O, the speech that followed … oratory at its finest! I listened patiently, as a queen should, then I said, “Sir, you yourself know that Rome will benefit from a friendship with Egypt. The sooner my father is restored to his throne, the sooner we can work to repay the loans citizens have made.” Cicero opened his mouth to speak, but I had not finished. “For it is their personal money, sir, not yours.” At that, I turned and left him in the courtyard. How long he stood there I do not know, because he did not return to my party.
I am writing this while wrapped in a thick wool blanket, for my chamber feels damp. Rain is coming in through the opening above the atrium, splashing the marble floors all the way into the hall. This architecture is good for summer heat, but all this openness can be miserable in winter.
3 Februarius
Good news. O, joy! We are going home, as soon as the winter storms have passed. I have already written to Theophilus and Olympus, so the letters can go out on the messenger ships that will precede our royal fleet. I will be so thrilled to see them once again. This is what happened: Cicero pleaded his case before the Senate so that records show his opinion. His words:
“Marc Antony is going to Alexandria in defiance of the Senate, and of patriotism, and of the will of heaven.”
Cicero then held up his hands as if symbolically washing himself of his responsibility with us, and stormed out of the building. He will not give us his blessing, but he will not keep us from leaving.
I do not know how the great Cicero will write about this event, but I hope in my heart that he remembers the many pleasant hours he and I enjoyed in conversation together.
To continue…
An odd thing happened today, which I am struggling to understand. Neva and I were touring some of the shops that are near the Forum. Puzo was not with us for I had decided on impulse to go out on our own.
Neva carried a basket over her arm for our purchases. We had just come out of a little book stall where I bought a volume of Catullus’ poetry, when it began to rain. In moments the streets were a river of waste, so I stood on a stepping stone to keep my feet clean. My wet hair was streaming in my face, my shawl was soaked.
Suddenly I felt myself being lifted up, thrown over a man’s shoulder, and carried away. When I realized this was not Puzo, for he has never carted me off in such a manner, I was frightened. I pounded my fists on the man’s back. He was wearing a sword. Even though I was upside down, I managed to grab it by its handle and pull it out. But in doing so, the blade cut off his belt and sliced through the cloth of his tunic, dropping his clothes to the ground. At this, my captor set me down in the shelter of a warm bakery. I quickly stepped backwards and turned to look up at his face, for I did not want to see the undressed part of his body.
It was Marc Antony. And he was laughing.
At first I was too angry to speak. Neva hurried to my side and helped brush my dress back in place and refasten my shawl, but I held onto the sword. (O, why had I thought I would be safe without Puzo?)
“Here, Commander,” said a soldier stepping between us. He draped a long red cape over Antony’s shoulders so he was no longer naked.
I felt my courage return. “How dare you!” I tightened my grip on the sword.
“But, Princess,” he said, “are you not happier being out of the rain?” He was still smiling, obviously pleased with himself. A crowd had gathered in the wet street to watch, but the baker clapped his hands at them to leave.
“I am not happy that a brute has laid hands on me in an improper way.” I pointed the sword at his face and thought how easy it would be for me to slice off his ear. I wanted to hurt him, but reason cleared my head.
I did not want to find myself in a Roman courtroom with Cicero accusing me. Nor did I want to say the wrong thing to Antony, the man I would depend on to lead soldiers to Egypt, to reclaim Father’s throne. I needed to be wise.
I bent down to pick up the scabbard, slipped in the sword, then wrapped it with the leather belt that had fallen at his feet.
“Thank you, Cleopatra,” he said, reaching for it. But I backed away from him, put the sword in Neva’s basket, and walked out of the bakery. It was still raining. As we turned the corner, I noticed the red cape of my commander. He was now standing in the street surrounded by other soldiers. I could see that his face was turned towards me.
It is late, the house is once again quiet. I have locked Antony’s sword in my chest. It is made from beautiful Damascus steel, polished to show my reflection, but sharpened to kill. He will never know how fast my heart was beating during our encounter this afternoon. I was frightened… I was furious…
O Isis, forgive me, but now I am confused. There is something about Antony that makes me want to see him again.
13 Februarius
My spirits are higher as spring grows near. I have not seen Antony since that rainy day, but I find myself looking for him, hoping he will come to visit Atticus when I happen to be there, also.
Julia coaxed me to another play. While we were carried through the street in our litters, I saw her arm point out from her curtain, in the direction of a new theatre being built. She had told me earlier it will be the first one made of stone and will be named the Theatre of Pompey, after her husband.
Two days later
I am still pale from my afternoon at the theatre and will try to record the events that so upset me.
Julia and I were in the front row as usual, enjoying the satire, The Frogs. Suddenly a man sitting far behind me shouted, “O, shut up!” apparently to one of the actors. As a royal princess I did not turn around to see who this brute was, but I could see that people alongside me were restless. To my surprise, someone else yelled, “Shut up, you pig!” then others joined in. I tried to keep my eyes on the performers, but they, too, were distracted.
Voices rose from the audience, calling for something more interesting, a bear eating a man perhaps or gladiators killing one another. I glanced at Julia. She stared straight ahead, but her mouth moved in a slight grimace, the only hint that she was as displeased as I.
Then before our eyes, with actors still on stage, a lioness was brought out, its legs hobbled together so she would not leap into the stands. She looked starved, and I wondered if she was the one brought from Alexandria with our fleet so many months ago. When a slave was then dragged out, the crowd began chanting.
“Crucify him!”
My hands twisted nervously in my lap, hidden by the folds of my toga. Meanwhile the actors carried on with the play, trying to shout above the noise.
O Isis, I will not describe the slave’s terrible cries when the lion’s front paws were unchained. Because I was in the front row, those sitting behind me could not see that my royal eyes were closed. Tears were in my throat. I did not want to see such cruelties.
When a gladiator came out to finish off the lion, the audience went wild. My heart wanted to weep for I now knew another ugly truth: men prefer brutality to literature. I suffered sitting there, not knowing what to do. When prisoners were led to the dirt area in front of the stage, carrying beams of wood across their shoulders, I looked for Puzo.
I saw him moving off to the side, near an exit, so I patted Julia’s arm. We both stood and walked out. I, Cleopatra, Princess of the Nile, do not have to watch crucifixions.
May Rome burn. I want to go home.
8 Martius
Aboard the royal ship Roga
It is cold on deck as I write. Wind pushes at our sails so that we are tilted almost onto our side, but I am not afraid. We have just weighed anchor out from the island of Malta and are heading south. Within one week we should be home.
My heart is cheered by many things. Father is alert and dressed like a king. I have not seen him drunk since our last party in Rome. What a scene that was!
Our fleet and the Roman warships are spread out over miles of the gre
at sea. Foot soldiers led by Marc Antony left many weeks ago to march into Alexandria by way of Judea. They should arrive at the same time we do.
Why can I not stop thinking of him?
The farewell banquet for Antony hosted by Atticus was lavish. I was so busy in my thoughts about our departure to take place the following day that my memory is vague over who and how many dignitaries took my hand in greeting. The rooms were loud with voices and the music of harps and tambourines. In every corner there were little balls of incense to mask the foul odours of vomit, for there was much drinking of wine – too much.
Many times that evening, I excused myself to the kitchen garden where the air was cool. It was here that I was surprised by Antony waiting for me by the gate. It was odd that I could find no words to speak, nor did he. We just stood there near the rows of newly planted herbs and looked around as if we were two shoppers in the marketplace. There was no moonlight at this hour, just a low glow of candles along the path leading into the next courtyard. Thus when he pulled me into his arms I could not see his face. I did not know what to do, but I was not as alarmed as when he had hoisted me over his shoulder.
He kissed me.
Was it the heavy smell of wine on his breath that made me back away, or was I just nervous? Perhaps both.
Now that our ships are in full sail I wonder when we will reach Alexandria and, when we do, if Antony and I will find another moment to be alone.
Neva has just passed a note to me. This morning Father caught her and Puzo in a tender embrace. She is terrified that he will sentence her to the ocean serpents. I must hurry to prevent this.
11 Martius
My worry for Puzo and Neva was saved when a storm hit for Father was distracted and nervous. He lashed himself to the mast, the safest place for a king, then when the skies cleared he was again distracted because there came much shouting for joy.
Alexandria!
I am too excited for words. We are home.
16 Martius
The royal palace of Alexandria
Will I give away the secrets of my heart if I describe how it was to finally see Olympus again? I had not realized how deep my affection is for him, this friend of my youth. Thoughts of Marc Antony moved far back in my mind.
After two years, Olympus was taller and, now sixteen, his chest as broad as a man’s. I could see him standing on the palace steps that lead down into the water. Our ship was anchored further out so a little boat took me to him. I was so anxious though, I jumped in before we landed and found myself in the swells up to my waist. I reached for his outstretched hand.
When Olympus embraced me, I wept with relief. O, my friend, I have missed you. There were so many things I wanted to tell him. Theophilus was there, too, more reserved, but he did give me a warm handshake. Meanwhile the harbour was spilling over with Roman soldiers and horses. I wondered what “Queen” Berenice was doing at this moment.
To continue…
I found Her Royal Highness in the bath. She seemed surprised and delighted to see me, but I thought in my heart she must be out of her mind. Could she not hear the crowds in the streets and the horses running, the shouts and clashing of swords?
I refused the goblet of wine her servant brought to me. For months I had practised what I would say to my sister when this moment arrived.
“Father wants to see you.”
30 Aprilis
O, it was a sorrowful Berenice who wept at Father’s feet. He sat on his throne, once more Pharaoh, Ptolemy XII, the mighty King of Egypt. He looked at her bowed figure and waved to a guard, who removed the royal purple cloak from her back. He waved again, and my sister was led out of the room.
I stood quietly at his side. He smiled up at me, then struck his sceptre three times against the floor. An official brought the purple cloak to me and ceremoniously draped it over my shoulders. I bowed to Father and backed out of the room.
Evening
I write from my chamber. Pharos Lighthouse glows above the waves of my home shore. So many months away, I should be more joyful to be here. But something happened today that has made my heart quiet.
I wanted to be bold with Father about my two servants. Neva and Puzo love each other, I planned to tell him. I want a royal edict that says they may marry and continue to serve in the palace. The speech was in my mind for days, a persuasive line of reasoning I had learned from Cicero. Father would not refuse me, I knew it.
When I appeared before him there was quite a lot of activity. Dancers off to one side, musicians on the other, soldiers standing around. Marc Antony passed me in the corridor on his way out. He dipped his head in greeting, but said nothing. I wanted to talk to him, about anything or nothing, but this obviously was not the time.
When Father saw me, he opened his arms wide and smiled. “O Cleopatra,” he said. “You grow more lovely by the hour. What is it you desire, my daughter?”
I stood near a thick marble column and took a breath. But before my words began, I heard soldiers marching down a hall towards us. Father looked up at the Roman leading the procession and beckoned him to step forward. I turned to look, but was not prepared for the sight awaiting me.
Had I been just a girl, I would have fainted. Even so, I placed my hand against the column to steady myself. Blood spilled onto the mosaic floor from a bronze shield that was being carried as a tray. On this tray was the severed head of my sister, Berenice.
1 Maius
I am still pondering in my heart the events of yesterday, feeling sadness for the terror Berenice must have felt when she realized her fate. Father gave her the ultimate punishment. He showed no mercy at all.
Now I am next in line to the throne.
A heaviness weighs on me now that I have seen what Father does to a daughter who displeases him. If he gets angry with me or thinks I am disloyal or wants to make sure I do not become queen, will he order my execution, too? Will my little brothers and Arsinoë try to kill me so one of them may be pharaoh?
Great sorrow overwhelms me this day. I had thought that once we were home again, a way from Roman territory, I would be safe.
10 Maius
Olympus and I met in the Library. Soon Theophilus joined us, a thick scroll under his arm. We were once more old friends, ready to study and talk. It was as if we had not lost one day together. They wanted to know everything about Rome, but they were most curious about Marc Antony and boldly asked if I have affection for this barbarian.
I did not know how to answer. What would they say if I told them about the kiss in the garden? How can I explain to them my heart when there is also sadness and worry?
“Cleopatra,” said Olympus, “when you left for Rome you were just a girl of twelve. Now you are a young woman, capable of much responsibility. We can see that you are wiser in the ways of the world, especially the Roman world.”
“Yes,” I said.
Theophilus looked up from the scroll he had been reading. He said, “Your older sisters are dead, your father is weak. If he meets an untimely death, you may become pharaoh. Are you ready, Cleopatra? Would you have allies in Rome?”
I stood and went out to the courtyard. My friends did not follow because they knew I needed to think.
What they say is true. Because of my father, Rome and Alexandria are now linked with each other. For Egypt to survive I need allies, it is my royal duty to cultivate powerful friends. There is also an unspoken word for ally: “husband”.
Caesar is strong, but I do not know him. Crassus is just a politician, too greedy to trust. Pompey is crude and so impressed with himself, he would not make a loyal friend. Cicero might be worthy and would certainly win opinions in the Senate, but he does not command an army. Then there is Marc Antony, a leader of men and with a definite charm, I must admit.
Of all the barbarians, I am most interested in Antony.
1
3 Maius
Last night I was awaked by an unusual sound: soft footsteps.
I lay in bed trying to listen, my heart pounding. Who was there? When I realized that neither Puzo or Neva had stirred, terror seized my heart. Had they been murdered in their sleep and now their killer was coming after me?
Slowly I moved my hand down the side of my bed where my dagger is hidden. A shadow low to the ground was crawling towards me. I held my breath, wanting to hear the precise moment when I should stab my attacker.
But the sound I heard was purring.
“Arrow?” I whispered.
She came to me like an old friend, rubbing her large head against my arm. She licked my hand and rolled onto her side. O, was I happy to see her. I hugged her tight while she kneaded her claws in my blanket, purring and telling me all about it, but where she hid all these months, I will never know. I thank the gods that Tryphaena had not hunted her down and killed her.
To continue…
I do not want to write about the bloodshed in Alexandria, but will say that Berenice was not the only one who lost her head. Now soldiers are camped outside the city walls and along the beaches, our harbours are crowded with their anchored ships. As Marc Antony is their commander he is busy with military duties. He and I have not seen each other since the day of my sister’s execution.
Bucephalus was safe in the royal stables. O, she was a beautiful sight! Our reunion was brief, though, because of danger in the streets. We will have to wait until things quieten down before taking our favourite rides. Meanwhile I must carry on with my studies. There is so much to learn and prepare for if ever I am to become queen.
A dispatch from Antony arrived yesterday. It was written by one of his secretaries because he injured his hand in a fight. Troops will be leaving Egypt soon, some by sea, but many will march east back into Judea, another Roman province. Antony said it could take one year for him to go around the edge of the continent back to Italy, but I think he wants to take his time, perhaps delaying an encounter with Cicero.
Cleopatra Page 10
