The Memoirs of Cleopatra

by Margaret George

  Yes, he always trusted.

  “And it proved to be our salvation.”

  Sometimes trust was rewarded. But seldom. “How could it be your salvation? You said you lost a third of the army—not counting those ten thousand killed with the baggage train! Forty-two thousand altogether! Almost half, then!” I cried.

  “Had it not been for the mountainous path of our retreat, and the bravery and strength of the lord Antony, we would have lost the entire army,” he said. “We were attacked and harried all the way; we fought eighteen defensive battles to get out. It is difficult to keep an orderly retreat from turning into a rout. Antony did that, although we had no food, little water, and winter was closing in. It took us twenty-seven days to reach the border of Armenia, to cross the Araxes. We had to march under the most extreme conditions, and discipline barely held. Antony brought a starving army in rags across the border. And do you know what the Parthians did when we crossed the river?”

  “No, I am sure I do not.” The gods had not granted me that picture.

  “They cheered and applauded our bravery.”

  Bravery…yes, it was godlike. But it could not confer political power. Antony had failed. He had failed, where Octavian had succeeded. Now the scales must tip, inexorably and irrecoverably.

  Anger and grief overcame me. I cried aloud to the gods. Then I saw Eros staring at me, unnerved. I must not add to his burdens.

  “Pray continue,” I said, struggling to make my voice level.

  “I would not grieve you further,” he said.

  Both of us, striving to spare each other.

  “No, please speak. I must hear.”

  “I must tell it—tell of the worst moment of the entire campaign.” He straightened himself, squaring his little shoulders. “There was a point when it seemed we were doomed—overcome. The lord—my Antony believed that the Parthians were upon us. He—he ordered me to kill him, run him through with his sword—” He shook with the memory, and I felt all strength draining from me.

  “And—” I whispered. How could he have wanted that? How could he have left me like that? I knew it was a sentiment unsuited to the battlefield, where all the rules are different, but had he not thought, even for a moment, of his other life? Was he that ready to throw it away? There can be satisfactions in the life of a private citizen; they should not be scorned.

  “I took the sword, and it felt a hundred times heavier than it ever had before. I started to lift it. But when he said, ‘And cut off my head, and bury it so the Parthians cannot capture it,’ I could not. I ran away.”

  I gripped the back of the chair nearest me. He had actually commanded that? I felt myself about to vomit. I looked around for some vessel, some container, but found none, and rushed to the window. It was so revolting, so unspeakable—I retched over the side of the window, sour vomit splashing on the marble tiles of the terrace. His head! That dearest head!

  Eros looked green as well. I could see his throat constricting. “He remembered what they had done to Crassus’s head, using it in a mock Roman Triumph, tossing it about, making sport with it—he had to prevent that.”

  Still I went on being sick. That this very person in the room would have had to saw it off! There was nothing left in my stomach, but I clung to the windowsill and coughed. I could not even be ashamed. There could be no reserves left between us.

  “It was unnecessary,” he finally said, softly. “It was a false alarm.”

  That he could have died for a false report—but for Eros! “Thanks be to all the gods that you loved him enough to refuse.”

  “There are those who would say that for me to have refused and run away was a lack of love. Certainly a lack of obedience.”

  “I don’t care!” I said. “Sometimes one must submit to a higher obedience! To refuse to kill when you feel there is still hope—” I shook my head, and sought for a napkin to wipe my mouth. This was worse than the nightmare, worse than any dream.

  “Once across the border into Armenia, we had no choice but to treat King Artavasdes as a friend, pretending that we believed his excuses for leaving the army. But for our safety we could not winter there. We had to continue our retreat through the mountains of Armenia, where we lost another eight thousand men to disease and exposure.”

  He was coming to the end of his tale. I braced myself for it.

  “Now Canidius is bringing the rest of the army after Antony, who awaits you at Leuce Come.”

  “He awaits me?”

  “Yes. He needs money, and clothes for his nearly naked men. You are his only hope.”

  O ye gods! To have come to this!

  “Here. He has written you.” Eros extended a tattered letter in his grimy hand.

  I took it and slowly opened it. My first words from him since our parting, a lifetime hence.

  My dearest—Eros will tell you all. It is too long, and painful, to recount here, and a wound I received on my hand makes writing difficult. Pray come to me as soon as you possibly can. Eros will tell you, and the ship captains, the exact location. I have eighteen thousand men, all of whom need clothing. And money to buy food. I desire only to see you.

  —M.A.

  Eighteen thousand men! He had started with sixty thousand crack legionaries! Where now were the other thirty thousand auxiliaries who were supposed to support him? Fled like the cowards and traitors they were.

  I saw Eros looking at me.

  “Eighteen thousand men?” I said. “He wishes food and clothing for all those soldiers?” I looked out at the sea, churning and dark. It was the height of winter, when ships dared not sail. “He mentioned ships. He expects us to sail?”

  Eros nodded. “He said you would not fail him.”

  Did he credit me with miraculous powers? Or had he so far lost his reason that he gave no thought to the considerable risk that I would go to the bottom of the sea?

  I had recently been so weak that I could scarcely leave the palace grounds. Now I was to sail to Syria on stormy seas?

  “I will go to him,” I said. Or die trying.

  60

  I stood on the deck of a trireme rolling at anchor in the harbor. It had taken some searching, and a hefty payment, to find a captain brave enough—or foolhardy enough—to venture out in the tossing seas. As Queen, I could have ordered one of my warships and its captain to carry me, but I preferred to persuade rather than command, at least for such as this.

  Beside me on the heaving deck stood Olympos, wrapped in a heavy cloak, and cursing softly. No one had wanted me to go, and Mardian and Olympos had tried to forbid me—Mardian citing the danger in travel and Olympos warning of the threat to my health.

  “You can’t even endure a morning of audiences with ambassadors, and now you want to rush off to Syria to comfort Antony,” he had lectured. “Send your soldiers and your own ambassadors—what else are they for?”

  But it was not in my nature. If I failed him, all his faith in honor would be destroyed. Not going was the sort of thing Octavian would do. And I needed to see him for my own sake. That dream—and then the picture in my mind of his orders to Eros—the remembrance, and the jerking ship, made me start to feel sick again. I clutched on to Olympos’s arm.

  “This is insane!” he said, turning to me. “We should get off. Now.”

  Olympos had finally announced that only if he could accompany me would he allow me to go—and he had forthwith abandoned his other patients, his students at the Museion, and Dorcas. He toted along an extremely bulky box of medicines, with mixing implements and empty bottles waiting to be filled. One thing he had not had to urge on me was his beloved silphion. At last I was more than willing to use it—I could not allow myself to become pregnant; I needed all my strength now for other things. I loved my children and I had even enjoyed my pregnancies, but now I must allow no other claims on my mind and body.

  “At least let us sit down!” Olympos fussed. I smiled faintly. On a deck there are not many such places, but the captain—newly enriched by m
y payment—was most gracious in finding one. His ship was crammed with blankets, tunics, shoes, and cloaks to cover the eighteen thousand soldiers, and two other transports would follow with grain.

  On this ship, too, was all the money I felt safe transporting by winter sea. The rest would have to wait until later—not that transporting money is ever safe, by land or by sea. Bandits, pirates, accidents attack the waves and the footpath equally. And gold is very heavy; a talent of gold weighs as much as a big child, two talents as much as a woman, and three as much as a well-muscled man. It does not get from place to place easily. I was bringing about three hundred talents on the ship.

  The crossing should take around seven days, and Eros had already instructed the captain exactly where Leuce Come lay.

  “It’s north of Sidon,” he said. “I know it. No good harbor, though. Might have to anchor far from shore if I can’t get inside the seawall.”

  I didn’t care. Just let us get that near! I would gladly swim ashore, if I had to.

  I shivered and pulled my cloak tighter around me.

  You will have to improve a great deal in seven days in order to plunge into these icy waters, I told myself. Are you expecting a miracle?

  As we left the relatively calm harbor of Alexandria to be buffeted on the open seas, I watched the waves rise higher, making jagged crests.

  The churning, bucking, jerking sea voyage…my fate was always decided by water. From Ashkelon to Alexandria to meet Caesar for the first time; from Alexandria to Tarsus to meet with Antony in costume; from Alexandria to Antioch to meet with Antony again, this time on my terms. And now to Syria, where yet a different Antony awaited me. An Antony who had staked his reputation and his future on a great battlefield, and been utterly defeated.

  With each passing day in the cold mist, my strength came stealing back, sneaking in while I slept. Each morning I arose feeling more restored, my legs less shaky, my muscles firmer. Olympos attributed it to the broth he made me drink five times a day, as well as the herbs he plied me with; but finally he said with a grunt, “I suppose the closer you get to him, the faster you revive.”

  I must grow stronger if he had grown weaker; if we two were one, then as one waned so must the other wax, to preserve the strength of the whole. That I knew. So I merely smiled at Olympos and said nothing.

  The harbor—small, low, and desolate—was sighted over the gray-blue sea. Behind it clustered the houses of the village, also small, low, and desolate. There was no color anywhere, no sign of life. As we approached, large waves swept us broadside and threatened to dash us into the seawall, but the captain managed to bring us safely out of the fury of the wind.

  “He’s worthy of Sextus’s fleet,” said Olympos.

  Sextus. For a moment I wondered where he was, whether Antony had joined forces with him. But all other thoughts fled when I beheld Antony standing—a forlorn, muffled figure—on the shore.

  He was staring out to sea like a statue, rooted to the ground. As we approached, he had been a little dot, unmoving. Only when we actually came into the harbor did he break his stillness and start running toward us.

  From the railing of the ship I gestured with wide arm-sweeps, wild with excitement. His mantle was flapping, flying out from his outstretched arms, giving him the wingspread of a huge bird.

  “Antony!” I cried. “Most noble Imperator!”

  He wheeled around and saw me at once, then rushed over to the place where the ship would dock. The folds of the mantle swirled once and then settled as he pulled back his hood. I saw that his face was thinner and much more lined. He was looking up at me.

  As soon as the gangplank was down, I hurried ashore and into his arms. He enveloped me in the rough mantle, and in the crush I felt his face against mine and his kisses on my cheek, heard him saying, “You are come, you are come….” I was so close I could only feel and hear him, not see him.

  How long it had been since I had touched him—eight months! I dug my fingers into his shoulder and felt the bones nearer the skin now than before, the warm flesh burned off him. I remembered the dried-up men I had seen in my dream, and knew it had almost come true for Antony.

  He was pressing me against him, our entire lengths touching, when he suddenly stepped back a little.

  “The baby! It is born? Yes, of course it is!” He had left me thin, and now I was thin again.

  “Yes, in November,” I said. “A son. Healthy and strong.”

  “November,” he said, shaking his head. “In November we were still struggling out of Parthia. But it was near the end.”

  “Do not think on it now,” I said. “You can tell me every detail later.”

  “I have been watching the horizon every day, waiting for your ship,” he said. “You can never know how hard I watched.” His voice was strained, and indeed, he looked worse than I felt.

  We sat in the mean, dark chamber of his wooden quarters, a sputtering rush lamp throwing deep shadows on the walls. Antony was hunched over, his big hands dangling over his knees. Without his mantle, his tunic revealed how thin and battered he was; in comparison, his head and hands now appeared unusually large.

  We had eaten, drunk, and been left alone in the cold room. His bantering, for the benefits of the servitors, faded as soon as they had exited.

  “One has to keep up the spirits of those around one,” he had said. “If word got out that the commander himself had fallen into despair…” His voice trailed off. “And I am not in despair, just…tired.”

  Yes. Tired. That were we both. If only rest were possible!

  I reached out and touched his cheek, tracing the new hollows beneath the cheekbones. Then I gently touched his neck, that neck which was still thick and well muscled. As I touched it, I could not help following the line where it would have been severed, right above the collarbone. A nasty, deep-cold fear seeped through me. My hand stopped moving.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  I would not tell him I knew. He would not have wanted Eros to reveal it. “Nothing.” I caressed the line. “I have always been very fond of your neck.” I leaned forward and kissed it, just at its hollow.

  I saw him close his eyes, heard him sigh as I kissed all around the circle of his neck. He was more than tired; he was bone-weary. As yet he had not told me his true feelings about the defeat, nor his plans for his next move. Instead he seemed almost bewildered, paralyzed by his change of fortune.

  He let his head slump down, resting it against my shoulder. It was uncomfortable for me, and I wriggled a little to settle it better. As it slid lower, pulling the strap of my gown down, exposing my breast, it set off that tingling which signaled the rush of milk. The warmth, the touch of skin against skin had set it off; I had not had time to wean the baby completely before setting out. Embarrassed, I pulled away and tried to cover my breast again, but it was too late. The milk oozed out and fell in drops, wetting his cheeks. He seemed amused by it, and reached out a curious finger to catch it and taste it.

  “I could not bring the baby,” I said, “and I had to rush away as soon—I came as soon as you sent for me.” I felt discomfited, as if he had caught me at something unseemly.

  He took away all my shyness by saying, “I wish you had brought him. I missed seeing you with the twins when they were babies, and now I must miss this one as well.”

  “He will still be a baby for some time,” I assured him. But unspoken was the question: When do you propose to return to Alexandria? What are your plans?

  He sighed and heaved himself up, shaking his head as if he would shake off sleep, and ran his left hand through his hair. I saw then that his right one was swollen, with an ugly, unhealed gash.

  “Tomorrow I will show you the troops,” he said. “The poor men! And you have brought clothing, you say?”

  “Yes,” I said. “As many cloaks, shoes, and mantles as I could gather, with the material to make more.”

  “And the—gold?” He tried not to look too eager.

  “I brought
three hundred talents,” I said.

  “Three hundred! But—that is not nearly enough!”

  “How much could I carry? Be reasonable! More will follow. But on these seas—I had to divide it, divide the risk. Two more ships are bringing grain. They should arrive within four or five days.”

  “Three hundred talents!”

  I grew angry at him. He had demanded I come immediately, trusting both my person and the gold to the winter seas. And had he forgotten that I would barely have recovered from childbirth? As it happened, I had not—but I had come anyway. “You are unrealistic,” I said. “It is a miracle that I have arrived safely—that I was able to come at all!”

  He shook his head. “Yes, yes, forgive me.” He was rubbing his hand—was it bothering him? He had mentioned a wound that made writing difficult.

  “What is wrong with your hand?” Before he could snatch it away, I took it.

  There was a diagonal cut across it; it was puffy and an angry shade of red. The area around it felt abnormally hot. It looked ready to fester.

  “It is nothing,” he said carelessly. But I saw his mouth tighten when I touched the sore place.

  “You should let my physician treat it,” I said.

  “When you see the state of the other soldiers, you will forget this scratch,” he said.

  Later, alone together in the dark, I caressed his shoulders, seeking to comfort him. Even in his present state, my heart rejoiced to be with him again. But his soul was so burdened that he merely sighed and said, “Forgive me. The spirits of my lost men are with me in this very room, and I would be shamed to forget them so soon.” His hunger for me seemed to have been destroyed by what he had endured on the plains of Parthia. We slept chastely that night, embracing like two children.