Cleopatra (10 page)

To continue…

More thoughts on Cicero. He visits Atticus often and as I am an honoured guest, I am always invited to join them. I cannot grow weary of listening to the great Cicero. When he speaks, he strokes his chin with his left hand as if to do so helps him think. He is quite glib. He explained the Triumvirate to me, calling it the Three-headed Monster because Caesar, Pompey, and Crassus are too hungry for power.

“They have uncertain tempers,” he said, “and I see disaster ahead of all three of them.”

Cicero said that I am the first girl with whom he has enjoyed “Socratic conversation”, meaning that we discuss philosophies and ideas. No trifles or idle gossip. Though Neva and I do love to whisper such things late at night, I will not confess this to Cicero.

Morning, first light

I stepped out of bed this morning and almost crunched underfoot a dead dormouse that the white cat had left for me. I picked it up by its tail and tossed it outside into a bush. I am not ready to cook such a creature.

I heard today from Cicero that letters arrived for him from Julius Caesar who is in Gaul securing more Roman territory. It took just twenty-six days because a courier rode as fast as he could, changing horses whenever he found one roaming in a farmer's field.

The courier is resting today before returning to Caesar. Julia and others are writing messages. Am I also to pen something to this man, a chatty hello, perhaps, to get on his good side? Sometimes I do not know if my heart is responding as a royal or a girl of thirteen. Often, so often, I wish my mother were alive to explain things. In the end, I sent him one of my sachets filled with fresh spices.

I have learned more unpleasantness about the richest man in Rome, Marcus Licinius Crassus or, as Cicero calls him, The Crass One.

Already I knew that he was part of the First Triumvirate with Caesar and Pompey. In my heart I call him Crassus the Crucifier because he is the one who ordered the cruelties on the Appian Way.

Well, here is more. Crassus has his own private fire department.
So?
one might ask.

The other evening, Cicero, Julia and I had just finished dinner and were taking a walk in the gardens. We saw a glow of light coming from down the street and were curious, of course, so we wandered through an alley until we came to the scene. I will never forget it. A horse-drawn wagon was in the middle of the street, and on this wagon was a large water tank with a pump and leather hoses for putting out fires.

Crassus, the owner of this water wagon, stood nearby with his arms folded over his fat stomach. He was calmly negotiating with a man who was not at all calm, in fact, he was upset and waving his arms because it was his house that was burning.

I crept closer. It was not easy to hear their conversation because of the flames and shouts of neighbors who were panicked about losing their own homes. Crassus wanted the man to pay before he would consider putting out the fire. As the man had no money (it was burning to ash inside his house), he said, “All right, anything!”

This poor man did not realize that “anything” meant he must give his home to the man with the water wagon. Now it is
Crassus
who owns this property, and the man must pay rent to him for the rest of his life. Julia believes he sets the fires on purpose, be cause he always seems to be at the scene just in time. I think I know why Crassus is the biggest land owner in Rome.

To continue…

Cicero addressed the Senate today. Instead of sitting on the main floor behind the ladies' curtain, I climbed up the circular steps to the gallery. It was crowded with men and women leaning over the bar to hear Cicero present the closing arguments to his case. I was breathless listening to him. Such eloquence. He strides to and fro, gesturing with passion, then he stops dramatically to look at the faces around him. He knows when to speak softly and when to thunder.

Finally, just before sunset, he and the other lawyers met outside and found a way to compromise. Cicero calls this “settling out of court.”

The magistrates will be sitting again tomorrow – I plan to listen to Cicero plead as many cases as possible because I want to learn his skills of persuasion. There is another lawyer who intrigues me as well. He wears a blue toga and he paints a black circle around his right eye if he represents a plaintiff, or around his left eye for a defendant. He is quite entertaining because he also pantomimes and leaps about as if he is an actor in a Greek play.

16 Martius

This is my second spring away from home. O, my heart feels so lonesome at times. I have hopes that we can be home by summer solstice.

Because a messenger ship is leaving from Italy tomorrow, for Alexandria, I've gathered together the recent letters I have written to Olympus and Theophilus. (Nothing for Berenice – what would I say?
Have you strangled another husband?
) Surely they will grow faint when they see the volume of my words. A princess who misses her friends has much to express. I pray there will be no storms on the great sea, or serpents.

To be stupidly honest I'm not sure who to pray to – Poseidon, Neptune, Isis, or the Unnamed God? There is Zeus, Apollo, dozens more, but I do not know which one is most likely to listen to a girl.

This morning I visited Father in his garden where his reader was reciting lines from Homer. I dismissed the servant with a wave of my hand for I wanted to be alone with my father.

He did not look well. When I asked about the soldiers, he walked away from me, over to the fountain where he began splashing his face. I stepped around to the other side so he would see me, but he remained busy washing his ears, then cleaning his teeth with his finger.

“Father, please talk to me.” My voice was full of tears. When he would not answer or even look at me I burst out crying. There must be something he is not telling me.

How I wanted to scream my fury at him, my frustration. I wanted to rage, to weep.

Even so, there remained a part of me – a small part – that wanted to behave as a queen might. She must not lose herself to temper or else folly might capture her. The other part of me – the big part – wanted to be a thirteen-year-old daughter who is taken care of by a wise father. I wanted him to take us home now and promise to always keep me safe.

But as I looked at this man, the fallen king of Egypt, my father, I saw clearly as if in a vision, that this hope of mine was foolish. If one counts years, I was merely a child, but I knew I was the strong one. There was no time for me to weep and carry on.

“Come, Father.” I took his hand and led him to a bench in the warm sunshine. I unwrapped the cotton shawl from my shoulders and dried his face with it. I thought in my heart that there were tears on his unshaven cheeks, for soon after I had pinned my shawl back on, his face was moist again.

Are these tears of regret?
I wondered.
Does he see what he has become?
Though I feel pity for him, I am still cautious. In some ways a king reminds me of my leopard: he can be gentle and loving, but if threatened, he will kill.

To continue…

Father and I spent the afternoon at the soldiers' barracks. When I noticed a group of men near the stables, I left Father resting on a stool and myself went over. They were not drilling, they were playing a game!

Set into the ground about twenty paces apart were two iron stakes, each about one foot high. There were men behind each stake tossing the curved iron shoes that had been taken from dead horses, throwing them, trying to ring them onto the post.

I was thinking in my heart of what to say, or do, when an officer stepped forward, laughing. It was Marc Antony.

“Hail, Cleopatra! What brings you here today?”

Clearly he had been drinking because he reeked of wine. I did not want to waste time.

“Are you in command of these monkeys?” I asked. “For that is what they are, you know, playing games when there is work to be done.”

“Princess,” he said, spreading his arms in a shrug, “how does such a little thing like you get such a big temper?”

I held up my hand to shield my eyes from the sun.

“Marc Antony,” I said, “how does such a big man like you have such a little brain?” At that I walked away from the stables.

Now it is evening. I am angry with myself for using sour words on a man I need for a friend. Even though Cicero dislikes Antony, I do not. I rather enjoy his wit and his good looks.

What is the matter with me?

Aprilis, Spring!!

Spent today in the city, at the Forum. The court was seated, as they say, lawyers for both sides had arrived and the magistrates were ready (so many clean white togas!).

From where I sat, high up in the gallery with other spectators, I could hear Cicero clearly. His speech went on for six hours, until his last water clock ran out. Because there are three water clocks per Roman hour, there were nearly twenty of these little machines on the table in front of him – such noise, all this clicking! Why can't they use an hourglass? A slave could watch and turn it when needed.

In any event, Cicero was defending a man accused of trying to strangle a shop girl; this girl then apparently cut off his ear with her own dagger. The trial was in its third day because the law allows a prosecutor six hours and the defence nine hours. An entire day was spent examining one witness. O, the lies and fakery I heard.

My heart is heavy to admit that I found Cicero's strategy unsavoury. He attacked the girl's character in such embarrassing detail. O, I was shocked to hear it. This is his argument: so what if the man tried to strangle her? She must have deserved it, and now this poor fellow has only one ear.

I have learned that Roman law does not take a person's silence as an admission of guilt. Yet even though this girl did not speak a word in her defence, the court still found her guilty. Cicero won the case.

She has chosen exile over being stoned to death. Now she will live out her days on one of Italy's remote islands. It seemed to me, by her manner and young face, that she is about fifteen years old.

I ponder the meaning of justice. As queen, will I have a heart of stone or a heart of flesh? This I do not know yet.

When I returned to the villa, Neva had my bath ready and a surprise. Letters! I had written to Olympus about a cut on my wrist that had not healed. His response:

 

…Now then, about that sore on your arm. Prepare a poultice of figs and apply it to the wound, leave on overnight for five nights and you will recover…

I observed my first brain surgery under the skilled knife of Titus. The patient lay awake through the entire procedure, even telling memories from his boyhood. He experienced no pain, and lives to this day…

 

I miss Olympus! If I were in Alexandria I could observe these medical classes, too. I could be in the great Library. O, I must stop yearning so much for what I do not have, it only puts sorrow in my heart.

Rome does have a library, though a small one compared to home. Julia and I were there together when a little boy about the age of seven ran up to her. His name is Octavian and he is the grandnephew of Julius Caesar. He looks sickly to me, quite thin and pale, but he is very sweet.

Upon introductions, Octavian took my hand and led me to a garden outside, where there was a pond with baby ducks swimming about. He had made a little boat of papyrus and sticks, so we played together, he on one side of the pond, myself on the other, pushing the boat back and forth. The ducklings merely paddled out of the way each time the boat sailed into them.

He reminds me of my brother Ptolemy, who has no cares but for his own amusements. But such is the duty of children, to play.

 

Theoplilus, friend and student, to Cleopatra, the princess with as many questions as there are stars in the sky:

I write in Hebrew so you will not forget all my teachings. You ask me why Isis will not answer your prayers for coming home to Alexandria. You ask me why your food offerings at the Temple of Castor and Pollux remain on the statues until mice carry them away.

O Cleopatra, do you not know? Have you not heard?

Your idols are silver and gold, stone and wood, made by the hands of men. They have mouths but cannot speak; eyes but they cannot see; they have ears but cannot hear; nor is there breath in their mouths. Those who make them will be like them, and so will all who trust in them.

No dear friend, Olympus and I have not found your beautiful leopard. I am sorry. We will keep searching for her until your return.

1 Maius

A visitor arrived at the villa this morning early, before dawn. Marc Antony. It turns out he had not yet gone to bed!

We were so courteous to each other Neva later asked if I was feeling all right.

“Yes,” I told her. “I have just decided not to be so difficult.” To myself I thought,
A queen must learn how to get along with all sorts of people. I am practising.

We have plans for tomorrow. When Antony heard I am eager to see the troops Father has hired, he said he personally would take me to Ostia to check the ships.

Thus my pleasant manner today reaped a pleasant result.

On another subject … just before bed I saw Neva and Puzo in the garden. He was holding her hand and looking at her with such adoration I smiled to myself. But suddenly my heart froze.

Across the courtyard, walking through an open corridor, was Father. I saw his face, then the flash of his gold belt as he turned the corner. He had seen them together!

O Isis, please make Father forget what he saw. For once, let him spend his night soaked in wine.

2 Maius

My feet are sore, my palms have blisters, but this day I am the happiest princess alive. It is quite late as I write this, all in the household of Atticus are sleeping.

I had expected Antony to pick me up in a carriage of some sort, so that Neva and I could ride together out of the weather.

But no. The clatter of hooves on the stone road was a chariot pulled by three galloping horses! Antony stood with the reins in his hands, sturdy-looking in his soldier's tunic and boots. I was ready to protest. I wanted my maid and guard to accompany me, and I certainly did not want to stand up for sixteen rough miles, then back again.

But I thought in my heart, I am a girl of thirteen and I am learning how not always to have things my own way.

I stepped up into the chariot. It was so narrow my dress brushed against Antony's sword, our arms touched.

“Hold tight, here,” he said, showing me how to grasp the bronze rim. Then without another word he shook the reins and we were off, down the sandy road that ran along the Tiber, westwards to the coast. I turned to look over my shoulder and saw a horseman riding fast, my good man Puzo.

I had not felt wind in my hair like this since I was at sea, in the bow of Father's ship. The air was cold on my neck and bare arms, but the sun on my face was warm. Of course, I could not hear a word of what Antony was shouting to me because of the noise, such jangling of harnesses and the rolling swish of the tall wheels in the dirt.

Soon I smelled the salt air, then I saw the sea. O, joy! The busy port of Ostia excited me for ships were coming and going, workers were on docks loading and unloading cargo. It reminded me so much of my beloved Alexandria.

Antony took me to the soldiers' barracks. (Puzo stayed an arm's length from me, his hand on the hilt of his sword at all times.) I saw men training, marching. We toured the beach where Roman galleys lay on their sides, having barnacles scraped from their hulls so they would move faster through the waves. The harbour master told me that my father's fleet had been out of the water last month, scraped, and with new tar pressed between the beams for a better seal. All was ready.

By the time Antony returned me to Rome it was sunset. I could smell aromas from the street kitchens, meat roasting and fresh onions. O, I was famished, having not eaten since breakfast. My fingers ached from holding on so tightly that I could not unstrap my sandals. It took Neva an hour to untangle my windblown hair and she said my face is so burned I look wretched, like girls who toil in fields under a hot sun.

But I suffer only from the most pleasant fatigue. And from knowing we will soon be able to leave for Egypt. My heart is merry, also, because Antony and I did not quarrel. Not once during the entire day.