Memoirs of Cleopatra (1997)

by Margaret George

  A new begetting now descends from heaven's height.

  O chaste Lucina, look with blessing on the boy

  Whose birth will end the iron race at last and raise

  A golden through the world: now your Apolb rules.

  .

  I felt strong, refreshing anger start to pour through me. A stupid prophesy!

  .

  But first, as little gifts for you, child, Earth untilled Will pour the straying ivy rife, and baccaris, And colocasia mixing with acanthus' smile. She-goats unshepherded will bring home udders plumped--

  .

  What an insipid bunch of tripe! What about the real prophesy, the one about the Widow and Rome? That one had some bite in it! What was this imitation thing that Vergil had made up?

  .

  Begin, small boy, to know your mother with a smile (Ten lunar months have brought your mother long discomfort) Begin, small boy: he who for parent has not smiled No god invites to table nor goddess to bed.

  .

  Well, I knew all about ten lunar months of discomfort! To hell with Vergil and his prophesy! I cursed it. It would never come true, never! Let her be barren, or bring forth only girls! Isis was stronger than Vergil.

  But that night, as I slept, the most horrible image came to me, so real that I felt I had flown to Rome and beheld it myself.

  There was a cavernous room--no, it was a temple of some sort, all the walls and floors of black polished marble. Two bronze lamp stands flanked an altar that was elevated on a podium of some five or six steps. The altar was black marble, too, and on it lay--Octavia.

  Now I could see her clearly, all the features that had eluded me earlier coming into sharp focus. She had rich brown hair, luminous dark eyes, a pleasing but bland face. The flickering of the two tall lamps lit her nose, her cheeks, the long hair, the white gown, and reflected off all the polished stone.

  She was waiting there, still, barely breathing, her bare feet exposed, her ankles tied.

  Then I saw Antony, but only from the back. He was ascending the steps of the altar, slowly and ritualistically, like a priest, wearing some sort of religious tunic, carrying a knife.

  He reached down and cut the bindings of her ankles, freeing her legs, and then I saw that her wrists had been bound also, and he cut those ties as well.

  Then he was standing over the altar, bending over it, then--again in a slow, ritualistic way--he climbed on it, climbed on top of her. I could see her pale limbs raised on each side of him, see his shoulders straining. . . .

  And thus they became man and wife.

  A new begetting now descends from heaven s height.

  I woke up drenched in sweat, my heart pounding. I felt sick at my stomach. It was only a dream, only a dream. . . . Over and over I repeated that, until the ghastly details began to fade a little. It wasn't like that at all. It couldn't have been.

  Well, what do you think it was like, then? I couldn't keep the thought away. I remembered so well what he was like. Now she would have all those things--his kisses, his hands on her face, even the heavy weight of him upon her.

  Oh, let me forget! Why did I have to picture things so vividly? It was a curse, to have such an imagination. Let it die, along with my love for him.

  My worse-than-sleepless night left me shaken and exhausted, the worst possible combination with which to face what now rushed upon me. Without the restoration of a normal night's rest, by late the next night I was in full, hard labor.

  It had no gentle onset, but hit me as unexpectedly as the sailor's news. The servants rushed about to prepare the birth room and fetch the midwives, but everyone was darting about in confusion.

  The pain was crippling. I could barely stand up to be guided into the room where the birth was to take place. I remember leaning on two midwives and almost dragging them down. My legs would not obey, and each movement of them sent spirals of pain shooting down to my feet. They put me on the special stool that was used only for this purpose, with a sturdy back and very low legs; the entire thing was draped in sheets. I reclined on it, gripping the sides, almost blinded by the pains that kept coming at such a fast rate they were all blurring into one.

  In times like that, each instant seems like forever, and hours can be condensed into minutes. I have no idea how long I remained like that, but I heard one of the midwives saying, "Her color is bad, and besides--"

  Someone else said something I could not hear, and then, "Send for Olympos! Now!"

  The room seemed to grow dark, and I heard Olympos's voice saying, "Has she taken anything?" and then, "If not--"

  I was being lifted, transferred to someplace hard where I lay flat on my back. They brought my arms out to my sides and held them firmly. I felt hands pressing on my abdomen, pushing down on it, and heard someone cry, "Blood! Blood!" with panic in her voice.

  "Pull!" someone said.

  "I can't." Another voice. "It is turned the wrong way."

  "Then twist it around!" That was Olympos. "Twist it!"

  Now I could feel something warm and sticky spreading out underneath me, under my back. Blood. I turned my head to see it dripping off the table and forming a pool underneath. It looked very thick and very red. It smelled metallic and ugly.

  The room was turning very slowly, revolving around some axis. I could feel the black edges of unconsciousness lapping around me.

  "O ye gods!" There was a horrifying wrench, and I felt as if my insides were being dragged out. "There it is!"

  There was a thin, coughing cry, and I heard someone say, "A girl."

  The pain did not cease then, but intensified. More gushes of the hot, sticky blood, soaking even the back of my head now. And shrieks from the attendants, wails.

  "It's stuck. The second one, it's stuck."

  "In the name of the gods, do something!"

  "I can't--"

  There was a flutter of voices, faces hovering over me. But I could hardly see. The blackness was growing.

  Yanks and pulls, and frantic beating on my belly, which shook my grip on consciousness still further.

  "We're losing her!" I heard the words, faintly, and looked up to see Olympos watching me, his face twisted, openly weeping.

  "Stop the bleeding! Stop it, in the name of all the gods!" someone cried.

  "I can't!" Another voice, a woman's.

  "Then pull it hard, now!" Olympos shouted. "Or, here--"

  "But how--" a faint voice at my feet asked.

  I pulled in one ragged breath after another, gasping.

  "Grab it! Turn it!" Olympos said savagely. "Like this!" There was a ripping, and torrents of blood gushed out, surging like a sea wave, engulfing me, even wetting my ears where I lay on my back.

  "Got him." Those were the last words I heard.

  When I awoke, I was so bandaged and aching I could not move. Every muscle, every sliver of me, was bruised and torn--or so it felt.

  The sunlight was pouring in. Obviously it was the next day. Or the next. Or maybe even the next. I felt the throbbing in my breasts; they were all swollen with milk. It must have been two or three days, then.

  For a few moments I kept my eyes half shut, watching to see who was there. Two midwives were sitting by a table, and one of them was holding a baby. I felt a cold jolt of fear. Where was the other one?

  "She's awake!" One of the women noticed me and was instantly at my side.

  I attempted to smile. "And alive, too," I said. My voice sounded very weak and small.

  "Here's your daughter." The other attendant brought the baby over to me, placed her in my arms. It hurt to hold her.

  Her little face slept serenely. Clearly the experience had not disturbed her much.

  "And the other?" I asked.

  "We'll bring him," she said. "Tell them the Queen is awake."

  In only a moment someone appeared, bearing a second bundle, and placed him in my other arm. That hurt, too.

  He was awake, and staring at me with bright blue eyes. Miracle of miracles, he was unhar
med, too.

  "Thanks be to Isis," I murmured, touching his mouth.

  Olympos came hurrying in on the heels of the attendant. I was touched; he had obviously been waiting in the next room for however long it had been. He looked dreadful, as if he had been through the ordeal too. "Thanks to all the gods!" he murmured, taking my hand. "I will never ask them for anything again."

  "Now don't be too hasty," I said, but it took all my strength to do so. "You are too young yet never to need the help of the gods again."

  "I thought you were going to die," he said simply.

  "I know," I said. "I heard you." And saw you cry, too, I remembered.

  "If you had, I would have gone personally to Marc Antony and killed him," he said, and I knew he meant it. Then, embarrassed, he hurried on, "The babies were born a little early; they were small. And a good thing, too, for had they been any bigger, none of you would be here."

  I winced. "Bigger I don't want to think about," I said, attempting to laugh. That hurt, too. "Will I ever recover?" I asked. I felt I never would be free of pain again.

  "Oh, in a year or two," he said, lightly, the old Olympus trying to cover up the one that had revealed himself briefly just now, and in the birth room.

  In addition to the battering I had taken, I was weak from the loss of blood. When I first saw myself in a mirror, I was astonished at how white I looked. Olympos plied me with red wine, which he swore built up the blood again, along with an infusion of steeped chervil. He also said I should nurse the babies myself instead of employing a wet nurse, as it helped in recovery, and since there were two of them, I would recover twice as fast. And the babies would grow faster, making up for their small size at birth.

  I did not need any urging, for I loved holding the babies, and this meant hours when I could do only that. I was still too debilitated to take on arduous public appearances, and I was not anxious to conduct outside business, so it did not interfere with my duties.

  They were both, of course, beautiful babies--as any mother always feels. Both of them had light hair, and the boy kept his blue eyes, whereas the girl's turned a greenish brown. Day after day I watched their faces, their delicate puckered mouths and uncurling fingers, watched them fall asleep in contentment as I held them. Day after day I felt them grow heavier.

  What was I to name them? This time there would be no Roman heritage in their names; I refused to include Antony in them--Antony, who had rejected marriage with me as a non-Roman, while rushing into one he considered appropriate as soon as his feet touched Roman soil! Well, now he could do without his children, at least legally. I was eastern, too eastern for him? Then so would my children be. I named the boy Alexander Helios. Alexander after the obvious patron, and Helios after the sun god. First, because Alexander had been associated with the sun god, and his statues often depicted him as resembling Helios; second, because he was born in the year of the solar eclipse; and last, because he was a twin, like Apollo the sun god, and also to remind Vergil and his like that they did not own Apollo, however much Octavian liked to claim him as his patron deity. Perhaps my son would be the Apollo they predicted for their golden age.

  And my daughter? Cleopatra Selene. Cleopatra after not only me but the many other Cleopatras in my lineage, going all the way back to the great Alexander, whose sister had been named Cleopatra. And further back even than that, there was a Cleopatra in the Iliad. Greek connotations--Greek, not Roman! And Selene, meaning "moon." Again, for the eclipse, and also for the twin Artemis.

  And so I watched my baby Sun and Moon and asked Isis to make them the bringers of the golden age, or the children of destiny we had in our own, older, genuine prophecies, as opposed to that trumped-up mockery of Vergil's!

  I was still holding them after a feeding, when a messenger was announced. I thought it of little account, and did not even hand the babies to their nurses, but just gave orders that he should be admitted right away.

  I was taken aback when an official Roman courier stepped into the chamber, in full regalia, his breastplate gleaming, the brush on his helmet stiff and thick.

  "I bring greetings from Rome, most imperial Majesty," he said in a booming voice. Or maybe it wasn't really booming, but only sounded that way after the cloistered life I had been leading in the nursery.

  I just stared at him and nodded. "Welcome," I finally said.

  "I bring a letter from Marcus Antonius, Triumvir," he said, thrusting it out. It was encased in a metal and leather cylinder. Very fine; oh, very fine indeed.

  I took it, opened it, and read.

  .

  To Queen Cleopatra, Thea Philopator--Goddess Who Loves Her Father:

  Greetings and wishes for good health and fortune.

  It is my fortune to announce to Egypt, the Friend and Ally of the Roman People, that a Treaty of Brundisium has been sealed by agreement between Imperator Caesar Divi Filius, and Imperator Marcus Antonius, both tresviri reipublicae constituendae, Triumvirs of the Roman Republic. To ensure peace among all parties, and to pursue our allotted tasks throughout the world, in conjunction with our faithful allies, the following conditions are to be honored: First, that Imperator Caesar will command the legions in Gaul, Imperator Antonius relinquishing them, commanding the legions eastward from Macedonia. Imperator Lepidus will command Africa. We have appointed consuls for the next eight years. Imperator Caesar will undertake the war against Sextus Pompey, and Imperator Antonius that against the Parthians. He has appointed the following governors for the eastern provinces: Domitius Ahenobarbus, Bithynia; Munatius Plancus, Asia; Asinius Pollio, Macedonia. General Ventidius Bassus will command the initial campaigns to clear the Parthians from Syria.

  In celebration of the pact, and to show mutual trust, Imperator Marcus Antonius has taken to wife the sister of Imperator Caesar Divi Filius.

  As loyal Friend and Ally of the Roman People, we wish you to be apprised of these agreements.

  Imperator Marcus Antonius, Triumvir

  .

  So. I held it in my hand, Antony's account of Brundisium, his proud recounting of the agreements--agreements, I could see instantly, that increased Octavian's power at the expense of Antony's. So he had handed over the Gallic legions! Lost the west entirely, without even a fight! And the offhanded announcement of the wedding, couched in official language, referring to himself almost as if he were another person! And calling Octavian "Caesar"--to me! I was trembling with rage.

  The Roman was standing, smiling, waiting for me to utter some bland inanity. One of the babies squirmed in the crook of my elbow.

  "I thank you for your speedy voyage to bring me these tidings," I said. Undoubtedly Antony had ordered the swiftest ship to announce his doings. But he had reckoned without the chance arrival of another messenger first. So it often happens.

  "You may tell the Triumvir Marcus Antonius that I have received his news, and that I congratulate him on his marriage. You may also tell him that I have just borne him two children--a son and a daughter." I spread my arms and held them out for him to see.

  The man simply blinked in shock. There was no official protocol for responding to such an announcement. Finally he said, "Have you no--no letter you wish to send? I can wait, as long as you would wish."

  I drew myself up. "No. No letter. Merely the two sentences, which surely you can remember. They are not too taxing."

  * * *

  The seas would soon be closing for winter; already the waves were rising and storms had started. But just before they did, another ship arrived from Rome, having set sail at the last safe moment. It brought a letter from Antony, and this time I read it in private. It was wild and all but tear-stained. I could picture him sitting up late at night, indulging in wine and memories while he wrote it, then sending it off without rereading it.

  .

  My dearest, my love, how can you have done this to me? The messenger told me--he saw you--that we have children. How could you have kept it from me, let me go without knowing? If only I had known-- then
I could never have made this marriage I was forced into, I would have had an excuse to refuse--you have undone me! Why have you betrayed me? If you loved me at all, it would not have been possible-- I have been in hell ever since I left--I can trust no one, now, not even you. They say peace has come because of the pact. Achieved at such a cost--so high.

  I spend the winter here in Rome. There have been food riots here, and Octavian has been attacked and would have been killed by a mob at the races, had I not intervened. Much remains to be done. What have you named them? Teach them about me, their father. Do not forget me--pray for me, hold me in your heart, as I hold you.

  --I send this posthaste.

  .

  It almost made me feel sorry for him--as he meant it to. But what kind of a man was he, that he needed an "excuse" to refuse Octavia, and marry me! He shouldn't need an excuse, and if he did, a pregnancy was not a proper one for the Triumvir--perhaps for some shepherd or schoolmaster, but not for the lord of half the world! And what did he mean, I had betrayed him? He was the one who had chosen Octavian, and Octavia, over me. What a pity he couldn't trust anyone! How sad! Well, I had told him that, and told him to beware of Octavian! And yet he continued to rescue him. Why didn't he let the mob put an end to him once and for all?

  And as for the children--I didn't know what I would teach them about Antony. It was much easier for Caesarion, his father being dead, and declared a god. The living Antony was a delicate matter. And anyway, the children were a long way away from being taught anything. First they would have to learn to talk.