Cleopatra Confesses (13 page)

Antiochus bows and goes away, leaving me with many puzzling questions.

A single day gives me little time to prepare for the banquet. Monifa and Irisi fuss over my dress and hair and jewels. “I must not appear to outdo my sisters,” I remind them. Though they do not say so, I know they are worried about what will occur at the banquet. I am uneasy but determined not to show my true feelings.

The great hall is already filled when I arrive. Two servants escort me to my place near the dais. Arsinoë sits on the opposite side of the hall. I notice that Titus has been given a prominent seat. Musicians herald the entrance of Tryphaena and Berenike, who are elegantly gowned and wearing heavy gold bracelets and collars with precious stones. Berenike leads Bubu, the baboon, on a jeweled leash. I have never seen her appear quite so haughty. Tryphaena, though two years older, cannot quite
manage the same proud look. Neither of my sisters glances in my direction. It is as if I do not exist. I do not like being ignored, but I think it might be the best thing—at least for now.

The feasting begins. My sisters entertain their friends as extravagantly as Father ever did, even bringing out the finest wines from the king’s private store. No one would guess from this opulent display that Egypt is deeply in debt and that this year, once more, the grain crops failed. The one thing different is that there is no flute player, dancing to his own music. Yet no one speaks of Father’s absence. I find the whole affair deeply disturbing.

When the dancers appear, I look for Charmion among them, hoping to find a way to get a message to her, but this seems to be a different group of dancers. It would have been good to have at least one friend nearby. I look over the crowd and do not see a single person with whom I can share my uneasiness.

At the height of the banquet, trumpeters sound the elaborate flourish that proclaims the arrival of the pharaoh. Everyone rises at this signal, and my older sisters begin a majestic promenade through the hall. Antiochus walks ahead of them.

“People of Egypt!” Antiochus calls out in a loud voice, gesturing dramatically. “I present to you your new rulers! Princess Berenike and Princess Tryphaena have bowed to the wishes of King Ptolemy XII to rule jointly and will assume the crowns of Upper and Lower Egypt in a ceremony on the tenth day of the second month of the Inundation.”

I can scarcely believe what I am hearing, even though it is exactly what I expected. They are shameless! Rage starts to build inside me. Our father has been gone for only twelve days, and my sisters have already proclaimed themselves rulers in his
place
. Is it possible that he actually wishes such a thing?
What did he say to my sisters? I wish more than ever we had had more time to talk before he fled. He might have warned me, prepared me for what was to happen in the meantime.

There is a moment of stunned silence after this announcement, and then the guests begin to applaud—led by Titus—and fall to their knees before their new queens. Arsinoë is on her knees. I kneel as well. I have no choice. What selfish, arrogant, and rather stupid girls they are! I glance around the hall. It seems I am the only one who feels this. How can that be?

Tryphaena is seventeen, Berenike will soon be fifteen, and both are old enough to rule. But I—I am only eleven, and no matter what Father may have planned for my future, I am too young to claim the throne that will one day be mine. Kneeling now before my sisters, I recognize that I am a threat to them. I am sure they recognize it too and will do whatever they can to eliminate that threat.

As the procession completes its circuit of the great hall, I understand that my duty now is to survive.

I will do whatever I must. I owe that much to Father. And to myself.

Chapter 25

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The day after my sisters’ announcement, Alexandria is in an uproar. The suicide of my uncle, the King of Cyprus, was surely not Father’s fault, any more than the poor harvests were his fault. But what are the Egyptians left with, now that he is in exile? Tryphaena and Berenike revel in his absence. Each is surrounded by a group of supporters, and each has her spies. They may call themselves queens and co-rulers, but I know better: They are jealous rivals, and their rivalry grows more bitter every day. The one thing I believe they agree on is their loathing of me. They do not say it, but I can feel it. Better, though, to have them at each other’s throats than at mine.

I send my sisters a message, pledging my loyalty and devotion to the reigning queens of Egypt. I do not mean a word of it, and surely they know that, but it is what I am expected to say, what I
must
say.

From then on I am invited—ordered—to attend their banquets, and I plan to be present at every one of them, not because I enjoy them but to observe as much as I can and to listen to as much idle talk as possible.

In particular I will watch Titus. As the nephew of Antiochus, he is in a position to know more than he is saying. He is also the object of a growing rivalry between the two queens, and that could be fatal to one or the other.

Every two or three nights, my sisters host another event, sometimes large parties with the noblemen and their wives, or smaller gatherings with wealthy merchants, lawyers, physicians, scribes, and other professional men among the guests. Even Seleucus, the foul-smelling Syrian called Cybiosactes who accompanied us on Father’s Nile journey, is sometimes invited. But regardless of who else is present, Titus is always there. About halfway through the meal during one of the feasts, Titus picks up a harp and begins to sing a song he has composed. The guests halt their conversations to listen, and they applaud warmly, but none more enthusiastically than Tryphaena and Berenike.

Titus usually ignores me, probably regarding me as a child and beneath his notice, though I am nearly twelve, or will be in six months. My sisters continue to openly compete for his attention. Tryphaena sends him delicacies from the royal table, but Berenike outdoes her by offering him a jeweled ring after he dedicates a song to her. I think Tryphaena may be truly in love with him, but Berenike is determined to have him, just to put Tryphaena in her place. Antiochus has no doubt instructed him to be cautious in his attentions to the two queens. What can Titus possibly see in such vain and foolish girls?

I seldom leave the palace now except to visit the great Library of Alexandria. I am not free to wander to the marketplace or anywhere outside the royal quarter. Whatever I do, I try not to attract notice. Irisi and Monifa warn me constantly that everything I want to do puts me at risk.

Demetrius comes to see me nearly every day. I know he is completely loyal, but Demetrius has no interest in politics. He loves history, philosophy, mathematics; power is distant from his mind. He doggedly pursues my studies as though nothing else is happening. When I ask him, “How do you think Tryphaena and Berenike will divide their authority?” he simply lifts his hands and his eyebrows in a helpless gesture, and then he changes the subject, perhaps to a discussion of the use of the inclined plane in the construction of the Great Pyramid.

Dear old Demetrius! I am fond of him, but he is not a real companion, and I am desperate for company besides him and my two servants. Ten days after my visit to Alexander’s tomb, I decide to escape again from my loving jailers. I dress in my plainest linen tunic, tie a narrow belt around my waist, strap on sandals, and set off for the royal harem to look for Charmion. I may never master her acrobatic dances, but I can trust her.

The compound is easy to find, a series of low buildings surrounding a courtyard, east of the royal palace. Dozens of women of all ages make their home here. Some of them are distant relatives of my father or my mother, others are women of high status in the community, such as midwives and healers. Some are the king’s concubines.

An old woman leaning on a wooden staff regards me with open curiosity. “Whom do you seek, my girl?”

“The dancer Charmion.”

The old woman nods and hobbles into one of the low dwellings. Moments later, Charmion appears. She wears a tunic much like mine, though the linen is not as finely woven or as white.

“Mistress Cleopatra!” she exclaims and starts to bow to me, but I stop her.

“Please don’t! I would prefer not to have people recognize me.”

Charmion leads me into her quarters, which lack the tiled floors and painted walls of wealthy homes but are cool and comfortable. She arranges cushions on a faded carpet, invites me to sit down, and disappears behind a heavy curtain. She returns with her mother, Lady Amandaris, who sets a tray of refreshments on a low table and asks after my well-being. Lady Amandaris is dark-skinned, darker than Charmion, probably from the land of Nubia south of the Great Cataracts, but the two have the same graceful hands and fingers and the same wide smile. Though an older woman, she is really quite beautiful.

Charmion kneels close beside me. “What brings you here, mistress?” Charmion asks after her mother has left us alone.

“I need someone to talk to,” I tell her, and pick at the tangled fringe thread on the worn carpet. “I’m sure you know that my father fled into exile twelve days ago and my sisters have taken his place. I’m truly worried about what will happen.”

“Yes, I have heard,” she says, “and about the crowning, too. Everyone talks about it. I am to dance at the ceremony.” We fall silent as Charmion pours us each a cup of sweet juice pressed from grapes. “And you?” she asks. “What about you?”

“For the present I’m just trying to stay out of sight.”

“Maybe your sisters will decide to make it a triumvirate, like the Romans,” she suggests with a mischievous look. “And you will be the third.”

“Very unlikely! My sisters despise me. They don’t even try to hide how they feel about me. I think they’d prefer that I disappear.” I reach for a fig. “You know about the triumvirate?”

“Just because I am a dancer does not mean I have no knowledge. My mother has spoken of the triumvirs. Now tell me, please—how can I help you?”

“Give me your friendship, Charmion. Tryphaena and Berenike have plenty of supporters. I have none.”

“You have my friendship without asking for it, mistress.” Charmion places her palms together and bows her head. “My loyalty and my affection.”

I look at Charmion’s warm, bright smile and reach for her hand. I think of Tryphaena and Berenike, and how since childhood they have made me feel like an outsider, hinting at times that perhaps I am not even our father’s true daughter—though I strongly resemble him—and not of royal blood. I have never felt any affection from them—only a growing resentment.

“You are closer to me than my own sisters,” I tell her honestly, nearly overcome by a rush of feelings, “and it’s my wish that from this moment on you’ll address me familiarly, as sisters do.”

“I shall try, mistress,” she says, her eyes shining with tears. She appears to be as deeply touched as am I.

“No,” I tell her firmly, though I, too, am close to weeping. “Say it this way: ‘Yes, Cleopatra.’”

“Yes, Cleopatra,” she repeats shyly.

“Exactly.”

We go on to talk of other things. Charmion mentions Seleucus, the Syrian. “He behaves no better now than he did on the journey,” she says, making a face. “He acts in an insulting manner toward the dancing girls. He likes to try to catch hold of our braids. Watch out for him!”

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Alexandria, in my thirteenth year