Cleopatra Confesses

by Carolyn Meyer

  It is all happening too fast. “I pray for your safety, my lord,” I whisper.

  “You have nothing to fear on my behalf, Cleopatra,” he says, and kisses me hurriedly. “Tomorrow at this time, we shall celebrate my victory.” He strides from the room, the purple cloak swirling behind him.

  What does your victory mean? I wonder, staring after him. That I shall again be queen?

  I dare not think the unthinkable: And what if you lose?

  Chapter 51

  THE BATTLE

  When the door has closed behind Caesar, I scarcely know what to do next. Irisi, seeing her duty, takes my hand and urges, “Come, mistress. It is best to sleep while you can.”

  But sleep is impossible, given the circumstances. I am on the roof of the palace well before sunrise, ready to observe the battle from this vantage point. It is both terrible and thrilling to watch. The adversaries are well matched, but I am confident that Caesar will triumph. Is he not the greatest general in the world?

  The fighting goes on all day, the advantage shifting from Caesar’s ships to Ganymede’s and back again. Catapults hurl rocks, and men raise ramps to board enemy ships for hand-to-hand combat. In the smoke and din and confusion it is impossible to determine who is winning the battle.

  Charmion somehow manages to find a way into the palace and comes to keep watch with me. I am grateful for her company. She tries to coax me to eat something, but I have no appetite. When Caesar does not return by the time servants begin to light the lamps, I fear the worst. Charmion and I sit and stare at each other numbly as water drips monotonously through the clepsydra, the water clock, and still there is no word of Caesar.

  More hours pass, and I send out servants to inquire, but no one knows anything. I am wracked with worry. Charmion offers to massage my shoulders, and I allow it.

  “I believe that you truly love this man,” Charmion says, her fingers gently coaxing the stiffness from my neck.

  “I do. I love him with every part of my being!” In my weariness and worry I begin to reveal my feelings. Merely speaking Caesar’s name gives me comfort and pleasure. “Years ago, when I was very young, I felt desire for Marcus Antonius, the cavalry commander. Do you remember him?”

  “Of course I do! He was so handsome!”

  “Yes, he was, but I never thought much about real love until I met Caesar,” I tell her. In whispers I confide my most profound desire: “Though he is more than thirty years older than I, I wish to become Caesar’s wife.”

  “But does he not already have a wife?” Charmion asks. “And are you not the wife of Ptolemy XIII?”

  With a grimace I brush aside the mention of my brother-husband. “You know that Ptolemy is not really a husband—he is still a boy. That situation can be dealt with, if Caesar chooses to do so. Caesar forced us together, and Caesar can surely force us apart. But you are right—he has a wife in Rome. Her name is Calpurnia. His first wife, Cornelia, bore him his only child, Julia, and both are dead. He divorced his second wife, Pompeia, when he suspected her of adultery. ‘The wife of Caesar must be above reproach,’ he told me. And now there is Calpurnia. ‘A fine woman,’ he says, and I have no doubt of that. But she is barren and has given him no children, no son to carry on his name. And that grieves him deeply.”

  My tongue is loose now. We are no longer young girls confiding childish secrets, but grown women. Our lives are widely separated by our circumstances, but we share a deep bond of affection for each other. I know that I can trust Charmion, and I continue to open my heart to her.

  “Perhaps,” I suggest, “there’s some charm that will cause him to forget Calpurnia and stay here with me.”

  “I’ll ask my mother,” she promises. “She’s an expert in such matters.”

  I feel encouraged. Lady Amandaris kept my father’s love for twenty years. Now, if the gods are willing—and if he has miraculously survived the battle—she will show me how to keep Caesar’s.

  Sometime in the darkest hour of the night, when I have nearly given up hope, there is a loud clatter and the sound of voices below. Charmion and I rush down from the rooftop as Caesar stumbles in, exhausted but mostly unharmed, and I fly into his arms. Charmion discreetly disappears. I help my lover out of his clothes—his purple cloak is torn and muddy—and call for sponges and a basin of warm water. While I gently wash his bruised and aching body, he describes what happened.

  “I leaped overboard into the harbor, and I was forced to hold my cloak in my teeth, dragging it through the water as I swam, lest it fall into the hands of my enemies. They would have been pleased to display it as a trophy of my defeat, and perhaps of my death.” He laughs and continues, “As if that were not enough, I also had to carry valuable papers above my head with one hand while I swam with the other. I wish you could have seen it, Cleopatra! Tonight we celebrate the defeat of Ganymede and the complete destruction of his navy. Victory is ours—let us enjoy it, my love!”

  But the celebration must be delayed. Mighty Caesar surrenders to exhaustion. He has fallen asleep.

  Chapter 52

  PTOLEMY XIV

  Ganymede’s Egyptian navy has been demolished, but our challenges—Caesar’s and mine—are not yet over.

  Throughout countless days of Caesar’s battles, first against Achillas and then Ganymede, Ptolemy XIII has been kept a virtual prisoner in another part of the palace. But now a delegation of Egyptians arrives to meet secretly with Caesar, requesting that my brother-husband be released and allowed to reign in place of Arsinoë.

  “The people are tired of this woman, who declared herself queen, and of Ganymede, who has raised our taxes yet again to finance his battles,” complains the spokesman for the delegation. “Give us Ptolemy XIII as our king and the strife will end.”

  I would reject their proposal at once and offer them the only sensible solution: I, Cleopatra VII, am their legitimate queen.

  But Caesar promises to consider their request, and that angers me. “It would be to your advantage,” Caesar tells me after they have gone and before I can rebuke him. “If I release Ptolemy and he assumes the throne, then you will be restored as queen.”

  I do not think my brother can be trusted, and I doubt that it is worth the risk. “He has turned fourteen. He’s still only a boy, though he thinks he’s a man.” I try to keep my voice calm and reasonable, though I am raging inside.

  Caesar dismisses my objection and calls for Ptolemy to be brought to him. Caesar orders me to wait out of sight, concealed behind a heavy drapery, and to observe their conversation. Can he not see how this infuriates me? Nevertheless, I obey.

  Ptolemy falls to his knees, weeping before Caesar and begs to be allowed to stay at the palace. “I have become greatly attached to you, my lord,” he declares fervently, clutching at Caesar’s robe.

  I believe this is all an act, but I must remain silent and hidden.

  Caesar insists that Ptolemy must leave and stay in his own quarters, telling him, “We shall part as friends, and we shall soon be reunited as friends.” I watch as the two embrace—one I love and one I detest—an uneasy feeling churning in my stomach.

  I was right not to trust him. Ptolemy is like a lion released from confinement. He loses no time taking up the war against his mentor and “friend” Caesar, rushing off to the fortified city of Pelusium and assuming the leadership of the Egyptian army. As soon as Caesar learns about this, he is off in furious pursuit of Ptolemy, calling upon his allies for help. The fighting resumes. I could have told him this would happen, but Caesar does not listen to me.

  And then it is over, as suddenly as it began. Trying to flee from the attackers, Ptolemy boards a boat to cross a branch of the Nile. The overloaded ship sinks and Ptolemy is drowned. This brings an end to the war. Should I feel sorrow for the death of my brother-husband? I do not. He would not have hesitated to order my death, if he had the chance.

  Caesar returns to Alexandria in triumph, carrying the heavy gold armor retrieved from the muddy waters of the Nile that prov
es Ptolemy’s death. Caesar’s next order is for his officers to sweep into Arsinoë’s camp and take the “pharaoh” and her general, Ganymede, prisoner. Once again, Caesar and I prepare to celebrate victory. My two enemies—brother and sister—now eliminated, I should feel triumphant, but I am still uneasy.

  Perfumed and dressed in my most beguiling gown, I welcome Caesar as my lover and my hero. He gathers me in his arms, remarking, “Now you shall reign as queen, my darling. But as queen you must have a king.”

  For one exultant moment I believe that Caesar himself wants to be king and that he is suggesting our marriage—all exactly as I had wished! Calpurnia is far, far away in Rome, and Caesar is here at my side. We will marry, we will rule Egypt together, and I will give him the sons he never had. Someday he may even learn to heed my advice.

  But in the few months we have been together, I have learned to read Caesar’s moods very well, and I see at once—or perhaps I feel it or hear it in his tone—that our marriage is not at all what he intends. I thank the gods that I have kept silent and not revealed my deep desires.

  I draw back from his embrace. “Ptolemy XIII is dead. What would you have me do?”

  “Marry the brother who lives,” he says. “It is nothing more than a pretense, but a necessary one.”

  I move away from him, stating firmly, “I do not wish to do this, Caesar.”

  He looks at me in a way that tells me he is quite aware of my feelings and they mean very little to him. “Many of us in power must do things we’d rather not, Cleopatra,” he says, mildly enough, but I know that, at least for now, I must do as Caesar says.

  Once again, I go through the motions of marrying. Ptolemy XIV and I place our signatures as required to rule Egypt as “the Father-Loving, Brother/Sister Loving Gods,” a title I have chosen. My new husband is barely thirteen; I am twenty-two. But Ptolemy XIV is of a different temperament from his older brother, and I believe he will not cause difficulties. In any case, I make certain that my name appears first on the official documents, as it always will. There is another marriage celebration that pleases the people but means nothing at all to me.

  PART X

  QUEEN CLEOPATRA

  Egypt in my twenty-second year

  Chapter 53

  THE QUEEN’S BOAT

  It is the third month of Harvest, the fourth month of my twenty-second year, and I am the acknowledged queen of Egypt. Caesar has promised to provide the backing of three Roman legions to preserve the peace. My new brother-husband, the youngest Ptolemy, meekly does as he is told.

  But the battles have taken their toll on Caesar. He grows feverish and raving and requires much tender care, which I am happy to provide. He forbids me to send for a physician, not wishing to let him know that mighty Caesar suffers any weakness. Irisi and Monifa are both knowledgeable in the uses of herbs and charms, and among us we bring him back to full health.

  Every morning, Caesar’s barber comes to shave him and to dress his hair. He is sensitive about his thinning hair. “It makes me look old,” he complains, and I try to persuade him that it does not. This is a small lie. In fact, Caesar looks every one of his fifty-three years.

  My future with Caesar remains bright, and my love for him grows deeper as the days and nights go by. Then, one day, he begins to talk about returning to Rome. “My responsibilities are there, dear Cleopatra,” he says. “I hold the highest office. I must go back, and soon.”

  “Of course you must, my love.” Though his words have profoundly shocked me, I take Caesar’s hand and raise it to my lips. I make up my mind to delay Caesar’s departure for Rome by whatever means I can, for as long as I can. Perhaps he will ask me to join him there. We will divide our time between our two countries. We will find a way to be together.

  One evening when the two of us have been dining quietly, as we both prefer, Caesar remarks, “For some time I have been curious about the source of the Nile. I’ve heard that its great length makes it the longest river known, with its headwaters buried deep in the heart of this dark continent. What can you tell me of its origins?”

  “No one knows for certain.” I pause and pop a sweet into his mouth. “It might be possible to follow it a part of the way. If not to its very source, as you desire, then at least as far as the First Cataract. It would please me to show you the splendors of my country.”

  Caesar leans closer. “With you, dearest Cleopatra, it will be delightful beyond imagining.”

  Now I believe I have the way to keep Caesar by my side.

  The problem is that Ganymede seized the royal boat and dismembered it to build his warship. A new royal boat, the queen’s boat, must be constructed—and quickly.

  I could simply assign the task of hiring naval architects and builders to my grand vizier, but I decide to undertake the task myself. I summon Demetrius. My old tutor walks now with the aid of a cane, his body bent under the accumulation of years, but his eyes still gleam with intelligence, and his spirit remains as strong as ever.

  He bows with stiffened joints. “How may I serve you, my queen?”

  “I want a new royal boat constructed, the most exquisitely luxurious craft ever to travel the waters of the Nile. I will spare no expense for such a boat, but it must be done with all haste. I feel sure, my good Demetrius, that you are well acquainted with experts at the Museion who can design this boat and know of people who will build it for me.”

  Demetrius smiles. He is missing several teeth. “I shall be glad to assist you, my queen. If you will accompany me to the Museion, we can interrupt the philosophers and find a man of practical knowledge.”

  I have not visited the Museion in many months, and I enjoy going there with Demetrius. We find a group of architects discussing the damage to the great Library of Alexandria and how to rebuild it. From among them, Demetrius points out two or three experienced in the art of boat building. The men gather around me as I describe my vision of the queen’s boat, down to the color of the sails and the design of the jeweled plates and golden goblets.

  “And it must all be accomplished in secret. Caesar must not hear of this!”

  The architects say, “Yes, yes, of course, my queen. Everything shall be as you wish.”

  “What do you think?” I ask Demetrius afterward. “Are they as good as their word?”

  “They are,” says the tutor. “But I cannot help asking, why this hurry? Your father spent a year building his royal boat, and you want it done in a fraction of that time.”

  “Caesar speaks of returning to Rome,” I tell him. “I want him to see Egypt before he leaves, to feel about my country as strongly as I do.”

  Demetrius looks at me thoughtfully, his head tilted to one side. “You do it, then, for love.”

  “For love of Egypt,” I tell him, though he is right, and he knows it.

  Chapter 54

  FAREWELL JOURNEY

  Ignoring the grumbling that the queen’s boat has taken precedence over reconstruction of the Library of Alexandria and rebuilding of a city severely damaged by fighting, I meet almost daily with architects, engineers, and builders.

  As work progresses, I begin to search for a captain. As I had known to my great sorrow, the elder Captain Mshai was murdered by Ganymede. But his son who sailed with me to Ashkelon would be a fine choice. “It is my honor to serve you, Queen Cleopatra,” the younger Mshai says, and we immediately reach an agreement.

  The race to finish the boat accelerates as Caesar’s restlessness grows. When Caesar again speaks of his duties to the Roman senate, muttering, “I have tarried here longer than perhaps I should,” I send an urgent message to the boat builders, instructing them that in ten days’ time I will come to inspect my new boat. Accomplishing it all in secret, they remind me, has greatly complicated the project.

  “There will be a large reward to each of you if the boat is completely finished by the time of my arrival.” I do not mention the consequences of not finishing in time, but these men certainly remember my father and his often c
ruel methods of inspiring his subjects to do exactly what he wanted.

  For ten days I steer my conversations with Caesar away from any mention of responsibilities, duties, home. Then I summon Charmion.

  “I know why you have sent for me, my queen,” she says, even before I say anything. “I did as you asked me and spoke to my mother about your wish for some sort of charm to keep Caesar from returning to Rome.”

  “What did Lady Amandaris say, Charmion?” I ask eagerly. “Does she have a special charm, an amulet, a spell that will help me?”

  Charmion shakes her head. “I am truly sorry to disappoint you, mistress. My mother tells me there is nothing you can do, no clever scheme you can devise, that will keep Caesar from leaving you. He will go back to Rome, if that is what he believes he must do. But his heart will remain with you. You have cast your spell on him, Cleopatra, as you will cast your spell on every man you desire! For as long as Caesar lives, he will always love you, even though he is far away.” She kneels before me, and our faces are so close together, they are almost touching. “Just as King Ptolemy loved my mother, even through the long years when he was far from her, far from Alexandria.”

  I allow myself a deep sigh. “Thank you, Charmion. This is not what I wish to hear, but please thank Lady Amandaris for her wisdom.”

  I wipe away a few tears, and then I compose myself and clap my hands, signaling to my servants for refreshments.

  On the day I have fixed for my visit to the new boat, I tell Caesar, “Dearest love, I have a surprise for you.”

  Caesar, I have learned, is not fond of surprises—he prefers to believe that he is always in control—but, nevertheless, he is curious to see what I have prepared for him. I call for our chairs and our bearers, and we are carried swiftly to Lake Mareotis. Though I have been monitoring progress carefully at each step, this will be my first visit to the finished project, with every sail, every cushion, every goblet in place. I am anxious—what if it does not live up to my expectations? What if Caesar shrugs off my greatest effort to please him?