Still groggy from the night, Antony shook his head. His eyes were dull. “Gone, then,” was all he said. He sighed as if an extra sack had just been loaded on his bent back. “And he knows all our plans.”
I was charged with anger, sizzling as if I had been hit by a spark of lightning. He had meant to leave, but had waited until after the council of war, so he could bring valuable information to Octavian. I knew it as certainly as if he had left a confession. “The perfidious traitor!” I cried.
“Now Octavian knows everything,” Antony said. “Even my secret councils of war are exposed to him.” He paused. “Dellius. My helper, my companion…” He turned to me. “I even sent him to bring you to me. Long ago.”
I was afraid he was going to break down in front of Canidius. “Don’t remember! Don’t remember!” I cried. “Blank him out, tear him out of your memories, never think of him, or recall a single word. He must cease to exist—no, never have existed.”
“And when he returned, and told me what you had said, that you wouldn’t come to Tarsus, why, then I—”
“I said don’t think about him!” I shouted, ignoring Canidius. “And don’t soil your memories of me by attaching him to them!”
“Canidius,” said Antony, with no emotion at all, “you may announce that I will replace his command with one of the tribunes.” He gave a wavering smile. “It is of no matter. No matter. Now he can write an account of the war for his new master. I wanted no accounts. No, no accounts.” He clapped his arm around Canidius’s shoulder and walked to the door of the tent with him.
Bright light streamed in as they pulled open the flap. I could see the smoke still rising from the dead ships, inky smudges against the bright blue sky.
“My friend,” Antony said, dropping the flap back, and turning around. “My friend is gone.” He paused. “I do not think I will send his trunks after him.”
76
“Is even Zeus against us?” Antony cried as he saw the flash that signaled lightning from the west. A black bank of clouds had appeared on the usually clear horizon, and even as we watched it grew higher, spreading out like a stain.
The remaining ships—some two hundred thirty of them, including sixty of Egypt’s pride—were in the process of being loaded with legionaries, armed and ready for fighting. We had ordered sails taken aboard, which had caused alarm and confusion among the men as well as the commanders. Sails are never used in fighting; they hinder movement and take up valuable room. So, late the night before, Antony had gathered a few officers together for the last time, and revealed our plan. Even Dellius had not been privy to it; had he suspected there would be further discussions, he would doubtless have delayed his departure.
The plan was this: We wished to escape with as many ships as possible and sail for Egypt, using the afternoon breeze to push us south. It was simple but not easy—a frustrating combination. In order to round the huge bulk of Leucas safely, we would have to be far out to sea before the wind could fill our sails from astern and take us on our way. And in order to get there, we would have to fight our way out past Agrippa’s blockade.
The worst thing that could happen was if Agrippa insisted on fighting midway out to sea, where he could attack us before we could make use of the breeze; the best, if we could trick him into thinking he was luring us far out to sea, letting us choose the battle site. His numerical superiority meant that he would naturally favor plenty of room in which to maneuver, which meant going a long way out to sea. But as soon as we got far enough out, we could raise our sails and make away. Without sails, they could never catch us. Oarsmen alone could not keep up for long.
Unfortunately it was impossible to hide the fact that we were taking the sails on board. Agrippa would probably suspect, and try to disable us before we could get away.
“We’ll divide into four squadrons,” said Antony. “A line of three in front, with the Egyptian ships behind them. Publicola and I will command the right wing, Sosius the left. The center will be commanded by Insteius and Octavius, and I expect it to thin out and open a gap in the middle as the action progresses, allowing the Egyptian ships to sail through into open water. Once they are clear, the rest of us should disengage and follow as soon as possible.”
“We can assume Agrippa will command his left wing?” asked Octavius.
“We can assume nothing,” said Antony, “but it is a logical guess. Now our left wing, under Sosius, is the one that will have to get farthest out before it can turn south, because it starts off nearest to Leucas. Therefore, I must admit here and now, it has the least chance of escape. So it must prepare for the heaviest fighting.”
“On the other hand, if we could lure Agrippa’s ships into the very constricted waters of the gulf, that’s where we could prevail. His ability to maneuver would be completely lost there,” said Sosius.
“Another battle of Salamis, with Agrippa playing Xerxes? Wishful thinking,” said Antony. “Agrippa knows his naval history all too well. No, he’ll stand out to sea and wait. But we mustn’t issue out until almost noon, because if we arrive before the breeze, we are utterly lost.”
“If the battle took place in an area closer to shore, where Agrippa could not separate our ships, we might beat them,” said Sosius. “Our ships are bigger, after all.”
“But there are fewer of them,” Antony pointed out. “I estimate he has more than four hundred fighting ships to our two hundred.”
“And the soldiers to man the ships?” asked Insteius.
“We will take twenty thousand,” said Antony. “Five legions. Plus two thousand slingers and archers. That means about a hundred men per ship—a good fighting ratio. That leaves fifty thousand men under Canidius still on land.”
It had seemed a good, rational plan, with the best chance of extricating us from the prison of Actium. We could not expect to deliver all the ships, but a goodly number was better than nothing. The Egyptian ships, along with the remaining merchant vessels, would avoid the fighting if possible, keeping well behind the rest.
It was dark when we carried the treasure chests aboard the flagship, so Octavian could not see. I had packed the jewels, the gold plate, carefully, wondering why I had brought them in the first place. Once I had thought them important to have on hand, for gold, emeralds, lapis, and pearls were always negotiable, but that supposed there was a market for them. As it turned out, the flies did not care, the rot-worm could not be bought off.
And now this—a violent storm on the very day we had planned to embark.
Antony stood staring at it, as it galloped toward us. “No rain for weeks! Truly, Zeus hates us!”
The men had halted on the gangplanks. On board, the sailors and soldiers gripped the rails and waited.
“Perhaps it’s a stroke of luck for us,” I said. “Can we make a dash for it, using the storm to keep Agrippa in place? Didn’t you use a storm to slip past Pompey’s blockade once?”
“Ah yes. But this is the one direction where we are helpless—the storm will blow right in our faces, from exactly the quarter where we wish to go. No, we must wait.”
He began signaling to the men.
Once more to wait.
The storm broke, as if it had stored up rain and wind all summer, sucking it up from the fetid marshes and holding it in reserve somewhere. Torrents of rain poured down, flooding the tents and paths, and a fierce west wind tried to force the ships back to the very head of the gulf.
It kept on for four days and nights. Through the gray curtain of rain I could see Agrippa’s ships being continually rowed in place to keep them from being blown in against the shore. Did they never tire? But after four days, surely they would be exhausted, whereas our oarsmen were spared that, given the protection of the gulf. We should start out with an advantage. I pointed this out to Antony, who seemed so determined that the gods were against us.
“Perhaps Zeus sent this just to tire Octavian out,” I said.
“Perhaps,” was all he replied.
“Look!
Look!”
On the second of September, Antony stood at the door of the tent, pointing to the clear sky.
“Today is the day.” He turned to me and held out his hand. “Today.”
As we watched in the dawn, streams of soldiers filed past on their way to the gangplanks. They seemed cheerful, glad to be moving at last. Some looked younger and healthier than others; I suspected that some ailing ones had begged to be allowed to go on the ships, and been yielded a place by stronger men.
One older veteran stopped in his tracks and broke out of line.
“Come back here!” ordered the officer, but the man ignored him and strode toward Antony.
He trotted up to us and grabbed Antony’s arm. “Imperator!” he said. “Think again! Don’t do this!”
Although Antony was used to considerable familiarity from his men, this annoyed him. It was neither the time nor the place.
“Back in line, soldier,” he said shortly, trying to detach the man’s fingers.
“Don’t you remember me, Imperator?” the man said. He had lost one eye.
Antony stared at him. “No,” he said frankly.
“I was with you in Parthia. You came to me at the field hospital, with the Queen. Remember? Remember?”
He had been one of a hundred that Antony had visited; how could he possibly remember him? Yet such had been Antony’s concern at the time that the man imagined he had stood out from all the rest.
“I told you then that I had ten years left of service”—the man was determined that Antony would remember that very brief conversation—“and that I had served two years with Caesar himself. I am from Campania.”
“Yes…good soldiers there,” Antony agreed, still trying to remove the hand.
“Now it’s only five years I have left. But I have seen many campaigns, and all on land. Don’t do it! Don’t fight by sea!”
Antony seemed actually to remember the man, at last. “Oh yes…you were with Gallus. In the retreat, that’s where you lost your eye.”
“Yes! Yes!” He pointed to his eye. “Don’t disdain this wound of mine! I got it fighting on land. And that’s where we should be fighting today! Sir, please!”
Antony succeeded in detaching his gripping hand. “Good soldier, I appreciate your concern,” he finally said. “But you must obey orders.” He pointed to the line of soldiers boarding the ship. “Return to your company.”
For a moment I thought the man was going to throw himself at Antony’s feet and refuse to move. But he just squared his shoulders, looked sadly at us with his one remaining eye, and obeyed.
For safety, the senators were boarded on the Egyptian ships, which were not expected to see action. Antony was rowed in a small boat around the fleet, where he addressed his men for the last time, exhorting them to be brave and follow the plan to the best of their ability.
“And this shall be for your glory,” he cried, “that you can tell your sons you were with Antony at Actium.” His golden voice seemed magnified in richness by the water, as he stood in the rocking little boat, his helmet off. The sun touched his hair and made him seem, just for that moment, to be the very young Antony who had first ridden into Alexandria.
Last he was rowed alongside my flagship and came on board. I wished I could have had a moment alone with him to say farewell. But the time for that was past.
In my eyes his oddly youthful appearance remained, even as he approached and laid his hands on my shoulders, in full view of the crew and soldiers and senators.
“Keep yourself safe, until we meet at Taenarum,” he said. That was where we had agreed all the escaping ships should gather, on the southernmost point of Greece. “May all the gods protect you.”
“And you,” I said.
It seemed so little to say, but what else was there? Aside from my moving my hands up to cover his, we did not touch. No embrace, no kiss, almost as if we were afraid to. And perhaps we were; it would cause too much anguish.
Then our hands fell away, and we parted. He would board his own flagship, already waiting on the right wing, and it would begin.
The battle of Actium, the battle for Actium, the battle to escape Actium, call it what you will, it must begin. And if the right wing took too much battering, it might well be sent to the bottom, while we looked on helplessly from behind.
I wanted to hurry after him, be rowed to his ship and face whatever awaited him. The separation was agony; had I not been a queen, it would not be necessary. But I had my own duties, my own obligations, and could not desert my post. I owed it to Egypt to survive and return, to build bulwarks against Octavian’s hunger to annex us for as long as possible, in case Antony, my true bulwark, fell….
No. It was too dreadful. I would not think on it, or allow myself to picture it. He needed to know I was strong behind him, not whimpering and cowering.
“Make ready!” I ordered the crew briskly, then turned the command over to the captain.
Ahead of us the line of almost two hundred ships was being rowed toward the narrow mouth of the gulf, for the first time in months. Beyond that, the land widened out for another two miles until it fell away entirely and the open sea was reached. From where I stood, I could see the faint line of Agrippa’s confronting ships beyond the mouth of the gulf.
Now our ships halted, and Antony’s first plan—for them to form a double line and sit on their oars, inviting battle from Agrippa in the constricted waters—was put into effect.
It was midmorning, and the sun was just clearing the mountains to the east, making the water glitter and outlining the shapes of the ships dotting the surface. No one moved. Agrippa held his line steady and advanced no farther. He was not to be drawn in closer to shore. But we had anticipated that, though it was a pity. We would have welcomed the opportunity to try to thrash the great Agrippa, to inflict grievous damage on the architect of our misfortune. For it was his sword arm that had given Octavian the power he now wielded, and caused us such woe.
The wind had died and the surface of the water was glassy. The first—always wishful—plan for battle must now be discarded, to be replaced by the second. Now Antony must wait another hour or so until the breeze would rise.
O dear Isis! Let it rise today, of all days! Do not fail us! Even prayer seemed an affront, as if I lacked faith. She would know I had failed the test—and punish me.
I paced the deck, trembling with worry, aware that the senators were watching with their little bird eyes. I did not care. Let it come! Let it blow! There were only Isis and me now, no senators, no soldiers, no oarsmen. Only Isis and me, her daughter.
Let it come! Open the skies and let the wind free!
Utter stillness, and the sun burned on the flat water.
I tore off my protective helmet and shook my hair out, letting it fall over my shoulders, as if the shaking and flinging could actually stir up a wind by magic.
And I saw the very ends of the hair settle against my arms—then, ever so faintly…move, as if the breath of a baby blew against the strands. Barely perceptible. Then again.
I thank you, Isis! I cried in my mind, giving thanks in advance, to show my good faith. But there must be more than this.
“I thank you, Isis, for the wind you send!” I cried aloud, startling the senators, who perceived nothing. There, I had committed myself, and Isis rewarded my declaration.
The wind roused itself and started to give gentle puffs. Tiny ripples rose on the water, like fingers pushing against a fabric, and grew bigger. A shout rose from the men.
“Now fall to it!” cried the captain.
Ahead of us the oars flashed, moving the line of Antony’s ships out into open water. Our left wing, under Sosius, being the closest inshore to Leucas and farthest south, needing most to get out to sea, moved first and fastest. Agrippa’s forces backed water, retreating farther out, and the two lines of ships advanced, always keeping a mile or so apart.
Not enough wind yet, nor had it swung around to the best direction for us. There w
ould have to be more waiting. The rowers slowed, but continued moving the ships out. Our own squadron, far to the rear, now passed out of the gulf, past the hateful promontory of Actium, which I cast off like a bad dream. All these months spent there, in misery—let me never behold it again! Just beyond the two points were sandy shallows that we had to steer around.
In my last backward glance, I saw the huge armies on both sides, passive onlookers to the action. They were drawn up and waiting, but did nothing. Then we were out of sight.
Farther and farther out the ships ventured, and all the while the breeze was increasing, turning into a wind. At first it had blown from the southwest, but then it began to shift, as it always did, turning in a circle and originating from the northwest—what we needed to fill our sails and carry us south.
I breathed it in. This wind, blowing from the direction of Rome, should be foul and deceitful, like everything else from there. Instead it was clean and strong, our salvation. Perhaps Caesar, the one good thing from Rome, was embodied in it. Perhaps it blew from his tomb to help his living heirs, his son.
How far was Agrippa going to allow us to advance? The farther, the better. Could he possibly have no idea of our plan? That would seem too good to be believed.
And it was. Finally he stopped backing up and his ships held their line, halting our progress. He refused to cooperate. Battle must be joined.
A hail of missiles—stones, spears, and fire—were launched on one another, a deadly arc between the two lines. Then the air was blackened by the rush of arrows and lead pellets shot from the slingers and archers in the towers guarding the larger warships; noise rose, and the ships began to fall on one another.
Agrippa, determined to keep us from breaking through, doubled his lines, and set his numerous smaller ships to harry us, surrounding the Antonian warships like so many besieged castles. Agrippa’s little ships would dart in, trying to ram a hole in a big ship and escape before the besieged could dump stones and hurl javelins down on them. They attacked the lower parts of the ships, crushing the oars, shattering their blades, snapping off the rudders, while trying to clamber on board. On our side, we pushed them off with boathooks, cut them down with stones, and crushed them with heavy missiles.
The Memoirs of Cleopatra Page 123