Memoirs of Cleopatra (1997)

by Margaret George

  I turned on my hard, narrow bed. Why, even our beds in Upper Egypt are more comfortable than this! I thought. Yes, I must leave. I cannot fathom what plan Caesar has for us. Clearly there is no place for me in Rome, where I can never participate in the government or appear publicly by Caesar's side.

  There is nothing for us, nothing for us

  I heard Caesarion give a cry as he chased a dream, and then he turned in his bed.

  Only this child, I thought, but he can have no place in Rome.

  February fifteenth, the day of the Lupercalia, was clear and frosty. It was cold in the villa, but I knew that across the Tiber in the Roman streets the body heat of the crowds would more than offset it. People had been readying themselves for this wild festival for days, and long before dawn they lined the streets, warming their hands before smoking heaps of coals, stuffing their mouths with cheese and goat meat from the food stalls, and singing off tune with the street musicians.

  I had no intention of setting out before late morning. I knew that the ceremony of sacrificing the goat and dog, symbols of Pan and Lupercus, would not be over until then, and the priests, with their bloody strips, would not issue forth earlier. But Ptolemy and I were carried into the Forum in good time, and we took our places on the steps of the Temple of Saturn overlooking the Rostra, along with the dignitaries of Rome who were permitted into the temple's precincts--a guarded area because the state treasury was kept there. Out of the corner of my eye I saw some of the very people we had discussed earlier: returned exiled members of Pompey's party, senators that I recognized but could not name, and others I knew, like Brutus and the two Casca brothers and Trebonius and Tillius Cimber. I smiled and nodded at Decimus and his cousin Brutus, standing a little lower down.

  Below us the Forum was a knotted sea of bodies. Caesar was sitting calmly on his golden chair on the Rostra, wearing his purple Triumphator's robes, his laurel wreath curling around his head. On each end of the platform stood the two statues of Caesar, as if they were guarding and duplicating him. I thought of our Egyptian ba and ka depictions in tombs, which are supposed to incorporate the difference essences of the soul, and thought how similar it was.

  A shout arose; the luperci were on their way, running and prancing. The crowd parted, and wild, half-naked men leapt into view, cracking their bloody strips. They darted about nimbly like Pan himself, as if their feet were hooves and their thighs haunches. The women ducked and shrieked, but some bowed their bare shoulders to receive the blows.

  There was Antony among them, clad only in a goatskin loincloth, his shoulders and torso smeared with blood from the sacrifices and the flayed hides. He glistened all over with sweat, but betrayed no other evidence of exertion.

  4A Consul of Rome!" I heard the loud, whistling pronouncement of disapproval from someone below me--Decimus? Trebonius?

  "O ye gods!" muttered someone else.

  But I thought what a splendor there was about Antony that day--not only in his courage in appearing thus in public but also in his very physique itself, glowing with health and strength, unashamed, like a Greek athlete of long ago. It was something the Romans could never fully comprehend, the glory and beauty of it, and so they murmured and condemned. The world of togas could never respect the Greek exaltation of the human body.

  Now he was approaching the Rostra, now he detached himself from his fellow luperci and leapt, with one graceful bound, onto the platform. In his hand was clutched a royal white diadem. Where had he got it? Had Lepidus, stationed nearby, handed it to him?

  "Caesar!" he shouted. "I offer unto you this diadem. The people wish you to take it and be their king!"

  His perfect forearm, straight and strong, thrust the diadem toward Caesar. It trembled in the clear air, its whiteness making it shimmer a little.

  Caesar looked at it as if he were eyeing a snake, something dangerous that was about to strike.

  "Nay," he said, pushing it aside.

  A loud cheer went up, almost balanced by a loud groan of disappointment.

  Antony stepped closer to Caesar. "Once again the people offer this!" he proclaimed.

  Again Caesar put up the palm of his hand and turned it away.

  This time the cheers were louder, and the cries of disappointment softer.

  Antony held the diadem aloft and brandished it--he turned from one end of the Rostra to the other, passing it before the eyes of the crowd. "Behold!" he said loudly. "For the third time we offer this. Do not refuse the wishes of the people!" He stepped boldly up to Caesar and attempted to remove the laurel wreath and replace it with the diadem. For an instant his hand hovered over Caesar's head.

  Then Caesar stood up. "No," he said, seizing Antony's hand, making him release the diadem.

  A deafening roar of approval went up from the crowd.

  Caesar waved the diadem. "Jupiter alone is King of the Romans!" he said. "Pray, take this and crown the statue of Jupiter in his temple on the Capitoline!"

  Wild shouts of approval exploded from the crowd, roaring now with excitement. Caesar took his seat again with deliberate movements; Antony jumped off the Rostra and ran toward the steps leading to Jupiter's temple, bounding up them like a mountain cat, waving the diadem.

  Below me, I saw the heads turning among the dignitaries, as they whispered to their neighbors. They had witnessed what we had meant them to; had they believed it?

  Chapter 33.

  Alone that night, I received a message from Lepidus saying that from what he had observed, the thing (he did not identify it any further) had been well received. I hoped he was right, but only over the next few days would the truth unfold. Still later, near midnight, a message arrived from Caesar, saying simply, I can do no more. Let it be.

  I folded the letter and tried to imagine what he had meant. Perhaps it was just another way of saying, as he had said long before at the Rubicon, Let the dice fly high. Things would have to take their course now; they would be what they must be.

  Watching it all had drained me. I had not realized how every muscle had strained, how I had almost held my breath throughout, and how intensely I had focused my mind, willing every onlooker to believe what I desired them to believe. Now I was wrung out, and in solitude I poured myself a portion of sweet wine. It would dull my racing thoughts, I hoped, and soon I lay down on the straight, hard bed and closed my eyes.

  One day passed; two, three. In the villa on its hill high above Rome, I was shielded from what was being said in the streets and in the Senate. I remained where I was, waiting, but also beginning to make plans for my departure from Rome. Soon the seas would open again and we could make our way home.

  A few brave ships had been able to carry dispatches back and forth, and all was apparently quiet and in order in Egypt--one of the blessings of leaving good ministers in charge. But I was anxious to take the reins in hand myself; it is not good for a ruler to have prolonged absences, as I knew all too well from Father's experience as well as my own.

  Walking along the straight paths of the vast garden surrounding the villa, I said farewell in my mind to the statues I had come to know so well, hiding themselves among the green clipped hedges and presiding over still ponds. Here was an Aphrodite shielding herself after bathing, here an athlete, bending, straining to throw the discus, there a fleet-footed Mercury, heels aloft. At the end of one avenue of green-black cypresses, there was even a Hercules, his luxuriant curly hair making a halo around his head, the lionskin deftly knotted so that the animal's paws crossed right over Hercules' breast, the wide club resting jauntily on his shoulder. Now that I knew Antony better, I no longer thought he resembled Hercules that much. Probably that would not please Antony.

  I had grown fond of these shady walks; Caesarion had learned to run in this garden, and had a few baby scars from his falls on the rocks here. It had become part of us, and when I returned to Egypt I knew that some nights I would lie in bed and see it all in my mind. I shut my eyes now and breathed in deeply. It smelled like the change of season
s--a sharp sort of dried-mushroom smell.

  Odd how quickly the seasons could change; the Lupercalia had been frosty, and now, only a fortnight later, the locked earth seemed to be melting. Persephone had been released from the underworld earlier than usual, and warmth was flooding back into the land.

  As I opened my eyes I saw a messenger coming toward me, glistening a little from his exertion coming up the hill. He handed me a note from Caesar and then stood waiting.

  Caesar was of a mind to take a long ride about the countryside on horseback. He would be most pleased if I would join him, he said, and he would allow me to select any horse I chose from his stable, where he would await me.

  Well! So Caesar could not bear the city any longer, and must escape. It was a perfect day, with the scraps of winter being chased away by high, raking clouds. And I would never refuse an opportunity to see him apart from others; it was very rare, at least during daylight hours.

  At the stable I found Caesar already holding the bridle of his horse, an animal of extraordinary size, and smoothing his gleaming hide.

  "So this is your famous charger," I said, approaching him. As I came closer, I saw that there were white hairs mixed in with the black; the horse, though in good health, was old.

  "Yes," said Caesar. "He is the one who wanted to run today. His war days are over, but who can resist racing on a spring day?"

  "Where has he gone with you?"

  Caesar laughed. "Where has he not? He was foaled on my private estate almost twenty years ago, and has been with me in Gaul, in Africa, in Spain. There was a prophecy about me, through him--but more of that later." He handed the reins to a stableboy and steered me toward the ring. "Choose any of these," he said, pointing toward a group of alert, well-conformed horses, mainly duns and browns. "They are all fleet of foot, and my horse is not so fast anymore."

  I particularly liked a young gelding with trim, firm legs and a large chest. His golden brown hide looked like flecked amber, and his precise, high-stepping movements made me think he would be a challenge to ride. "That one," I said, pointing at him, and Caesar nodded to a stablehand to make him ready.

  "What is his name?" I asked.

  "Yours is Barricade--because he leaps over them. And mine is Odysseus, for all his battles and travels."

  "And is he now retired? Back in Ithaca to stay?"

  "As retired as a warrior can ever be," said Caesar.

  It did not take long to leave Rome behind. For all its near-million inhabitants, it does not cover a very large area; not all of the seven hills have buildings, and soon after leaving the Capena gate in the city walls, we were in the open countryside. We had left the Via Appia after a very short distance, and gone eastward across the still-sleeping fields. They wore their winter-brown coats, but already farmers were plowing the earth, leaving furrows of blackish soil upturned to the sun. Overhead hawks soared, surveying us as we galloped across the fields, our shadows running under us.

  I had heard what a superb horseman Caesar was, but I had never seen him riding fast.

  "Hands behind your back," I cried. "I don't believe you can do it." This was a feat for which he was renowned--staying on a galloping horse with no bridle to direct it, no reins to hold, and no arms to balance himself.

  With a smile, as if he hated to have to bother, he dropped the reins and folded his arms behind his back, urging Odysseus to run faster by a nudge from his knees. The horse leapt forward--who could have ever suspected he had such reserves?--but Caesar was not even slightly dislodged. He sat straight, his balance perfect, as the animal rose and fell with each long-legged stride. It was as if he were part of the beast himself.

  I kicked my own horse after his but Barricade had trouble catching up. As I held the reins and leaned forward, I made up my mind that someday I would learn Caesar's trick myself.

  "Stop!" I cried, as he seemed to disappear into a thicket of trees. Just then a hedge reared up before me, and Barricade excitedly jumped it, almost throwing me off. My face slammed into his mane, and for an instant I could see nothing; then I righted myself and saw that we were passing through a stand of hazels, and that Caesar was already out pn the other side, still galloping with his hands behind his back.

  Odysseus wanted to run, all right, and so Caesar let him have his way. The enormous spring sky made me think of the boundless ocean, urging us to gallop on and on forever. There were clouds racing in the opposite direction, their tops white and their undersides gray, and the wind blowing my hair was sharp and thin.

  I had not ridden like this in years--not since I left my army behind in Ashkelon, and not really since my days west of Alexandria in the desert, when as a desperate child I had sought escape from the palace.

  Wordlessly, soundlessly, in a silent world--silent except for the bleating of a few mischievous goats on the hills, and the cawing of crows--we rode on, far apart.

  At length I saw what looked like a river, its banks marked by stands of trees, and beyond that, a wooded area with a ruined circular temple halfway up the side of a hill. Caesar had disappeared over the rise, and I followed, emerging over the crest of the hill to find a row of stately poplars lining a brook. Their tall, straight forms were like the caryatids on Greek temples. Caesar had halted beside one and was waiting. He pointedly still had his hands clasped behind his back.

  "You can let your hands free now," I said, dismounting. "You have convinced me." There was no need to withhold the admiration he had earned. "You are the best horseman I have ever seen. And I was taught by the desert Arabs, who are practically born on horseback." *

  He seemed genuinely pleased that I was impressed. "They taught you well,"

  he said. "I would never have believed a woman could ride like a man. You are a very Athena." He patted Barricade's head. "I see you tried to throw her on that hedge," he said. "Better luck on the way home, friend."

  "Now, Odysseus, what was that prophecy?" I asked the horse, who looked at me as if he would answer.

  "See his divided hooves?" Caesar pointed to them, and indeed, they were oddly cloven. "When he was just a foal, they caught the attention of the augurs, who said that his rider would one day rule the world. Naturally, I made sure I was the first to ride him, and have been the only one so far."

  "May I ride him?"

  He hesitated a moment, then lifted me up and put me on his back. "Now this alters the prophecy a little," he said.

  I rode Odysseus only a little way up and down the riverbanks, but what mattered was that I had ridden him. After all, Persephone had eaten only six seeds.

  I dismounted and we tied the horses up. Caesar walked to the side of the little stream, flowing swiftly past. It tumbled and bubbled and laughed in a clear, childish voice. He found a boulder and sat on it, letting his legs hang down. "Come. Sit by me." He held out his hand and pulled me up.

  The rock was oddly warm; it must have absorbed the thin sunlight and stored it somehow, magnifying it. I looked up to see Caesar watching me intently.

  "I must tell you of my plans," he said. "But I am loath to ruin this clear blue day."

  I waited. I knew he would speak.

  "I am planning a military venture," he finally said, his eyes straight ahead on the stream, not on me. "I will set out for Parthia, to avenge the defeat of Crassus, to conquer it and add it to our dominions."

  I had suspected this. It was the only region yet untouched by Rome, the only area that defied it. It was also valiant and remote, probably unvanquishable. Alexander had taken it. But those were different times.

  "When?" was all I said.

  "In March. That will allow me the luxury of actually starting a campaign early in the season."

  "March!" I cried. March was upon us. "But--it is nearly March now. How can you manage that?"

  "I have been planning it for some time," he said. "I already have six legions, with their auxiliaries, ready in Macedonia."

  "Where you sent Octavian and Agrippa to wait," I said. "Yes, I was told."

&nb
sp; "I will raise another ten legions, and employ a cavalry of ten thousand. This cannot be a makeshift operation; that is what led to our previous defeats there. Crassus had only seven legions and four thousand cavalry."

  "I thought it was the Parthian arrows that led to your defeat," I said. Everyone had heard the grisly story of how the Roman legions had been wiped out almost to a man.

  "It was the Parthian supply of arrows," said Caesar grimly. "Their general, Surenas, equipped a corps of a thousand camels that carried nothing but replacement arrows for the ten thousand horsemen. Strange no one had ever thought of that before." He gave a bitter laugh. "Did you know that Cassius escaped? He saved himself by deserting and rushing back to Syria, supposedly to defend it."

  "The same Cassius who is now praetor?" The fierce Republican who glared whenever he saw us.

  "Yes. He is part of the Roman disgrace that must be avenged. The victorious Surenas even staged a hideous parody of a Roman Triumph in the desert, with a mock Crassus dressed in women's clothes. We cannot rest until those eagles from the fallen legions are returned."

  "But--now is not the time to leave Rome. There is still so much to be done. Don't leave it in the hands of your enemies!" I could not but question his thinking. "How long do you foresee being gone?"

  "I envision three years," he said.

  "No! No! I beg you, do not do this!" I gripped his upper arm. The muscles there were still hard and strong, but in three years he would be almost sixty. "It is insane!"