by LYDIA STORM
“It’s not my wish to destroy the Republic,” growled Antony.
“No, but it is Cleopatra’s,” shot back Germanicus. “Stay away from her, Antony, or she’ll destroy you too.”
Antony stopped pacing and spoke very slowly, as if to a small child. “Perhaps you have not understood me. We need her gold and I must find a way to get it, whether you approve or not.”
The two men glared at each other head-on, then Germanicus’s eyes narrowed and he looked away. “I never thought to see you gelded by a woman.”
For a tense moment Antony’s hand went to his sword as the blood pumped hot through his flushed face, then pushing past his friend, he grabbed another jug of wine and marched from the room.
***
The narrow back streets were poorly lit by stars cloaked in heavy clouds as Antony pounded blindly through the maze of broken-down houses in the older district of Rome. Feral cats and vermin scurried out of his way as the angry general marched past, kicking up dirt with his leather sandals, his red cloak flaring out behind him as he went.
Gelded was he? He sucked down a mouthful of wine. Bewitched was a better word. Trapped in some web of beguiling Egyptian magic. From the very first moment he set eyes on Cleopatra he had burned for her, had hungered for the feel of her perfumed skin against his own, to see desire flame up in those feline green eyes at the touch of his hand.
He had envied Caesar each time he saw them together, Cleopatra standing proudly at his side as they discussed politics, Greek drama, or their son. Infuriatingly, she seemed to barely notice Antony, rarely acknowledging him with more than a simple inclination of her head, or if he were lucky, perhaps a word in passing as she turned her adoring eyes back on Caesar.
His resentment grew daily until he could hardly stand to be in his friend's presence, and when Caesar died, a tiny part of him had given thanks to the Gods.
It filled his loyal heart with shame. Yet still he longed for the Egyptian Queen.
Antony stumbled on a pile of masonry and caught hold of a gnarled cypress limb to gain his bearings. Everywhere construction was underway. It had been Caesar’s dream to turn the dirty little village of Rome into a city of breathtaking grandeur, a city fit for the capital of an empire, but he had died before his plans were realized. Still, the seeds had been planted and the city was an obstacle course of construction zones, even in this forgotten back corridor.
Antony lifted the wine jug to his lips but discovered it was empty. No matter, the mellow aged grapes had begun to do their work and his mind was buzzing with a comforting fuzzy numbness. He started walking again, his feet following the familiar path they took on all the sleepless nights he prowled the unpaved streets, walking, roaming until his restlessness was taken over by exhaustion and he could return home for a few fitful hours of sleep before it all began again.
***
Cleopatra shifted slightly in a vain attempt to find a more comfortable position on the throne where she had sat with apparent serenity for too many hours. She was magnificently attired in a saffron robe, gold and amber links draped across her full breasts and hung heavily around her wrists. Her jade eyes, lined in smoky kohl, were startling against her dusky complexion, and as she was presiding over the sacred court of Ma’at, she wore the two crowns of Upper and Lower Egypt. They weighed heavily and her head throbbed with a low, dull pain.
Antony's ambassador had been the last petitioner of the day. Apollodorus, who as always stood to the right of Cleopatra, shook his head in disapproval as he watched the frustrated diplomat stalk across the golden hall. “Is it wise to keep refusing Antony in this way?”
Cleopatra sat in meditation. She certainly had no love for Antony. The memory of his eyes burning with such intense fury into hers on the night before Caesar’s death still lingered. But in recent years she had studied his movements and she had been impressed. That he was as grieved by Caesar's loss as herself warmed her to him, but it was the bold manner with which he won the loyalty of his troops, and many great victories as well, in much the same way Caesar had before him, that arrested her attention.
Cleopatra turned her gaze on her disapproving priest. “They call Antony, I have been told, Young Dionysus.”
Apollodorus shrugged. “Simply another name for our own Osiris.”
“And now I understand he is to go to the sacred island of Tarsus, where he will be consecrated as the vessel of Dionysus for the length of his rule over the Eastern Republic?”
“That is correct, Queen of Heaven.”
“The rites will come easily to him,” she said amused. “But does he know what it means to serve the Gods?”
“I doubt it,” scoffed the High Priest. “These Romans are hardly pious. They barely pay lip service to their divinities, except when they come with their demands and briberies to the temples. Apparently they believe the Gods exist to serve them.”
“You’re right, of course, but….” Cleopatra fingered the crook and flail in her hands, thinking. “If Antony is to become a God, perhaps he should have his Goddess, or his initiation will remain incomplete?”
Apollodorus's face grew serious. “Surely, you’re not speaking of the Sacred Marriage?”
“Egypt and Rome would be cemented in a holy bond, as it was when Caesar lived. Antony rules the East and it will be for him to decide the fate of Egypt.”
“Surely, it is the Gods who will decide Egypt’s destiny?”
“At the rites of Tarsus Antony will become a God,” she reminded her grandfather.
Apollodorus sniffed with disdain. “It is hardly the same thing.”
Cleopatra’s eyes grew cloudy as overcast ocean waves. “We shall see.”
Apollodorus could barely suppress his alarm. “You’re not seriously considering it?”
A prickle ran down Cleopatra’s spine. She turned and saw Charmion standing off to the side, her dark eyes full of communication. She had the news Cleopatra was waiting for.
The Alexandrian courtiers swept gracefully to their knees as Cleopatra rose from her throne. Apollodorus gave a curt nod as she swept past and struck his staff on the ground, signaling the close of Pharaoh’s audience with her people.
Cleopatra slipped behind what appeared to be a solid wall of painted lotus flowers cleverly designed to hide the entrance of a private antechamber. It was one of many hidden rooms and secret passages within the gilded maze of Lochias Palace: The Palace Of A Thousand Doors.
Cleopatra greeted her attendant and pulled the two heavy crowns from her head shaking out her unbound hair. “What news do you have?”
Charmion spoke in a low voice. “Your spies in Rome send word that Octavian has set his sights on Egypt for his next conquest.”
Octavian.
Cleopatra pressed a hand to her throbbing temples. It was difficult to think of Octavian without a cold fury overtaking her. Shock waves went through Rome when it was disclosed that Caesar had named Octavian, a twenty-two year old boy, as his sole heir. It was almost beyond comprehension that a sickly youth from a common family should be allowed to assume the leadership of Rome along with Antony.
At least Antony had fought for his share.
“It’s not enough that he has half of what rightfully belongs to my son,” said Cleopatra. “Now he would have the rest.”
“He has no military ability and has never led an army to victory,” reassured Charmion.
“Not yet.” Cleopatra took a breath to quell her anger. “What of Antony?”
“Octavian doesn’t dare strike against Antony, but there is speculation that in time he will try to push him from power too.”
“Does Antony know?”
Charmion placed her practiced hands on Cleopatra’s scalp and began to gently massage. “Queen of Heaven, Lord Antony is a brave general, and not unintelligent, but his is not a subtle nature.”
“He’s as gullible as a newborn babe,” observed Cleopatra as she allowed herself to succumb for a moment to Charmion’s healing touch, but though her head
began to tingle pleasantly, her thoughts would not be stilled. She was a capable and popular queen, but good rulership was not enough in this time of change. A power had burst forth upon the world the likes of which had never been seen before. Rome. Her generals, who had developed such efficient organized legions of war, had become virtually unbeatable––and they were greedy. Greedy for land and wealth that were not their own.
As a child Cleopatra had carefully observed as her father was forced to play a dangerous game of politics and diplomacy with the Roman leaders. It was he who taught her that Egypt's power lay in its fabulous wealth. The Romans could seize these riches away, or if she was clever enough, Egypt's treasure could buy her an ally.
She straightened the amber links of her necklace as Charmion smoothed out her hair and replaced Cleopatra’s crowns.
She met Charmion’s somber dark eyes. “I can’t avoid some sort of arrangement with Rome any longer.”
“Yes, Queen of Heaven, I fear the time has come.”
Cleopatra paused before heading back into the Hall of Ma’at. “I will make my decision…soon.”
***
Long after the sun god, Ra, descended to his fiery death in the waves beyond Lochias Palace, Cleopatra went to her son. Her heart filled with tenderness as she watched his peaceful face, his finger twirled around a downy lock of hair, while he drifted in the Land of Dreams. She shook her head. It was hard to believe he had grown into a small boy with the sturdy body of the father he would never know. She ached still with the loss.
Careful not to wake him, she tucked in one little foot which hung over the side of his bed and smoothed the covers over him. It was painful to love Caesarion so much. Always she was haunted with the fear of what would happen if Octavian ever got his hands on him.
She turned to her trusted guards, who kept vigil at her son’s door. They bowed silently under her gaze and she felt a bit reassured. For tonight, at least, he was safe.
She kissed Caesarion’s velvet cheek and whispered a blessing of protection over him before returning to her chambers.
Charmion and Iris, looking cool in pure white sheaths, arranged Cleopatra’s apartment for the night and silently withdrew. The room was luxurious, yet cleanly elegant in the style the Egyptians had cultivated for millennia.
Fatigued from her long day, Cleopatra reclined on a low couch and tried to enjoy the soft strum of her harp player and the gentle whisper of the ocean just outside the palace walls. She closed her eyes.
What to do about Rome?
She tried to still her mind but the call of the restless sea lured her onto the balcony.
In the starlight, she watched as little fishing boats bobbed in the water, the yellow glow of their lanterns shining on the surf. The warm Mediterranean night was so beautiful she longed to share it with someone, longed still for Caesar.
Where was he now?
She gazed at the star-filled sky. The constellation of Osiris, which the Greeks called Orion, winked down at her. Was it there in the great vault of the heavens Caesar rested?
Cleopatra closed her eyes for a moment and imagined him with her in the darkness. She could see his eyes filled with wisdom and tenderness, felt his warm comforting touch...
But this was torture to imagine a phantom love.
“Isis,” she prayed, in a whisper, to the Lady of the Sea and Stars, “send me another love. Another such as Caesar. Send me a great man to rule at my side. I have been alone too long.”
The night tingled with promise and a soft breeze caressed her cheek. She stood soaking up the fresh sea air for a moment longer before leaving the terrace to return to her chamber where Charmion and Iris waited to prepare her for bed.
***
The warm hand that ran stroking fingers down her sensitive naked thigh made Cleopatra’s eyes flutter open in confused pleasure. She rolled over to find the Roman general reclining next to her, his form outlined in the flicker of dim torchlight.
Cleopatra opened her mouth to cry out––to order him from the room. But as her lips parted, he pulled her into his arms, his leather breastplate solid against her soft flesh, which was only thinly veiled by the finest linen. For a moment she met those blazing dark blue eyes, now drunk with desire instead of wine, before his lips claimed hers, thoroughly––ruthlessly.
The passion in his kiss sent flames licking through her, heat rising from her core up through her flushed breasts, making her nipples rise to his touch as he tore the sheer fabric of her robe and cupped her full honey-colored breasts in his impatient grasp, his thumbs rubbing in firm, burning circles around her flesh.
She let out a moan of pleasure, even as she somehow forced her drugged mind to form words. “This is not the way….”
But his kisses were scorching down her neck, sharp as scorpion stings, and her body arched, aching for this divine fire he was sparking in her. As his lips reached the swell of her breast she let her mind go, pushing her body against him, shameless, melting, surrendering utterly to the inflamed Roman general.
He tore fiercely at the remaining fabric of her robe, pulling the wisps of shredded linen from her ripe flesh. She lay back, completely exposed, her almond skin glowing with sweat, her lips parted, her thighs opening under his firm hands to reveal the deep pink flesh of her sex.
She wanted him, this hard Roman soldier to fill her up, flood her with his brutal, urgent need, ached for his thrusts.
“Please…” she whispered, “don’t wait!”
His eyes glowed as he wrapped one arm firmly around her waist and pulled her up against him. The tip of his shaft touched her delicate nerve endings and a lightening storm of sensation flooded her body as he began to enter her.
She sucked in her breath. “Antony!”
***
Cleopatra’s eyes popped open. The room was dark and silent. She was alone in bed, but her body still pulsed and throbbed with a warm glow. Turning onto her back, she tried to shake off the unfulfilled longing that left her irritable and confused.
Why was she dreaming of Antony?
She frowned into the dark room. She had simply been without a man for too long. After all, it might be politically advantageous to forge an alliance with Antony, but she was not some naive maiden to wantonly fall prey to his very common form of, what some would call, charm. He was simply on her mind because they had discussed him earlier. Her dream meant nothing.
And yet, didn’t the women of Egypt enter the temple of Isis to sleep away the night in the hopes the Goddess would send visions to reveal an image of the lover who would soon overtake them?
Cleopatra turned over again, this time onto her belly and closed her eyes. She would think of this no more. She lay still as a rock with her eyes pressed shut, willing herself to sleep. If only the subtle pulse between her legs would quiet, she would be asleep already….
***
Cleopatra was awake when Iris and Charmion arrived to prepare her for morning rituals at the temple.
She handed Charmion a scroll of tightly bound papyrus. “See that this reaches Mark Antony.”
Meeting Charmion’s dark knowing eyes for a moment, she thought she detected a flicker of worry, but Charmion only nodded, and taking the scroll, went to fulfill her task.
With a tired smile, Cleopatra turned her eyes on her young attendant. “Do you disapprove too, Iris?”
Iris brought forward a pair of sandals delicately tooled with emeralds and glinting diamonds and laid them at Cleopatra’s feet. “Surely Isis would never guide you in the wrong direction, Queen of Heaven?”
Cleopatra placed her palm against the girl’s soft pink cheek, feeling a deep fondness for the child she had rescued years before from the warring tribes of the North. “I am glad at least you are on my side.”
“Always, my lady!”
The sincerity in Iris’s pale star-blue eyes helped allay a little of the fear that pricked at Cleopatra as she thought of what she had committed to written words in her letter to Antony.
***
The smell of sweet new cut hay and the oil which Antony rubbed into the flanks of his powerful warhorse, Hercules, soothed him, as did the rhythmic strokes of the brush he used to untangle the silver mane of his old friend. The stables were a refuge for Antony, a place where he could be at ease with the men he handpicked to care for his priceless horses.
In his storm-gray stallion, Antony had recognized a kindred spirit. Hercules and the Roman general had been through many deadly moments together and the horse’s quick reflexes, and courageous heart, had seen them safely through all the clamor and violence of the battlefield. He gave Hercules an affectionate pat as Germanicus marched into the stables.
“What is it?” asked Antony, handing the brush to a stable boy who trailed after the famous general with hero-worship in his eyes.
Germanicus thrust a scroll towards Antony.
Frowning, Antony took the delicate papyrus in his hands and carefully opened it. He stared at the page for a long moment as his powerful jaw tightened.
At last, he lifted his eyes from the paper. “It’s Cleopatra.”
“So the messenger informed me.” Germanicus’s sharp eyes studied Antony’s face.
Antony took up the brush from the stable boy, and nodded for him to go, as he began vigorously working on Hercules’s gleaming hide.
Germanicus just stood there, his lean body straight as a sword, his arms crossed as he waited.
“She has agreed to meet me,” Antony informed his friend, though he kept his eyes glued to his work.
“When and where?”
Antony continued to groom the stallion as if he had not heard the question, but finally, he threw down the brush and turned to glower at Germanicus. “She will come to me at a time and place of her choosing.”
