But later I could not help wondering if others had whispered these suggestions to Antony--Glaphyra, or Octavian himself? Especially Octavian, who would be happy to discredit the mother of Caesarion, and sever his tie to Rome.
Archelaus had been waiting for several days, and after Dellius had been packed off, I braced myself to see him. Before I betook myself to the audience hall to welcome him formally (Mardian had done so in my stead already, but now it must be repeated), I let Iras do what she longed to: apply cosmetics to my face and dress my hair. In the meantime, Charmian was to select the costume.
Why did I do this? Did I hope to frighten him off if I looked too artificially colorful, too over-costumed? Although I was the richest, most powerful woman in the world--how lightly that phrase falls, here!--I knew well enough how to put someone at his ease by being approachably human. I also knew how to keep people at a distance. It was all in the manner: the tilt of the head, the tone of voice, the look in the eyes.
I seated myself on a bench where the north light would fall on my upturned face and said, "Very well, Iras, perform your magic." I shut my eyes and waited.
Her deft fingers patted the skin on my cheeks and traced the line of my jaw. "The treatment has worked," she said. "The ill effects of all that salt are gone."
A pity, I thought. It should have lasted a bit longer--at least until this suitor went home.
She spread a creamy lotion all over my face, rubbing it in with circular strokes.
It had a delicious aroma.
"Oil and cyperus grass, my lady," she said. "Now I will remove it with the | mixed juices of sycamore and cucumber." She applied linen pads soaked with the juices and rubbed my face. It began to tingle.
"This will make the skin look as fine as polished marble," she said. "Although it does not need much improvement. Now, I will cool your eyes with a wash of ground celery and hemp. Keep them closed."
She laid two cool bandages on my eyes and said, "Rest and think of a cool mountain."
The weight on my eyelids seemed to alter my thoughts, and I drifted away to someplace I had never seen--a wooded hillside with tall cypress trees and sheep grazing, where light breezes played.
"Now," said Iras, removing the pads, bringing me back to the room. Where had I been? "For lining the eyes, do you prefer black kohl today, or the green malachite?"
"The malachite!' I said. "Kohl is for every day, and this is not an everyday occurrence--meeting a candidate for my hand." If it were just for holding my hand, I would not be so defensive.
She took a cosmetic stick and drew fine lines all around my eyes, over the lids and beyond the corners. "Now open." She held a mirror up. "See how the green deepens the natural green of your eyes."
Yes, it did. Caesar had loved the color of my eyes--he said they were the shade of the Nile in shadow. But since then, I had not worn the green; I let the kohl make my eyes darker. I nodded, surprised at how bright they looked.
She dipped her finger in a small pot of ram's fat mixed with red ochre, and dabbed it on my mouth, reddening it. "There!" she sighed. "You hide your lips and their shape when you leave them uncolored."
I was beginning to look--not like a stranger, but like a very enhanced version of myself.
"Your hair is gleaming from the juniper juice and oil we rinsed it in last night. Now all I must do is comb it and braid it with gold ornaments."
"That is good," said Charmian, behind me. "For I had selected the green gown with gold embroidery." I turned to see the gown she was holding; it was in the Phoenician fashion, with gathered shoulders and a panel to float from the back.
"I think you are readying me for Mount Olympus, to be received by the gods," I said. "It will be a letdown to walk into my own audience hall."
"For you, perhaps, but not for him," Charmian said. "He has traveled a long way, after all, just to see this."
I sighed. Poor man--poor boy--whichever he was. Mardian had been vague about that. "Yes, yes," I said, standing still while Charmian lowered the gown over my head. Another servant brought gold-braided sandals and put them on my feet--feet that had also been rubbed with fragrant oil. Now Iras set to work on my hair, and Charmian brought out a jewel box and selected an emerald necklace and gold and pearl earrings. She also presented a bracelet shaped like a cobra.
"It is his gift, my lady," she said. "Archelaus brought it, and wished you to wear it."
"I see." I took it and examined it. It was exquisitely fashioned, each scale of the snake rendered realistically, and the eyes were ruby. Against my will, I was touched. How could he have known my partiality to snakes? I put it on.
I entered the hall ceremonially, passing a knot of people on one side without looking at them, until I mounted the steps of my throne-platform. Then I turned and welcomed them, bidding Prince Archelaus of Comana to come forward.
From out of the group of courtiers, envoys, and scribes a tall young man detached himself and made his way to me. He carried himself like a prince, neither obsequious nor haughty, I thought, and I was surprised to see how comely and pleasing he looked.
"Welcome, Prince Archelaus," I said. "We are pleased to receive you at Alexandria."
He smiled. "And I, most exalted Queen Cleopatra of Egypt, am honored to be here."
I wanted to find his words or manner unappealing, but they were winsome.
I extended my arm. "I thank you for your gift. It is most beautiful."
"The artisans in Comana are skilled," he said. "It was my pleasure to commission it."
After more of these public pleasantries, I invited him to join me in the pavilion on the palace grounds and dine in the open air. I also pointedly dismissed all the attendants and spying servants. Together we descended the wide steps of the palace and walked across the green lawn to the white, shaded pavilion, where a table and couches were already waiting. He walked very gracefully, and took long strides. He was also quite a bit taller than the one head I had specified.
We settled ourselves on the couches, reclining as custom dictated. He propped himself up on one elbow and looked at me. Suddenly we both burst out laughing, as if we were conspirators together. I had just undone all the careful, formal costuming of myself.
"Forgive me," I finally said. "I am not laughing at you."
"I know that." And I knew he did. "Nor am I laughing at you. I suppose I am laughing in relief. I almost did not come, and a hundred times on the journey I asked myself why I did come. I felt a fool."
"You were brave," I said. "I appreciate that." I looked carefully at him. He seemed about my own age, with dark, straight hair and a mouth like that of Apollo. I wondered if his mother was likewise attractive, compelling Antony's interest.
"It was worth the journey, just to see you," he said.
"Please. Do not resort to timeworn formulas."
He smiled. "The trouble with timeworn formulas is that once in a while they are true, and then no one believes you."
"Tell me about your kingdom," I said, shying away from the personal. "I have never traveled anywhere except Rome and Nubia." I was becoming more curious about the rest of the world.
He explained that it was a region of Cappadocia, but not as mountainous, and had maintained its independence--just barely. "The Roman eagle is pecking away at us, but so far has not carried us off to her nest."
"Yes, I know all about that."
He looked surprised. "It should not be such a worry to you," he said. "Egypt is a large morsel, hard to digest."
"I think Rome has a big enough stomach."
I could see him thinking, debating whether to launch into the question of my liaison with Caesar. He decided not to. "Comana is safe enough for the moment," he said.
Now I debated whether to say Thanks to your mothers charms, but likewise thought better of it. Instead I said, "What do you think of your new overlord?"
A servant appeared, bringing the first course--lettuce, rolled cucumbers stuffed with sea bass, spiced quail eggs. Archelaus took a long time
making his selection.
He speared a quail egg before responding. "We are thankful it was Marc Antony rather than Octavian. After the battle of Philippi, the vanquished lined up to surrender to Antony first. No one wanted to fall into Octavian's hands; they knew he would be unforgiving. Some of the prisoners, due for execution, begged Octavian for assurances of honorable burial. He just sneered, 'You will have to take that up with the carrion crows.' " His appetite dampened, he chewed the egg slowly.
Yes, I could picture that. And I could imagine him smiling his perfect smile as he said it.
"It could have gone to no one but Antony," I said. "Along with the territory comes the task of invading Parthia, and only Antony could carry it out. Besides, he has served in the east before, and knows its ways." I took a sip of the white wine, diluted with mountain water. It still had a slightly astringent flavor. "Has he been--terribly busy?"
"Day and night," said Archelaus. "Especially night."
Seeing the look on my face, he reached for more words.
"But he has been diligent in attending to business," he assured me. "Interviewing people day after day in headquarters, making decisions that seem fair and well considered. Ephesus is a fine city, situated on the sea as it is, with its marble buildings and streets--but of course you are used to that in Alexandria. But one thing it has that Alexandria doesn't--a countryside well suited for riding. Lord Antony took me out several times for riding and hunting. I got to know him as a private man."
The second course arrived, roasted kid, smoked peacock, and sliced ox meat. There were three sauces to accompany them: pepper and honey, cream of cucumber, and chopped mint in vinegar. He looked at them and finally took two.
"And what is he like--as a private man?" From Dellius's summons, I suspected that the sudden elevation to power had changed him, corrupting his sweet nature.
I was surprised when he answered, "A prince among men." He paused. "A man among men, a soldier with the common soldier."
"Oh, you mean he changes his manner to suit the occasion! He colors to suit the coloration around him." A human chameleon, that most slippery of creatures.
"No, I mean the opposite," he said. "I mean that he is always himself, no matter the company. He is at base a plain man, an honest man--and what is more noble and princely than that?"
"Unfortunately it is not often found among nobles and princes," I said.
"I believe he deceives others as little as possible, and himself not at all. If people are deceived in him, it is because they have deceived themselves, seeing what is not there."
"Has he seen my sister?" I asked. What had he done about Arsinoe?
"No," he said. "Arsinoe is still in sanctuary at the Temple of Artemis. Antony does not frequent the temple. Enough of his men have been availing themselves of the unofficial prostitutes there, the ladies who . . . er . . . purport to serve the goddess with their earthly skills."
Now we both broke out laughing again. I was glad Antony did not go there; it would be demeaning. But what business was it of mine?
Archelaus was telling a story about his court. I listened, but paid more attention to my own reactions to him. I was watching them as closely as a child staring at a butterfly's cocoon, waiting for it to open.
I had enjoyed the afternoon, and I found Archelaus appealing. But only as I found many other things, and people, appealing: the priest of Serapis who came to me whenever I wished to celebrate an anniversary or make a special offering; the woman who tended the lotuses in the palace pool, and fashioned delicate necklaces from them. The head charioteer, well-favored and strapping. They were all attractive human beings, who warmed my heart with their wit, skill, or kindness. They made daily life a delight.
But they did nothing to awaken that part of me that had gone to sleep, or--worse--been murdered along with Caesar. And neither did Archelaus. I could not imagine him with no clothes on, and most telling, I had no wish to. Nor could I imagine myself in such a state with him.
That night, as I lay in bed and felt the hot air of summer fill the room, I wondered what induced such feelings in me, and why thinking about them was not the same as the immediacy of actually thinking them.
Wishing for things could sometimes call them forth. Wishing to study could incite a desire to do so, stimulate an interest. Reading about a region could pique interest in it, make you want to travel there and experience it. But passion could not be piped forth, could not be lured from its den by any known device or trick. It seemed to have a stubborn, independent life of its own, slumbering when it would be convenient for it to dance, springing forth when there was no reason for it, nowhere for it to spend itself.
I wished I could will myself to feel desire for Archelaus, but I could not, it seemed, command my own will. Nothing stirred within me, no hint of heat rose from my inmost being. I was as still as the sacred lake of Isis, where I had swum so long ago, parting the waters in silence at night.
Chapter 42.
The winds blew across the Mediterranean, bringing ships and news. I was apprised of everything that was happening on all fronts--from Octavian's near-fatal illness on his return voyage to Antony's rollicking progress across Asia. Once in Italy, still weak, Octavian encountered difficulty after difficulty, from veterans demanding to be paid, for whom he had no money, to the predations of Sextus on the Roman food routes. The fortunes of the two men were diverging, Antony climbing and Octavian declining.
For a while Antony continued to send messengers to "invite" me to attend him. Finally they ceased, and I had no more word from him. Good. I had made up my mind to go, when it suited me, and in a manner that suited me, when he had stopped expecting me.
It was necessary that I have some understanding with Rome. In spite of my harsh words and disparaging thoughts about it, the truth--which I finally had to admit to myself--was that when I bore a son who was half Roman, and the child of Julius Caesar, I had tied myself to Rome forever. What happened in Rome mattered to my son, as well as to Egypt.
Fate had blessed me in sending Antony east, instead of Octavian. I could deal with Antony, and I meant to bend him to the best bargain I could in regard to both Caesarion and Egypt. He had spoken for Caesarion's paternity in the Senate, and I needed him to continue to back those claims. And he must be made to know that Egypt would be a valuable ally but a troubling enemy. We were too large to be treated as a vassal state; we were no Comana. He would have to approach with respect and ask, not command, if he wanted to free his hands to confront Parthia. I wondered exactly how Dellius had described my refusal to answer. In any case, Antony had given up. I had won that round--the first one. Now for the next.
It took two months to ready the ship for its peculiar mission. I selected a "six" and had it completely refurbished inside and out, so that there was none other like it in existence. The stern was gilded in gold leaf. Belowdecks there was an enormous banquet room to accommodate twelve dining couches, as well as musicians and acrobats. I built cupboards to store enough gold plate to furnish the table three times over, and the hold of the ship was turned into stables to carry thirty horses--and as shipwrights know, one horse takes as much room as four men. In addition, I had my artisans design lamps that could hold many lights, and could be suspended in the ship's rigging and altered to shape circles, squares, or triangles. When they were raised or lowered, it looked like the night sky, but brighter and more magical.
As for my own quarters, they were to be in the aft part of the ship, and contained a large bed, tables and chairs, and many mirrors, as well as lamps affixed to the walls.
Yes, I had my plan, and the money invested in the ship would be well worth it.
But as for myself, I was uncertain about the best way to arrive at Tarsus. Should I be dressed as a stern warrior, helmet--ceremonial, of course--and shield girding me? Should I be dressed as Caesar's widow, in drab and severe costume? Should I be a remote queen? This was a state visit--what image did I wish to convey? Should I be warlike Athena, or grieving D
emeter, or regal Hera, or . . .
My eye happened to fall on the mosaic set in the banqueting hall floor just as these thoughts were turning idly through my mind, and I saw Venus rising in her splendor from the sea. Venus . . . Aphrodite . . . We would be passing her island, the island of Cyprus, on our way to Tarsus . . . where she might arise and come on board. . . .
Antony. Antony was Dionysus. ... So who should pay a state visit to Dionysus but Aphrodite?
Yes, and Caesar had called me Venus, had put the statue of me as Venus in his family temple. . . . Antony, too, as a Julian, was descended of Venus. . . . It was altogether fitting that it should be Venus, Aphrodite, who came to Tarsus and met Dionysus. We would thus be changed from ourselves, and it would lend a striking aspect to the meeting, one that would command attention, transport it into another realm altogether. . . .
"Charmian!" I called, leaving my chair. "Charmian, call the costume master!"
* * *
The sails filled, hesitant at first, then proudly and boldly. The waters clove and we shot ahead, six hundred miles toward the coast of Cilicia, toward Tarsus.
On board the ship were all the provisions to hold court and entertain the Romans and the citizens of Tarsus. I need be beholden to no one there, need not be anyone's guest. It was I who would do the inviting, it was I who would hold court.
Memoirs of Cleopatra (1997) Page 67
