Cleopatra Confesses (9 page)

The shell seller looks eagerly from one of us to the other, knowing there is money to be made.

The dancer bargains with the old man to sell her twice as many cowrie shells as she has money to pay for, convincing him without much difficulty that half are for Princess Cleopatra. We walk off together, chatting like old friends, though she continues to address me in a formal manner, as she should.

“My name is Charmion,” she says. “It will be my honor to buy us each a cooling drink, and we can sit in the shade of a sycamore and refresh ourselves.”

Charmion tells me that she lives with her mother in the royal harem, the place where women dwell. She is twelve, a year older than I am, and has been training as a dancer since early childhood. “My mother is in charge of the king’s dancers.”

She spreads a cloth on the ground and arranges two rows of cowrie shells. “Let us look at the shells, you decide which
ones you want, and I will show you how to make the hip belt.” I watch her deftly string the shells on a strand of linen thread, placing a knot and a brightly colored bead between each shell. Her hands are pretty, with long, shapely fingers. She knots a thread at one end and hands it to me.

My fingers are not nearly as clever or as quick, and I must concentrate on not dropping the beads and losing them in the dust. “What I really want,” I confide to Charmion as we work, “is to learn your dances. Will you teach me?”

She glances up at me, eyebrows raised. “There are many who would not approve,” she says softly. “King Ptolemy, for one. The grand vizier, for another. Almost anyone I can think of.”

“I don’t care,” I reply impatiently. “It’s what I want.”

Charmion is quiet for a moment, concentrating on the shells. “I can teach you some things, mistress,” she says slowly, picking among the glazed beads. “When you are ready, we shall begin your training.” She touches her fingertips to her lips, a sign of her promise.

Chapter 16

T
HE
B
ATH

While Monifa and I visited the temple and the marketplace, our servants erected a village of tents near the riverbank. My tent is made of reed mats fastened to a framework of wooden poles. A thick carpet covers the dirt floor. My bed has been moved into the tent, along with the chest holding my dresses and jewels, and I have told Irisi to find me a table and chair so that I can read and write. Nearby is the dining pavilion, a pair of red and yellow striped pennants flying above it. Beyond it, the kitchen tent stands next to a pit for roasting meat. Still farther away are the tents of the servants and workmen.

Late in the afternoon, several girls playing harps usher my sisters and me to a luxurious bath by the river. Small statues of dolphins stand between stone seats arranged in a circle around a mosaic floor. Our servants help us undress. Pipes carry deliciously warm water from a nearby tank, and our servants stand
ready with clay jars to pour the water over us. Naked, we step down into the bath.

Berenike stares at my waist. Irisi is also staring. In fact, every eye is on the hip belt I made with Charmion’s help.

“What is
that
you’re wearing?” Berenike asks.

“It’s to protect my fertility,” I tell her airily.

She rolls her eyes. Tryphaena stifles a laugh. Arsinoë says, “I want one too!”

“Do tell us about this fertility belt, Cleopatra,” Berenike says in the mocking tone she has adopted whenever she speaks to me.

“You don’t have any breasts to speak of,” says Tryphaena. “You’re not even a woman yet. So why are you concerned with your fertility?”

I know that my sisters are taunting me, simply to see me get angry or maybe even cry. But I am determined not to let them have their way. “I will be a woman soon enough,” I say with all the confidence I can muster. “And it isn’t too soon to think about my fertility. It will be my duty, as it is every queen’s, to produce heirs.”

I realize, too late, that I have made a mistake. I should never have mentioned a queen’s duty. Berenike leaps upon my words, her eyes gleaming like the eyes of a cat about to seize a fish.

“Dear Cleopatra,” she purrs, “there is no reason for you to have the least thought about your fertility or the duties of a queen. Should you ever desire to be a bearer of children, I wish you well, of course. But you will never be queen of Egypt! Never!”

Tryphaena rises from the bath. “You’re always being praised for your intelligence, Cleopatra,” she says, stretching lazily. “I have no idea who puts such stupid ideas into your head, but it
would be better for you to rid yourself of such thoughts. They can only bring you harm.”

Tryphaena and Berenike exchange a glance that sends a shiver of fear up my spine. Fear is transforming my dislike of my sisters into hatred. And now my sisters have made me furiously angry. I am tempted to reply with Father’s words to me on that first night on the river
: My wish is for you to rule Egypt
, but I recognize that doing so would only increase their malevolence. And so, with an effort, I remain silent and close my ears to my older sisters’ laughter.

Our servants dry us with soft linen towels and rub our bodies with perfumed oils, and we return to our tents.

I fling myself on my bed and give in to wild tears. Monifa and Irisi try to comfort me, but I refuse to tell them what has upset me, and eventually they leave me alone to exhaust my rage in silence.

Chapter 17

T
EMPLES

My anger at my older sisters burns steadily, but I refuse to let it master me. We avoid one another as much as possible. Only Arsinoë notices, or speaks of it.

“You hate them, don’t you?” she asks.

“I don’t hate them,” I tell her. “We disagree, that’s all.”

“But they hate
you
,” she says.

“How do you know that, Arsinoë?” I ask.

“I’ve heard them say so.” She looks away.

Now she has my full attention. “What else do they say?”

“That you want to be queen, but they won’t let it happen.”

“Anything more?”

Silence.

“Will you tell me if they say anything else?”

“Maybe,” she says, and skips away.

I wonder what else she knows, what secrets a nine-year-old
can keep. Is she in league with Tryphaena and Berenike? Does she carry tales to them, as she does to me? I recognize that I must be more watchful of Arsinoë.

We stay in Thebes for several days. By my count, it is now the end of the second month of the journey. Father meets with local leaders, no doubt making all sorts of promises he does not intend to keep. While he is occupied, Demetrius and I explore not only the temple of the creator-god Amun, the main part of Ipet-Isut, but also those parts of the complex dedicated to Amun’s wife, the mother-god Mut.

Even Demetrius is not able to explain the many gods and their qualities. I am relieved when my tutor grows weary and is ready to return to the royal tents. As we walk along the riverbank, where it is cooler, Demetrius stops to point across the river to the royal necropolis on the western bank. For almost two thousand years kings and queens and members of the nobility were buried in hidden tombs dug into the limestone. Yet in spite of every precaution, grave robbers found the tombs and stole their treasures. The tombs have been broken into so many times that guards are posted to keep out thieves.

At the foot of a great limestone cliff an eerily deserted temple lies half-buried in drifting sand. It is not like any other temple I have seen and must have been quite beautiful in its time. As the desert sands continue to blow in, it may soon disappear entirely, like a dream.

“The temple of Hatshepsut,” Demetrius explains. “She was an amazing queen, though little evidence remains of her rule. Only a few of the scholars at the Museion know anything about her. She dared to rule as pharaoh—she even wore the false beard and
the royal kilt. I believe you would find much to admire about her, but you will not see her name on any of the king lists. Her statues were smashed and all representations of her erased, even from the walls of her own temple.”

“Someone must have really hated her,” I murmur as we walk on.

“Her stepson, probably. She overshadowed him, and he resented her.”

“But why?”

Demetrius lifts his shoulders in his familiar gesture. “Power, Cleopatra! Hatshepsut had it, and she was not afraid to use it.”

I consider this as my tutor and I make our way back to our tents. I am beginning to understand that whoever has power also has enemies.
Was Hatshepsut ever afraid? Would I have her courage? Because someday soon, I may need it.

Irisi is waiting for me. “Do you wish to join your sisters at the bath today?” she asks. “I have fresh linens ready for you.”

The pleasure of bathing in the lovely warm water is appealing, but the idea of having to listen to the idle chatter of Tryphaena and Berenike and their gibes about my beaded belt ignites my anger all over again.

“No,” I tell her. “I want to stay here in the tent and rest.”
And avoid my hateful sisters
, but I do not say that.

I lie down on my bed, and Monifa draws the silk curtains. I hear the musicians come to escort my sisters to the bath and Monifa telling them that I am resting. I close my eyes, but they snap open at once when Tryphaena and Berenike rudely open the curtains and, laughing loudly, rush into my tent with Arsinoë just behind them.

“Well, now, what’s this? Up, up, dear sister! What will people say if you’re not with us at the baths this afternoon?”

“I was out exploring the temples with Demetrius, and I want to rest,” I tell them, though they do not deserve an explanation of what I have been doing. “Please, dear sisters, do go on without me.”

“It won’t be half so amusing if you’re not there, Cleopatra. We want to see your fertility belt!” Berenike cries. “Are you wearing it now?” She snatches my coverlet, but I manage to hold on to it.

“We’ve been thinking that we’d like to have them as well,” adds Tryphaena. “Where did you get it? Come, now, Cleopatra, tell us!”

“I don’t need to tell you anything!” I am shouting, though I know this is a mistake. I try to lower my voice.

My raised voice summons Monifa, who stares openmouthed at me clutching my coverlet while my sisters try to pull it off. Tryphaena turns on my servant. “What are you gaping at, old woman? Where did our sister get that cowrie-shell belt?” she demands.

“I have no idea, mistress,” Monifa murmurs, bowing politely. She is lying, of course, and I am grateful for that. Monifa does not like my sisters any more than I do, but she is a servant and must not allow her feelings to show.

My sisters again exchange the look that I have come to recognize and fear. This time my fear is for Monifa as well as for myself.

Berenike makes a sound of disgust, as though she has tasted something bitter. “I don’t know why we even bother with you,” she says. “We were simply trying to be friendly, as sisters should.”

They leave my tent as rudely as they entered. Monifa makes sure the silk curtains are closed behind them. She looks down at me and lays a cool, soothing hand on my forehead.

“Rest, dear child,” she says, and goes away.

It is quiet now. I close my eyes again, and to keep from thinking about my sisters, I let my thoughts drift back to that long-ago and nearly forgotten queen, Hatshepsut.

When I become queen, I will be like Hatshepsut. A real pharaoh! I will not be vain and empty-headed and interested only in luxury, giving orders just to have people obey me. I will be strong and powerful, and I will rule justly and well. I will command the love and respect of my people, and I will. . .

I am drifting off to sleep. But before I do, I realize that I have begun to think in a different way. I no longer think,
If
I should become queen. Now I think,
When
I become queen—no matter what my sisters believe.

Chapter 18

D
ANCERS

The days drift by, slow as the Nile itself. It is now the third month of Harvest, and we have been in Thebes for twenty-four days. The heat bears down on us. I spend much of the time in my tent, reading and studying. The servants have dampened the reed mats, and the steady breeze from the north blows through the mats and cools my tent. Hardly anyone is stirring, but I am restless, and I decide to borrow one of Irisi’s dresses and go looking for Charmion. I have not spoken to her since the day she helped me to make my hip belt, though I see her dancing at the nightly banquets. Sometimes I manage to catch her eye, but she always looks away quickly.

I find the kitchen tent, where the cooks are preparing the evening meal, sweat streaming down their faces, and ask one of the helpers to show me the way to the dancers’ quarters. He grunts and points with his chin toward a grove of trees. I am about to
rebuke him for his rude response when I realize that he does not know who I am in Irisi’s dress, and that pleases me. I walk in the way he pointed until I hear the light tapping of a drum and the jingle of a sistrum and follow the sound to an open space among the trees. Several of the girls lie sprawled on the ground in a patch of shade. Some arch their bodies into graceful backbends, then spring upright again with no effort. The rest are practicing jumps that look complicated and difficult.

They are all naked.

I step back quickly, hoping not to have been noticed, but an elegant dark-skinned woman sees me and holds up her hand. The drummer stops drumming. The dancers halt midstep. Charmion recognizes me and hurries over to where I stand.

“Welcome, mistress,” she says, bowing low. “How may we serve you?”

“You promised to teach me to dance,” I remind her. “It is my desire to dance with you at the king’s banquet.” I am only half-joking.

“But you are a royal princess, mistress!” Charmion exclaims, her dark eyes wide. “It would not be seemly for the king’s daughter to be seen dancing with us.”

“Then I shall wear a disguise. A wig. No one will recognize me.” I am beginning to take the idea seriously.

But Charmion bursts out laughing. “Only a fool would not recognize Princess Cleopatra!” The dancers cover their faces with their hands and peer at me from between their fingers.