And my daughter? Cleopatra Selene. Cleopatra after not only me but the many other Cleopatras in my lineage, going all the way back to the great Alexander, whose sister had been named Cleopatra. And further back even than that, there was a Cleopatra in the Iliad. Greek connotations—Greek, not Roman! And Selene, meaning “moon.” Again, for the eclipse, and also for the twin Artemis.
And so I watched my baby Sun and Moon and asked Isis to make them the bringers of the golden age, or the children of destiny we had in our own, older, genuine prophecies, as opposed to that trumped-up mockery of Vergil’s!
I was still holding them after a feeding, when a messenger was announced. I thought it of little account, and did not even hand the babies to their nurses, but just gave orders that he should be admitted right away.
I was taken aback when an official Roman courier stepped into the chamber, in full regalia, his breastplate gleaming, the brush on his helmet stiff and thick.
“I bring greetings from Rome, most imperial Majesty,” he said in a booming voice. Or maybe it wasn’t really booming, but only sounded that way after the cloistered life I had been leading in the nursery.
I just stared at him and nodded. “Welcome,” I finally said.
“I bring a letter from Marcus Antonius, Triumvir,” he said, thrusting it out. It was encased in a metal and leather cylinder. Very fine; oh, very fine indeed.
I took it, opened it, and read.
To Queen Cleopatra, Thea Philopator—Goddess Who Loves Her Father:
Greetings and wishes for good health and fortune.
It is my fortune to announce to Egypt, the Friend and Ally of the Roman People, that a Treaty of Brundisium has been sealed by agreement between Imperator Caesar Divi Filius, and Imperator Marcus Antonius, both tresviri reipublicae constituendae, Triumvirs of the Roman Republic. To ensure peace among all parties, and to pursue our allotted tasks throughout the world, in conjunction with our faithful allies, the following conditions are to be honored: First, that Imperator Caesar will command the legions in Gaul, Imperator Antonius relinquishing them, commanding the legions eastward from Macedonia, Imperator Lepidus will command Africa. We have appointed consuls for the next eight years. Imperator Caesar will undertake the war against Sextus Pompey, and Imperator Antonius that against the Parthians. He has appointed the following governors for the eastern provinces: Domitius Ahenobarbus, Bithynia; Munatius Plancus, Asia; Asinius Pollio, Macedonia. General Ventidius Bassus will command the initial campaigns to clear the Parthians from Syria.
In celebration of the pact, and to show mutual trust, Imperator Marcus Antonius has taken to wife the sister of Imperator Caesar Divi Filius.
As loyal Friend and Ally of the Roman People, we wish you to be apprised of these agreements.
Imperator Marcus Antonius, Triumvir
So. I held it in my hand, Antony’s account of Brundisium, his proud recounting of the agreements—agreements, I could see instantly, that increased Octavian’s power at the expense of Antony’s. So he had handed over the Gallic legions! Lost the west entirely, without even a fight! And the offhanded announcement of the wedding, couched in official language, referring to himself almost as if he were another person! And calling Octavian “Caesar”—to me! I was trembling with rage.
The Roman was standing, smiling, waiting for me to utter some bland inanity. One of the babies squirmed in the crook of my elbow.
“I thank you for your speedy voyage to bring me these tidings,” I said. Undoubtedly Antony had ordered the swiftest ship to announce his doings. But he had reckoned without the chance arrival of another messenger first. So it often happens.
“You may tell the Triumvir Marcus Antonius that I have received his news, and that I congratulate him on his marriage. You may also tell him that I have just borne him two children—a son and a daughter.” I spread my arms and held them out for him to see.
The man simply blinked in shock. There was no official protocol for responding to such an announcement. Finally he said, “Have you no—no letter you wish to send? I can wait, as long as you would wish.”
I drew myself up. “No. No letter. Merely the two sentences, which surely you can remember. They are not too taxing.”
The seas would soon be closing for winter; already the waves were rising and storms had started. But just before they did, another ship arrived from Rome, having set sail at the last safe moment. It brought a letter from Antony, and this time I read it in private. It was wild and all but tear-stained. I could picture him sitting up late at night, indulging in wine and memories while he wrote it, then sending it off without rereading it.
My dearest, my love, how can you have done this to me? The messenger told me—he saw you—that we have children. How could you have kept it from me, let me go without knowing? If only I had known—then I could never have made this marriage I was forced into, I would have had an excuse to refuse—you have undone me! Why have you betrayed me? If you loved me at all, it would not have been possible—
I have been in hell ever since I left—I can trust no one, now, not even you. They say peace has come because of the pact. Achieved at such a cost—so high.
I spend the winter here in Rome. There have been food riots here, and Octavian has been attacked and would have been killed by a mob at the races, had I not intervened. Much remains to be done.
What have you named them? Teach them about me, their father.
Do not forget me—pray for me, hold me in your heart, as I hold you.
—I send this posthaste.
It almost made me feel sorry for him—as he meant it to. But what kind of a man was he, that he needed an “excuse” to refuse Octavia, and marry me! He shouldn’t need an excuse, and if he did, a pregnancy was not a proper one for the Triumvir—perhaps for some shepherd or schoolmaster, but not for the lord of half the world! And what did he mean, I had betrayed him? He was the one who had chosen Octavian, and Octavia, over me. What a pity he couldn’t trust anyone! How sad! Well, I had told him that, and told him to beware of Octavian! And yet he continued to rescue him. Why didn’t he let the mob put an end to him once and for all?
And as for the children—I didn’t know what I would teach them about Antony. It was much easier for Caesarion, his father being dead, and declared a god. The living Antony was a delicate matter. And anyway, the children were a long way away from being taught anything. First they would have to learn to talk.
52
During those weeks when we were cut off from the rest of the world, I had many long hours to think—to think, and to recuperate. Gradually I grew thin while the babies grew big, as if a very source of being were transferred from me to them. My strength returned; even my pain disappeared.
“Youth is a marvelous healer,” said Olympos after he pronounced me completely recovered.
“No, I think it was your skill,” I said. “After all, plenty of young people die.” It occurred to me that the two people who know you best in the world are your physician—who knows all the particulars of your body—and your financial advisor, who knows all the secrets of your bank account. Between them, they have the whole picture.
“Luck played a part in it,” he said. “And your basic strength. You are a tough warrior crocodile.”
Antony had called me that, too. How strange. “Antony called me a crocodile as well,” I said. “I don’t think it’s a compliment.”
He frowned, as he always did, at least in passing, when Antony was mentioned. Which was too bad, since I had a mission for him that involved Antony. “The crocodile has many admirable qualities—I meant it that way. It’s very hard to conquer a crocodile, and they can live under conditions that would kill most other animals. An enviable trait,” insisted Olympos.
“Indeed.” I waited a moment to broach the main subject. This was not going to be easy. “Olympos, your knowledge of wounds and healing is remarkable—for a Greek.”
Now his eyebrows shot up. He looked wary, like a gazelle that suspects a lion
might be nearby. “For a Greek?”
“Of course the medical training here at the Museion is still foremost in the world,” I said. “You are the heirs of the great Herophilus and his anatomy studies; and the operations for stones and abscesses were great advances in their day. The theories, the theories were ingenious! Praxagoras and his hypothesis about the blood vessels! Dioscorides’ idea about the plague—intriguing! But—”
“But what?” Now he looked truly on guard.
“But those ideas are just theories. I think, now that I have recovered, you should go to Rome to study,” I said.
“I knew it!” He shook his head. “And why, pray tell, should I go to Rome? Other than to spy on Antony?”
I ignored the last question. “Because I prize your talent for healing. But time has marched on; there are new techniques in the world of medicine—”
“Of which you are well apprised, being a physician yourself,” he said with a snort.
“I know that the Romans have learned a great deal about treating wounds and lacerations—they have practical knowledge, not just theories. That’s because they’ve fought so many wars in the past hundred years—they’ve had a lot of soldiers to practice on! Oh, Olympos, don’t be such a snob. Greeks can learn some things from Romans.”
“As you have?”
I let that barb pass. “I have heard they know how to operate on eyes to remove cataracts, and that they can sew up wounds so they won’t fester. And that they have invented instruments that clamp blood vessels, and others that hold wounds open so that arrows can be extracted—”
“Of course I know that,” he snapped. “Do you think I don’t keep up?”
“But wouldn’t you like to go and learn about them firsthand? Or is your prejudice against the Romans so strong that it even compromises your work?”
Now he looked embarrassed. “It would take too long—I have duties here—”
“You have some very able assistants and students. And you needn’t be gone longer than half a year. When the seas open again in March, you could go. Stay until autumn. You can learn a lot in six months! And I won’t get into trouble while you’re gone—nothing that your assistant can’t manage.”
“I know you,” he said. “You can get into a lot of trouble in six months.”
“Well, I promise I won’t.”
He looked halfway pleased. Perhaps he really needed a change; and his innate curiosity would enjoy the challenge of a new discipline.
Now that I had his cooperation, it was time for the next part. “And, yes, there is some personal business I’d like—”
“No, I won’t go to Antony. You know I hate the man.”
His flat statement took me by surprise. I did not know what to say—certainly I couldn’t defend Antony to him. After all, there were times when I hated him myself. Finally I said, “I don’t expect you to meet with him. But I want you to take along one of my astrologers—someone Antony has never seen, who will find a way to attach himself to Antony’s entourage.”
Olympos groaned. “So I am to accompany a spy of yours to Rome? You want to put eyes and ears in Antony’s household?”
“No,” I said. “I don’t care about his eyes and ears. What I want to use is his mouth. I want him to advise Antony to get out of Rome.”
“Why? Why should he leave Rome? So he can come back here?”
“No. I don’t expect him to come back here. I don’t want him to come back here.” Not as Octavia’s husband and Octavian’s obedient servant, I thought.
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Nevertheless, it’s true. But he should get out of Octavian’s shadow. He cannot even think clearly around him—it’s as if Octavian corrupts and disables his very mind!”
“I told you long ago, he takes on the strongest nature that’s nearest him. That’s why he’s unreliable. I warned you.”
“You were right—he does. And that’s why he must put distance between himself and Octavian.”
“Again, why?”
“I want him to stand clear, on his own!”
“You haven’t answered my question.” Olympos was relentless. “Why should it matter to you?”
He was determined to make me say, Because I love him. Because I don’t want him to go down to ruin. But I only said, “Because Antony’s task is to administer the east and conquer the Parthians. If he dallies too long in Rome, he will lose his chance. And that would be bad for all of us in the east.”
Olympos grunted. “And I suppose you want me to write you long reports about Rome and the gossip there,” he said.
“Yes, of course,” I answered. “It has been five years since I left. Many things will have changed. I am curious. Indulge me. After all, I will pay for your journey and lodgings—and I hope you will avail yourself of the best.”
I knew that was irresistible bait for him. He was one of those thrifty people with secret longings to be profligate. Doing it at someone else’s expense should satisfy both needs.
My dear friend and Queen:
After a ghastly ocean voyage, and an equally unpleasant stint up the Tiber on a smaller boat, and then being almost choked to death by the foul odors on the docks, I can attest that we are indeed in Rome. Never have I appreciated Alexandria more, now that I have seen Rome!
I have acquired quite luxurious quarters—remember, you told me to—but one of the horrors of Rome is that poor and rich dwell side by side, so just next door to me is a squalid apartment building filled with the most unsavory inhabitants. Undoubtedly there would be an opportunity to practice a great deal of unusual medicine there, but no, thanks! I am not interested in contracting skin lesions and lice in the process.
Through inquiries at the hospital of Asclepius on Tiber Island, I have been introduced to a retired army surgeon who is the grand master of the new science—everyone who is anyone in that discipline seems to have trained under him. He has been most gracious in taking me on, and translates Latin into Greek with nary a complaint. So I must thank you for urging me to come—even if I was merely an appendage to your plots and plans.
And as for that, I can report that Hunefer has departed into Antony’s household to do your bidding. It all came about very naturally, as the Egyptians in the city congregate near the vegetable market and exchange information about positions in Roman households. As an Alexandrian’ trained astrologer he had no difficulty in insinuating himself into Antony’s. There he will disseminate your advice into Antony’s ear.
I have been here long enough to have learned that Antony’s fathering of your children has caused him great embarrassment in Rome, and that Octavian is said to be positively apoplectic about it. Perhaps to make up for it, Octavia is reported to be pregnant.
Farewell for now, and do not neglect your chervil drink. Keep building up your blood.
—Your servant and friend, Olympos
Octavia pregnant! That horrible dream—there must have been truth in it! I felt anger start to course through my veins, anger that was not even rational. I had known they were married; I knew what married people did; I was almost angry at myself for being angry.
I put the letter down. So Olympos had arrived, and was putting the time to good use. What more did I want?
And our children had caused Antony awkward moments in Rome? Good. Let Octavian stew on that—let him think on it, just as I was tormented by the dream.
My nature was at least as strong as Octavian’s. May the best man win.
My Queenly patron:
Greetings from one who is becoming expert at everything from sewing small eyelid wounds using women’s hair, to the other end of the scale, tying off blood vessels of amputated limbs. I am also learning a method of repairing a large gap in the skin, like that caused by an ulcer, by cutting two flaps on either side, then drawing them together overhead. But I will not trouble you with the descriptions of these wounds, as they are generally repulsive. I know you prefer to dwell on more alluring aspects of the senses.
&
nbsp; The great stir here is that Octavian and Antony have made peace with Sextus, concluding a treaty with him at Misenum. I doubt that it can last. They have only just finished edging Lepidus to the verge of retirement, and are unlikely to want him replaced in the share of power. But for now the grain is flowing back into Rome again, and this eases the discontent with Octavian. People’s memories are very short—as short as their last meal, for the most part.
Octavian and Antony have been busy seeing to their marital obligations. It is true about Octavia’s pregnancy, and now it seems Scribonia is expecting as well—at about the same time. Ah, what a fervid night it must have been in Rome a little while ago. The same constellations must have been hovering over the bedrooms, giving the offspring the same horoscope. The future should be interesting.
Speaking of horoscopes, Hunefer reports that Antony consults him regularly. It seems that whenever Antony rolls dice or bets against his dear brother-in-law, Octavian always wins. Hunefer has used this opportunity to tell him that his noble spirit will always be vanquished by Octavian’s superior luck, and therefore he should keep far away from him. So the poison—pardon me, the suggestion—is being poured into Antony’s ear. Look for him in our part of the world again soon. Antony has already dispatched general Bassus into Syria to give the Parthians a preliminary thrashing.
Pat the babies on the head for me, and give Mardian a cuff if he persists in eating the custards I warned him of. He has gotten entirely too fat, and you can tell him so from me. I told him myself before I left.
The Memoirs of Cleopatra Page 82