The Memoirs of Cleopatra

by Margaret George

  “The men went on and on, drinking and singing,” he said quietly. “It got so late, but I could not leave. Ordinarily I would have out-indulged them all, but all I could think of was getting away and following you.”

  As he spoke, I realized he was cold sober; he had stood aloof from the rest of them. If he was here now, it was not on a whim or impulse. He had had hours to think about it, clearheaded hours.

  “At last they left, and I was free.”

  “And no one saw you leave?” So he had stolen away in secret, leaving his quarters empty.

  “I fear whatever I do cannot please you,” he said. “First you told me to be bold about it, that it should not be hidden. Then, when I asked you to come to my quarters publicly, you accused me of trying to impress my men. You even said it would shame you—something I would never do. That is why I betrayed nothing during the dinner. It was up to you to reveal whatever you wished. Obviously you chose not to let the company know.” All the time he spoke, he merely held me, and made no attempt even to kiss me.

  “I was confused,” I said. “I admit I said one thing in the morning and another at night. It was easier to be daring on my own ship, among my own people, than before strangers. Here my people know well enough that no man besides you has been admitted to my chambers, whereas your men are used to the parade of women. I had no wish to be another Glaphyra.”

  “There is no one like you in all the world, and certainly not Glaphyra.”

  He sounded so earnest that I had to laugh. “Oh, Antony, you are too easy to forgive,” I said. “I was angry with you about the raucous invitation, and angry that you stole into this room, and even angry that you caught me like this.”

  “Like this?” he said, kissing my shoulder where the covering had slipped off. “It is much more effective than the Venus costume. The most beautiful Venus statues are nude.” But there was nothing insistent about his action; gone were the feverish embraces of the night before.

  His calm speech, his very hesitation, was soothing and oddly erotic. There was a sort of languor to him, a slow passivity. I was drawn into it. The more still he was, the more awake and aroused I became.

  “You may stay,” I said, finally moving my own arms up his own, over and across his shoulders. “Sir, I grant you permission.” Only then did I lean forward and kiss his lips. It was a kiss that lasted a long time, that left me charged with excitement, since it seemed to exist just for itself, suspended, not leading from or to anything. I had never had a kiss like that, divorced from everything but itself. I felt I could live in it for eternity.

  For a timeless time I was content with only that—an endless kiss while I held, and was held by, this man who seemed to know how to make me feel both erotic and cherished at the same time.

  Eventually, lying beside him, stretched out together in the close darkness, I wished that could go on forever, too. Caesar had loved me, but always he was Caesar. I had never been adored before, never worshiped by the body. It was like beholding an entirely new color, bathing in it.

  I had not thought I could ever love anyone physically different from the lean and elegantly proportioned Caesar—even my ideas of what love was had been bound up in his body, inseparable from it. Now that had been cast aside, and I must learn anew.

  When I lay facedown, fully contented, he took infinite care in untangling my hair, drawing it out and smoothing it across my back. It came halfway down, well below my shoulder blades.

  “I always wanted to touch your hair,” he said. “But first of all, it was forbidden, and second, it was always braided up or twisted full of jewels. It had such a dark gleam to it.”

  I thought of all the times when I was just growing into womanhood, how I would rinse my hair in scented oils, brush it, take handfuls of it and try to imagine whether it would please someone. And now it had. I laughed, not a jarring laugh, but one of pleasure. “It is yours to do with as you will.”

  “Then perhaps I shall cut it all off,” he said playfully. “Yes, and keep it for myself, leaving you to hide your shorn-sheep look under a headdress. I am curious what you would look like without that extraordinary hair. But I think it would not matter. Not to me.”

  “A woman with short hair—how odd that would be!” I said. “I would feel like an athlete—a boy runner.”

  “I do not think, somehow, that you would look like one.”

  “Actually, I can run rather fast.”

  “But you would have to compete naked,” he said. “And no one but I should see you that way.”

  “You are neither my husband nor my brother nor my father, so you have no right to make such pronouncements.”

  “Yes, I do, the oldest one of all. I am jealous and won’t permit it.”

  “Won’t permit it! Listen to you—Fulvia’s husband.” As soon as I said the word, I regretted it. None of that had any place here, right now. “I am sorry,” I said instantly. “That was wrong of me.”

  “No, it was honest of you. But Fulvia is in Rome, and that is far away.”

  “Antony, come back to Alexandria with me.” I could not bear to say goodbye after only three days, when we were due to sail. Even memories needed more than three days to take permanent form, solidify.

  He was silent a long time, stroking my hair. “I do not know that I can,” he finally said.

  “Come as my guest. You would do it for anyone else! Do not do less for me.”

  “Because you are you, I must do less.”

  “Then you punish me for being Cleopatra, and not Cytheris or Glaphyra.”

  “I did not follow them to their cities, for all the world to see.”

  “The world! Always the world!”

  “You care enough about it in the daylight, outside, my lady. You would not even reveal our liaison in front of my men—soldiers, who are a pretty forgiving lot.”

  “Now, I will.” Now I knew it was more than just that one fever-charged burst of pent-up lust. My desire seemed to grow with the very feeding of it, rather than becoming sated or fading. “Come with me to Alexandria. I will show us to all the world. I will present you without shame.”

  “I am not an idol or a doll to be displayed,” he said. “If I came, I would come as a private citizen, a foreign dignitary making a courtesy call.”

  I noted, silently, that he was sketching the conditions of it—of this visit that he would not make.

  But the night still had some hours left in it, and I did not want to spend them talking. I reached out and took his hand, twining my fingers in his. “If you do not come to Alexandria, then you certainly have to use our few remaining hours to the fullest,” I whispered, kissing the soft part of his ear. He did not argue.

  44

  Twilight had spread its tender, soft mantle over the sky, and once again the special lights were lit and glowing in the rigging of the ship. This time the guests would walk not on the wooden deck, but on a carpet of rose petals that would have been knee-deep had they not been held down by a net. No one could sink into them, but instead must tread on their surface, each step crushing the delicate petals and releasing a cloud of fragrance. It would rise like the mist of dawn, a fog of sensual delight.

  The perfume of a hundred thousand roses for the nose, the glitter of gold cups and winking lights for the eyes, the sleek feel of silken couch covers for the skin, pure voices and silver lutes making music for the ears, and the finest food I could serve to both caress and tease the tongue—I meant my farewell banquet in Tarsus to linger forever in all five of their senses, imprinted there for a lifetime.

  As for myself, it was only fitting I should be arrayed as Egypt’s queen, in a gown of gold and blue, wearing a crown of gold and lapis serpents. As Iras braided my hair, pulling it back from my face, I could not help smiling, remembering Antony’s comment about it. It was true; most ceremonial hairstyles were stiff and not to be touched. Iras looked into the reflection of my eyes in the mirror, rather than directly at them. Her face held a thousand questions, but she dared no
t ask them. And tonight I would not answer them. Not until the end of the evening.

  A massive collar of gold, carnelian, and lapis beads was fastened around my neck, and wide carved-gold armlets were slid onto my upper arms.

  Iras unstoppered a slender alabaster bottle and shook a few drops of perfume out onto her palms, then touched me lightly under my chin, on my elbows and forearms, and on my forehead. “The scent of roses must also come from you,” she said. “And this fragrance, from white roses, smells just slightly different from the red roses covering all the decks and floors.”

  The same company as before was to come aboard, thirty-six guests to lie on the twelve couches. Antony had expressed little curiosity about it, assuming it would be like most of those he had attended for years. I had made him leave before dawn; he took it to be my modesty, but I had not wanted him to glimpse the cargo waiting on the dock, although he must have smelled the cartloads of rose petals as he passed. Let him be as astounded as everyone else.

  “My last dinner here,” I had said. “And, should you not come to Alexandria, our last night together.”

  He was still insisting he could not come. Well, I had also insisted I would not come to Tarsus.

  The gangplank, draped with rich Tyrian purple and transformed into a triumphal bridge, welcomed the guests aboard. One by one the Romans stepped off it, and onto the carpet of rose petals, their boots sinking, their bodies bouncing on the springy cushion. I watched their faces as they were taken by surprise, these Roman soldiers and citizens of Tarsus. But it was Antony I most wanted to astonish and please; I took the reaction of the others for granted.

  He stopped at the top of the gangplank, leaning on the railing, his eyes taking in the entire setting in one glance: the crimson of the roses, the purple drapings, the artificial constellations in the rigging, and then me, as gilded and ornamented as a statue. It was a spectacle of theater, not one natural thing about it. It is a privilege and challenge to outdo nature on occasion.

  “O rare ship!” Antony said. “Let us cut the cables and drift away—to whatever magic land you came from!” Then he took a high leap and landed as hard as he could, losing his balance as the roses squashed under his weight. He rolled over and lay on his back, arms spread, feet apart. “Ah!” he cried. “I will suffocate, drugged by elixir of roses. Help me, help me, for I faint.”

  He made a show of struggling to his knees and then dragging himself over to me, bowing at my feet, clasping my sandals. “I am quite overcome,” he said. The company roared with laughter.

  I reached down and took his hand, drawing him up. “Revive yourself, Lord Antony,” I said, motioning to a servant to bring him a cup of wine. It was a large one, bumpy with inset coral and pearls, filled with the wine of Chios.

  He took a deep drink of it, and then shook his head. “Wine has never yet banished magic,” he said. “It merely increases its effect.”

  “Welcome, all,” I said. “Pray, drink with us.” At once a company of servants appeared, cups in hand. “I wish my last evening with you to be worthy of long memories.”

  Already they had that half-uncomfortable, half-excited, dazed look on their faces that betokened uneasy enchantment. They were all mine for the evening, to do with as I wished. Even Dellius was wide-eyed. Ah, the persuasion of props and accoutrements—how mighty they are! What power they give us, properly used!

  “Is this the same ship I left this morning?” Antony asked, his voice low.

  “The very same,” I said.

  “What have you done to the cabin below?”

  “You must wait to find out,” I said. “Unless you prefer to go now?”

  He looked around, laughing, a little nervously. “I believe you would be bold enough to do even that,” he finally said.

  I merely smiled. Let him wonder.

  Dellius was talking loudly—too loudly—about the Parthians and how, by Zeus, they had gone too far. He then proceeded to abuse Cassius in such blistering terms that one of the Tarsians—who hardly had any reason to defend their tormenter—tried to change the subject.

  “Dellius,” I said, gliding over to him, “doubtless when you march into Parthia with Lord Antony you will have ample opportunity to smite a few Parthians. But forget Cassius—he has paid the price. A man can the only once.”

  “No, that’s not true—he can the twice. Once the body, next the reputation. Kill the latter, and it’s a crueler death than the first.” He said it so fiercely that I could almost forget that he had once served Cassius, and come to Antony only after Philippi.

  “There’s a third death as well, then, and that’s to be abandoned by one’s former friends,” I said.

  He smiled his nasty smile. I turned away. I hoped Antony had more than this reed to lean upon for his fortunes in war.

  The chief magistrate of Tarsus was explaining to Antony his choice of man to fill the post of gymnasiarch for the city. He was a plump little man, who would probably spend little time on the exercise field himself but would enjoy the baths and the lectures given in the new gymnasion.

  “Yes, yes,” Antony was saying, clearly not caring whom he appointed. He was attempting to extricate himself, but the mayor grabbed on to the shoulder of his tunic and kept on talking, buzzing like a bee. In fact he was shaped like one—round and wide.

  His wife stood nearby, wearing the most nondescript clothes I had ever seen. Why is it that respectability always seems to drape itself in such proper dreariness? Why do we equate beauty with lack of seriousness? I welcomed her and told her how impressed I was with her city, and how fortunate they were to have the mountains to shelter under, and groves of trees nearby.

  What I did not say was that once the Ptolemies had owned all this—we had had not only the sea and sand and Nile of Egypt, but these very mountain slopes and forests. Seeing them had awakened a desire to regain as much as possible of this lost empire. Caesar had given Cyprus back to Arsinoe; perhaps Antony…

  She was speaking, her low, modest voice as mouselike as the rest of her. I tried to turn my attention to her words. But they were as forgettable as her face.

  When we descended to the banquet chamber, the company shuffled, walking carefully on the mattress of rose petals, and did not look up until they stood at the very entrance. Torches flamed and flared, and the couches—far more sumptuous than the ones they had dined on the first night—were surrounded by marble tables with gold legs, and rubies on the borders. The red of the roses, the scarlet wall hangings, the rubies, and the crimson couches all blurred together to make even the air of the chamber seem dyed fiery red.

  Antony and I took our places, and I gave the signal for the banquet to begin. The food itself was nothing unusual—how could it be? A ship’s kitchen cannot rival one on land, and I had to rely on mostly local fare like scarus-fish, purple shellfish, peacocks, and kid. From Egypt I had brought smoked duck, geese, and Nile perch. Toasted papyrus stems, gilded, would serve as a novelty. It was eaten—ungilded, of course—by the common people at home, but would amuse the Romans and Tarsians. I had brought many amphorae of the best Chian wine with me, and I meant for them to finish most of it this evening. When I sailed for Egypt, the ship must be much lighter.

  The musicians—also clothed in red—played their instruments softly, and could barely be heard above the rising voices. Everyone was talking, their tongues loosened at last.

  “You are extravagant,” said Antony, his eyes roving from one thing to another.

  “Hardly,” I said. “This is modest. I know how to spend ten times this much on one dinner.”

  “Impossible. That is, without increasing the number of guests.”

  “I could do so this very instant,” I said. “With these very guests, and keeping almost the same menu.” An idea had come to me, and I meant to use it. “If I can do so, will you relent and come to Alexandria?”

  He thought long before answering. “Yes. But you must keep to the rules. No additional guests, no expensive presents suddenly added. Just
this banquet, with these guests, and this food.”

  “Agreed.” I motioned to one of my servers. “Fill a goblet with strong vinegar,” I said, “and bring it to me.”

  Antony frowned. “Vinegar is hardly very expensive.”

  I ignored him. “Dear guests,” I said loudly, “Lord Antony and I have a wager. I have bet him that I can make this banquet cost over a million sesterces. He says it is impossible for any banquet to cost that much, and particularly one with only thirty-six guests. Ah.” I reached out and took the vinegar-filled goblet. “Thank you.”

  Antony was leaning forward on his elbows, watching me intently. His dark eyes were riveting.

  “Now,” I said, removing one of my pearl earrings and dropping it into the goblet, where it landed with a plunk and then sank to the bottom. I swirled the goblet, and they could all hear the pearl rolling inside. “It will dissolve and I will drink it—the most expensive wine in history.” I held the goblet up in both hands, gently shaking it.

  Everyone was staring, and Antony looked shocked. I kept shaking the goblet until I felt it was time, then I brought it to my lips, tilted it up and drank it. There was a collective gasp.

  “Bitter!” I said. “Vinegar, even flavored with pearl, is still rough. Another goblet, please! All of you must partake!”

  My servant quickly brought a second one, and I started to unfasten the other pearl, but Dellius cried out, “No, stop! It is unnecessary! Do not sacrifice the second one!” and Antony reached out and stayed my hand.

  “You win,” he said quietly. “No need to repeat it.”

  I returned the goblet to the servant’s hands.

  “You are…there is no word to describe you. ‘Extravagant’ fades beside all this,” Antony said.

  I looked at him, and knew that I had won more than the wager.

  As the banquet proceeded, and the dishes were brought out and set daintily before us, I found that the chamber was suddenly charged with erotic splendor for me, it fairly shimmered with it. Had my wager excited me, transforming me from calm host to a bedazzled guest of my own self? I found myself watching Antony’s arm as he held his cup, leaning on his elbow. It was thick, muscled and tan, and I stared at it, lascivious thoughts racing through my mind. Even his feet, tucked partially under the couch cushion, seemed objects of desire. I had swallowed the pearl, and it seemed to have acted as a magic potion, surrounding him with an aureole of desirability for me, literally from head to toe.