The Memoirs of Cleopatra

by Margaret George

  Leave! I tried to say. You have dishonored yourself, coming here like this! The wine may make you forget, but I can never forget! But the words did not come, because I knew he would, shamefacedly, obey, and leave. And I did not want him to leave.

  He was looking at me in the dim light, desire all over his face. He was trembling with it. And I found that I, too, was shaking. I reached up to his shoulders and pulled him down, falling with him on the bed just behind us. We rolled over in each other’s arms, tumbling like children. I ran my hands through his thick hair, loving the feel of it. He lowered his face and kissed me, this time gently, as a man who had all the time in the world. It stoked my excitement as even the first heated kisses had not.

  “I am not a wild beast, nor will I do anything you do not desire as much as I.” He released me and watched me solemnly, waiting for an indication, a signal.

  I tried to think, to collect myself, but all I could think was, Tonight is mine, the first night to be mine in years, a night I own myself. Tonight I am no one’s widow, bound to no one, only a woman, a free woman.

  I ran my hands over his shoulders. They were broad and strong—and young. He was just at the prime of life. “My soldier,” I repeated, but this time I said it differently, possessively. “My general.”

  He twined his hand in my hair and brought my face back to his, where he kissed me so deeply that I forgot everything that was not in this room. My body ached to join itself to his, banishing all other considerations.

  Dionysus was the dark god of ecstatic release, and he was Antony that night. I need have no fears that any memories would come flooding back, displacing the here and now, for he was completely different from anything I had known. He took me with no ado or talk, making me forget all else but him.

  Ah! my secret self cried, surrendering as I had the first time I closed my eyes and plunged into the water in the harbor, the water that was deep and warm and full of unknown currents. And dangerous.

  There were many hours left until dawn, and over and over again in the darkness he roused himself and made love to me, until I thought I would die of it.

  Later, as we gradually awakened and felt the approach of the new day, there were drowsy, murmured exchanges. His head was resting on my neck, and he reached out and took the Caesar pendant in his fingers. “You will have to stop wearing this now,” he said. “He’s a god now, he shouldn’t want mortals. He should leave mortals to other mortals.”

  “Like you?” I asked. “But aren’t you a god, too? At least in Ephesus?”

  “Umm,” he said, sighing. “But I haven’t got used to it yet.” He turned to look at me, barely visible in what little light there was in the cabin. “And I will never get used to you—like this.”

  “Then you can never take it for granted.” And more of such silly, lovely talk, the words all lovers use afterward, at least in the beginning.

  When the sky began to show a hint of light, he said, “I must leave, before it is broad daylight.”

  “But people know you are here,” I said. “They saw you come aboard. You had to pass the guards. Doubtless you gave them some high-sounding excuse.”

  He shook his head. “I’m afraid it was rather transparent. Most state business does not need to be transacted at midnight.”

  “Everyone will know,” I said. “You need not sneak away like a guilty schoolboy. I think we should be quite unapologetic about it.” I felt reborn, bold, and would not disown the night. “I think you should issue forth like the sun rising.”

  He laughed. “You are very poetic. But that is one of the things I have loved about you—for a very long time.”

  “You couldn’t have known that about me.”

  “I know a great many things about you,” he said. “I was hungry to learn them.”

  “I can see you know me better than I know you,” I said, “for I wouldn’t have guessed that about you.”

  “I told you, I have wanted you for a great long time.”

  For the first time, I believed him. He was not just mouthing conventions.

  “Now you have had me.”

  “It is not that simple,” he said. “One night does not deliver you into my hands. It is just a beginning.”

  I shivered. I wanted it to be that simple. An overwhelming longing, a desire, a desire satisfied. The end. Where could it go? Another married Roman. That, at least, was simple.

  I shook my head. Why had I done this? But the memory of the past few hours answered that, and quickly.

  “Don’t steal away,” I said. “We have nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “You mean because we answer to no earthly superiors?”

  “No, I mean exactly what I said—that we have nothing to be ashamed of. Do not act as if we do.”

  43

  Antony made his way across the deck as the sun was rising, striking his dark hair, making it shine. I walked with him, and saw the startled stares of the sailors. On the gangplank he turned and saluted me.

  “Tonight we will repeat…the dinner,” he said, laughing. “I will try to match last night—with all my resources.”

  “Until then,” I said. I watched him descend and walk away across the quay. He had a rolling sort of gait.

  I spun around and shut my eyes, leaning against the railing. My body was exhausted, but my thoughts were racing and jumbled, running with excitement. I almost did not want to rein them in, and so I breathed slowly to try to come back to the everyday world of wooden decks and coiled ropes and mist rising off the lake. The sun seemed to be probing my eyes, forcing them open.

  Across the water I saw the slopes of Mount Taurus, wooded and green. Tarsus was beautifully situated. It was a superlative setting in which to have—to have—

  I shook my head, hurrying back to my cabin. I rushed in and closed the door, then sat immobile for a long time in the chair I had been in when the knock on the door had come. I was back exactly where I had started, many hours ago.

  The room looked the same. Nothing had been moved. Only myself—I was changed.

  Years ago I had sailed west, disguised in a rug, and rolled out and into Caesar’s bed—as Olympos had scoldingly put it. Now I had sailed east, disguised as Venus, and Antony had jumped into my bed. Two sea voyages, one result. Doubtless Olympos would have equally disapproving words about this.

  I realized now I had always noticed Antony, had been unusually aware of him in a way I was not of others. The attraction had lurked beneath the surface, a shadow that swam here and there, darting swiftly, too swiftly to be caught…here, there, gone.

  What was I to do next? One time can be a surprise, a mistake, a venture. But after that…it becomes a deliberate decision. I could never pretend to myself to be taken unawares again by Antony.

  What was the point in continuing? He was married to the fearsome Fulvia, and had two sons by her. He was passing through the eastern provinces—he would not stay. And I would never go to Rome again as anyone’s mistress. We would have this meeting for the next few days, and then part. Well, what of it? Perhaps it was better that way. It could serve no purpose but a brief flare of passion. I meant to enjoy that, however; I felt I deserved it as some sort of a reward…for what, I was not sure.

  Antony…specific memories of the hours in the dark beset me, making me bite my lips, as if to tame the hot thoughts. I was doing this when Charmian appeared in the mirror behind me, embarrassing me.

  “Dear mistress—Your Majesty—I—” She looked flustered and shaken.

  “What is it?” I am afraid I was sharp with her.

  “Is it true what the men are saying? That the lord Antony has been here all night? In here?” She looked at the rumpled bed.

  “Yes, it’s true,” I said. “And I enjoyed it immensely!” I flung the words out defiantly, as if practicing them.

  “Madam,” she said, a look of pain crossing her face.

  “Don’t say it!” I said. “I will hear nothing against it! We answer to no one.” I echoed Antony’s sente
nce.

  “What about to your own heart? What about to the court of Egypt? And the public opinion in Rome?”

  “I am used to flouting public opinion in Rome. As for the court of Egypt, I have done nothing to harm it. But for my own heart…ah…it is drawn to him.”

  “Better it were not!” she said. “Better it were only your body that was drawn to him.”

  I laughed. “It is primarily my body,” I said. “In truth, I know little about him beyond that.” Still…that was enough for now.

  She looked relieved.

  The day passed. I conferred with the cooks and the entire staff of the boat, praising them for the successful evening. They attempted to mask their smiles and giggles and rib-punching. I ordered them to procure several cartloads of rose petals for tomorrow evening. There. That should keep them busy.

  Now for Antony’s dinner. This time I would go as Cleopatra, not as Venus. Once was a novelty, twice was predictable. As I watched myself being dressed, I could not help wondering if any of the incandescence I felt inside was translated on the outside, excitement made visible.

  I would be carried in a litter, accompanied by four torch-bearers in the falling dusk. From my height, I could see the pleasing buildings and clean streets of Tarsus. This city had been solidly Caesarian, and had been savagely treated by Cassius. Now, in recognition of their sufferings and loyalty, Antony had rewarded them by exempting them from taxes and gifting them with a magnificent new gymnasion.

  He had set up headquarters in the center of town, and it was there that the litter was set down and I emerged. I found myself standing on broad steps leading up to a great covered hall. Soldiers were stationed on either side, and an armed escort appeared to guide us into the hall.

  The ceiling was flat and high, and rows of pillars divided the hall into three aisles. This was a merchant building, cleared for the occasion. There were brave attempts to make it luxurious—Syrian embroidered hangings draped the rough walls, and lamp stands were set up every few feet. Musicians were playing, seated on a platform near the entrance. But it felt like a market—and smelled faintly like one, too, in spite of the perfumed incense permeating the air. Soldiers, in uniform, were stationed about the room, and the company seemed to consist primarily of men, although there were a few women present—probably the wives of the city magistrates.

  While the center of the hall held the traditional dining couches and tables, the rest of the company were to eat at long tables, like a soldiers’ mess. I saw Dellius up near the couches, wearing what was evidently his formal attire—a plain tunic and sturdy sandals. The only festive note was a wide gold bracelet on his left arm. He was surrounded by a group of other soldiers, all drinking and laughing too loudly. They must have been drinking steadily since the early afternoon.

  Just then, Antony burst into the room with two other staff officers. Seeing him gave me a start—it felt odd to see him publicly again, surrounded by all these drinking companions.

  He was somewhat better dressed than Dellius, but not much. Over his tunic he wore a light cloak, held with a bronze clasp, and he was wearing boots instead of sandals, but his hair was wild and his color high. He, too, must have been drinking all afternoon.

  He saw me and nodded. Then, abruptly, he raised his arms and shouted, “Welcome, welcome, good friends all!” The noise abated slightly, but some of the men kept on laughing and talking. He had to grab his dagger and bang it against a metal plate to silence them.

  “We are here to honor the Queen of Egypt, who has journeyed far to see us,” he shouted. He had a very commanding voice, even when it was touched by wine.

  All the company shouted. I winced. Had I joined a legion?

  “Welcome to our humble dining hall,” he said, and the words were not the usual polite disclaimers. “I have tried to make it royal for you.”

  Still, all the time he was speaking, he was not looking at me, but at his men.

  Of course, they did not know. They had been ashore all night, and thought Antony had been, too.

  “Sit! Sit!” he boomed. The entire company obeyed, making a racket as they did.

  Now I was to take my place at his side on the dining couches. I found him still avoiding looking at me, joking and making endless talk with his men. Finally he sank down on the couch in order for the meal to begin.

  I leaned on my elbow, putting my head close to his.

  “You have been busy,” I said.

  Instead of looking at me, he just lowered his head. Finally he said, “I warned you it would not equal yours.”

  “It is different,” I said. “Remember, I have never been entertained anywhere but Rome, Alexandria, and Meroe. I have no idea what a provincial capital is like.”

  It felt odd, too, to be carrying on this stilted talk about dining halls, after…and why would he not turn his head? I longed to take it between my hands and turn it firmly in my direction. Maybe even kiss him. Yes, that would entertain the soldiers.

  “Look at me!” I chided him.

  He turned, and I saw the veiled desire on his face—or was it just my own, reflected on his? My imagination was so strong it could paint itself on neutral things. The broad forehead, the dark eyes, the fleshy, curvaceous mouth—I could associate them only with one thing.

  “A command I gladly obey,” he said. Then Dellius caught his attention.

  “How early does the winter come here?” he was asking. “We have to clear out before then.”

  One of the Tarsus magistrates answered. “We have a long autumn, and the mountain shields us from the north winds for some time. Where do you go after this?”

  “On to Syria,” said Antony. “And then to Judaea. I need to meet with Herod.”

  “And then?” I asked.

  “Back to Rome,” he said.

  A company of clowns poured into the room, dressed in imitation Roman uniforms. They began running up and down the room, shouting riddles.

  “What is it that rises at sundown and only goes down at sunrise?”

  I was sure they did not have the full moon in mind.

  “What is it that itches more than wool next to that most delicate skin?” and so on. There were also political barbs, although here they had to tread softly. The company clearly adored these “entertainments,” and stamped their feet in pleasure.

  Well, you were bored with the usual proper Roman dinners, I told myself. Some of the remarks are wickedly clever—admit it.

  “I always wanted to be a soldier,” I told Antony, laying my hand on his arm.

  To my surprise, he edged it away, reaching quickly for a handful of olives.

  “Invade Parthia with me, then,” he said heartily.

  I was unlikely to supply for him what I had denied to Caesar. He would have to bankroll this venture out of his own resources. “As your guest, perhaps,” I said.

  By the time the banquet was over, I felt I had been on a campaign. In truth, I had enjoyed the respite from expected conversations and ritual phrases. It was as great a novelty to me as the Venus-ship had been to him.

  I grew tired, and as the evening was lengthening into a plain old drinking bout, I decided to take my leave.

  For the first time, Antony looked disappointed. “No, I want you to stay.”

  “What, and drink with the men? I think they would be freer to enjoy themselves once I have gone. I have kept them waiting long enough to cut loose.”

  “Come to my apartments,” he said. “I will not be long.”

  I laughed. “Like a camp follower? No, thank you.”

  “But I prepared it for us!”

  “I suppose you replaced the field bed with a real one? That is not the problem. I would shame myself to parade up there and wait for the great general. And in front of his officers!” Suddenly I was angry with him. “Is that what you were aiming at all along? An opportunity to show off?” I indicated the vast company. “Impress them?”

  I had to get out of there. I felt betrayed.

  “No, wait
, I did not—” But he did not extend a hand to stay me.

  “You must come to me,” I said. “That is the only way.” I brushed past him and entered my litter quickly.

  As I sat looking out the curtains of the swaying litter, I was angry with myself for inviting him at all. If he came to the ship, I was not sure I was in the mood to see him. I did not feel very amorous anymore. He had avoided me all during the evening, acting distant and evasive, and then he thought I would wait for him afterward! Clearly he had been spoiled to death by women. And even last night—it was the act of a man very sure of himself to appear like that. Suddenly I did feel level with a common camp follower. I had behaved like one.

  It was late by the time I had boarded my own ship and entered my quarters. This time last night, I had just begun to relax after the banquet…no wonder I was exhausted. Even without Antony’s sudden appearance, the voyage itself and the preparations had been draining. Now I felt the last bit of energy seeping from me.

  I could barely sit up, and I no longer had the wherewithal to think about Antony or his soldiers’ dinner. Without calling Charmian, I pulled off my clothes and literally crawled into bed, collapsing into a deep sleep. It was the dreamless kind, a black, stuporous envelope.

  Then, suddenly, something was in the room. I came instantly and completely awake, and sat bolt upright.

  Antony was standing there, holding a dim lamp over his head, throwing a faint circle of light around him.

  “I came as soon as I could,” he said. “Charmian let me in.”

  I clutched a covering to myself, and stared at him. Never had I felt so disadvantaged—unclothed, sleep-confused, taken by surprise again, while he stood impassively looking down at me, properly gowned and cloaked.

  Charmian would have assumed I wanted him there, that I had been waiting for him. No wonder she had let him in.

  Before I could say anything—for my wits were slow in returning—he sat down on the bed and embraced me, his encircling hands touching my bare back. They were cold from the night air, and I shivered. He responded by holding me tighter.