Cleopatra Confesses (21 page)

“Have you anyone in mind for the role?” she asks, smiling.

“No,” I confess, though a fleeting image of the handsome Roman officer I met nearly a half-dozen years ago passes through my mind.

And then, grateful for her presence, I sleep.

Chapter 42

P
TOLEMY’S
B
ANQUET

It becomes a ritual. I work ceaselessly, meeting with subjects who wait their turn to complain and to plead, listening to my advisors, poring over official documents, struggling to avoid a direct confrontation with my brother’s regents. Then, late at night, too tired even to sleep, I send for Charmion.

One night my messenger, Yafeu, runs back from the harem with a message, not from Charmion but from Lady Amandaris: “Charmion has been ordered to dance for the king’s banquet.”

“The
king’s
banquet?” This is a surprise, and not a pleasant one. “I know nothing of this. What is the occasion? Where is it being held? Who is attending? I want the answers, without delay!”

Yafeu hurries off again, and I pace the rooms of my palace, growing angrier and angrier, until at last he returns with a report. “The banquet is in the great hall of the king’s palace
in celebration of Year 1 of the reign of King Ptolemy XIII. The three regents sit by the king’s side on the dais. The highest nobility are present.” Yafeu hesitates.

“Yes? Is there more?”

“It is my duty to tell you, my queen, that the banquet has been going on for some time. The guests are . . . somewhat overindulged in wine.”

I am so furious I can scarcely speak.
Year 1 of the king’s reign!
Outrageous!
It is, in fact, Year 2 of
my
rule. “By whose order is it no longer the rule of Queen Cleopatra VII Thea Philopator?”

Poor Yafeu backs away from my rage. “I do not know, my queen.” He waits stoically for my next order. Mustering my self-control, I dismiss him with thanks. Then I awaken Irisi and Monifa to help me dress. Still half-asleep, the women protest feebly that my gowns have not been hung up and prepared, that the hairdresser is not available, that no one is around who can apply my cosmetics.

“I shall do it myself,” I snap. I snatch up the first gown I lay my hands on and begin to put it on.

Irisi comes to assist me. “What is happening, mistress?” she asks sleepily.

“My brother is entertaining at a banquet celebrating his reign. He has neither invited me nor notified me of this insult.”

Usually, I take great care applying cosmetics, but on this night I dash a smear of malachite on my eyelids, hastily outline my eyes with a thick line of kohl, and set the gold circlet with the upright cobra, symbol of my queenship, on my brow. I remember my royal ring, but in my rush I forget my sandals.

Hurrying barefoot across the open courtyard toward the great hall, I see Charmion running toward me, her long braid
flying. “Please do not go there, my queen, I beg you,” she says, making a quick bow. “It may be a trap.”

I am much too incensed to take her advice. “Wait for me in my quarters,” I tell her. “I’ll talk with you later.” And I hurry on.

Some of the royal musicians are resting by the entrance to the hall. They glance up—startled, I suppose, to see me—but they remember to bow low.

“Play something,” I shout at them.

“But King Ptolemy has dismissed us,” one of the horn players says.

“And I, Queen Cleopatra, order you to play! Where are the cymbals? The drums? Come, come, musicians, announce the arrival of your queen!”

The trumpeters obediently sound the notes signaling the arrival of the sovereign, and I sweep into the great hall. The hall is crowded, as it was when Father held banquets here, and I recognize almost everyone present: courtiers, noblemen, the wealthy and influential of Alexandria, those who fawned over Father when he was alive and spoke ill of him as long as he was in exile. Ptolemy’s three regents, Theodotus, Achillas, and Pothinus, are lounging on their elbows in the manner of the Romans and gaze at me with bemused expressions. My brother is drunk, barely able to sit upright on his throne.
Who decided to give the boy too much wine?

I expect them all to rise and bow, but no one stirs. Finally, fat Pothinus pushes himself to his feet and waddles toward me. “Welcome to King Ptolemy’s banquet, Queen Cleopatra,” he lisps. He pronounces my title with heavy sarcasm and wiggles his ringed fingers. “We were just about to send for you, were we not, my king?”

Ptolemy rouses briefly, his eyes unfocused, and mumbles something unintelligible. His head droops down on his chest again.

“Then I am happy to have arrived at precisely the right moment, Pothinus. Please continue with your celebration. But first, perhaps you should tell me just what it is you are celebrating without me.”

This time Ptolemy wakes up. “I’m king now, Cleopatra,” he says. His words are slurred, but I understand him perfectly. “The power’s all mine now, not yours.” He waves toward his three regents. “Just ask them.”

General Achillas answers before I can demand an explanation. “The tide has turned against you, Cleopatra.” Not
Queen Cleopatra
; just
Cleopatra
. I suck in my breath when I hear the change in his tone. “The Alexandrians no longer believe in you. You would be well advised to gather up your supporters—if you still have any—and leave this city.”

I glance toward Theodotus, whom I have known since my own childhood. He will not look at me. “Yes,” he says, his eyes averted. “Go, Cleopatra.”

I turn my back on Ptolemy and the three regents and stride out of the hall as regally as one can when barefoot. I have come to fear my brother, deeply influenced as he is by the three men who obviously have neither love nor loyalty for me. Too young to realize what he is doing, Ptolemy has been manipulated into declaring himself the sole ruler. But the Alexandrians are supporting him, and this wounds me. Alexandria, my birthplace, my city, my heart! I understand that Charmion is right: I have no choice but to leave it—for now.

P
ART
VIII

T
HE
Q
UEEN’S
F
LIGHT

Ashkelon, the land of the Philistines, at the start of my twenty-first year

Chapter 43

A
T
S
EA

There is no sleep for me that night, after Ptolemy’s banquet. Irisi and Monifa, now wide awake, take charge of the packing. My bodyguards, Sepa and Hasani, have been alerted, as have cooks, stewards, and other servants. I send Yafeu to contact the few people I am absolutely certain are loyal to me. Captain Mshai has been ordered to round up a crew, saying that the queen is planning a leisurely journey up the Nile. To mislead Ptolemy XIII and his three regents, should they decide to pursue me, we plant rumors that I am leaving Alexandria and am on my way to Thebes. But Thebes is not my destination. I intend to leave Egypt.

Within three days everything is ready for my departure. I do wonder if anyone will try to stop me, tie me up, and throw me into prison—or worse.

Charmion insists on going too, though I have warned her
it could well be a dangerous journey. I am glad she will be with me. “You seem very calm, mistress,” she remarks when she returns from bidding Lady Amandaris good-bye. We climb into our chairs to be carried to the royal boat. The stars are beginning to fade in the pink-tinted dawn sky.

“Do I?” I ask with a smile. “I’ve never been more afraid, Charmion. But this is not the time to yield to fear. It’s the time to
act
.”

Our bearers, alert for threatening figures in the shadows, make their way to Lake Mareotis. I board the gilded boat without any of the ceremony that usually accompanies the comings and goings of royalty. The captain guides the boat through the web of canals connecting the spreading branches of the mouth of the Nile, until we reach a protected inlet near the Mediterranean at a point halfway between Alexandria and Pelusium. Those two harbors are well guarded, and it would be impossible to sail out of either city undetected.

In the marshy delta we leave the royal boat. It is large and luxurious, but it is designed for river travel and is not suitable for navigating rough seas and ocean storms. Young Mshai, the captain’s son, had gone on ahead and prepared a seagoing galley for us. While the elder Mshai takes the royal boat toward Thebes, without passengers and with only a skeleton crew, to deceive my brother and his regents, my friends and I board the smaller but more rugged ship. Our voyage continues eastward, following the coast, by sail when the winds are favorable and by oar when they are not. We are heading toward the land of the Philistines.

I have never been at sea. If I were not so worried about what lies ahead, I might enjoy the steady pitch and roll as the
ship plows through the choppy waters. But I have too much on my mind to take pleasure in this new experience. On one of these restless nights at sea, I note that I am now twenty-one years old, and I contemplate—as I always do on the anniversary of my birth—what the coming year may hold for me and for Egypt.

Chapter 44

A
SHKELON

After several days of rough seas with the sturdy galley pitching and rolling sickeningly, we arrive in the port of Ashkelon at the eastern end of the Mediterranean. The anchor is let down, and I am rowed ashore to be welcomed by the governor of this Philistine city-state and by whatever other officials have gathered to witness the unexpected arrival of a queen. I plan to establish my headquarters here while I prepare my next move, though I have only the vaguest idea of what that will be. Charmion and I settle into the simple lodgings offered by the governor, probably the best he has available. But I am not concerned by the lack of luxury. At last I feel safe. No one will harm me here.

Monifa and Irisi wander through the marketplace, alert for rumors, while my bodyguards pass their time by the docks, where traders exchange news as well as goods. For a time we learn nothing of interest. In fact, several months pass with little
news and nothing to occupy me. I am restless. I wonder about the mood in Egypt and worry about what my brother-king is doing. It is now the season of Inundation in Egypt, hot and humid in Alexandria but even hotter in Ashkelon. I move into a tent near the beach, hoping for the cool sea breezes I enjoyed in my palace. There are none. Every day, I grow more impatient, more irritable. This is surely not what my father intended.

“I should be back in Alexandria,” I fret to Charmion. “The people need me.”

“You must be patient, Cleopatra. You will know when the time is right,” she assures me, and I try to accept her wisdom. But the restlessness stays with me. I cannot imagine how my father endured years of exile.

Then, one day, my bodyguards rush back from the water-front with the report that two armies led by generals of the Roman triumvirate, Pompey and Julius Caesar, have met and clashed in Greece.

“Pompey had twice as many men as Caesar,” Hasani tells me. “The bloody battle raged through a long day. But Caesar proved to be the better general and easily defeated Pompey.”

“So it is over, then. Caesar is the victor.” I cannot see that this has anything to do with me or with Egypt. I reach for a bunch of grapes and pluck them off one by one.

“Not entirely finished, my queen. Pompey is on his way to Egypt to visit your brother. They say he expects a hero’s welcome from the son of his old friend Ptolemy XII.”

“In Alexandria?” I ask, suddenly alert.

“No, my queen. Pompey’s ship is already well to the east of Alexandria. Ptolemy and his army are marching toward Pelusium, where they expect to meet your army and defeat you.
Or so everyone says. And that is where Pompey hopes to meet young Ptolemy.”

My army?
My thirteen-year-old brother wants to go to war against me? The news stuns me. Ptolemy must be mad! “Hasani, as you well know, I do not have an army!”

My guard smiles. “I have every confidence that Queen Cleopatra will soon raise one.”

It is not easy to raise an army under such circumstances, but the alternative is to give in to my enemies and allow my brother to rule in my place. I return the guard’s smile, my mind already racing. “You are right, Hasani. I will do exactly that.”