Cleopatra Confesses

by Carolyn Meyer

  “You have my friendship without asking for it, mistress.” Charmion places her palms together and bows her head. “My loyalty and my affection.”

  I look at Charmion’s warm, bright smile and reach for her hand. I think of Tryphaena and Berenike, and how since childhood they have made me feel like an outsider, hinting at times that perhaps I am not even our father’s true daughter—though I strongly resemble him—and not of royal blood. I have never felt any affection from them—only a growing resentment.

  “You are closer to me than my own sisters,” I tell her honestly, nearly overcome by a rush of feelings, “and it’s my wish that from this moment on you’ll address me familiarly, as sisters do.”

  “I shall try, mistress,” she says, her eyes shining with tears. She appears to be as deeply touched as am I.

  “No,” I tell her firmly, though I, too, am close to weeping. “Say it this way: ‘Yes, Cleopatra.’”

  “Yes, Cleopatra,” she repeats shyly.

  “Exactly.”

  We go on to talk of other things. Charmion mentions Seleucus, the Syrian. “He behaves no better now than he did on the journey,” she says, making a face. “He acts in an insulting manner toward the dancing girls. He likes to try to catch hold of our braids. Watch out for him!”

  PART V

  THE RIVALS

  Alexandria, in my thirteenth year

  Chapter 26

  YEAR 2 OF THE CLEOPATRAS

  Father has been in exile now for two years and four months. I record the months and days on a tiny scroll hidden in my chest of jewels. My sisters call this Year 2 of the Cleopatras. Year 24 in the reign of Ptolemy XII ended on the day my sisters had themselves crowned. But to those still loyal to my father, it is Year 26 of King Ptolemy XII.

  I was eleven years old when he sailed away for the second time. Now I am thirteen. My studies fill my days—hours spent alone with Demetrius, many more hours at the Library of Alexandria among the scholars. The shelves are piled high with papyrus scrolls, thousands of them. At every table scholars are reading, writing, or conversing in low tones. My love of learning deepens. I, too, enjoy the scholarly life. But I am no longer the girl I was when Father left. I have become a woman. I am stronger and, I think, wiser. I am doubly watchful, less fearful but still wary.

  Father’s absence remains a raw wound in my heart. Each year on the anniversary of the day he left Alexandria to go into exile, I order my bearers to carry my chair across the long causeway connecting the mainland to the island of Pharos. I climb down by the great lighthouse and gaze out on the vast Mediterranean Sea. Wave after wave pounds the rocky shore, sending up a chilling spray. From this place my father fled from his angry subjects, leaving behind his jealous children. Now these children are two years older and ready to tear each other apart.

  I wish desperately that Father would send me a message advising me about what I am to do until he comes back. I have had no such message. No word of any kind. I cannot forget his last words to me: I promise you this on my sacred word: When I do return, you and I will rule Egypt together. Determined as I am to survive, I wonder how I can succeed in the midst of such anger and ill will.

  My bitterness toward my two sisters grows daily. They strut around wearing the uraeus on their foreheads, the upright cobra made of hammered gold symbolizing their sovereignty and divine right to rule. I go to great lengths to avoid them, but they require my presence at every occasion, no doubt to keep a sharp eye on me. It angers me that both of my sisters have taken the throne name of Cleopatra. “It is Ptolemaic tradition,” explains Berenike with her haughty sneer, and I have to admit that much is true.

  “You are not the only Cleopatra in the family,” adds Tryphaena. “It has been part of our names, too, since we were born. We are older, and we rule.” I notice that my sisters now address me in formal speech, ruler to subject.

  “We are also more beautiful,” Berenike says. She is enjoying this. They are like cats toying with a mouse.

  But the mouse turns on them. “I fear that next you will also claim to be more intelligent than I am,” I tell them mockingly, “and more learned as well.”

  “Oh, dear sister,” Tryphaena says with a deep yawn. “It takes more than brains to rule well!”

  Berenike says lazily, “And there is so much that you do not know.” She turns to Tryphaena. “Is that not true, Tryphaena?”

  They are leading me on, I feel sure, but I foolishly rise to the bait. “I know that I am now of an age to rule,” I inform my two sisters through clenched teeth. I do not add, “though not alone,” but I recognize immediately that I have made a serious mistake. I should never have brought up the subject, never have reminded them that the thought of ruling has even crossed my mind.

  I have infuriated Berenike with these words. She rises, her movements as slow and controlled as a cobra’s, and advances toward me, her eyes narrow slits. I glare back at her. I will not let her frighten me.

  “Cleopatra,” she says in a low, menacing voice, “let us make one thing absolutely clear to you. You will not rule, not even when you are fifteen. You do not have a right to rule. We have mentioned before—and I will bring it up again—there are some doubts as to whether you are of pure royal blood. Everyone knows that Tryphaena and I, and Arsinoë, too, are the daughters of King Ptolemy XII and his wife Cleopatra V. But some doubt has been cast on your parentage.” Her voice becomes teasing. “It is possible that our father is not your father. He was away at the time of—”

  “You speak in this insulting manner of our mother!” I interrupt angrily. “Father has never expressed any doubt that I am his child—why, then, should you? I resemble him, everyone says so! And I am his favorite, the one who will one day rule beside him!”

  I am aghast at the words that have just slipped out of my mouth. My sisters look surprised as well. For a moment no one says a word. Then Tryphaena says in a falsely syrupy tone, “Oh, really, Cleopatra? And how did you come by the notion that you and Father will rule together?”

  I back down quickly. “It is my idea,” I murmur. “Mine only.”

  There is a deadly silence, and my sisters exchange a long chilling look.

  “Please remember to show the proper respect and address us formally,” Berenike says at last in a voice lacking all feeling. “We are the queens now, and you are nothing more than a princess. As you shall always be,” she adds, emphasizing each word.

  Unwilling to provoke them further, I bow low, murmuring, “I shall do as you require, my queens.”

  “That is better. Much better.”

  I back away submissively, my face averted, not daring to look them in the eye. If they had any sense of the fury burning in my breast, they would never allow me to walk free.

  The two queens do not get along. Tryphaena is idle and wants mostly to be amused. She does nothing for herself and keeps a large number of servants busy responding to her whims. Ambitious Berenike spends her time devising ways to squeeze more funds from the wretchedly poor Egyptians. I suspect that Antiochus does most of the thinking and wields most of the real power, but I also suspect that Berenike may at any time decide he is too powerful and rid herself of the grand vizier.

  I feel affection and some pity for my younger sister, Arsinoë. She has seemed lost since Nebtawi’s cruel death—she misses him far more than she does our father. She has a new tutor-guardian named Ganymede, whom I disliked from the day I met him. He is nothing like Nebtawi; there is no kindness or humor in him, and I do not understand why Antiochus chose him for the post, unless Ganymede is part of some grander scheme. I see Arsinoë mostly at the queens’ formal events, since she, too, is required to attend. She spends nearly all her time with Ganymede.

  As to the rest of my father’s children, I hardly know the two youngest Ptolemies, my little brothers who are brought out only for ceremonial occasions.

  Monifa has been with me since I was born, and I love her dearly. Irisi is closer to my age, and I love her, too. But the person to wh
om I now feel closest and most at ease with is Charmion. If it were not for Charmion, I would feel completely alone. I do fear for her, if the new queens find out about our closeness and want a weapon to use against me. Yet I cannot bring myself to give her up, even for her own sake.

  I will soon be fourteen. I have grown taller and my breasts are becoming full and my waist narrow. My hair, once short and curly, has grown long and thick. Tryphaena, who is twenty, and Berenike, eighteen, treat me as though I am still a child—though plainly I am not—or else they pretend to ignore me completely. This angers me, but Charmion reminds me it may be better that they do. “That way, you don’t threaten their power.”

  Charmion is whispering, even though we believe we are safe walking in the city’s Jewish quarter, where no one is likely to report us to my sisters. “You must take care not to make them feel that you are a danger to them. Better if you stay out of their way as much as you can. But keep in mind that they no doubt have spies observing everywhere you go and everyone you speak to.”

  “How long must I continue to do this, Charmion? I’m weary of the game we’re playing!” There has been no retaliation following my unwise remarks, though I have expected one.

  “Until King Ptolemy returns,” she says soothingly. “He will correct it, I feel sure.”

  “But it has been two and a half years since he left, and Father has sent me no word at all! Sometimes I feel as much anger at him as I do at my sisters. He has left me in danger here. As a daughter I love my father, as a loyal subject I revere him as the rightful king and pharaoh of Egypt, but I am beginning to understand that he has made some grave errors. He has brought our country to the very edge of ruin and left my sisters to ruin it further!”

  I stop abruptly, aware that I have spoken words many would consider treason. Charmion is staring at me, openmouthed. Have I driven a wedge between us with my intemperate words?

  She lays a hand on my arm. “All the more reason you must attract as little attention as possible. Be careful, dear Cleopatra. I could not bear it if something happened to you!”

  Charmion is right. Most days I continue to pass the hours with fidgety old Demetrius. When we are not in the great Library, we move across the agora to the Museion, where almost always someone is making a speech while others impatiently wait to start disagreeing with him. Then everyone leaps into the discussion, which can get quite loud. I enjoy listening to these debates, for these men are among the best educated in the city.

  I am required to take my midday meal each day at the royal palace, where palace functionaries and government officials are present. Their discussions often turn into arguments that are also quite loud but much less learned. I eat hastily and in silence, relieved when it ends.

  During the meal, Tryphaena and Berenike bicker constantly, their voices rising. Berenike cries, “You are lazy and spoiled and do nothing that is worthwhile!”

  Tryphaena shouts back at her, “And you are demanding and selfish and think of no one but yourself!”

  They are both correct. I wonder how much longer their idea of joint rule will last. Behind their harsh accusations and cutting words lies their contest for the attention of Titus, the hero of Dendara. It has become obvious from the long, lingering looks they exchange that Tryphaena is indeed in love with Titus, and he with her. Whether they have actually become lovers I cannot say, though Charmion and I suspect they are.

  “Of course they are lovers!” Charmion has insisted all along. “I’m sure they’ve been lovers since soon after we all returned from Thebes. But if you watch closely, Berenike has not yet abandoned her hopes of winning him. She may not truly love him, but she is jealous, and you can be sure she doesn’t want Tryphaena to have him.”

  Sooner or later this situation is certain to reach a crisis, and I am afraid to think what the outcome will be. I cannot imagine that Berenike would cause harm to Tryphaena, but she might decide to create trouble for Titus.

  It happens that one day as Demetrius and I are walking back to my palace from the great Library, we encounter Titus and exchange greetings. I make a quick decision. “Demetrius, I have forgotten the papyrus I had intended to bring with me. Please go on without me. I’m sure Titus will agree to accompany me.” I smile broadly at Titus. “Won’t you, Titus?”

  “Of course, my princess,” he replies with a correct bow.

  Demetrius frowns slightly but shrugs and goes his way. There is no forgotten papyrus, but Titus and I return to the Library and I quickly choose one. As we start back to the palace, our conversation is lively—I inquire about his sister, Akantha—and eventually I mention my own sisters.

  “They are rivals, as you surely know,” I tell him, my steps slowing. “If you choose one over the other, you could put yourself in harm’s way. I tell you this out of true friendship, Titus, and admiration for your courage at Dendara.”

  We have stopped walking. Titus smiles down at me—he is much taller than I am—and I notice, not for the first time, that his teeth are perfect and white against his tan skin. “Cleopatra, I thank you for your warning. I must tell you that if you were just a year or two older, the rivalry would be three-way, and you would certainly be declared the winner.”

  Chapter 27

  TRYPHAENA AND TITUS

  Two months pass in an uneasy calm, and I count the days until the Festival of Isis, when I observe the fourteenth anniversary of my birth. Tryphaena and Berenike celebrate the festival, but there is no celebration for me. I continue to keep my distance from my older sisters, but Arsinöe, who is twelve, idolizes them. She is no threat to them, and they fuss over her as though she is another pet. I believe the attention to Arsinoë is designed at least in part to show me that I am of no importance. “That is fortunate for you, Cleopatra,” Charmion reminds me. “You are safer.”

  I prefer to spend my time with Charmion, but we have agreed that she must not come to my palace, where her presence would attract attention. It is easier for me to steal away to the royal harem. Her mother is teaching me the art of cosmetics: how to grind green malachite and blend it with oil for my eyelids, to outline my eyes with kohl, to tint my lips with red ochre.

  I have not practiced with Charmion and the other dancers since Father went into exile and my two sisters declared themselves queens. “Why do you want to learn the work of a dancing girl, Cleopatra? You who have everything! The finest food, beautiful dresses and jewels, servants to do whatever you want.” Charmion is fixing my hair in a new style, pulling it back in waves and gathering it at the nape of my neck. “Best of all, you can study at the Library and the Museion, and nobody demands to know what you are doing there as they do with a dancing girl.”

  “Someday I’ll lend you one of my white linen dresses, and you can go there with me,” I promise her, though I cannot think how I will manage this.

  It is as though she can read my thoughts. “I would enjoy that very much,” she says. “But I understand that you sometimes make promises that are impossible to keep.” She arranges an artful series of little curls across my forehead.

  What she says is true, and I look away, unable to meet her eyes. “You’re right, Charmion,” I admit, and then I change the subject and ask, “What are the latest rumors from the royal court?”

  “The grand vizier has been coming to visit my mother, taking advantage of the king’s absence. She loathes him. If the king learns of his attentions to Lady Amandaris, Antiochus will no doubt find himself at the bottom of the sea.”

  “No one would miss him,” I tell her, but I do wonder: Why Father would be so angry? Why would he care if his grand vizier calls on the woman in charge of the dancers?

  On the following afternoon Charmion is waiting for me in the harem, and she seems very agitated. “Have you heard? Queen Tryphaena and Titus have disappeared!” she whispers. “Queen Berenike has forbidden anyone to speak of it, but everyone in the harem is talking about almost nothing else.”

  I know not a thing about this—no one has brought official or
even unofficial word to my palace—and I am shocked.

  “Do you think they ran away together?” I ask. This makes no sense to me. Tryphaena might be in love with Titus, but she would surely not give up her position as queen to go off with him. “If they did, Berenike must be furious.”

  “The women in the harem do not think they have gone voluntarily. They say Berenike forced them to leave.”

  “But why would she do that? Jealousy?”

  “Worse than jealousy! The women believe that Queen Berenike not only sent them away, but that she ordered them both killed. They say that Tryphaena and Titus were sailing on Lake Mareotis on her boat and that Berenike’s guards boarded the boat and took it out into the marshes of the delta. No one has seen the boat, or Tryphaena or Titus, since then.”

  “Berenike had them murdered? Can this be true?”

  I stare at her, stunned. Berenike, like Tryphaena, can be cruel, but is she ruthless enough to have done this? I remember the crocodiles with dark bronze backs gliding past the royal boat. I remember how frightened we were when Father went ashore at Sais in a small boat and I forced myself to go with him in spite of my fear, but Tryphaena was terrified and refused. I cannot forget the horrible day that Ako fell into the Nile and Nebtawi jumped into the river to save him. I can still see the huge jaws of the ugly beast dragging him down into the dark water. Surely Berenike did not send our sister to such a terrible death! But I fear she is capable of it.

  I am trembling, and I cannot stop. Charmion’s voice reaches me from a great distance. And then I, too, am sinking into blackness.

  “Cleopatra!” Lady Amandaris is speaking my name. “Princess Cleopatra!”

  I open my eyes to see Charmion’s mother bending over me. Charmion kneels beside me, rubbing a cool balm on my wrists. Lady Amandaris holds a cup and urges me to drink. I sip the liquid obediently, though the taste is bitter.