Kleopatra (53 page)

“By all accounts, Caesar is finished. Must we wait for the body to be cold before we take action? It is not like you to dally,
Kleopatra. You must either strike or go far away and retire to private life, and let your brother rule Egypt.”

“Cousin, I am prepared to strike,” she said, trying to summon up her courage. “But at this moment, and I hope this moment
passes quickly, I am afraid.”

Archimedes took her by the hands and raised her to her feet. He looked into her eyes and then took her in his arms, holding
her tight, this time with unbound fingers that kneaded her back tenderly as he held her. The strength in his body and the
calm beat of his heart steadied her nerves. He let her sink into his chest—for how long, she did not know—until she felt balanced.
He whispered softly in her ear, “We must ready ourselves for victory.”

Four miles from the fortress of Pelusium, the queen and her army encamped in the shadow of Mount Casius. She had marched from
Askalon that very day with her troops, aiming to be settled by nightfall, where they could refresh themselves with sleep,
and storm the fort at dawn. They had worked on the plan for two days and made the long march in one.

They were outnumbered. Kleopatra was almost two thousand men short against Achillas’s troops, but Archimedes and her advisers
did not seem to worry about the disparity in their numbers.

“Your brother’s men are mostly lazy Egyptians who despise their Greek king,” said Archimedes. “Your troops are either men
who have pledged you their loyalty or men who are well paid.” She did not know whom to believe, so she decided to believe
only her intuition, which dictated that she make war and defeat her brother as quickly as possible.

At sunset they made the proper sacrifices, and she and the officers dined on the kill under a moon that was almost full, casting
a cold, stark light upon their banquet. She made short speeches to her army in the various tongues they spoke and then retired.
She intended to put herself into the hands of the gods and go to sleep. But after the dinner, she realized she was exhausted
and exhilarated all at once. She was prepared for victory, but she was also prepared to die.

“This may be my last day on earth,” she said to Archimedes. The soldiers had set up a tent for her, large enough that she
could stand in it. It contained a square table and two folding campaign chairs as well as a large mattress for the queen’s
slumber. Charmion, who insisted upon accompanying the war party, had furnished it with quilts against the chill of the desert
night. Outside the tent, Kleopatra heard the sounds of soldiers readying for battle, swords being sharpened against rock,
armor clanging as it was cleaned and polished, horses neighing softly as they were massaged and oiled to be ready for tomorrow’s
encounter.

“There is no reason to believe that we won’t prevail,” Archimedes said. “I cannot monitor exactly what numbers we face, but
the scouts estimate that Achillas has stationed six thousand men at the fort. He could draw upon some fifteen thousand more.
But that would take days and days. Weeks, actually, by the time he summons them from the provinces. For the moment, the odds
are almost even, and we have the gods and all that is right and good on our side.”

“And if we fail?” she asked. She did not wish to think of failure. She repeatedly calmed her fears with the long-ago prediction
of the crones, with the dream in which Ptolemy Soter made her an eagle, with the declaration of the priest that the gods were
on her side in the war against her brother. It was not that she lacked faith; it was just that her practical side groped for
an alternative plan in the event that the battle was lost.

“We will not fail,” he replied.

“I have been conspiring in my head, Cousin. If we lose but survive, I want you to help me finesse this plan. I will obtain
an expedient divorce from my brother and offer myself in marriage to a number of eastern kings.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. The king of Pontus. The king of Judaea. I will marry one of them, the one who agrees to join with me against
my brother for the Egyptian throne.”

“Cousin, those kingdoms are occupied by Rome. The Romans will not allow a war on Ptolemy. So let us prepare ourselves to win,
not to lose”

“Archimedes, I fear you lack a practical nature. I must have an alternative plan. What do you think of my marrying into the
royal house of Parthia, or of Bactria? Perhaps such a union might be the beginning of a kingdom larger even than the Roman
empire. Perhaps such a union might challenge Rome and prevail,” she said, her eyes wild and her heart racing with the grandiose
plan.

“Now we are not merely negotiating with Rome, we are setting about to conquer her? Are you willing to live among the savage
Parthians? Kleopatra, I believe you have battle fever. I believe you are going mad”

“What else to do with Pompey against me? How do I know how indebted Pompey might feel to Pothinus for fifty ships and five
hundred Gabinian soldiers?” she asked, once again verbalizing the argument she had played out in her head a thousand times.
“But if I married myself to a king of great resources, Pompey would have to take our demands seriously.”

“I do not like to hear talk of your marrying some barbarian king,” he said angrily.

“Well it may not come to that. Even if we do not prevail in this battle, even if my brother takes me prisoner, I still might
find a way to expose Pothinus’s anti-Roman sentiments to Pompey at the appropriate time. I could probably work through his
son Cnaeus, who I believe is rather fond of me.”

“Is he?” Archimedes asked darkly.

“Yes, he is. He attempted to seduce me when he visited the palace.”

“Kleopatra, I have never known you to be naive. Do you think that a man’s immediate sexual desires have anything to do with
whom he may choose to support against his father’s wishes? Particularly if his father is the most powerful man on earth? You
are a clever young woman, but it is clear that you know nothing of men.

She felt the sharp sting of truth. He was not wrong; the accuracy of his comment hit her hard, flattening the confidence that
moments before had begun to surge through her body. Yes, she had probably overestimated her power over Cnaeus. Hopelessness
descended over her like a heavy shroud, eradicating any internal powers she had mustered. Had she overestimated her abilities?
Was she, a young woman of twenty-one, and not an entirely beautiful one at that, foolish enough to think she could manipulate
a man’s desire into a political alliance? Or to think that she, with no military experience, could command an army and prevail?

“Perhaps this night should be spent in prayer and sacrifice to the gods,” she said solemnly. “If this evening is my last,
perhaps I should cleanse my soul before meeting the deities.”

“I have a much better idea,” said Archimedes. He pulled her to his chest and twisted his hand into her hair, throwing her
neck back and forcing her upturned eyes to look directly into his. “If this evening is to be our last, then let us spend it
together as a man and woman should.”

He kissed her. Slowly at first, then with an open mouth, his tongue passing through her lips. Though her mind tried to argue
against what she was about to do, her body, weak and tingling, was ready to surrender to his desire. A new feeling enveloped
her, a thrilling but disconcerting sensation. She acquiesced completely to his lips and hands, feeling his body grow more
tense and insistent. When he let her breathe, she said, very quietly, “This cannot be.”

“Does it not strike you as an appropriate way for a queen, a woman, to spend her final night in mortal form?” he said.

“But I cannot be yours.”

“Considering what may happen tomorrow and what we feel right now, doesn’t that seem like a small concern?”

“But what if we survive? What will become of us then?”

“You cannot be my wife. But Kleopatra, my love, do you really believe the gods wish you to suppress your womanly desires?
Do you really believe that the women of your dynasty have pleased themselves with their brother-husbands alone?”

“I do not know,” she said, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks in embarrassment as she remembered Berenike and her tryst
with the women who served her.

“Kleopatra, you are so brilliant, but you know so little of human nature. You can be mine in the way that you will never belong
to whatever husband you next marry for political expediency. I have waited years for you to become a woman. Can you deny that
Fate arranged this attraction long ago?”

“But my father warned against it.”

“And I stayed away from you,” he said. “But when you needed help, I came. As soon as I saw the woman you had become, I knew
this was destined. Tell me, did you not feel it, too?”

“If we are to be lovers, we are doomed lovers. One way or another. Whether we die tomorrow or whether we live.”

“Then let us enjoy the moment,” he said, lifting her into his arms as he would a baby. “Have you done this thing before?”

“Only once. I am initiated,” she said nervously as he laid her on the feather mattress. He sat beside her and stroked her
body with his right hand, caressing one of her breasts and then the other. How could he do this so blithely, she wondered,
when it was strictly forbidden to touch the queen? She understood the reason for the protocol, for to be touched so was to
lose oneself, to forget everything—position, country, kingdom. And yet, she did not stop him, but let his fingers pinch her
nipple until she arched her back in pleasure, reaching for something that she could not identify but was desperate to have.

She pulled his mouth to hers. It was time for her to know this part of life, to explore this dark cave that housed a beast
of whom she had long been aware, but whose turbulent cravings she had staved off in the name of duty. And here was a man who
loved her. Who would lay down his life for her the very next day if necessary.

He broke from her. “You are a queen, and someday you shall be a great and magnificent and wise queen, gods be willing. But
just now, just for this moment, you are a maiden about to become a woman.”

“Is the experience so transforming?” she asked.

“If done properly,” he said, smiling at her for the first time that evening. “I am at war within myself at this moment about
whether to ravage you the night long or to make love to you gently and then allow you a restful sleep.”

“Be tender with me, Cousin, and save the more savage passions for our enemies. If we are alive and free at this time tomorrow,
then you may ravage me the night long.”

It was not the first time he had walked among the dead, but never had he viewed a vanquished enemy who had so forced his hand
in war and destruction. He was grateful for his height, for it put him a good distance from the anguished faces of the deceased
and the dying, some of whom he recognized.

“This they would have,” Caesar said to Pollio, who walked soberly beside him. “They brought me to this necessity, did they
not? After all my attempts at peace? See the dead, Pollio? I would be in their place had I listened to their demands and surrendered
my army.”

Caesar sighed, stepping over the body of one of the tall Thessalian soldiers who had been ordered by Pompey to defend his
camp while Pompey himself had fled. He looked about at the lavishness of Pompey’s deserted headquarters, at the gold and silver
plate that, in grandiosity and optimism, had been placed at the senators’ table. At the finely embroidered linen tablecloths.
At the ceramic wineglasses meant for his enemies’ lips. The arrogant fools had thought that they would, by this time of the
day, be enjoying their victory feast.

Caesar thought of the hunger and privations his men had endured all year long while the Pompeians lived in this well-stocked
camp, enjoying the same opulence that they had in their Roman mansions. He was not one of them. He was not one to bathe in
idle luxury. And that is why he was alive and walking over the bodies of the men his enemies had paid to guard their pathetic
lives.

He would never allow himself to gloat, but his sympathy for the fellow countrymen he had humiliated and defeated quickly turned
to a swell of satisfaction.