The second such head of Cleopatra, just under life-size and again made in Rome of the same Parian marble, was found in a villa along the Appian Way south of the city. The abrasive action of a chemical cleaner applied at some stage has produced a soft-focus, vulnerable quality not shared by the more denned features of the Vatican Head, creating a ‘slightly more flattering portrayal’ about which male scholars seem particularly enthusiastic. As ‘perhaps the finest and most beautiful portrait sculpture’ of all Ptolemaic rulers, eventually bought by Berlin’s Antikensammlung, the Berlin Head ‘speaks for itself... it is infinitely more beautiful than the unflattering coin portrait, and it does convey an image of the great queen’s personality’. Two further male commentators give the same rave reviews of its ‘great physical beauty’. A less effusive female opinion claims that ‘whilst it does not flatter her, it bears a close relationship to the portraits of Alexander the Great’, and the head does indeed demonstrate a slight tilt in a mirror image of Alexander, whose well-known images tend to show his head tilted slightly to the left. The Berlin Head once again shows the hair gathered up in the melon coiffure topped by a diadem; tiny curls frame the face, while the same small tuft of hair over the brow seems to replicate Alexander’s distinctive locks.
There is even a third life-size head of Parian marble which presents a stylised image of a Ptolemaic royal female of divine status. Wearing the same vulture headdress and tripartite wig of echeloned curls portrayed in Cleopatra’s Egyptian temple reliefs and duplicated on gold signet rings perhaps worn by the pro-Caesar faction, this image, known as the Capitoline Head’, most likely reflects the period when Living Isis resided in Rome as partner to the warrior Caesar. Certainly Isis had a strong military dimension for the Romans: ‘Isis-Victoria’ was equated with both Venus Victrix and Rome’s national war goddess Bellona, partner of war god Mars. And when Rome’s main Isis temple on the Capitoline Hill was destroyed by order of the Senate in 48 BC, Caesar and Cleopatra may well have outlined plans for a new Isis temple to be rebuilt on Mars’ sacred site, the Campus Martius. The resulting ‘Iseum Campense’ completed a few years later housed all manner of Egyptian-inspired statuary and pieces imported from Egypt, some discovered as recently as 1987.
Caesar’s image too was now erected in temples as part of a policy of self-promotion backed by the Senate, which voted him ‘temples, altars and divine images and a priest of his own cult’. One particular statue of Caesar, dedicated ‘to the Unvanquished God’, lifted its title from a statue of Alexander in Athens. So Caesar’s message could really not have been clearer — he was the new Alexander, his partner Cleopatra was Alexander’s living successor and their son Caesarion, conceived in Alexander’s own city, would succeed them both in a new world order.
Nor was it a coincidence that this particular statue of Caesar as god was placed in the temple of the deified Romulus, founder of Rome, a city inaugurated back in 753 BC but which still paled against the opulent cities of the East. So Caesar took it upon himself to transform the eternal city by diverting part of the vast wealth obtained from his military successes into a grandiose programme of redevelopment.
Having learned much from his time in Egypt, a land sustained by its knowledge of hydraulics, Caesar planned to reroute the river Tiber and create an artificial harbour at its mouth to give Rome direct access to the sea. Surely inspired by the Fayum’s vast reclamation scheme, he also planned a canal to drain the Pontine marshes in order to reduce the incidence of malaria which affected the city every summer and autumn. The vast quantities of grain produced on the agricultural land gained by draining the Fayum almost certainly influenced his decision to drain the Fucine Lake, east of Rome, to increase the amount of arable land and make Rome more self-sufficient. For in such a small city with almost one million inhabitants and ‘as crowded, probably, as modern Bombay or Calcutta,’ Rome’s daily grain dole to 320,000 people was unsustainable. So as well as increasing local grain supplies, Caesar decided to send many of the unemployed claimants to other parts of Italy and some to Greece, including Corinth. That city’s fortunes as a trading centre would be revived by his ambitious scheme to cut a canal through the Isthmus of Corinth, the shortest route between the Ionian and Aegean seas and most likely influenced by Egypt’s trade-enhancing canal between the Nile and Red Sea.
As Cleopatra and her advisers assisted Caesar in developing his grand designs, the old brick-built city of Rome began to give way to a marble-clad metropolis modelled on Alexandrian lines. Caesar’s new Forum of Julius, incorporating his imposing temple of Venus and its gold statue of Cleopatra, was officially opened in 46 BC. The nearby Basilica of Julia, named after his daughter, housed Rome’s law courts within the same magnificent porticoes as Alexandria’s Gymnasion. As Cleopatra visited such sites beneath the fine linen drapes of her royal canopy, plans were drawn up for a new election building on the Campus Martius measuring an astonishing mile in circumference, together with the world’s largest theatre beside the Tarpeian Rock on the Capitoline Hill; both followed Alexander’s practice of dominating with scale and were ultimately based on the same colossal Egyptian architecture which had so impressed Caesar.
Yet the most lasting area in which Cleopatra influenced Caesar was their mutual passion for scholarship and, despite recent stock depletions during the Alexandrian War, Cleopatra still owned the world’s largest library. It was surely with her advice that Caesar envisaged similar facilities for Rome, having appointed a head librarian the year he returned from Egypt, 47 BC. The librarian was given a remit to collect copies of all the Greek and Latin works in existence, a task which required direct cooperation with Alexandria.
Having so emphatically affected Rome’s culture, religion, politics and even its landscape, Cleopatra also provided Caesar with the means to shift time. In a move which still regulates the Western world — albeit with minor modifications by the Pope in 1582 — Cleopatra’s astronomers presented Caesar with the Egyptian calendar to replace their defective Roman version. Egypt had invented the 365-day year, their ancient solar calendar of 360 days provided with an extra five days added at the end of each year to bring it into line with the movement of the sun. Each temple’s astronomer priest ensured that the rites and festivals were performed at exactly the right moment by using a combination of astronomical observation, obelisks, sundials and a sophisticated mechanical water clock invented by an Alexandrian barber-turned-engineer. The Alexandrian scholars had also refined the ancient Egyptian calendar by taking on board the calculations of Kallippus of Cyzicus, a colleague of Aristotle, who had reformed the Greek calendar in 330 BC by harmonising the solar and lunar calendars using information gleaned by Alexander’s scholars in Babylon.
By contrast, Rome’s 355-day lunar-based calendar involved the insertion of an extra month every other year to produce the annual average year of 366 days; the excess day was eliminated if the extra month was left out of the calendar every twenty years. But since the Roman priests who monitored such complexities had failed to do their job during Caesar’s long absences in Gaul during the fifties BC, Rome’s calendar had gradually drifted two months ahead of the seasons. So when it was a summery July the calendar read an autumnal September, and with festivals now falling at inappropriate times Cleopatra’s advisers were fortunately on hand to correct this serious discrepancy.
Under the guidance of her astronomer royal, Sosigenes, Rome’s unwieldy lunar calendar was discarded in favour of Egypt’s more straightforward solar version. It became known as the Julian Calendar and was made up of 365 days, with an extra day added every four years to create what is now known as a leap year. The fifth month, Quinctilis, was renamed ‘Mensis Julius’ or July in honour of Caesar’s birthday, which was publicly celebrated in the manner of Eastern rulers.
In order to introduce their new calendar on 1 January 45 BC, Caesar and Sosigenes added two extra months between November and December in 46 BC as a one-off measure. This made 46 BC the longest year on record at an astonishing 445 days, s
o Cleopatra’s stay in Rome became rather more lengthy than the simple dates ‘46-44 BC’ would suggest. The extension also had serious political ramifications, since those in annual office remained in power for longer.
But as Rome’s entire way of life was being transformed by the vision of one man under the influence of not just a foreigner, or even a woman, but a monarch too, die-hard Republicans were already discussing ways to put an end to the reforms. Rumours circulated that Rome was no longer good enough for Caesar, that he wanted to transfer the government to Alexandria and even make himself a monarch alongside his foreign partner. It must have been clear that the couple, who appeared openly together in Rome, regarded themselves as married regardless of Roman law and Caesar’s existing marriage to Calpurnia, particularly as Caesar was drawing up legislation to amend his marital status by making it legal for him to have more than one marriage.
Yet, regardless of the changes afoot in Rome, the civil war rumbled on as Pompeius’ sons hiding out in Spain continued to evade all attempts to deal with them. So once more the task fell to Caesar, and although details of Cleopatra’s whereabouts at this time were later destroyed, along with almost every other description of her time in Rome, she may well have returned briefly to attend to Egypt’s affairs when Caesar left for Spain in November 46 BC.
Pompeius’ sons and their allies managed to avoid direct conflict for several months until Caesar finally drew them out in the spring. Battle commenced on 17 March 45 BC some 40 miles east of modern Seville at Munda. The fifty-four-year-old was soon in the midst of fierce hand-to-hand combat on the front line, genuinely fighting for his life until the battle started to turn. In the rout that followed, his one thousand losses could be set against the thirty thousand enemy dead, with a further twenty to thirty thousand rebels killed following their continued resistance at Cordoba. And although Pompeius’ younger son Sextus managed to escape yet again, his wounded brother Gnaeus was caught, executed and his severed head put on public display.
Yet Caesar was far from feeling triumphant. His exertions had taken such a toll on his health that his epilepsy resurfaced with a fainting fit at Cordoba. Filled with horror at the thought that the same should ever happen in front of his enemies and shatter his omnipotent image, he was deeply unsettled by the event. After reorganising Spain, he set out for Italy in August but did not go straight to Rome. Instead he made for his estate at Lavicum (Labici), south-east of the city, where on 13 September, contemplating his own mortality, he changed his will.
This stated that he now left three gold pieces to every Roman citizen as well as bequeathing them his Janiculum villa gardens as public parkland. Money was also earmarked for Antonius, although the bulk of his immense fortune, once intended for his son-in-law Pompeius and then to any son of Calpurnia, was left to his seventeen-year-old great-nephew Octavian. As grandson of Caesar’s sister Julia and his nearest male relative as recognised in Roman law, he was to take the name Gaius ‘Julius Caesar’ Octavianus — but only after Caesar’s own death.
Since Roman law still prevented any bequests to foreigners there was no mention of Cleopatra or Caesarion, whose paternity would not be legitimised until Caesar’s new law concerning marriage came into force. Nevertheless the will contained a clause appointing guardians for ‘a son being subsequently born to himself, and since this was clearly not by the barren Calpurnia it seems highly likely that Caesar was hoping for more children with Cleopatra, who if she had left Rome in Caesar’s absence had now returned to witness his Spanish Triumph in October 45 BC.
Towards the end of the year Caesar and his staff travelled to Puteoli, and on the night of 19 December stayed with Cicero to gauge the level of Republican feeling from his host’s gossipy conversation. As Cicero described to a friend, Caesar had been ‘a formidable guest, yet no regrets! For everything went very pleasantly indeed . . . On the 19th he stayed with Philippus until one o’clock and let no one in — I believe he was doing accounts with Balbus. Then he went for a walk on the shore. After two he had a bath . . . He had an oil-massage and then sat down to dinner . . . His entourage were very lavishly provided for in three other rooms. Even the lower-ranking ex-slaves and the slaves lacked for nothing; the more important ex-slaves I entertained in style. In other words, we were human beings together. Still, he was not the sort of guest to whom you would say ‘do please come again on your way back”. Once is enough!’
Perhaps he was still contemplating his own mortality as he walked on the beach that December afternoon; thoughts of Caesarion, Cleopatra and perhaps the news that she was once again pregnant, to judge from later elusive clues, may well have been at the forefront of Caesar’s mind. For he was about to leave on yet another campaign, to take on the mighty Parthian Empire in the East. This was his greatest challenge yet: he wanted to halt Parthian raids on the Roman province of Syria, avenge the defeat and death of his former political ally Crassus back in 53 BC, but perhaps most of all emulate his hero Alexander, whose defeat of Parthia’s predecessors, the Persian Empire, had brought him his own immortal fame.
Since it was said in the oracular Sibylline Books that ‘only a king can conquer the Parthians’, Caesar may well have expected the title as a leaving present from the Senate. This had recently doubled in size when he had changed the law to allow in provincials from all over Italy and southern Gaul, to push through his reforms with the help of the consuls for the following year, one of whom was Antonius. It must have been quite clear Caesar was never going to reinstate the Republic which he considered an unworkable system of government when set against the Alexander-style monarchy exemplified by his partner Cleopatra.
Having learned from her potent blend of politics and religion, Caesar as Dictator controlled the state government and as Pontifex Maximus the state religion. He was already declared ‘Saviour God’ in the East, following in a long tradition of ruler cults. Rome’s stark divide between mortal and divine was rapidly coming to an end as the divine statuary of Caesar and Cleopatra was paralleled on their coinage. Cleopatra was the only female Ptolemy to issue coins on her own behalf, some showing her as Venus-Aphrodite. Caesar now followed her example and, taking the same bold step, became the first living Roman to appear on coins, his rather haggard profile accompanied by the title ‘Parens Patriae’, ‘Father of the Fatherland’.
The Senate then transformed the traditional, temporary title of Dictator into permanent office by declaring him ‘dictator perpetuo’, Dictator for Life; they awarded him the purple robes of the toga purpurae, the dress of Rome’s former kings, and even a throne of gold — he was king in all but name. The public took over by crowning one of his statues and shouting, ‘Long live the King!’ Encouraged by such popular support, Caesar, no doubt supported by Cleopatra and Antonius, decided to launch his bid for the throne at the annual Lupercalia Festival on 15 February.
Caesar took up his position in the Forum, dressed in his purple robes and seated on his golden throne. Then Antonius, bare-chested in the festival’s traditional goatskin loincloth, publicly offered him a garland of bay twined around a royal diadem. Since such emblems of kingship were unlikely to have been widely available in Republican Rome, the diadem may well have been supplied by Rome’s monarch-in-resi-dence, and ‘it is likely that Cleopatra made her contribution, even if she was not present’.
Yet the stage-managed event did not exactly go as planned. Cicero, blaming Antonius, described the moment when ‘your colleague sat on the rostra, wearing his purple toga, on his golden chair, his garland on his head. Up you come, approaching the chair . . . you display a diadem. Groans all over the Forum! Where did the diadem come from? You hadn’t found it in the gutter. No, you’d brought it with you, a planned, premeditated crime. You made to place the diadem on Caesar’s head amid the lamentations of the people — he kept refusing it, and the people applauded. You had been urging Caesar to make himself king, you wanted him your master rather than your colleague’.
No doubt very much in on the act, Caesar became s
o exasperated when the crowd applauded his refusal of the crown that he ‘got up, took off his mantle and shouted that he was ready to have his throat slit if someone wanted to do it’. He declared that he had lived long enough — his health was perhaps still worrying him, combined with ‘a tendency to nightmares’, but his despondency eventually began to lift as he worked on his forthcoming campaign.
After sending an advance force east to Macedonia together with his great-nephew Octavian, who was to make up for his poor grasp of Greek by enrolling at the local university, the region was placed under the control of Antonius. Lepidus was given Spain and southern Gaul and Publius Cornelius Dolabella Syria. Caesar guaranteed Jewish support by reducing their annual tribute, and as he mapped out his strategy, his ally and partner Cleopatra of Egypt was ‘no doubt’ actively involved in the consultations with Caesar and his officers.
His departure date was set for 18 March. Cleopatra would also return to Alexandria at this time, accompanied by one of Caesar’s most trusted men to command the three legions charged with protecting her and their son Caesarion. And since the campaign would be a lengthy one, Caesar fixed the appointments of Rome’s main officials for the next two years, when he would continue to rule as Dictator even in his absence.
Yet this remote control by a virtual monarch was more than a step too far, and as Caesar’s departure date drew closer so too did his enemies.
Chapter 8
Death and Resurrection: Osiris Avenged
As Caesar made his final arrangements before leaving on his Parthian campaign, the Republicans were conspiring to send him on a very different journey. The plot was ostensibly led by the son of Caesar’s old friend and former lover of Servilia, Lucius Junius Brutus, who had been a supporter of Pompeius until his defeat at Pharsalus. Then, as a favour to his mother, Caesar had employed both him and his brother Decimus. Yet the family had a long tradition of Republicanism: their ancestor Lucius Brutus had expelled Rome’s last king in the seventh century BC. And when graffiti appeared on one of Caesar’s statues claiming that ‘Brutus was elected consul when he sent the kings away, Caesar sent his consuls packing and Caesar is our king today’, the words ‘If only you were alive now!’ were soon added to the base of a statue of Lucius Brutus.
Cleopatra the Great Page 24
