Cleopatra Confesses

by Carolyn Meyer

  Friends? I am doubtful of the friendship of those Romans. “Will you be gone long?” And what will I do without you here to guide and protect me? That question remains unasked.

  He gazes at me for a moment. “It may be for a very long time,” he says. “I don’t know. But I must leave at once. It’s not safe for me to sleep in the palace tonight.” He takes my face in both his hands and gently tips my head so that I must look at him and his tired, bloodshot eyes.

  Take me with you, Father! I cry silently. Do not leave me here alone with my sisters! But he does not hear my unspoken pleas.

  “Listen to me, Cleopatra. While I’m away, I want you to visit the tomb of our ancestor Alexander the Great and pray for guidance. I will return, if the gods are willing. Hear me, daughter! I promise you this on my sacred word: When I do return, you and I will rule Egypt together.”

  Have I heard him correctly? He wants me to be the queen by his side? This is a surprise to me, and nothing he has said before has prepared me. Something has surely changed. But what if he does not return? What am I to do then? I open my mouth to ask the questions that are already burning. But he shakes his head. “Later, Cleopatra. Later there will be time.” He embraces me, pressing me to his chest. I cling to him tightly. Neither of us speaks. Then abruptly he turns away, and he is gone.

  Now that I am alone, I begin to weep. Then I remember his words and repeat them silently, over and over: You and I will rule Egypt together. I wipe away my tears, lift my head, and brace myself for whatever lies ahead, as a queen must do.

  Chapter 24

  ANNOUNCEMENT

  For two days I hear nothing more about Father. The crowds have dispersed, and an uneasy silence lies over the city. Then Demetrius comes to my quarters. “I swore my loyalty to King Ptolemy XII, pharaoh of Upper and Lower Egypt,” he says, anxiously rubbing his bald head, “and I promised your father that I would do everything possible to help you.”

  Nice words, but we both know that even the most loyal tutor has no power. “Where is my father?” I ask him. “Is he in Alexandria? Can I see him?”

  “I believe that he spent two nights in the lighthouse, in disguise, while his ships were being readied for a sea voyage. The royal fleet sailed today at dawn. That is all I know, Cleopatra.”

  “My sisters—have you talked with them?”

  “Your sisters do not wish to talk with me. That has not changed.” He hesitates. “If I can be of any assistance—”

  I cut him off, perhaps rudely, and dismiss him.

  With Father no longer in Alexandria, I am deeply worried about what will happen. Who will rule Egypt in his place? When King Ptolemy set out on his first voyage to Rome two years ago, he left his grand vizier, Antiochus, to make the administrative decisions. But I have not seen Antiochus since the night we returned from the Nile journey. Did Antiochus accompany Father into exile, or is he in hiding somewhere near here? Who is in charge now? Who will rule?

  My sisters have no doubt already made that decision, without consulting me. Before he left, Father told me that he and I would rule together when he returns. But what did he tell them? If he told them this is what he plans, then I am in more danger than I have ever been. I am always in danger from those two!

  Or did he tell them they should rule in his absence? Or did he choose one or the other to rule? Or put Antiochus in charge? If only Father had told me what to do in the meantime and what provisions he made for his wishes to be carried out! And the one question I must banish from my thoughts: What if Father never returns?

  As it is, I have absolutely no one to trust, no one I can go to for advice—not Antiochus, or any of the other ministers. The last people in the world I can talk to now are my two older sisters. I hate them, and they hate me. Perhaps they hate each other. If they do, they will destroy each other.

  In the meantime, the less I see of Tryphaena and Berenike, the better. The more I can avoid those two and stay out of their sight, the safer I will be.

  Irisi and Monifa insist that we must stay quietly in my palace until the situation becomes clearer. “We do not know who are our friends,” Monifa frets, “and who have become our enemies.” My two servants mistrust the dishes prepared in the palace kitchens, and they decide to take turns going out to the marketplace to purchase food and prepare it themselves.

  Irisi returns with a loaf of coarse bread, a bunch of onions, and a pot of cooked lentils. “There is great unrest everywhere,” she reports, laying out our simple meal. “And I can tell you that leaving the palace is much easier than getting back in. The guards have been replaced, and these new men do not recognize me.”

  “But who ordered the guards replaced?” I ask. Irisi does not know.

  I would like to take a turn in the market as well. I might learn the answers to my questions. But Monifa insists I must not go out, arguing that it is too dangerous. For once I pay attention to her warnings. I, too, am apprehensive, but I believe the dangers are greater inside the palace than anywhere else.

  I feel like a prisoner. The walls seem to close in around me. When I can bear it no longer, I decide to obey Father—and disobey Monifa—to visit the tomb of Alexander the Great. It may be the one place in my city where I can find strength in these difficult days.

  As Monifa said, leaving the palace is simple. The streets are crowded, as always, and I can feel the tension in the air; ordinary conversations sound more like arguments. I avoid the marketplace and follow side streets until at last I am walking among the graceful columns of Alexander’s tomb. Guards stand motionless, following me with their eyes. In the peaceful silence of the tomb, I kneel beside the sarcophagus. Alexander’s coffin was originally wrought entirely of gold, but I once heard that my grandfather ordered it melted down to pay his soldiers. Have my people always had to deal with dire financial problems?

  The translucent alabaster coffin that replaced the original is splendid in its own way. The mummy, covered with a thin sheath of beaten gold, lies bathed in pearly light. I have heard it said that Alexander was as beautiful in death as he was in life. I wish I had known him, asked him questions, listened to his answers. How would this brilliant leader advise me now?

  Every ruler of Egypt has had to meet challenges, going back thousands of years to the pharaohs who ruled Egypt long before the arrival of Alexander—my favorite, Hatshepsut, among them. I understand that I am one more in the long line that came after him. I must believe that one day I, too, shall rule, just as Father promised. Someday, I would make Egypt a great country, her people prosperous and proud.

  Feeling strengthened, I rise and hurry back to my palace. Then I must argue my way past the guard, who does not believe I am who I say I am until Monifa comes out to rescue me. And now she is angry with me too, even when I tell her that I was obeying Father’s order.

  Four more days have passed since King Ptolemy went into exile, and I receive a surprise visit from Antiochus. I had thought he left with Father. “Princess Cleopatra,” he says, bowing—but not quite low enough—“I bring you a message from your devoted sisters, Princess Tryphaena and Princess Berenike. They say that they have not seen you recently, and they are greatly concerned for your well-being.”

  I do not trust this man, and I doubt that my sisters are “devoted” or worried in the least about my well-being, any more than I am concerned about theirs. They are no doubt pleased that Father is gone and they are free to plot their own path to power. But the grand vizier and I must play out our little scene. “Please tell my dear sisters that I am quite well and thank them for their concern.”

  “Your sisters wish you to attend a grand banquet tomorrow night in the great hall of the king’s palace. At that time they will make an announcement of great importance.”

  This is not an invitation I can refuse. It is more like a command. That they are holding the banquet in the king’s palace and not in their own is ominous. “Convey my thanks to my sisters for the honor, and assure them of my presence.”

  Antiochus
bows and goes away, leaving me with many puzzling questions.

  A single day gives me little time to prepare for the banquet. Monifa and Irisi fuss over my dress and hair and jewels. “I must not appear to outdo my sisters,” I remind them. Though they do not say so, I know they are worried about what will occur at the banquet. I am uneasy but determined not to show my true feelings.

  The great hall is already filled when I arrive. Two servants escort me to my place near the dais. Arsinoë sits on the opposite side of the hall. I notice that Titus has been given a prominent seat. Musicians herald the entrance of Tryphaena and Berenike, who are elegantly gowned and wearing heavy gold bracelets and collars with precious stones. Berenike leads Bubu, the baboon, on a jeweled leash. I have never seen her appear quite so haughty. Tryphaena, though two years older, cannot quite manage the same proud look. Neither of my sisters glances in my direction. It is as if I do not exist. I do not like being ignored, but I think it might be the best thing—at least for now.

  The feasting begins. My sisters entertain their friends as extravagantly as Father ever did, even bringing out the finest wines from the king’s private store. No one would guess from this opulent display that Egypt is deeply in debt and that this year, once more, the grain crops failed. The one thing different is that there is no flute player, dancing to his own music. Yet no one speaks of Father’s absence. I find the whole affair deeply disturbing.

  When the dancers appear, I look for Charmion among them, hoping to find a way to get a message to her, but this seems to be a different group of dancers. It would have been good to have at least one friend nearby. I look over the crowd and do not see a single person with whom I can share my uneasiness.

  At the height of the banquet, trumpeters sound the elaborate flourish that proclaims the arrival of the pharaoh. Everyone rises at this signal, and my older sisters begin a majestic promenade through the hall. Antiochus walks ahead of them.

  “People of Egypt!” Antiochus calls out in a loud voice, gesturing dramatically. “I present to you your new rulers! Princess Berenike and Princess Tryphaena have bowed to the wishes of King Ptolemy XII to rule jointly and will assume the crowns of Upper and Lower Egypt in a ceremony on the tenth day of the second month of the Inundation.”

  I can scarcely believe what I am hearing, even though it is exactly what I expected. They are shameless! Rage starts to build inside me. Our father has been gone for only twelve days, and my sisters have already proclaimed themselves rulers in his place. Is it possible that he actually wishes such a thing? What did he say to my sisters? I wish more than ever we had had more time to talk before he fled. He might have warned me, prepared me for what was to happen in the meantime.

  There is a moment of stunned silence after this announcement, and then the guests begin to applaud—led by Titus—and fall to their knees before their new queens. Arsinoë is on her knees. I kneel as well. I have no choice. What selfish, arrogant, and rather stupid girls they are! I glance around the hall. It seems I am the only one who feels this. How can that be?

  Tryphaena is seventeen, Berenike will soon be fifteen, and both are old enough to rule. But I—I am only eleven, and no matter what Father may have planned for my future, I am too young to claim the throne that will one day be mine. Kneeling now before my sisters, I recognize that I am a threat to them. I am sure they recognize it too and will do whatever they can to eliminate that threat.

  As the procession completes its circuit of the great hall, I understand that my duty now is to survive.

  I will do whatever I must. I owe that much to Father. And to myself.

  Chapter 25

  TWO QUEENS

  The day after my sisters’ announcement, Alexandria is in an uproar. The suicide of my uncle, the King of Cyprus, was surely not Father’s fault, any more than the poor harvests were his fault. But what are the Egyptians left with, now that he is in exile? Tryphaena and Berenike revel in his absence. Each is surrounded by a group of supporters, and each has her spies. They may call themselves queens and co-rulers, but I know better: They are jealous rivals, and their rivalry grows more bitter every day. The one thing I believe they agree on is their loathing of me. They do not say it, but I can feel it. Better, though, to have them at each other’s throats than at mine.

  I send my sisters a message, pledging my loyalty and devotion to the reigning queens of Egypt. I do not mean a word of it, and surely they know that, but it is what I am expected to say, what I must say.

  From then on I am invited—ordered—to attend their banquets, and I plan to be present at every one of them, not because I enjoy them but to observe as much as I can and to listen to as much idle talk as possible.

  In particular I will watch Titus. As the nephew of Antiochus, he is in a position to know more than he is saying. He is also the object of a growing rivalry between the two queens, and that could be fatal to one or the other.

  Every two or three nights, my sisters host another event, sometimes large parties with the noblemen and their wives, or smaller gatherings with wealthy merchants, lawyers, physicians, scribes, and other professional men among the guests. Even Seleucus, the foul-smelling Syrian called Cybiosactes who accompanied us on Father’s Nile journey, is sometimes invited. But regardless of who else is present, Titus is always there. About halfway through the meal during one of the feasts, Titus picks up a harp and begins to sing a song he has composed. The guests halt their conversations to listen, and they applaud warmly, but none more enthusiastically than Tryphaena and Berenike.

  Titus usually ignores me, probably regarding me as a child and beneath his notice, though I am nearly twelve, or will be in six months. My sisters continue to openly compete for his attention. Tryphaena sends him delicacies from the royal table, but Berenike outdoes her by offering him a jeweled ring after he dedicates a song to her. I think Tryphaena may be truly in love with him, but Berenike is determined to have him, just to put Tryphaena in her place. Antiochus has no doubt instructed him to be cautious in his attentions to the two queens. What can Titus possibly see in such vain and foolish girls?

  I seldom leave the palace now except to visit the great Library of Alexandria. I am not free to wander to the marketplace or anywhere outside the royal quarter. Whatever I do, I try not to attract notice. Irisi and Monifa warn me constantly that everything I want to do puts me at risk.

  Demetrius comes to see me nearly every day. I know he is completely loyal, but Demetrius has no interest in politics. He loves history, philosophy, mathematics; power is distant from his mind. He doggedly pursues my studies as though nothing else is happening. When I ask him, “How do you think Tryphaena and Berenike will divide their authority?” he simply lifts his hands and his eyebrows in a helpless gesture, and then he changes the subject, perhaps to a discussion of the use of the inclined plane in the construction of the Great Pyramid.

  Dear old Demetrius! I am fond of him, but he is not a real companion, and I am desperate for company besides him and my two servants. Ten days after my visit to Alexander’s tomb, I decide to escape again from my loving jailers. I dress in my plainest linen tunic, tie a narrow belt around my waist, strap on sandals, and set off for the royal harem to look for Charmion. I may never master her acrobatic dances, but I can trust her.

  The compound is easy to find, a series of low buildings surrounding a courtyard, east of the royal palace. Dozens of women of all ages make their home here. Some of them are distant relatives of my father or my mother, others are women of high status in the community, such as midwives and healers. Some are the king’s concubines.

  An old woman leaning on a wooden staff regards me with open curiosity. “Whom do you seek, my girl?”

  “The dancer Charmion.”

  The old woman nods and hobbles into one of the low dwellings. Moments later, Charmion appears. She wears a tunic much like mine, though the linen is not as finely woven or as white.

  “Mistress Cleopatra!” she exclaims and starts to bow to me, but I stop her.r />
  “Please don’t! I would prefer not to have people recognize me.”

  Charmion leads me into her quarters, which lack the tiled floors and painted walls of wealthy homes but are cool and comfortable. She arranges cushions on a faded carpet, invites me to sit down, and disappears behind a heavy curtain. She returns with her mother, Lady Amandaris, who sets a tray of refreshments on a low table and asks after my well-being. Lady Amandaris is dark-skinned, darker than Charmion, probably from the land of Nubia south of the Great Cataracts, but the two have the same graceful hands and fingers and the same wide smile. Though an older woman, she is really quite beautiful.

  Charmion kneels close beside me. “What brings you here, mistress?” Charmion asks after her mother has left us alone.

  “I need someone to talk to,” I tell her, and pick at the tangled fringe thread on the worn carpet. “I’m sure you know that my father fled into exile twelve days ago and my sisters have taken his place. I’m truly worried about what will happen.”

  “Yes, I have heard,” she says, “and about the crowning, too. Everyone talks about it. I am to dance at the ceremony.” We fall silent as Charmion pours us each a cup of sweet juice pressed from grapes. “And you?” she asks. “What about you?”

  “For the present I’m just trying to stay out of sight.”

  “Maybe your sisters will decide to make it a triumvirate, like the Romans,” she suggests with a mischievous look. “And you will be the third.”

  “Very unlikely! My sisters despise me. They don’t even try to hide how they feel about me. I think they’d prefer that I disappear.” I reach for a fig. “You know about the triumvirate?”

  “Just because I am a dancer does not mean I have no knowledge. My mother has spoken of the triumvirs. Now tell me, please—how can I help you?”

  “Give me your friendship, Charmion. Tryphaena and Berenike have plenty of supporters. I have none.”