by Pat Brown
Yet nothing is mentioned of this in the writings; the men entered the tomb and tended to business with not the slightest concern that they, too, could become victims of the deadly asp.
And what did Plutarch say? Only that someone saw an impression in the sand some distance from the tomb that resembled the swishing of a snake making its way to the sea. If none of the visitors to the crime scene felt the need to locate the cobra when its presence could cost them their lives, it seems rather contradictory to search for it at a later time and out somewhere on the beach!
I decided to play devil’s advocate in my mind to further determine whether the cobra could have caused the deaths of these three women, even if there were no witnesses or evidence to prove it.
First, there is the question of how Cleopatra could have gotten possession of the deadly snake. She was already in captivity and under guard. Nothing would have been allowed into the tomb that Octavian did not give his approval for, and surely before the women were left unattended within the structure, a thorough sweep would have been made of the area to ensure no items were available to the queen to use in an unacceptable manner.
Once the area was secure and Cleopatra and her maidens each endured a full body search, the ladies would have been locked inside, and guards would be stationed to secure the area (one should think there would be competent guards placed outside the door and possibly a guard or two inside the door as well). Plutarch wrote that the snake was hidden among figs in a basket and that the guards barely glanced into it before they permitted it to be brought into the tomb. Either this is a fanciful story or the guards were later put to death by Octavian for their carelessness and stupidity. Any guard who wished to see the next sunrise would have thoroughly examined the basket and its contents. A snake is not something likely to be missed during such a search.
But, I allowed, suppose the guards were fools or drunks or stooges paid off by Cleopatra, and the basket, snake included, ended up inside with the prisoners. Cleopatra, the determined queen, would have been the one to remove the snake from its temporary lair and apply it to her body. In this first scenario, something goes wrong. The two handmaidens stare at Cleopatra. The snake has bitten the queen and she does not seem affected by the bite of the asp. Cleopatra, who has studied snakes and the effects of their venom in depth, realizes her attempt at suicide has failed due to what is called a “dry bite.” When a snake bites its prey, a dry bite occurs a fair portion of the time since the venom does not always make it all the way to its fangs. Maybe she tries again, and this time the snake bites and she collapses. Then the women must each make an attempt or two or three. Passing around a cobra in a group suicide attempt is a version of reptile Russian roulette, the venom in the fangs of the snake like not knowing if there is a bullet in the right place in the cylinder of a revolver. It is likely one of the women simply would not have died.
I considered yet another possible scenario. Cleopatra applies the mouth of the creature to her body, the snake injects its venom, and she falls to the floor, the snake dropping alongside her. Which one of the remaining two women will have the guts and determination to chase after and pick up the vicious snake? Having just seen Cleopatra begin the dying process in front of them, it would take an unusual woman to follow suit and grab the snake to continue with the planned suicide. Cleopatra is already dying and she can no longer pressure her servants to commit suicide with her. Even if the next woman repeats Cleopatra’s death dance, the third woman would also have to be equally as determined and brave to catch the cobra and allow its fangs to sink into her as well. It is highly unlikely for all three women to carry out this particular suicide method when there would be ample time from victim to victim to change one’s mind. Finally, death from the venom of an asp or a cobra is not instantaneous; death is usually not achieved for thirty minutes to an hour, and sometimes longer. For Cleopatra to be dead and the other two women about to expire within moments of the guards’ arrival, the letter Cleopatra sent off to Octavian announcing her intentions would need to have been sent a couple of hours prior to the suicide attempt, not only minutes before. For that matter, since Octavian was so close by at the palace and a suicide note would be delivered quite quickly to him, a queen with the intelligence of Cleopatra would never have given her captor any hint of her suicidal intentions; she would have simply committed the act and left the letter to be found alongside her body. Plutarch appears to have dramatized the events of that night with much artistic license, and the elements of his story about suicide by snake appear to be quite improbable and, more likely, impossible.
The story of the asp seems to have been created after the death of Cleopatra. Plutarch was the first writer to allude to its existence, but he also comments that perhaps the deaths of the women could have also been achieved by poison. Yet there is no container of any sort near the bodies. If a bottle of poison was passed from one woman to the next, by the time the third victim was ingesting the poison, Octavian’s men would already be hurrying to the tomb. The last dying woman would hardly have had an opportunity to cleverly conceal the container in some hidden niche to remain undiscovered by future searches. No, such a bottle would simply be dropped to the floor, and upon entering the tomb, the men would quickly realize the women had used poison to end their lives.
Of course, one must stop to ask the question, did one of Octavian’s men, or Cleopatra’s physician, or Octavian himself, remove the cobra or the bottle from the scene, eliminating the evidence of the cause of death? What would be the point? It might make sense if one wished to cover up the manner of death, to hide a suicide, but it is illogical to take away the evidence and then attribute the cause of death to be the result of evidence that has been removed! This would be senseless, and, therefore, if one believes Octavian’s claim that Cleopatra committed suicide, it is clear that when Octavian’s men came into the tomb, the women should have been simply lying on the floor with either a snake or a bottle of poison present.
So a crime scene without a tool of death present is immediately troublesome. If neither the asp nor the poison existed, then neither of these caused the deaths of the three women. There was also no mention of a knife or a ligature for hanging, so there appears to be no other possible implements for the women to have used in the commission of suicide. And, as mentioned previously, it is also physically impossible for Cleopatra to have sent a suicide note to Octavian and achieved three successful suicides within the next ten to twenty minutes, the amount of time it would have taken him to read the note and dispatch his men over to the tomb.
The stories told of Cleopatra committing suicide must then be untrue. If they are untrue, the witnesses’ statements of what occurred within that tomb on Cleopatra’s fateful last night on earth cannot be trusted. It would seem then that the only option left for the manner of death would be homicide and a conspiracy to cover up what really happened to the unfortunate Cleopatra and her equally unlucky handmaidens.
There is something clearly wrong with the explanation of the deaths of these three women that must be investigated further. Outside of the forces of nature, what happens to humans is not without some purpose, a purpose enacted by the individual himself or by some other individual in his realm. If the evidence within the tomb conflicts with the story of Cleopatra’s demise that we have believed for centuries and her death cannot be ruled a suicide, a thorough investigation is the only way to uncover the truth.
The investigation must start at the end and then go back to the beginning to discover the truth about Cleopatra’s death. Once all the other evidence has been gathered leading up to that pivotal moment in time, the investigation of the last crime scene will be analyzed once again in light of the new evidence that will lead us to a more complete understanding of the suspicious death of Cleopatra.
Inspired by my conclusions as to the implausibility of Plutarch’s rendition of the death of the queen, I crawled back out of the ancient tomb to start on my exploration back into the early life of Cleopatra an
d her future killer, where the seeds of murderous thought were already being sown.
I was thankful I set out early to catch my train to Alexandria, the next stop on my quest to learn more about Queen Cleopatra and the world she occupied. Arriving at Ramses Station, I was immediately lost in a rabbit warren of construction, tunnels, and platforms.
“Alexandria?” I asked at the ticket counter. “Platform 3.” At Platform 3, I was told, “Alexandria, no. Platform 7.” At Platform 7, I was told, “No, Platform 6.” At Platform 6, I was told, “Platform 3!” After scurrying back and forth from wrong platform to wrong platform, I somehow ended up on the right one, just before the train was set to depart the station.
I settled gratefully into my seat and watched the city give way to the green delta, a pleasant change from the earth and cement tones of Cairo. I was heading west to Alexandria, the city that for centuries was the jewel of the Mediterranean established by Alexander the Great after his conquering of the country; before that moment, there was nothing to speak of at that location. The sleepy fishing village, Rhakotis, was not a place that caught the attention of the early pharaohs, those before the pharaohs became Macedonian. Barley fields made up acreage of flat land that bordered the sea, not a large congregation of people or temples. But then Alexander saw just how perfect a location the site would be to build a fabulous city—a crescent-shaped shore that would make a fine, protected harbor, gentle sea breezes to cool the land in the summertime heat, fertile fields, limestone for building, the Nile just thirty miles to the east and a fresh coastal lagoon, Lake Mareotis, to the south. Until Alexandria was built, the large and important Egyptian cities were the capital, Memphis, at the apex of the Nile River (just south of present-day Cairo), and Thebes (as Luxor down in Upper Egypt was called back then).
The plan set down by Alexander was quite grand. The streets were laid out in a grid pattern in the Hellenistic tradition with two main and very wide thoroughfares that intersected, one from north to south, the other from east to west.
But, to get a true feeling of the grandeur of the city at the time of Cleopatra, we can do no better than to read the description given by Strabo, the great geographer who traveled to many places in his day, enough to not be overly impressed with a city if it was not worth his admiration. He was clearly taken with Alexandria.
The advantages of the city are of various kinds. The site is washed by two seas; on the north, by what is called the Egyptian Sea, and on the south, by the sea of the lake Mareia, which is also called Mareotis. This lake is filled by many canals from the Nile, both by those above and those at the sides, through which a greater quantity of merchandise is imported than by those communicating with the sea. Hence the harbour on the lake is richer than the maritime harbour. The exports by sea from Alexandria exceed the imports. This any person may ascertain, either at Alexandria or Dicaearchia, by watching the arrival and departure of the merchant vessels, and observing how much heavier or lighter their cargoes are when they depart or when they return.
In addition to the wealth derived from merchandise landed at the harbours on each side, on the sea and on the lake, its fine air is worthy of remark: this results from the city being on two sides surrounded by water, and from the favourable effects of the rise of the Nile. For other cities, situated near lakes, have, during the heats of summer, a heavy and suffocating atmosphere, and lakes at their margins become swampy by the evaporation occasioned by the sun’s heat. When a large quantity of moisture is exhaled from swamps, a noxious vapour rises, and is the cause of pestilential disorders. But at Alexandria, at the beginning of summer, the Nile, being full, fills the lake also, and leaves no marshy matter which is, likely to occasion malignant exhalations. At the same period, the Etesian winds blow from the north, over a large expanse of sea, and the Alexandrines in consequence pass their summer very pleasantly.
The shape of the site of the city is that of a chlarnys or military cloak. The sides, which determine the length, are surrounded by water, and are about thirty stadia in extent; but the isthmuses, which determine the breadth of the sides, are each of seven or eight stadia, bounded on one side by the sea, and on the other by the lake. The whole city is intersected by roads for the passage of horsemen and chariots. Two of these are very broad, exceeding a plethrum in breadth, and cut one another at right angles. It contains also very beautiful public grounds and royal palaces, which occupy a fourth or even a third part of its whole extent. For as each of the kings was desirous of adding some embellishment to the places dedicated to the public use, so, besides the buildings already existing, each of them erected a building at his own expense.
In the great harbour at the entrance, on the right hand, are the island and the Pharos tower; on the left are the reef of rocks and the promontory Lochias, with a palace upon it: at the entrance, on the left hand, are the inner palaces, which are continuous with those on the Lochias, and contain numerous painted apartments and groves. Below lies the artificial and close harbour, appropriated to the use of the kings; and Antirrhodus a small island, facing the artificial harbour, with a palace on it, and a small port. It was called Antirrhodus, a rival as it were of Rhodes.
Above this is the theatre, then the Poseidium, a kind of elbow projecting from the Emporium, as it is called, with a temple of Neptune upon it. To this Antony added a mound, projecting still further into the middle of the harbour, and built at the extremity a royal mansion, which he called Timoneion. This was his last act, when, deserted by his partisans, he retired to Alexandria after his defeat at Actium, and intended, being forsaken by so many friends, to lead the [solitary] life of Timon for the rest of his days.
Next are the Caesarium, the Emporium, and the Apostaseis, or magazines: these are followed by docks, extending to the Heptastadion. This is the description of the great harbour.
Next after the Heptastadion is the harbour of Eunostus, and above this the artificial harbour, called Cibotus (or the Ark), which also has docks. At the bottom of this harbour is a navigable canal, extending to the lake Mareotis. Beyond the canal there still remains a small part of the city. Then follows the suburb Necropolis, in which are numerous gardens, burial-places, and buildings for carrying on the process of embalming the dead.
On this side the canal is the Sarapium and other ancient sacred places, which are now abandoned on account of the erection of the temples at Nicopolis; for [there are situated] an amphitheatre and a stadium, and there are celebrated quinquennial games; but the ancient rites and customs are neglected.
In short, the city of Alexandria abounds with public and sacred buildings. The most beautiful of the former is the Gymnasium, with porticos exceeding a stadium in extent. In the middle of it are the court of justice and groves. Here also is a Paneium, an artificial mound of the shape of a fir-cone, resembling a pile of rock, to the top of which there is an ascent by a spiral path. From the summit may be seen the whole city lying all around and beneath it.1
What a splendid city Alexandria must have been when Julius Caesar and Antony came to meet with Cleopatra. This cosmopolitan center at the time was the largest and most beautiful city on earth, far surpassing Rome, which was actually said to be quite a bedraggled city in those days. It is no wonder they fell in love with Alexandria as well as with Cleopatra and the riches she could share with them. A massive walled city overlooking the sea, filled with a bounty of magnificent buildings gleaming in the Mediterranean sunlight, the massive lighthouse of Pharos Island jutting out on the promontory of the harbor, one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, dramatically welcoming ships and their merchants into the cultured metropolis, and, of course, Queen Cleopatra’s beloved Caesareum, the grand temple she was building at the time of her death. And, of course, they would spend time at Cleopatra’s palace and temples, and these must have been spectacular buildings as well. Although we have little on record as to how these Alexandrian structures looked and were decorated, we can get a bit of an idea from Philo of Alexandria, who spoke of the Caesarium he saw
some eighty years after the death of Cleopatra:
[A] temple to Caesar, patron of sailors, situated on an eminence facing the harbours famed for their excellent moorings, huge and conspicuous, forming a precinct of vast breadth, embellished with porticoes, libraries, men’s banqueting halls, groves, propylaea, spacious courts, open-air rooms, in short, everything which lavish expenditure could produce to beautify it.2
When I alighted from the train in Alexandria and made my way into the streets, none of this splendor remained. The city is rather drab, the buildings nondescript, and as I walked on toward the harbor it was difficult not to feel rather sad for the residents of the city and for the loss of such former glory. The demise of Alexandria took place in spurts, the buildings and statues and the greenery erased by fire, theft, purposeful removal of the memories by previous rulers, and lack of upkeep likely due to financial distress. During the 1950s, the expropriation of the property of the European businessmen and investors by Gamal Abdel Nasser when he nationalized the country resulted in a mass exodus of foreigners and the closing of the upscale eateries and hotels that lined the Corniche. In later years, Egyptian-born residents struggled to do business under Mubarak’s regime and found it very difficult. As one restaurant owner explained to me, “When a tourist points to the picture of Hosni Mubarak on my wall and asks who that is, I tell him that is our President. When he asks who is standing next to him, I tell him that is his son . . . my business partner.” The highway-robbery tax imposed by Mubarak went straight into the coffers of his son, which left business owners with a very difficult time running their enterprises, which in turn results in the remaining worn and uninviting restaurants on the harbor. As I walked about the city, I realized that unlike Rome and Athens or even other historic sites in Egypt, pretty much nothing is left of the grand buildings, just a wall here, Pompey’s Pillar up on the hill that Strabo speaks of, a couple of Ptolemaic sphinxes, the catacombs and cisterns under the ground, and the Roman odium, a small theatre built in the fourth century CE. The remains of the rest of the Alexandrian Ptolemaic past lie in bits and pieces in museums or down at the bottom of the eastern harbor, where the ancient royal quarters once were situated on the promontory named Silsilah.
