Kleopatra (25 page)

What were they doing here? She Worried that Cato was right, that her father was in for a crushing disappointment. Pompey had
let Auletes down once before when the king had been desperate for his help. Why did Auletes think the Roman would assist him
now? Perhaps the Romans would welcome an idiot like Thea on Egypt’s throne, an enemy easily vanquished. What would happen
to them if the Romans denied her father?

Kleopatra lay motionless in the bed, wishing that when she rolled to her left she would see the chocolate-colored girl lying
next to her, would inhale the sweet smell of Mohama’s jasmine perfume filling the cool morning air. Kleopatra did not move.
She did not want to see the empty space on the bed. She felt the warmth begin to flood her eyes. She would not cry.

She rose and dressed, slipping past Charmion Still asleep in the antechamber, pausing at the portico to look out at the sunrise
view of Pompey’s estate. She walked straight through the atrium, ignoring the servants who followed her, and out the door,
where she picked up her pace. She ran through the arbor, laughing, skipping now, watching the light that intruded through
the vines overhead play games with her sandaled feet. Suddenly the arbor was no longer there and she was exposed to the brilliant
Roman sunrise, soft and diffuse, bathing her in lemons and violets. She reached her arms upward in thanks for the day and
was skipping like a frenzied Bacchanalian when she realized that she had reached her destination and that she was being watched.

Two boys stood before the tall white doors of the stable. She knew they were Persian by the shape of their dark eyes, which
looked as if they were lined with natural kohl, and by the language in which they whispered to each other, speculating on
her identity. Wordlessly she bid the boys to enter the stable with her. They were only slightly older and slightly taller
than she. Nonetheless, she was pleased when they followed her without question.

She paced up the aisle of stalls, peering into each compartment at the animals, but, to her surprise, seeing nothing that
suited her. Why does the great man not have a good Greek-bred horse? She wondered. Why only these clumsy-looking monsters
that seem bred for carrying a heavy load?

Then she saw him. A steed so black he was purple, the color of ripe eggplant. He was all sinew and steam, with an intelligence
in his eyes. They were light eyes, almost hazel, like hers. She had never seen such transparent eyes on a horse. He frightened
her much more than Persephone had frightened her in the beginning. This steed was two heads taller than her ornery filly.
The steam from his nostrils seemed to come from inside him, not from the collision of the chilly morning air and his warm
breath. Yet she had to have him, had to tame him. Had to see if he would respond to her command.

Mohama would have wanted him so.

The boys were appalled when she pointed to the steed. They shook their heads wildly, eyes pleading. She breathed very deeply
and closed her eyes.
May the power invested in me by the goddess make them see me as a queen.
Opening her eyes, she spoke to them in their own tongue, amazing them.

“I am Kleopatra the Seventh, daughter of the Twelfth Ptolemy, King of Egypt. I am the descendant of Alexander, conqueror of
Persia. I command you to move aside while I mount this steed.” The boys fell to their knees, begging the princess not to ride
this particular horse. This was no ordinary horse; this was Pompey’s horse. If anyone rode this horse, if a
girl
rode this horse, if a.
foreign
girl rode this horse and did anything to it, the master would have them flogged, or perhaps killed. The boys’ big kettle-colored
doe eyes urged her to reconsider.

“Perhaps he will have you flogged, too!” one suggested boldly.

She was not going to back down. She wanted the horse and she convinced herself that Pompey, should he be acquainted with her
equestrian prowess and her love of the equine, would wish her to ride his steed. This was no warhorse. The animal had not
a flaw, not a mark upon its glimmering dark coat. This was an animal bred for the pleasure and status of its owner, a work
of art, a thing of beauty. Kleopatra turned away from the boys and opened the gate of the stall. She would ride the creature
bareback.

She approached him slowly as he looked down at her with his great luminescent ovals. Curiosity mingled with disdain. She put
her hand to his mouth. After some consideration, he nuzzled his wet nostrils against it.

“Can anyone tell me why my stablehands are kneeling on the ground like the suppliant maidens while this girl is trying to
steal my horse?

Kleopatra froze. The horse butted her arm with his snout, a signal to continue the petting. She did not respond, nor did she
dare turn around. The man spoke a formal Greek, learned at school and polished in diplomatic relations. The voice was that
of a commander—deep, assured, mature, beyond reproach. A voice so resonant with authority and intelligence that no one would
question the man who possessed it.

It was he, the great man Pompeius Magnus.

“My friend, I apologize,” came the rueful voice of her father. “The little thief is my daughter the princess Kleopatra. Please
forgive her. She has been known to steal off with my own horse at dawn. She is a lover of the creatures. She cannot resist
such a mount.”

Kleopatra slowly turned around, eyes lowered. The horse snorted behind her, a witness to her humiliation.

“Your Highness.” The man bowed low and then rose to meet her eyes. “Please remove yourself from the stall before you get hurt.
Strabo is rather unpredictable.”

The princess noted that Pompey had named the horse for his father. She could not be certain if the tribute reflected mockery
or honor, since the father of Pompey was generally despised, or feared, or—oh, she could not remember. As soon as she met
Pompey’s gaze, every detail of Roman history disappeared from her memory. He caused an instantaneous reaction in her of confusion
and titillation,

Pompey snapped his fingers, signaling the kneeling stable boys to get to their feet. They skirted Kleopatra as if she radiated
poison. One of them secured the gate of the stall while the other inspected the horse as if for injury.

Kleopatra knew that Pompey was well advanced in age, a man of at least forty-six. Yet he had not lost his legendary handsomeness.
His hair was thick and tousled about like a schoolboy’s; in fact, his boyish face reminded her of Alexander. Though as old
as her father, he remained without fat. Tall, very tall. She found herself exhilarated by the sheer size of the Roman. His
hair was fair with small glinting streams of gray, and his eyes were pale brown and languid, as if he had not a care in the
world. His skin was tanned and leathery but not wrinkled. His face, nose, cheekbones, brow, were what one might call fine.

Auletes stood silent, for once inscrutable—a sure sign that she had disgraced him. Pompey said nothing, but let his eyes dance
over her small figure, enjoying now that he had caught the little royal in her cunning. “Your Majesty, I see that your princess
is rather shy,” he said to her father, not taking his eyes off her.

Auletes did not speak but gave his daughter a look of irony at Pompey’s miscalculation of her character.

“We must find her a proper animal to ride.”

“If you please, sir,” she began by stammering. “I prefer this one. Strabo, so named in honor of your late father, I believe.”

“Why, that is correct.” He beamed at her as if she were his own precocious child.

“A great man. A great warrior. Perhaps wronged in death.” The details of her education—the histories of Rome she so painstakingly
had studied—came back to her.

“You honor me with your knowledge of my family, Your Highness. I must find you a pony you can ride while you stay with us.
Come, let us review my inventory of beasts.”

Kleopatra did not move when offered Pompey’s arm. Auletes widened his eyes in warning.

“May I ride your horse, sir? I do believe he will like me.”

“I am sure he will love you, but he is a large and cantankerous animal like his owner, and I do not believe he will obey you.
I fear he will harm you. And then, my princess, I would not be able to live.”

“I wouldn’t concern myself about that,” Auletes said. “She has a way with them.”

Pompey, skeptical, shrugged his shoulders in resignation, giving the boys the signal to saddle Strabo. Kleopatra watched them
carefully. She had known stablehands to sabotage a rider. When they finished, she took the reins and led Strabo outside.

The princess got her way, but she did not care for Pompey’s horse. Clearly, the steed had but one master to whom he gave his
obedience and best performance. He did not try to get away from her. That was a challenge she would have welcomed. Instead,
he was slow to the command, unwilling to take his head even when she gave it willingly. Then, when she least suspected it,
when she had resigned herself to the careless trot and to the enjoyment of the Roman countryside, he lurched forward, pushing
her backward so that she almost fell over behind him. She hoped she was not being watched. She was now in a contest with this
conniving beast, a contest they both knew she could not win. Yet she would not let the spectators know who was really in control.

Suddenly she thought of strangers riding Persephone—Berenike, perhaps, who would beat her if she disobeyed—and she began to
worry for her horse’s safety while she remained in exile. Glumly, she let Strabo gallop back to the stable. She saw that her
father and Pompey observed her, so she made the most of the ride in the last furlong, and hoped mightily that the horse would
obey her command to stop. Pompey watched her descend upon the stables at a breakneck speed. She was being foolish; the distance
was too short for such a spectacle as she put on. But she did not incite his ire as she expected. He helped her dismount,
and she blushed when his large hand engulfed hers.

“I have only seen one woman dominate a horse like that,” he said. She hoped he thought the redness in her face the result
of the ride.

He leaned close to her as if revealing a secret. “Hypsicratia,” he whispered. “The concubine of Mithridates.” At the utterance
of the names of those fearsome persons, the stable boys began to mutter incantations to their native deity. “Mithras! Mithras!”
Pompey looked askance at them and they quieted.

“A vicious bitch,” he sighed. “I do not miss her.” The princess did not like being compared to a concubine, but she met Pompey’s
eyes, hoping he would elaborate. “Small as you, and always dressed like a boy. She rode with the king, fighting as he fought,
tending his horses. Though she was small and she didn’t wear the buckskin I believe she was an Amazon. She certainly fought
like one,

“Mithridates loved her most, though he had
hundreds
of beautiful women in his harem,” he said. He emphasized the word “hundreds,” and Auletes raised his eyebrows, wondering
if he was diminished in Pompey’s eyes for appearing in Rome with a solitary mistress. Should he have brought women to Pompey?
“I saw them, you know, but took none for myself. I sent them home to their fathers,” he added, shrugging. Auletes appeared
relieved.

Shy again, the princess looked to Auletes for permission to pursue this conversation. She had never before been in the company
of a mighty warrior. An Imperator. A Master of the World. She did not know if they enjoyed sharing the details of their conquests.
Auletes nodded his consent.

“What happened to Hypsicratia?” she asked.

“She was afraid that many men would want to have the mistress of a man so feared. Rather than risk a woman’s Fate, she took
poison with her king. They say she died claiming that she chose her lovers, and not they her, and that for her new lover she
chose death. At any rate, they both saved me a lot of trouble.” He did not seem at all pleased about the victory. “I have
their weapons on display in my home. You must see them,” he said dryly.

“I shall make a point of it, sir,” she replied.

“I had hoped Pompey’s young wife would be a good companion for you. After all, she is the daughter of Julius Caesar. Can you
not find common ground with her?”