”
The first course of the meal was starting, and the company of Romans and Tarsians was murmuring in wonder at the dishes, at the smoked Libyan desert hare, the oysters dressed in seaweed, the white cakes of Egypt’s finest flour, the quivering jellies flavored with the juice of pomegranate and made sweet with honey and Derr dates. Their voices rose, and as the noise increased, it was easier to speak privately to Antony.
“Our Caesar,” he said. “We wept for his misfortune, now we can rejoice in his vindication.”
“It was you who turned the tide at the funeral. I can never forget that night.”
“Nor I.” He began to eat, washing the food down with draughts of wine. “But now we must go forward. I am pledged to carry out his Parthian venture, which he was forced to abandon on its eve. I will use the very spears and shields he had already set aside. They were still in Macedonia, where he kept them in readiness.”
“But that is not for this season,” I said. It was a question.
“No, it must wait. There is still much that needs to be settled here in the east.”
The banquet proceeded, with dish after dish issuing from the kitchen, and singers and dancers providing entertainment for the sated guests. At length it was time for them to depart. Antony stood up first.
“Tomorrow night you must join me,” he said. “I cannot hope to rival this, but”—he laughed—“you must allow me to try to repay you.” He gestured to his men. “Come, it is time,” he said.
“Wait,” I said. “I wish to make a gift of all the couches you have lain on tonight, and every man may take away the gold plate with which he has dined.”
The entire company stared, shocked.
“Yes, a token of my regard for you,” I said carelessly. “Your company has been most pleasing.”
They greedily gathered up the u
tensils and plate, trying to seem nonchalant.
“You needn’t worry about carrying them,” I said. “My servants will accompany you home, with torches, and bear the gifts.”
Antony was staring.
“You as well,” I said. “But you need more than that, as guest of honor and supreme commander of Asia. Here.” I unhooked the gigantic pearl necklace and handed it to him. “Pray take it, as token of the Queen of Egypt’s esteem for you.”
His hands closed over it, the pearls brimming out on either side.
Now, as I sat in my cabin, it seemed unearthly quiet after the revelry. The evening had been an absolute success. News about it would go out over all the land, and our myth-ship would be described in many tongues. And as for Antony, he could count the pearls and be amazed.
I removed the two earrings and laid them in a box, and took off the heavy gold bracelets. My feet, barefoot now, stretched in weariness. I felt drained by the entire proceeding; I could hardly believe that it was finally over. It had taken weeks to plan, and had cost as much as a small palace. The frankincense alone…I shook my head. I had had it poured out like coal smoke, all to add up, with everything else, to one overwhelming impression of luxury, wealth, and power. I needed to make a statement to all Asia: Egypt is mighty.
There was a commotion outside, a hesitant knock on my door. “Open,” I said.
“Your Majesty.” A soldier bowed, and opened the door. “A visitor.” The soldier stepped back, disappearing. Someone else appeared.
I could scarcely believe my eyes: It was Antony standing in the doorway. I stared at him, bracing himself against the doorframe with both arms. Was he ill? Drunk? Yet he had seemed well enough when the retinue took its leave.
I stood up. “What is it?” I asked, searching his face. It gave me no answers.
“I see I have waited too late to return,” he said. “I will see you another time.” He moved, took a step backward, and now I could see that he was—not drunk, but changed by the wine.
I went over to him. “No, do not go.” I was not undressed, merely devoid of my ornaments. “Stay and tell me why you are here.” I motioned him into the room. He hung back for a moment, then followed. I shut the door behind him.
I could see, now, that he was clutching papers of some sort. “I thought we should talk in private,” he said. “And we are less likely to be overheard here than in my headquarters.”
“Very well.” I waited to hear what he had to say. Why could it not have kept until morning? Why had he rushed back to his rooms to get the papers and return? Why did he seem so strained? Casually—for I did not want to give the impression that I was ill at ease, although I found this visit very odd—I reached down and picked up a shawl to drape over myself, almost to shield myself.
“Caesar’s papers—the ones in his house—do you remember?” He waved the sheaf of papers in his hand, as if they could talk.
“What of them?” All that had been so long ago, and so confusing. And what matter about them, anyway? The only one that truly counted, the will, had hurt me dreadfully by ignoring Caesarion and adopting Octavian.
“I altered them,” he admitted. “I wanted to tell you, explain…” He looked sheepish. “I want you to see the originals.”
This seemed very tiresome. I did not want to open myself up to the pain of seeing Caesar’s handwriting, not now, not late at night like this, when I was tired, my defenses down. “But the light is so poor,” I objected. The truth was, I did not want to look at them now, I did not want to entertain Antony now, I did not want to be disturbed now, or to undo my diplomatic triumph by anything I might say or do in an unguarded moment now.
“Oh, it will serve,” he said airily, and without my permission he seated himself at my desk and spread out the first of the papers. He bent his head over them and started pointing at something there. “Yes, you see, here, where he appointed this magistrate to oversee the games—”
Wearily I went over and stood behind him, looking over his shoulder to see what he was so adamant about. In the dim light I could barely make out the words; Antony’s head was so close to them I saw that he was having trouble, too.
“Why should we care, now, who presided over the games?” I asked. I had to bend way over in order to speak to him, and there was no other way but to lean right into him, pressing against his shoulders and back.
“I changed so many things,” he confessed. “This is just one of them. See. The handwriting—can you see how it is slightly different?”
I had to lean still farther over; now I was pressed up against him in earnest. Suddenly I was acutely aware of nothing else.
“Yes,” I allowed.
“I have always felt guilty about doing that to him, and using his seal afterward, to secure positions that would benefit me, strengthen my hand—”
I am Caesar’s right hand, he had once said. “At least you used that hand in his defense!” I said. “It was not a misuse of your position, but a good use of it.” I paused. “And why are you telling me?”
He sighed, and his shoulders moved; I moved with them. “I suppose because you are the only one who has the power—at least in my own mind—to absolve me of the liberties I took in his name. You can say, ‘I forgive you in the name of Caesar.’ You understand what the conditions were, and why some falsehoods were imperative at the time.”
“Yes. I do. I told you I can never repay you for what you have done to avenge him. If rules had to be bent, and documents altered on the way, then—” I started to move back. There was really nothing else to see on this paper, and my eyes were tired of straining.
But as I moved to straighten up, so did he; and it made my cheek brush against his, lightly. I froze—there is no other word for it—as that forbidden touch seemed at once to demolish the barricade between us, so properly guarded and hedged with manners.
He moved again, and once again we touched, and in what felt like a long, slow, dreamlike motion—but what surely was not, what surely happened almost instantly—he turned his head and kissed me full on the lips. Without a censoring thought I returned the kiss, opening my mouth to his, and felt him turn halfway and rise from the chair, pulling me up with him. And now we were standing, face to face, kissing, and unbidden, unable to do anything else, I put my arms around him and hold him against me.
His kisses were deep and passionate; there was no intermediate kiss between that first hesitant one and the hungry ones that followed. And I was hungry for them—for him, too—that was the shock and surprise of it. Touching him opened that secret door within me that had remained resolutely shut for so long. Its sudden, opening onrush made me weak.
There had to be some way to halt this; I could not just act in madness. I tried to break out of his arms. But he did not let me go easily; it was as if he was afraid to.
“I’ve always wanted you,” he said quietly, his mouth by my ear, his left hand clutching my head, holding me tightly against him. Was he apologizing? Offering an excuse? As if that made it all right to barge into my quarters at midnight on a flimsy errand?
“I suppose you will tell me it started when you first came to Egypt, and I was still a girl,” I said, wanting to sound light and bantering, and all the while trying to calm myself, stop my banging heart. It sounded so loud I could almost believe he would hear it, where it pounded through my temples and his head was pressed against mine.
“I don’t know—but I never forgot you. And when I saw you again in Rome, always holding court in some fashion, an ornament of Caesar’s…oh yes, I longed for you then, like a boy seeing fine candies in a store, but having no money. You were Caesar’s, and it was disloyal even to imagine—anything.” He paused. “At least when I was awake.” I could feel his embarrassed smile, although I could not see it. It made me smile, too.
Now an awkwardness descended. We were caught between two kinds of behaviors; were we to go forward into the unknown or retreat into the safe and the practiced? I attempted the latter.
“My soldier,” I said, trying to joke. “My general.” Again I tried to extricate myself, to step back. But somehow it did not happen.
“Not your general, just a general,” he said. “Unless you would like to employ me.” He started kissing the side of my neck, near my ear.
“I thought that was what this meeting was all about,” I said. “Future alliances—political ones.”
“No,” he said, “this is what this meeting is all about.” He was still kissing me, and fooling with my gown, loosening the straps of it, letting it fall off my shoulders. Why did I not stop him? But my skin was tingling, charged with excitement. It craved his touch, as if it had a mind and needs of its own.
There were guards on deck, guards who would come running and spear him, if necessary. And the soldier just outside the door. I could call them, and end this. They would evict him and save me from my own runaway body with its unexpected desires. Call them! I ordered myself. But my insurrection against myself continued. I stood there mute, and let him keep kissing me, caressing my shoulders and touching my hair.
“I wanted to see you, I must have been half mad to want to see you so much, but I did,” he was explaining, in a mumbled rush. I could barely make out the words. “It had been so long—and I had no reasonable excuse ever to see you. Ever. Do you realize that? I could only legally go as far as Syria. I waited for you to invite me to Egypt, but you didn’t. Month after month went by, and you didn’t. So I had to think of a reason to summon you. I’m afraid…it wasn’t a very good reason. It angered you.” He bent his head and started to kiss the top of my breasts.
Ripples of excitement were washing over me, making it hard for me to reply. “If I had known the real reason, I would not have been angry.”
“You should have known. You should have guessed.” He paused, and then continued kissing me, moving farther down.
Again I was ashamed of myself, ashamed of the desire he was evoking in me. What was he? Another married Roman! I would have to be mad to travel that road again! I pushed him away.
The Memoirs of Cleopatra Page 68