The Memoirs of Cleopatra (113 page)

We were housed in…not a palace, since the Greeks did not have kings, but what might as well have been one. I have observed that where there are no kings, wealthy citizens live like them, so that instead of one palace, there are dozens.

Antony looked supremely contented as he padded up and down our bedroom, as if he were trying it on for size. He was wearing what I called his “oriental potentate” gown—red silk, encrusted with gold thread and pearls, with enormous sleeves. Decorated slippers flapped on his feet.

If he did not wish to be called a degenerate oriental, I thought, he ought to abandon this costume. But I said nothing; tonight was not the night to provoke him on lesser matters when I needed to confront the biggest one.

The acropolis, crowned by the Parthenon, was visible from our window, and the just-full moon gave life to its still whiteness. Antony had stopped pacing and was staring at it.

I came and stood beside him. The legendary Parthenon at last…all my life I had viewed the white Lighthouse of Alexandria from my window, and now another white marble wonder was there to fill my eyes. But then, unbidden, came the picture of Antony cavorting as Bacchus on the very slopes of the acropolis in his wild celebration a few years ago. And of Antony being “betrothed” to the goddess Athena in her annual ceremony in the Parthenon. This city was his in a way it could never be mine. I was just the visitor-come-lately, the outsider.

I would not spoil this moment with mention of Octavia. Let him look at the Parthenon as long as he wished, and I would stand silently beside him. But when he turned…

“Antony, the time has come,” I said. I hoped my voice sounded gentle and persuasive, not shrewish. But even as I blurted out the words, I berated myself for being so blunt. I should be subtle, beguiling, but my own feelings were too strong to be disguised.

He looked at me expectantly. He thought something good was coming; he imagined I had lured some exotic entertainment to the chamber, or had ordered dishes of Athenian delicacies to be sent up. “Yes?” he said eagerly.

I took his arm and leaned my head against his shoulder. “You must divorce Octavia,” I whispered.

“What?” he said. Frowning, he turned me to face him. “Why do you say that?”

Because I cannot bear it anymore. I cannot bear my ambiguous position in the eyes of the world, cannot bear sharing you. And on the eve of a war, all things must be made clear and tidy, all debts settled
. I dropped my eyes demurely. “Because—you have postponed it long enough. It is confusing our friends and allies. It is hindering our cause.” There—was that political-sounding enough for him?

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said stubbornly.

This was going to be difficult, then. I hated that.

“Your marriage was a political one, meant to unite you and Octavian. It failed to do that. You are on the brink of war. The Triumvirate has expired. Marriages made for political reasons must be terminated when the politics have changed. That is the Roman way, is it not? Octavian himself has made, and discarded, many matrimonial ties. There was the Sextus connection, another connection with you—remember the Claudia marriage?—and the betrothal of little Julia to your Antyllus. All snapped in a second. Only
you
”—O dear Isis! keep that tone from my voice—“persist in your old political marriage. Now you should, as befits an honorable man, end it.”

“It still serves a purpose,” he said.

“What purpose?” I could hear my voice rising.

“It still provides an excuse for certain Romans to adhere to my cause. As long as I retain my formal marriage to Octavia, it gives the lie to Octavian’s attempts to paint me as un-Roman.”

“It gives the lie to your life with me!” I said. “That’s what it does!” And now all my caution, all my restraint, dissolved, and for the first time in my life I acted entirely and completely as a woman, no other considerations clouding my mind. I grabbed his arm. “For five years I’ve endured it! I cannot stand it any longer!” I began weeping loudly. “You could not stand the memory of Caesar, you wouldn’t even let me wear the family token he had given me—how do you think it feels to have you married to a living woman? I hate her! I hate her!”

What had I done? The three words had escaped my mouth, where they would exist in Antony’s mind forever, and nothing could recall them. I wept even harder, in shame at my own loss of control.

Antony bent down and knelt in front of me, embracing me. “Well, then,” he said simply, “I shall divorce her,” as if there was, suddenly, no other consideration.

Was it to be that easy? I was so startled I stopped crying. “Will you?”

“Yes,” he said. “Tomorrow, if that pleases you.” He reached up and touched my hair. “I fear it is too late tonight to send for a scribe.” He smiled.

Now all his caution entered into me. I knew this move was a provocation to Octavian and the final step before open hostilities. But it must come to this.

“Tomorrow, then.” I nodded. Tomorrow—tomorrow would end it.

“And now, my dear, I think it is late,” he said gently, leading me toward the bed. It was heaped with rich sheets, pillows, scented herbs, and its frame was gilded. But all that luxury was lost on me tonight. I was very, very tired, and everything here felt alien. I wanted to sleep next to him quietly and let him take away all the strangeness. It was the last time I would have Octavia as a presence between us.

The letter of divorce was dictated the next morning, and by noon it had left the “palace.” That night there was to be a dinner and gathering, and Antony planned to announce it then. We had been holding these council meetings fairly regularly, but this would be the first one in Athens.

It is hard to be in exile, and I had begun to feel sorry for the senators. They had left Rome almost three months ago, fleeing with little notice, and now they must live as perpetual guests and wanderers—until that day when it was safe for them to go back to Rome. Considering all they had to endure, they had been remarkably patient. Of course, they had been well fed and housed—at my expense. But by now they were growing restless and increasingly at loose ends. I had hoped Athens might soothe and divert them, for they still had a long wait ahead of them. It was obvious that the war would not erupt this year. Octavian had made no move to gather his forces, and it was he who would have to make the journey.

In the meantime, we had had the luxury of being able to equip and deploy our forces at our own pace. We were proud of our commanders: Canidius, Titius, and Plancus by land, and Ahenobarbus and Sosius by sea. The two ousted Consuls would now take their stand on the decks of warships.

After the meal, when everyone’s stomachs were stretched with the pleasure of fine food, and the wine—still flowing—was soothing their minds, Antony murmured, “Welcome to Athens, faithful friends.” He raised his cup. “I trust you will find the summer days here fair. There is still much to be decided, such as where we will take up winter quarters while we—wait.” For what, he did not say, nor did he need to.

“Are we settled on the middle part of Greece as the place to take our stand?” asked Plancus. “I am yet to be convinced that a more northerly position would not be better. Why surrender the Via Egnatia? It is the vital link between the Adriatic and the Aegean, between Dalmatia and Macedonia. It is the only real road there.” He looked truly puzzled, and his blue eyes went from my face to Antony’s.

“A good question, my friend,” Antony said. “But we don’t need the road. We need to be stationed farther south, where the offshore islands offer a base for our fleets. The road will not be bringing in our supplies; the sea will. We will be supplied from Egypt, and it is vital to protect the sea route. We must keep that route open, so we always have a secure place behind us.”

“To retreat to?” barked Ahenobarbus.

“One always needs a retreat,” Antony said firmly. “Pompey did not have one, and neither did Brutus or Cassius. I am not ashamed to admit that had it not been for my places of refuge after Mutina and Parthia—thanks be to the gods for Transalpine Gaul and Syria!—the outcome would have been total defeat, not just a temporary setback.”

“So you are thinking of retreat!”

“No. But Egypt must be protected. It is, after all, the source of our wealth. And my wife’s kingdom.” He looked over at me.

“Perhaps she should retire there and await the outcome.” It was Ahenobarbus again.

“No!” I said. “Why should I? I have supplied a quarter of the navy, have staffed many of the other ships with the finest Egyptian oarsmen, and am supporting the entire army!”

“Just because you are a wealthy patron does not mean you must be present,” said Ahenobarbus.

“I must disagree,” said Canidius. “She is not just a patron. The Queen has ruled the world’s richest country for twenty years, has led an army herself, and is certainly more experienced than any of the male client kings we are permitting to join us. It would not be fair to exclude her.”

Ahenobarbus grunted and crossed his arms.

“Besides, it is in the name of her son—and Caesar’s—that this war is being fought,” said Plancus.

“Is that what it’s being fought for?” asked one of the senators. “I don’t like it.”

“Yes, it works against you in Rome,” added another. “We need another name and plea to rally under.”

“Indeed you do.” A stranger rose from the shadows in the back of the room. He looked around, then said, “I have been sent by your friends in Rome to warn you.”

Antony said, “Who are you, friend?”

“Gaius Geminius,” he answered. “A senator who is your partisan, yet did not leave Rome with the others. I thought to do more good for you by remaining.”

“Well, then, what have you to say?” asked Antony.

Geminius looked around at the wine cups. “It were better said with clearer heads. But this I tell you, drunk or sober: The Queen should return to Egypt, if you wish your cause to prosper.”

I stood up in anger. “His cause will never prosper as long as Octavian remains!” I said. “It is not I who dooms Antony, but his implacable enemy, and mine, Octavian! Enough of these lies about me, blaming me for Octavian’s enmity! He would hate Antony even if there were no Cleopatra, had never been a Cleopatra. Can you not see that?”

“But his sister, Antony’s wife—” began Geminius.

“She is his wife no longer!” I said. “He has sent her papers of divorce.”

A babble of voices rose, all crying, “When?” and looking to Antony for confirmation.

“Yes, it is true,” he admitted. “The marriage is formally over. It actually ended a long time ago.”

Everyone was staring. They looked angry, cheated.

One senator shook his head. “When this is known in Rome…”

“So many of the finest families were torn, not knowing whom to support,” another said. “Everyone respected Octavia, and she entertained your friends and clients on your behalf. Now where will they go? You have evicted them, along with her!”

“
She’ll
go straight to her brother’s house—where else
can
she go? And they’ll follow. Oh, folly, folly, folly!” The senator stood up in dismay, eyes bulging.

Geminius looked as if he had been struck in the face. “I see my long journey has been in vain,” he said sadly. He held up a coin. “These two things together—the Queen’s portrait on your coins, and now the divorce—end even the pretense of your Roman allegiance.”

It was Antony’s turn to look shocked. “That’s ridiculous! How many times has each of you been divorced? Everyone in Rome is divorced! It was a political marriage, and—”

“And its ending has a political meaning,” finished Geminius. “A grave political meaning.” He paused. “And as for the coin—putting a foreign ruler’s head on a Roman coin is an unforgivable effrontery! It mocks Rome!”

“Egypt is Rome’s ally—” Antony began.

“Since when do you put allies’ heads on coins?” Geminius countered. “Is Herod’s head on them? Is Archelaus’s? What about Bogud’s? You see how lame that claim is!”

“I—”

“You have lost your reason,” said Geminius. “But do not expect us to lose ours along with you.”

“I have done nothing to deserve such a judgment,” said Antony firmly. “I have governed the east well. The frontiers are in order; the region is recovering financially from the devastations of the civil wars. I have conquered Armenia and presented Rome with a new province. These were the monumental tasks assigned to me after Philippi, and I have completed them, and completed them well. Instead of looking at that, you fasten on a minor thing like whose portrait is on a coin! Is there anyone here in this room who could not be faulted for some minor mistake or miscalculation? But it’s like complaining about a ten-
denarius
fine when a man has earned you a million!”

It was all very logical. But this was not about logic, it was about emotions. Their emotions were whipped up, their minds tossed about on the choppy sea.

I considered leaving the room, but decided it looked cowardly. Instead I just sat there, feeling my ears growing hot. They were probably bright red. I could feel Geminius staring at me, as if to say,
What is it about her? She looks ordinary enough from here
.

“I understand Octavian is collecting taxes,” said Antony, attempting to change the subject. “And that there is unrest.”

Geminius’s mouth gave a jerky smile. “Unrest, and more than unrest. There have been arson, riots, murder. But the soldiers suppressed it.”

So completely did Octavian have control of the army. I realized that in the ten years since Antony’s men and Octavian’s had fought side by side at Philippi, the armies had grown apart. There were no active soldiers left in Italy who had ever served under Antony or Caesar; they had long since retired. The new soldiers were all Octavian’s, with no divided loyalty.

“Perhaps we should invade Italy now, while people are still disgruntled with Octavian and his situation is shaky,” said Dellius suddenly. “Our army is ready, the ships here to serve as convoy, and it is only June.”

“Only if the Queen remains behind,” said Plancus. “Any attempt to invade with a foreigner would unite all Italy instantly.”