Memoirs of Cleopatra (1997)

by Margaret George

  He held out his hand and I took it, wordlessly. Together we walked to the large ceremonial table, made from a section of the trunk of an enormous tree from the Atlas Mountains, and balanced on elephant tusks. He did not look at me all the while, but I could feel his attention. Finally he leaned toward me and whispered, his breath moving one of my earrings, "This has been a very long day, and I feel I have met you over and over again, in guise after guise. Which is real?"

  I turned my head, not lowering it but moving it most royally. "And I have seen many Caesars," I said. "Which of those is real?"

  "After the banquet you will know," he said. "And then after that, you will know yet more." His keen, dark eyes appraised me. "Child of Venus," he said. "You are fair!"

  "Are you not also the child of Venus?" Supposedly Caesar's family was descended from Venus on his mother's side.

  "Yes. As I told you, we are alike, both having that goddess's nature." His breath was warm on my ear.

  Just then Pothinus approached, walking slowly toward his assigned place, his stiff linen robes refusing to accommodate themselves to his fat body. He looked like an exercise in papyrus folding. He had greased his ringlets and wore enormous, boxy earrings that stretched his earlobes painfully.

  Behind him came Ptolemy, dressed as an ancient Pharaoh. And behind them, making a slow and stately entrance from the far end of the hall, came Arsinoe and young Ptolemy.

  All heads turned to gaze at Arsinoe, at her graceful, almost undulating walk, and her shimmering silken gown. Her dark hair was swept up on her head, in the old Grecian style, and Helen of Troy could not have been more beautiful.

  I watched Caesar staring at her. His eyes had widened, and although he did not move at all, I sensed his alertness. They had been together in the palace, Caesar and eighteen-year-old Arsinoe, for at least two weeks before my arrival. What had happened between them? The fact that neither betrayed any recognition of the other meant nothing. Arsinoe was beautiful in a way that ate at one's insides with either desire or envy, and Caesar ... I knew his nature now.

  She was taking her place on the royal couch, smiling with her smooth, tinted lips. Her bright blue eyes were drinking in Caesar, then fluttering in a most obvious manner, almost a parody of flirting. I hated her.

  Caesar gave the welcome after the hall had filled with the hastily invited, and puzzled, guests. I also addressed them, and Ptolemy put in a few high-pitched words. Then Caesar rose again, and cried, "Let us all wear the garlands of gladness and celebration, for now we proclaim that all is peaceful once again in the land! Queen Cleopatra and King Ptolemy have consented to live in harmony and to rule as one!"

  He lifted high a garland of lotus, cornflowers, and roses, and draped it around his neck. "Rejoice with them!" I was deeply grateful that he did not proclaim the "marriage." I sensed he would do that only if absolutely pressed to make further concessions.

  Servants scurried around the hall, trays piled high with fragrant garlands, passing them to all the guests. The scent of flowers against warm skins soon rose in the room.

  Next, Caesar lifted a jeweled cup and filled it from a pitcher of Falernian wine. "Drink!" he ordered them. "Drink and rejoice!"

  He put the cup to his lips, but I did not see his throat move in drinking it. He set the cup down, then motioned for the servers to come forward with the crystal bowls and scented water to wash our hands before eating.

  Then he abruptly held up his hands. "One thing further! I wish to announce that, as a gesture of friendship, Rome restores Cyprus to the house of Ptolemy. It will be governed by Princess Arsinoe and Prince Ptolemy." He nodded to them, and they slowly rose. The people cheered, astounded, and the recipients of the honor looked just as astonished. So this was one of Caesar's surprise strikes; this was the way he operated, both on and off the battlefield.

  He looked over at me, and only in the slight change in his eyes and the lines around his mouth could I read his message: I told you you would know me better after the banquet.

  "Can Caesar give away Roman territory on his own authority?" I asked coolly.

  "Yes," he answered. "Does it please you?"

  "Should it? You did not give it to me."

  "I gave it for you, for your protection. And as a pledge from me."

  My heart was beating so fast I dared not continue speaking. It was true; Caesar had made a bold and shocking gesture, one sure to antagonize the Senate of Rome.

  The meal commenced. There was course after course, and I could not but admire the ability of our royal cooks to have produced such lavish fare on short notice. In addition to the usual roasted oxen, kid, and duck, we were offered purple shellfish, sea nettles, fish pastries, honey from Attica, and nuts from Pontus.

  But Caesar ate little, and drank nothing from his wine goblet, preferring well water flavored with rose petals instead.

  "You do not drink," I said, nodding toward his goblet.

  "In my youth I drank enough for the rest of my life," he said. "Now I find it incites dizziness and causes strange symptoms in me. So I do not court Bacchus."

  "You eat little, as well," I commented. "Does food, too, incite strange symptoms?"

  "You seem very interested in watching everything I do," he said. "Have you, perhaps, added something to this food which you are anxious to see me eat?" Only the rising inflection at the end of the sentence assured me he was not serious.

  "You are most suspicious," I said, spearing a piece of food off his plate and eating it. "Let me lay your fears to rest." Pothinus frowned at the lack of etiquette, but Caesar laughed--almost.

  When the pomegranates were passed around with platters of fruit, Caesar took a large one and slowly cut it in half, pulling it apart while its center ran with bright red, acidic juice.

  "You see how all the seeds fit," he said. "But pulling it apart causes it injury." He handed me the other half, watching my face intently.

  I took the fruit and looked at its center, at the places where it had been wrenched open. "It should never be split away from itself like this." I indicated my stained hands, and anyone listening would have assumed we spoke only of that particular pomegranate. He smiled.

  At the conclusion of the meal, when all the dishes had been removed, the acrobats tumbled into the hall, their oiled bodies flashing and their movements so swift the eye could hardly follow them.

  "I have watched snakes strike," Caesar said, "but I never knew human beings could move like that."

  Next came Nubian dancers, tall, thin, and muscular, who performed intricate dances to the high, wild beat of drums and hand-clapping.

  The sound of their frantic music drowned out all other sounds, and I did not see Caesar motion to his guards. I did see Pothinus look up and suddenly leave his couch. But the loud performance made it impossible for me to ask what had happened. By the time the music had finally ended, Caesar was looking impatient and chewing on a stick of cardamom pastry.

  "Where is Pothinus?" I asked.

  Arsinoe and Ptolemy were also stirring nervously in their places.

  "By this time, beheaded, most like."

  "What?"

  "Let us step outside!" said Caesar, grabbing my wrist in a grip as powerful as a lion's jaw. He managed to pull me to my feet in a way that made it seem I was rising of my own accord. He guided me toward the small door that opened between two pillars on the balconied side of the hall.

  The brisk air outside smacked my face after the overheated, highly scented air of the hall. The wind was rising, whipping up whitecaps in the harbor.

  "Around here," said Caesar, pulling me around the corner.

  As I rounded it, I saw Pothinus--or what was left of him--lying sprawled across three steps. His head--if he had still had a head--would have been pointing downward. As it was, all the blood from his severed neck streamed in one direction down the white marble steps. Standing over him, holding the oiled, ringletted head with its swinging earrings, was a Roman soldier. His sword, or rather the middle part of it, was
covered in globs of blood.

  "Pompey, now you are avenged," said Caesar. "Take away this carrion," he ordered the soldier.

  I was speechless. I could only stare at the corpse and then back again at Caesar, standing so calmly aside.

  "Now I have seen a snake strike," I finally whispered.

  "No, now you have seen a snake prevented from striking," said Caesar. "This afternoon my barber told me of Pothinus's plot to have me killed tonight. My trusted barber is one of those timid men with a hundred ears. And so ..." He shrugged and indicated the bloodstained steps. "The snake has been killed halfway through its coiling."

  "Halfway? He was only eating his dinner!" Somehow the thought of being butchered on a full stomach of sea pastry and roast ox was macabre.

  "No, he had already performed half of his treachery," said Caesar. "He had sent word to Achillas to bring the army and besiege us here. While he was reconciling you and Ptolemy, bowing and kissing your hand, he was sending for the troops that would put an end to us both."

  Now I felt sick. Was my only safety to lie with Caesar, who somehow-- so far--managed to think faster, strike quicker, and thrust deadlier than those around him? But even Caesar must rest sometime, must nod and relax. . . .

  I burst into tears. It was the only release besides screaming, and I did not want people to come running out from the banquet hall.

  He put his arm around me and led me away. "We cannot return to the banquet. Even I cannot pretend that nothing has happened."

  We were back in my--our--royal apartments. Caesar ordered a double guard around all entrances, using only his most trusted soldiers. Once in the innermost room, he sank down on a bench. Suddenly he looked much older, and the lines on his face were deeply etched. In the twilight, a gold signet ring on his tanned hand was the only bright thing about him.

  "Oh, Caesar," I said, standing beside him and putting my arms around him. "I thought I knew the world, and now I see it is even more merciless than I had imagined."

  "When first you realize that," he said wearily, "it changes you forever. But then, in the morning, when the sun comes up, and there is work to do . . ." He sighed. "You surprise yourself by enjoying it."

  But he slumped against the wall, worn out by that day's work. I stood behind him, and kissed the top of his balding head. I rubbed his temples and pulled his head back, so the master of the world rested his head against me. He closed his eyes and sat motionless.

  I watched as the light outside changed, faded, and finally disappeared. Darkness stole into the room and veiled everything. Still Caesar rested against me, my arms around his neck, rising and falling with each breath he took.

  What made him trust me? I wondered. Why me, and not Arsinoe or Pothinus? It would have been so much easier for him to ally himself with them. Now he had enveloped himself in a mantle of troubles by supporting me.

  He could have come here, accepted Pompey's head, confirmed Ptolemy on the throne, and gone his way back to Rome. So much simpler for a weary general. But he trusted me, for the same inexplicable reason that I trusted him. We had known each other instantly, recognized ourselves in each other.

  He stirred. He had actually slept in my arms. I was deeply touched; no words could have given higher proof of his trust.

  "My dear," I said, "let us rest properly. I think we will not be disturbed in our bed tonight. Your guards are strong."

  He allowed me to pull him up and lead him to the bed, to unwind his toga and put it with his belongings on a trunk, to untie his sandals and rub his feet.

  He watched me with drowsy eyes. "How well you perform all these things," he murmured. "You can be queen or servant, as it pleases you."

  I lifted his legs gently onto the mattress, and spread the shining silken coverlet over him. "Rest," I said. "Even Hercules rested after his twelve labors."

  He closed his eyes and turned his head to one side, giving a deep sigh-- of contentment? exhaustion? relief?

  I lay down beside him in the darkness, pulling up the coverlet. Silence pervaded the room, but I knew elsewhere in the palace, in the streets of Alexandria, there was no silence, but tumult. Our silence was the artificial child of the Roman guards outside the doors.

  Sometime in the darkest part of night, when the heavens stand suspended, Caesar reached out for me. He was wide awake, and so was I.

  "I told you you would know me better after the banquet," he said quietly. Somehow he must have sensed I was awake.

  "You knew about Pothinus then? You had already given your soldiers their orders?" I spoke equally quietly, as I turned to him.

  "Yes," he said. "Can you love the person you now know me to be?"

  "More than ever before," I said. "You did what had to be done, and did not flinch." I admired him, was now in awe of him.

  He pressed me to him, to his lean soldier's body, already rested after only this little sleep. He kissed me and it seemed all the hungers he did not allow himself to feel--for food, for sleep, for wine--came together in his desire now, melted together and multiplied.

  How intrusive it may seem for me to recount here that Caesar was noted for his thoroughness in war; it was said that any battle he fought was decided so completely that there was never any need to refight it. So he was with me that night; as he possessed me and made love to me, many times through that long night, in many different ways, he captured me forever, body, heart, and strength.

  Chapter 13.

  The Alexandrian War now commenced--for so Caesar called it when he began writing his commentaries on it. I was scarcely mentioned in the commentaries, but then that was Caesar's way. It was a tricky war, not least because Caesar had not expected a war when he landed, but also because it was the first time he had ever fought with a city as the battleground, which required different tactics and strategy from those used in the open field.

  The army of Achillas, which was already on its way during the reconciliation banquet, reached Alexandria in only a few days, twenty thousand strong. Caesar sent out envoys to Achillas, who were killed rather than being answered.

  "So," said Caesar in that quiet voice, "he not only kills when it seems a matter of political advantage, as with Pompey, but does not recognize time-honored diplomatic rules. I need have no mercy on him, then."

  I marveled at how he seemed to contain his anger, if indeed he felt anger. Perhaps he was past the stage where vile behavior was anything other than expected; perhaps to him it was loyalty and honor that were the rare finds. I also marveled at how he assumed he would beat Achillas and his large army of old Roman legionaries, runaway slaves, pirates, outlaws, and exiles--a motley, desperate bunch.

  My own army, abandoned in Gaza, had dissolved for want of action and pay, and could not help. Earlier, Caesar had sent for reinforcements from Syria and Cilicia, but for now he would have to fortify the eastern section of Alexandria and try to make it secure, particularly the part where the palace was located on its peninsula. Safe inside the eastern harbor were his ten Rhodian warships among his others. I could see them from my windows, as they anchored inside the breakwaters. In the western harbor was the Egyptian fleet, which Ptolemy and I commanded: seventy-two warships.

  Achillas and his forces, with the help of the excitable citizens, built gigantic triple barricades of stone blocks forty feet high across the streets, so that the magnificent Canopic Way was no longer passable, nor the wide north-south Street of the Soma. They hastily constructed mobile towers ten feet high, which could be pulled by ropes to any location they wished. Arms factories were established in the middle of the city, and the adult slaves were armed, while their veteran cohorts were centrally located, to be rushed to whatever site needed them. They were able to reproduce any arms they captured from our side, so cleverly that it seemed ours were the copies instead.

  In the meantime, Caesar turned the banqueting room into his military headquarters, where he spread out his maps and reports on the long marble table and held conferences with his centurions and commanders. I
insisted on attending the meetings, as I found myself fascinated to learn how the most disciplined and advanced army in the world operated.

  "We must take the offensive," said Caesar, after the first week of fighting.

  He tapped the diagram of the city tied up between two of the pillars in the hall.

  One of his officers gave a snort. Caesar shot him a look.

  "Not the entire city," he said. "But we must capture the island and the Lighthouse so that our reinforcements can reach us from the sea. We are pinned in here, and must keep this sea side open."

  Was this the sort of daring for which he was renowned?

  "How do we attack?" one of the centurions asked.

  "There is only a little stretch of the waterfront between our barricades and theirs that controls the causeway. At the signal, we will rush from our section and storm the waterfront. We will fight our way there and then onto the causeway, then all the way to the Lighthouse."

  At midday after this conference, Caesar held his customary meal with me, my siblings, and his officers. The table was set with wooden platters, moldy bread, and cheap, yellowish Taeniotic wine--standing orders from Pothinus.

  "See how the King and Queen of Egypt, and the rulers of Cyprus, dine," said Caesar, gesturing to the table. "Soldiers' fare after a long campaign?"

  "Pothinus said there was nothing left for us to eat because of the Romans," complained "big" Ptolemy in his whiny voice. "He said it was all devoured by your soldiers! And they melted down all our gold plate!"