Pharaoh (39 page)

I
f Antony thought that Antioch was neutral territory, he was mistaken. She knew what he was up to. He had his Roman wife, his
Roman children, his Roman army, his Roman half of the empire. She had spent the better part of the last few years wiping him
from her heart and her mind. Finally reconciled to life without him, she was annoyed that he was “summoning” her to him now.
And if he thought her appearance would come without a price, he was dead wrong.

She was tired of being summoned-by him, by Romans, by men. This would be the last time she answered such a call. Queens summoned
others; they were not summoned themselves. But when Capito came to her so respectfully on Antony’s behalf-at least he had
not sent the debauched Dellius again-Kleopatra talked it over with Hephaestion and they agreed that she should respond.

She was elated that he had chosen Antioch, a city founded by Seleucus, the companion of Alexander and of her ancestor Ptolemy.
At the mouth of the Orontes River, at the crossroads of two major trade routes, the city resembled Alexandria in many ways.
It had been settled by a Macedonian general; it was full of libraries, parks, Greek and Asian statuary, crowded markets with
every luxury, tall white mansions, and wide boulevards; its large Jewish population lived harmoniously among the Syrians and
Greeks. Kleopatra spoke all the languages of Antioch-
Greek, Syrian, Hebrew, and the Arabic dialect of some of the merchant class. She not only had visited the city frequently
in her youth, but her family held a palace there. It was the capital of Syria, of the Seleucid empire. Caesar had liked it
so well that he made it an autonomous city even after Pompey had annexed it to Rome. Her father had spent much of his youth
there with his mother, and there he had also met his first wife, Kleopatra’s mother. Kleopatra decided she would go directly
to those lavish quarters where her parents had once lived and “summon” Antony to her.

She did not enter Antioch quietly, but was met at the seaport thirteen miles from the city by a royal Syrian entourage. For
her own transportation, she ordered a white Arabian steed, decorated in the finest bejeweled saddlery the local craftsmen
had to offer. With flaming red plumes dressing the animal’s head and a saddle and reins of studded rubies, Kleopatra and her
retinue rode into Antioch in the middle of the morning when the markets would be most crowded. Pipers brought from Alexandria
announced her presence so that people flocked to the streets to see the queen on her snowy, high-prancing mount. She welcomed
the animal’s haughty gait; it was how she would have walked into town herself if she were on foot.

He needed her. She knew why; knew about Antony’s army of one hundred thousand men who would take the Parthian empire for him
once and for all. She knew how much it took to clothe, arm, and feed such a horde of human beings; how much it cost to feed
and maintain the horses and dogs; how much it cost to dress and heal the soldiers’ wounds; how much food it took to make those
soldiers strong enough to fight and to bury their dead on the battlefield after the day was won. Would it not be convenient
if food and money flowed freely from the neighboring country that just happened to be world’s largest producer of grain?

Kleopatra knew all too well what Antony required and where he intended to get it. She was prepared for all his tricks, for
the facile charm that he could muster without effort, for the poetry that flowed from his lips as if he were the scribe of
Euripides, for the smoldering looks that could melt a woman’s heart, make her knees weak, and extinguish her will. She had
spent four years without those niceties. She had trained herself not to miss them one bit. After Antony’s long absence,
she knew, finally, what his flattery and his lust were worth in the end. Nothing.

This was a business meeting and the topic was money.

This time, neither party kept the other waiting. Antony arrived promptly at the palace at the appointed time with Capito,
who stood stiffly by his side. Perhaps he was present to alleviate the need to address the consequences of their former intimacy-unrecognized
children, and a woman’s abandonment. Apparently there were to be no games, no theatrical presentations, no divine costumery.
Kleopatra was dressed sedately, though she had taken every effort to make herself solemnly beautiful. Since the birth of the
twins, she had been soaking in donkey’s milk from Aswan to revive her body’s skin. No longer a peanut brown coltish maiden
tanned from long days on her horse, she was paler, rounder, more serene than the last time he had seen her. Truth be known,
if asked, she would have said that though she was thirty-four years old and the mother of three children, she was at the height
of her physical appeal. She liked the new roundness that had come with the twins; her breasts were fuller than ever before,
and any wrinkles that may have been tempted to appear were smoothed by the extra pounds. She felt more solidly ensconced in
her own body, more real, more vivid. She was still athletic. Her thighs were still columns of muscles, her arms long for her
height and free of fat, and she could still manage a stubborn horse as well as any man she knew. All the pretense of youth
was gone. She no longer needed to assume costumes and personae to present herself as she wished to be perceived. She had become
what she had always hoped she was-a woman whose natural charms and ferocious intelligence were made exponentially apparent
as the sole and sovereign ruler of a great nation.

Antony, too, had changed. Kleopatra had steeled herself against his charisma, but found herself disarmed by his presentation.
He had aged. A deep line slashed his formidable brow from hairline to nose, the kind that only came from wrinkling one’s brow
in worry. He had put on weight as well, but Kleopatra did not think the new pounds sat so attractively on his physique. Somehow,
with his new imperfections, she found herself liking him better. His godlike features were now tempered with the weight of
his humanity.

“Your Majesty.” He did not move toward her, nor did he smile.

“Imperator.”

She was so focused on controlling any emotion that she did not notice what language they spoke. But emotion she felt. His
eyes dislodged her composure, though she prayed she did not reveal it to him. She was completely unprepared for the fact that
his eyes were identical to the eyes of their twins-brown and deep, as if one could fall into them and swim straight to the
underworld, losing oneself forever. So many times she had looked into her children’s eyes, fascinated with the expression,
not realizing-or not allowing herself to remember-that they were Antony’s. She waited for him to speak.

“We have many things to discuss. Are you prepared?”

To whom did he think he was speaking? she wondered. She had no intention of resuming their intimate rapport before she had
everything she wanted. She saw that she would have to set the tone of dispensing with small talk. She invited him to sit down.
Then she asked Capito to leave.

“I believe the messenger has accomplished his mission,” she said, nodding in his direction. She was pleased to see that he
did not ask Antony’s permission to depart, but took Kleopatra’s dismissal as an order.

“Now then,” she said.

“Kleopatra,” Antony began. But she cut him short.

“Imperator, I know why you have called upon me. I have been watching with great interest your doings on my borders. Very clever.
You’ve set yourself up brilliantly.”

“How do you mean, madam?” he asked formally.

“You have given power to the kings and princes and noblemen whom you think you can control. Not because you are generous by
nature, but because you realized that you must have strong and secure countries in Asia Minor and the Arab lands to prevent
Parthian invasions. Herod, you have made king of the Jews. Not a strategic move in the long run, but I do understand why you
did it. You’ve propped up Artavasdes of Armenia so that you’ll be able to follow Caesar’s strategy of invading Parthia from
the north. I don’t think you’ll be able to keep him loyal. The man is notorious. The king of Media is a more intelligent risk.
Monaeses-well, you’ve given him too much of Syria. But he is more interested in trade than in your wars and is a man easily
bought and sold. Now let’s see. The kingdom of Cappodocia. You’ve entrusted the
land all the way to the Parthian border to Archelaus, son of the bastard prince who married my sister Berenike and fought
with her against my father. Do you think he’ll really be loyal to you? Oh, but he is under the influence of Glaphyra of Cappodocia,
is he not? And you secured her loyalty in her bedroom, so she will not be tempted to betray you. That is the way with your
women, is it not?

“And now, the missing link in your chain is Kleopatra of Egypt. That is why you are here. To judge her resentment for your
desertion of her and to negotiate.”

“I see that your intelligence operations are still intact, Kleopatra of Egypt.” Antony smiled. “As well as your intelligence.”

“What did you expect? I am not finished. I have also been informed that you have given large tracts of land in Asia Minor
to a couple of crafty Greek planters-what are their names? Polemo and Amyntas? Do they not sound like characters in a play
by Aristophanes?”

“What is your point, Your Majesty?”

“My point is that the queen of Egypt shall not be made to settle for less than your plebeian upstarts, or less than Herod,
whom you made a king. I was born from a great line of kings, I will thank you to remember. I did not need a Roman to appoint
me to this throne. I know what you require from me, and as always, when you ask something of a woman, you will get it. Here
is what I require from you in return.”

Kleopatra called for her scribe. “The map, please.”

He returned with a thick scroll, which he unrolled and laid before Antony. Antony said nothing, but raised his eyebrows.

“This is a map of the empire of my ancestors. The black borders represent the countries chiseled away from us through the
years by the greedy appetite of Rome.”

“Thank you for this instruction in history and geography, Kleopatra.”

“I want it restored to me.”

She could not be sure, because he was not meeting her gaze, but she could swear that he had rolled his eyes. He took another
long look at the map, collected himself, and spoke. “I know that has been your ambition all along, Kleopatra, but now is not
the time to ask for such things. When we succeed against Parthia, then you’ll have the lands of your grandfathers once more.”

“We, Imperator? I do not believe I am going to war, nor do I believe that I shall be queen of Parthia when you are done.”

Antony put his hands on the arms of his chair and leaned toward her. “Have you forgotten our ambitions, Your Majesty?” He
was almost seething, not in anger but in intensity.

“I have heard nothing of such ambitions for many years. Perhaps they were the reveries of foolish lovers. But those two people
are gone, and
we
are here in their stead. I will reiterate my demands. You have given great power to those who rule the lands on my every
border. You have weakened me. Here is what I require. Please look at the map. I want the northern frontier of Syria. It was
held by Ptolemy Soter and it is rightfully mine. I want Ptolemais Ace and I want Ituraea. Believe me, if you give me Ituraea
they shall hail me as queen in Damascus, that much is guaranteed. Going south, I want Hippos and Gadara and the lands surrounding
them. You can let Herod keep Gaza, but I must have control over the date groves. They are very lucrative, and were taken from
Egypt long ago. I also need more control over the Red Sea. Do you see the plan, Imperator? I want the seas that surround me.
It is imperative if I am to support your war. I know that your ally in Rome is not your ally at all, and I will not be vulnerable
to his invasion while your back is to him in Parthia.”

Antony shook his head. “I see that you have had too much time to think.”

“Ample, Imperator.”

“Dare I ask about the health of our children?”

“Children are not the subject of these negotiations. If you are inquisitive about your issue, you must come to Alexandria
sometime.”

“Kleopatra, don’t be cruel.”

“Do not dare speak to me of cruelty.”

“You think that your informants have kept you apprised of everything, but even they do not have access to a man’s heart.”

If she did not know that Antony was a consummate performer, she might have pursued this line of dialogue. She might have let
herself begin to hope for more than the restoration of the empire of the Ptolemies. She might have hoped for a restoration
of their partnership, their dreams. But he had a Roman wife who was pregnant again with their second Roman child. True, he
had just sent her back to Rome, but
that did not mean that he was ready to switch his loyalties. As with the unfortunate Fulvia, Antony required a loyal female
to watch over his interests in Rome. Who better than the sister of his rival? Who would have access to more information? Who
would be better to follow the machinations of her brother? A female. Loyal, but vested with no real power, so that she would
never be as threatening to Antony’s interests as a man.

“Your heart is not part of these negotiations, Imperator.”

“That is where you are mistaken.”

“Where was your heart when you ignored the letters of our children’s birth? When you turned your back on everything we had
so carefully planned? You have no heart. What beats in your chest is the drum of ambition.”

She had pushed too far. Emotion had sneaked into the room and made itself palpable. She tried to retract the feeling, the
anger, the bitterness, but it had escaped and was now on the loose.

Antony leapt from his chair. She did not know if he was going to attack her and she shrank back, but he threw his arms in
the air. He stood over her like a huge animal.

“You frighten me, Imperator. Please sit down.”