"We could go to the shrine of Apollo near here," he said. "It is reputed to be very beautiful, and it is ancient. I know you have a fondness for ancient things--"
"No, not Apollo! How can you have forgotten? Apollo is Octavian's patron god!"
"Oh yes. Well, what about--"
"I know. The Temple of Isis. There is bound to be one here. And it is fitting, since she is my goddess, and your god is Dionysus. We will make an offering there, take vows before the priest, but have our festivities within the palace. I wish all your Roman officers to help us celebrate. All of them." I wanted hundreds of witnesses.
"Yes, of course." He threw up his hands. "You don't seem to understand," he said. "I wish all the world to see! When I came here, I shook the dust of Rome from my boots. I leave all that behind, and am not ashamed to stand up before the world itself with you."
I knew that this extraordinary man meant it--once again he was doing what he pleased, without thinking. But this time it pleased me that he did so.
"Yes," I said. Now let him make it good; let him prove it. "Let us hold the ceremony tomorrow. And now I leave you. We have much to arrange in the next few hours."
He did not flinch. "You will find it all done, and done well."
Back in my own, unfamiliar apartments, I wandered in like a ghost. I was stunned. Although I had rehearsed my "demands," I had not expected this to happen so fast. Tomorrow! To marry a man tomorrow whom I had not seen in four years! It was crazy, as crazy as something the god Dionysus would indulge in. I felt I must be drunk to do it.
Iras leapt up, surprised to see me return so early. Her eyes fastened on the necklace, and she stared.
I touched it lightly. "Do you like it?" I said. Indeed, I did feel drunk. None of this was real. "It is my wedding present. Yes, I am to marry. Tomorrow."
She just sputtered, unable to find words.
"You and Charmian will have to make me ready. I hope the ceremonial gown I brought will be suitable." I had had a special one made, but even to myself I had not used the words wedding gown. "You had best get it out and air it. Call Charmian."
Iras rushed off to do so. I looked dreamily around the chamber.
Married. I was to be married--in public. In only a few hours.
"Madam, what is this?" Charmian came running in. "Married?"
"Yes. Tomorrow." I did not have to identify the man. "Well, isn't it about time?" I laughed. "After all, our children are three years old!" "But--"
"Charmian, Iras, your task is to make me beautiful tomorrow. Nothing else."
"That we can do," said Charmian. "But I must ask--you must ask yourself--and answer before tomorrow--I know you wish to marry Antony, but do you wish to wed Rome as well? Will you yield Egypt up like this?"
"It is a fair question," I said. "But by doing this, I hope to preserve Egypt."
I lay in the darkness, the hours passing in this strange city, under this strange sky. Nothing was as I had pictured it, adding to the unreality. Thus, whatever happened tomorrow would be fitting.
Charmian's question . . . how to answer it to myself? Because my position was unique, I could not expect to be like any other bride. But I felt I was marrying a man, not marrying Rome. He, like Caesar, was an unusual son of Rome, one who seemed to understand that there were other peoples in the world, and was willing to share the stage with them--or at least grant them some dignity and liberty under the Roman eagle.
The wedding would take place in the late afternoon. Basins of water from the famous springs of Antioch were brought in to fill a tub for me to bathe in. I declined to add any perfume or oil to them, since they had been tasted by Alexander on his way to Egypt, and he had pronounced them like his mother's milk. If anything, milk should have been added. Charmian and Iras washed me, one rubbing each arm, and washed my hair. Afterwards they combed it out, drying it before a brazier, brushing it smooth until it gleamed. Then they took a pair of shears and cut a lock of it to be dedicated to Isis before the ceremony.
My gown, a Grecian-style one of pale blue silk, hung airing in the breeze before the open window. On a separate cord hung my veil of matching silk. I would wear it covering my face, in accordance with Greek custom.
Each of them tended to my hands, rubbing them with almond oil, buffing the nails with ground pearls.
I was oddly calm. I knew it was a momentous step, and because it was of such great consequence, I could not dwell on it. I must go forward, trusting my own leading, committing myself to fate. It did not feel unkindly.
The procession to the Temple of Isis, and the ceremony itself, would be witnessed by only a dozen people. Antony would take me in a carriage, with his chief officer, Canidius Crassus, on my other side. Others would follow, including Iras and Charmian and more staff officers.
He came to my chamber early, looking solemn. But whatever his thoughts, he stood there manfully and extended his hand to take mine. Silently we descended to the waiting carriage. Through the gauze of the veil I could see the other man waiting, a man with a long, thin face. He nodded to me and slid far to one side to give us room. Still no one spoke, as the horses clattered along the street. I peered out as best I could. The buildings were handsome ones, the streets swept and clean. There were no crowds, as none of this was expected or announced.
As we swung down another street, I glimpsed the famous statue of Tyche, Antioch's goddess of fortune, staring enigmatically at us, clutching her sheath of wheat. We rattled past her.
At the Temple of Isis the priest was waiting, holding the pail of sacred water. He wore the customary white linen robe, and his head was shaved. Behind him rose a beautiful statue of Isis, carved in the whitest marble I had ever seen. My lock of hair lay at her feet, a dark, shining offering.
Antony and I stood before him, the others from the following carriages grouped around us. He prayed to Isis, she who had instituted marriage, asking her to unite us, bless us, preserve us. He asked us if we came willingly to this marriage, and we each said yes--Antony loudly, I much quieter. I found it hard to speak. He asked us to vow fidelity to one another, to live as man and wife, to care for each other the rest of our lives--not fleeing before adversity, he said, or relying on prosperity, but standing side by side in all conditions until death, faced together.
A ring was not necessary, but Antony produced it and put it on my finger, announcing that in so doing he took me as his true wife.
The statue of Isis was anointed with sacred water, more prayers were said, the hair dedicated, incense lit. Hymns were intoned in the priest's high, singsong voice.
It was over. We were married. Antony took the corner of my veil and tried to lift it. "May I see my wife's face?" he asked.
But I stopped him. "No. Not until much later." That, too, was the Greek custom.
We returned to the carriages, but the way back was much slower. As twilight fell, a torchlight procession walked ahead of us, singing wedding hymns. In the carriage, a still-silent Antony took my hand--the one with the ring-- and held it. The gold necklace lay heavy on my neck.
In the palace, the wedding feast awaited--heaps of food, hastily prepared but nonetheless succulent. There were roasted boar, smoked bass, oysters, eels, and lobsters, salt fish from Byzantium, Jericho dates, melons, mounds of cake dripping with Hymettan honey, and more of the famous Laodicean wine.
I met the officers who were to play such an important part in the coming campaign: Marcus Titius, dark, lean, almost satyrlike; Ahenobarbus, balding but with a bushy beard, sharp eyes, and (I had been told) an even sharper tongue. He held it tonight, offering only his congratulations. There was also Munatius Plancus, a broad-beamed man with a thatch of straight, light hair, and again, Canidius Crassus. He had not only a long face but a long body as well, and was exceptionally tall, towering over others. He had a mournful look on his face, but later Antony told me he always looked like that. Certainly he seemed polite enough to me; I did not detect any hostility in his manner.
Last there was Ventidius Bass
us, the general who had driven the Parthians back across the Euphrates, and, as Antony put it, "made it possible for us to be here in Antioch tonight."
Bassus bowed stiffly. Older than the others, he was actually of Caesar's generation.
"Bassus is departing for Rome for a well-earned Triumph," said Antony proudly. "And you will be sure to tell everyone in Rome about today's ceremony, will you not?"
Bassus looked surprised. "Why, yes, if you . . . want me to, Lord Antony." Obviously he had imagined Antony wanted it kept quiet, not announced in Rome.
"Yes. Yes, indeed I do. In fact, make sure you don't forget."
"No, sir."
"Here, here, is my wedding gift!" Antony cried loudly. He unrolled a scroll and read off to all the company, "To Queen Cleopatra, I hereby give the following lands: Cyprus, west Cilicia, the coasts and seaports of Phoenicia and Judaea--excepting only Tyre and Sidon--central Syria, Arabia, and the groves of balsam in Jericho and the bitumen rights to the Dead Sea."
Now all conversation ceased, and I could sense the shock and anger in the room. Antony rolled the scroll up and placed it in my hands, then folded them over it. "It is yours. All is yours."
I realized that he had given me not only Roman territory but other rights that were technically not his, such as the ones in Jericho and the Dead Sea, and Arabia. He had gone beyond even what I had asked.
"I thank you," I said, and now at last I felt hostility around me.
It was time to depart for our chamber. We were conducted there by a large company, then escorted inside. The doors were closed, but just outside them the last part of the ceremony must be enacted. A chorus sang the bridal song, and we stood and listened.
.
Happy groom, the wedding took place and the woman you prayed for is yours.
.
Now her charming face is warm with love.
.
My bride, your body is a joy, Your eyes as soft as honey, And love pours its light on your perfect features. Using all her skill, Aphrodite honored you.
No woman who ever was, O groom, was like her.
.
The voices faded away, and I could hear the footsteps departing. We were truly alone.
Now Antony lifted off the veil, freeing my face.
"Yes, it is true," he said, "No woman who ever was, is like you." He finally kissed me, and I let him.
Later, standing before the bed, I spoke. "I am scarred. I am not what I was." The birth of the twins had left its mark on me. He would find me changed.
He took my face in his wide hands. "You earned them for me, and they are precious to me."
I thought I would have forgotten his body, but I had not. The body has a memory of its own and mine remembered his, every aspect of it.
How had I passed those four years without it?
Time and again all night, in between our times together, I would get up and look out at the dark plain stretching beyond the palace, at the starry sky, its constellations moved ever so slightly from Alexandria. That night sky of Antioch, as it holds itself in late autumn, will always be a consecrated memory for me. I cannot separate it from the joy of my reunion with Antony, and of our daring to do what we did.
Chapter 55.
For the first few days I found myself walking about in a peculiar state of mind, bringing myself up short and saying in disbelief, I am married. It was hard to fathom the subtle change it entailed. I was almost thirty-three, and had been alone--fiercely alone--all my life. Living with Caesar in Alexandria with the palace under fire, living with Antony when he came on holiday, was not the same. And altogether those had only added up to a year--one year out of thirty-three. I had borne children and raised them alone, had governed alone, using Mardian and Epaphroditus for advice and guidance only, but having no conflict between their wishes and mine.
Now I had a partner, politically and personally, and it felt as odd and cumbersome as the gold wedding necklace on my neck. It was beautiful, it was valuable, it was enviable--but it felt unnatural.
Not that Antony was difficult to live with. I knew already how accommodating he was, how his high spirits could turn any ordinary day into a celebration. That was part of his charm. But now our plans must meld, our aims must be the same; there was no way we could extricate ourselves from each other, no way to say, You do this; it is of no consequence tome. We were now of immense consequence to each other.
It was what I wanted, had thought I wanted. And his magic always was that when I was actually with him, these doubts and reservations vanished.
Winter closed in on Antioch. What was a delightful summer spot was dismal in winter--fogs and chilling, torrential rains. I wished to return to Alexandria, but Antony needed to stay where he was to ready his army. Reluctant to leave him so soon, I stayed. There were, of course, the usual festivities that abound wherever soldiers gather, especially in the winter.
And there were the nights we spent together--some of them placid, with Antony reading reports and maps, planning battle strategies, while I allowed myself the luxury of reading poetry and philosophical essays--and others passionate, fueled by our long separation, both past and future, heightened by the wonder that we actually possessed one another.
And, inevitably, there were quarrels. A letter came from Octavia, written before the news of our marriage could have reached her. Antony read it aloud, making it sound almost comically dull.
" ' . . . and you would certainly have enjoyed the reading by Horace, which he presented at the gathering at the home of Maecenas.' Oh yes, I'm devastated to have missed it--I wonder what we were doing then.7" he mused. "Horace always bored my toga off."
"Oh, is that what got it off7 No wonder Octavia staged Horace readings regularly."
He shrugged. "I should have kept it on. Making love to Octavia was like-- was like--"
"I don't want to hear what it was like." Whatever it was like, I had been sleeping alone. It must have been more satisfactory than that.
"It was like--nothing at all."
"Oh, not nothing. Surely." The whole subject made me angry.
"As near to nothing as possible."
"Well, you must have done this nothing often enough to bring forth two children. Strange that you would keep at it so doggedly."
"She was my wife! She expected--"
"I don't want to hear about that, either! I suppose you were about to say Octavian was patrolling underneath the windows to make sure you were performing your duty."
He just laughed, finding it amusing. "No, it was more like having Octavian right there in the room already."
"How appetizing."
"Why do you keep talking about it?"
"You brought it up! Reading that letter--" I pointed to it, still hanging limply from Antony's hand. He had been about to drop it into a basket of correspondence.
"Then I won't anymore! I thought if I didn't read it, you would take it amiss." He waved it up and down. "I don't care about it! Forget it! Why does it bother you so?"
"Why does Caesar bother you so?" The sight of the pendant sent him into fits, so I had reluctantly stopped wearing it. I would save it for Caesarion.
"Because he--because he was Caesar! Who wants to follow Caesar? But Octavia--there's nothing extraordinary about her." He kneaded his forearms. "You are right. It's equally foolish. Anyone who poisons the present with the past is a fool." He got off the bench and came over to me, an intent look on his face. "Let us enjoy this honeyed present which the gods have granted us." He put his hands in my hair and pulled my face toward his.
"Not now!" I said, alarmed. "The envoys from Cappadocia expect to have an audience any moment." It never failed to surprise me how Antony could become aroused at the most inconvenient times.
"They will have to amuse themselves while we amuse ourselves," he said, picking me up and carrying me off into the bedchamber. "This is a wedding custom in Rome--the man has to carry the woman across the threshold. It's bad luck if I stumble. Oops." He dropped to one
knee just outside the door, swooping down. "Just missed it." He stepped over the sill and put me down on the bed. "There. Bad luck averted." He leaned over me, lowering his face to mine as he bent his arms. He kissed me, first on my eyelids, then gently on both cheeks, before finally seeking my mouth.
"Now I can pretend that you are war booty," he murmured. "Captured in your palace, tied up and brought here as a captive."
"Why do you make everything into a game?" I whispered. Now he had got me aroused, too.
"Isn't Dionysus the god of actors?" he said, his mouth traveling down to my neck, the hollow of my throat. He moved over closer against me, his strong shoulder taking most of his weight. It bore down on me, pushing me into the mattress. I did feel like a captive, but had no desire to escape. I brought my arms around him, running my hands down his shoulders and over his back. The very feel of the muscles and flesh drove everything else out of my mind. His mouth on me made something inside draw together and then expand. An edge of a shudder ran through me.
"Lord, the envoys--" I heard a forlorn voice in the outer chamber dying away.
"The envoys ... let them wait... a little." I could barely hear his words, they were so muffled against my flesh.
This sudden onslaught of desire did not leave him time to take off most of his clothes, so he had little to do later to ready himself to meet the envoys, besides smoothing down his hair, which he did as he rushed out the door. I lay there, dazed, as if I had just been assaulted by a force of nature, which is what Antony in full vigor was like.
Memoirs of Cleopatra (1997) Page 87
