Pharaoh (31 page)

“And where does that leave us, my friends? That leaves us with Caesar’s legacy, given to Rome’s history by Caesar in his greatness,
and held in place even by his own assassins. The only difference is that we no longer have Caesar himself to guide us.

“He was not a young man, nor was he a healthy man, but in three days’ time, he was to take his leave to conquer once and for
all in the name of Rome-in your names, citizens-that great barbarian land of Parthia that has threatened the safety of our
empire for so many terror-filled decades. For Caesar wished for all the earth to be Rome, for every free man to be a Roman
citizen, for every baby born on this earth to add to the glory of the empire. No less were his ambitions for you, citizens.
And now we know that his ambitions were born out of his great love for us all. Citizens, the man whom the Holy Books proclaimed
would defeat the Parthians has been murdered!

“Now those of us he left behind must set about his tasks in his memory, but without his leadership, praying to the gods to
be gifted with just a portion of the wisdom, the strength, and the
genius that they
showered upon Caesar.”

Kleopatra grabbed Archimedes’ arm. “He is naming himself Caesar’s successor.”

Archimedes withdrew his arm and shot her a cold look. “I wonder, Cousin, in how many ways you will support that claim?”

She was about to chastise him for his insolence when something
bright and swift and gleaming shot across the sky like an arrow from a warrior’s bow. All heads lifted to see the cosmic wonder
streak above, a shimmering white tail slashing the black of night. Two augurs rushed to the Rostra. Antony bent low so that
they might deliver him news. All eyes were now upon him, and no one spoke until he broke the silence.

“I have just been informed by the Holiest of Holies that Caesar has ascended into the heavens and taken his place with the
gods.”

The citizens of Rome gave a collective gasp at the news of the dictator’s ascension. Antony looked at the skies as if for
another sign, another appearance from the spirit of Caesar, but darkness prevailed.

“I, for one, shall pray to Caesar,” he said. “Not for myself, for Caesar knows my heart. No, I shall pray for his assassins.
I shall pray for them that as he sits among the gods, Julius Caesar will demonstrate the same mercy and forgiveness he did
when he was mortal and among us.”

After a moment of silence, people began to pour forward to the funeral carriage, heaping their gifts upon Caesar’s body. Men
stormed the arenas where the magistrates met, tearing the judges’ benches and spectators’ bleachers from the ground to use
for the pyre. Antony stepped aside as soldiers with torches set fire to the mounting heap around Caesar, and it rapidly took
the flames. There was no order as people trampled one another to add to the mound of treasure dedicated to Caesar.

A young boy from the provinces carrying a farmer’s tool jostled Kleopatra aside, dashing past her to offer his humble gift.

“We are getting out of here,” Archimedes said, taking her arm and pulling her away. “No arguments, Your Majesty. Or I shall
use force against you and face the consequences in Alexandria.”

Kleopatra knew that to leave was to abandon every hope, every plan that she and Caesar had made together. As soon as she turned
her back on the fire, all that she had built in her life would be dashed to shreds and she would once again be at the very
beginning, the future a blank map upon which she must once again forge a path for herself, her son, her nation.

“I cannot go,” she said. “Take Caesarion back to Egypt and wait for me.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he said with restrained mockery. “And as you have no enemies either in Rome or at home, I am certain
both of you will be terribly safe.”

She knew that he was right, that she must let go of all her dreams, or at least of this set of them, and return to her country
to plan anew She let him lead her through the crowd, staying close to him, letting his body be her shield against the masses
that pushed against them to get to Caesar’s body She could barely breathe as he dragged her by the hand away from the spectacle.
They pushed on through the throng, past the basilica dedicated to Julia, which the citizens were now tearing apart for the
pyre, past the temple of Venus, where Kleopatra’s statue stood. How long would it remain there now? she wondered. She imagined
it being taken out and melted on the fire, the gold gilding Caesar’s body, as if she were being cremated with him. Archimedes
brought her to the Forum’s exit. No one was leaving but them, and they stopped for a moment and looked back at the Rostra,
where Antony stood watching his countrymen turn the funeral pyre into a spectacular theater of flames, burning upward and
outward like a star on fire. Though the mob was out of control, destroying the Forum, battling one another to make final offerings
to Caesar, and shouting demands for vengeance, Antony stood among them, fearless, in control, not flinching from the growing
heat-all at once and for the very first time reminding Kleopatra of Caesar himself.

K
leopatra paced nervously across the deck of the ship. Only one day into her mission, the weather was inauspicious-no clouds
overhead, and all the sky an unbroken sullen gray If a storm swept across their path, it would be swift and deadly

She did not feel well. Her stomach revolted against any and all kinds of food no matter how bland, and she was thinner now
than when she was a girl. She did not know if it was because of anxiety, or because there was no man in her life for whom
she wished to be womanly. She ran her hands down her sides, feeling the jut of her hipbones. She worried over her weight now.
She could not afford frailty. Her son was still a baby, his father dead. What would become of the boy in the treacherous swarm
of world politics if his mother perished?

Surely the events of the last year had taken a toll on her health. She had returned from the tragedy of Caesar’s death to
a country of plague, pestilence, and famine. The Nile had not risen that year; the crops had not grown. In the rural areas,
there was widespread starvation. In the city, the plague, which had been threatening the harbor area for years, unleashed
its black destruction, creeping into every corner of Alexandria. All over the city, bodies oozing with inky sores were thrown
into hospital carts and burned in a perpetual pyre outside the city limits. Day and night that flame burned, fed with the
blood of Egyptians,
Jews, Greeks, whose flesh mingled in the fire, defying the burial customs of each of those cultures, so many thousands of
years old.

Egypt was in the grip of darkness, and yet deeper woes lurked at her borders. Antony had run Caesar’s assassins out of Italy,
and now Marcus Brutus and Cassius were at large in the eastern territories, threatening Kleopatra’s kingdom. Cassius, hiding
out off the coast of Egypt, had had the nerve to send a messenger demanding that Kleopatra release the legions Caesar had
left in Alexandria to aid his cause. He had said that if the queen denied his request, he would march on Alexandria. Moreover,
unless she gave him the full support of her army, navy, and treasury, he would back her exiled sister, Arsinoe, as queen of
Egypt.

Though she did not have the forces to face his legions, Kleopatra decided to hold out against him, ignoring his demands, sending
him a message that posed a simple question: “Is it wise for Caesar’s assassin to ask the mother of Caesar’s child for support?”
Then she placed all her confidence in Antony, who had also called for her aid. Sailing now to him in Asia Minor with sixty
warships, she had cast her lot with finality, and she hoped that she had chosen well. After Caesar’s death, all civilized
people-and the queen of Egypt was no exception-looked on in anticipation to see who would emerge the victor in the mad fray
over Caesar’s succession. The whole world was splitting apart, and it seemed that the only man who might hold it together
was Antony. She was sure that her faith in him was justified, and yet she was so weary of Rome’s fist squeezing the life out
of Egypt and forcing her own hand. Here she was, sailing to answer a Roman call for aid at the risk of her own life, her own
fleet, her own nation.

For over one year she had been watching the astonishing scramble for Caesar’s power from Egypt’s troubled shores, and she
was anxious to see an end to it. In the interim, however, all the players had revealed their true character, but none as clearly
as Caesar’s heir, Octavian. Antony and Lepidus had taken a clear stance against the dictator’s murderers, while Octavian,
who proclaimed himself the New Caesar, danced on both sides of the fence. He sold all of Caesar’s possessions and used the
money to bribe Caesar’s soldiers to join him. He paid each citizen the money promised to them in Caesar’s will, using the
rest of it to stage lavish games in Rome, allegedly in honor of Caesar, but the true purpose of which was to promote himself.
On the other hand, he also
aligned with some of Caesar’s enemies and assassins, paying particular attention to Cicero, appealing to that old man’s vanity
and treating him as a mentor.

Kleopatra and her advisers had a difficult time sorting it all out: Caesar’s second in command was now at war with Caesar’s
heir, who had aligned with Caesar’s assassins, all the while presenting himself as the New Caesar. It was a puzzle. Finally,
they heard that the assassins, with Octavian on their side, had squared off against Antony’s forces at the battle of Mutina,
after which Antony appeared defeated.

But Antony had rebounded by raising the biggest army Rome had ever seen. When Octavian realized that Antony could not be defeated
again, he sent his mother, Atia, to Antony’s mother, Julia, to secretly negotiate an alliance. At the Po River, with the mothers
as mediators, Antony and Octavian met clandestinely and declared a new Coalition, in which they also included Lepidus for
their bankroll. Antony sealed the alliance by marrying his stepdaughter, Clodia, to Octavian. Then Antony marched into Italy
with ninety thousand men, scattering the assassins to the east.

Antony and his fellow triumvirs took control of the city of Rome, issuing a long proscription list against all those who had
betrayed Caesar. Among the first to be executed was Cicero, who was decapitated by soldiers as he tried to flee Rome. Despite
the fact that the old man had lavished his support on young Octavian, his head and hands were cut off and nailed to the Rostra
in the Forum-all with Octavian’s blessing.

And now Kleopatra was sailing with her fleet to answer Antony’s call for reinforcements in Asia Minor and Greece. She had
been informed that Cassius had sent ships plus a legion from Cape Taenarum to intercept her, but she had made up her mind
to proceed, undeterred by his threat. She had no idea how the legion left to her command by Caesar would react if faced with
fighting another Roman legion at sea, but she had spoken to the men herself, reminding them that they were Caesar’s legion,
and that Cassius had thrust a dagger into their commander’s body, ending his life. The men had said that they were eager to
aid the great Mark Antony, and she hoped that their word back in the comforts of Alexandria would hold out against the sight
of their fellow Roman soldiers aboard Cassius’s ships.

“Your Majesty,” said her admiral, “I believe this is the first time a
woman has commanded at sea since Artemisia, the Persian queen, led her navy against the Greeks.”

“I wonder if the weather threatened to defeat her plans as well,” answered the queen, looking up at the ominous skies. The
wind had picked up speed, moving through Kleopatra’s hair, blowing her dress and cloak behind her, making her shiver. The
admiral caught her arm so that the sudden rocky waves did not knock her off her feet. She steadied herself, but as she watched
the ululation of the flanking vessels on the choppy waters, she felt light in the head and queasy in the stomach.

“Are you unwell, Your Majesty?” asked the admiral.

As far as Kleopatra could see, his skin was turning an unhealthy yellow too, but his voice remained steady and he did not
flinch as he held her arm.

Kleopatra felt a fat drop of water fall on her nose. She looked up into the glaring metallic skies, and another drop fell
straight into her eye. Before long, the skies opened and sheets of rain began to beat the planks of the deck. The admiral
quickly escorted her to shelter.

She lay on the bed in her cabin, clutching the sheets as the waves made the warship into a child’s seesaw. Blood rushed from
her head to her feet and back as the boat dipped into the sea, riding its violent rollers. There would be no sleep this evening.
The last time she had looked, the skies were purple, a hideous bruise of a color, making it impossible to know if it was day
or night. The lamp flickered as the boat rocked, its oil sloshing over the sides and onto the cabin floor.

Kleopatra roused herself and put on her cloak, but she was soon thrown to the floor. She waited for a moment of stillness
and stood again, slipping on the spilt oil, but quickly reaching for the cabin door. Steadying herself along the walls of
the narrow corridor, she made her way to the admiral’s quarters.

“Your Majesty, I was just about to send you a message.” His pupils were so large as to obliterate the rest of his brown eyes,
which were encircled by deep olive moons. “I do not believe we should proceed. The winds are as violent as I’ve seen off the
African coast. I’m afraid too many of the crew are taking ill.”

“And yet we cannot turn back, Admiral. What will the general Marcus Antonius think if we simply do not come? He has asked
for our aid.”

“We will send a message that the weather has defeated us. He is a man of war, and all men of war understand the precariousness
of weather.”

Kleopatra did not want to say what she was thinking, that it might be preferable to perish at sea than to let Antony think
that she had not heeded his call for help. She had Antony’s pledge of support, but too many Romans had reneged on too many
promises to the Egyptian throne in her family’s history. If she was seen at all as being cowardly, or as trying to sit out
the battle until its victor was decided, she would never recover her privilege with him.

“Can we not ride out the storm?” she asked. “What is your estimation of damages if we do?”

“I have discussed it with my officers,” he said. “I believe that if we do not turn around and ride the winds back to Alexandria,
we may lose the entire fleet, including this vessel.”

Kleopatra nodded weakly, releasing him to send his command for retreat, and then she went back to her cabin and worried over
her decision.

The sons of Caesar shall have their revenge.
Antony’s oath. Antony’s promise. She believed him. At this moment, she had no choice. Caesar himself had more than once staked
his life on Antony’s loyalty. But still the question loomed in her mind: To exactly which sons was Antony referring?