The Memoirs of Cleopatra (120 page)

Now the cheers broke out in earnest. As a soldier, Antony had no living equal.

“I stress this not to boast, but because you should realize how much better we stand in that quarter than the enemy. Their greatest lack—greater even than their lack of funds, their lack of diversity of equipment, their lack of numbers—is in their leader.”

He paused and indicated the empty seat. “About his deficiencies in general I do not need to speak, but I can sum it all up in saying what you already know: he is a veritable weakling in body and has never by himself been the victor in any important battle either on the land or on sea.”

A hush descended on the room. “Indeed, at Philippi, in the very same campaign against the very same people, he managed to be defeated while I conquered. As he was my ally, I graciously permitted him to share my victory.”

That was true. But then, once Agrippa had entered the picture, it had changed. Even Octavian had realized he could not win alone, and so he had remedied the situation in his practical manner.

“Now, as to the two forces: Our navy is impervious to theirs, because there is no way they can inflict damage on us; our ships are too thick-timbered and high, and will carry archers and slingers to sink any who dare come near. And forget about Agrippa! Yes, he won against Sextus, but it was slaves and pirates with poor equipment he really fought against. And even then, Sextus beat Octavian soundly first. So remember that.”

More wine was poured into my cup, but I barely noticed. One of the other servers dipped a red-petaled flower into the cup. I did not see who.

“As for our army, it is not only larger, but better equipped and led by a superior commander. So let us take courage! We fight not for small or insignificant goals, but in a contest for the very world.”

I did not want the wine; my head told me I had had enough. I motioned to the boy in the shadows. He darted forward, not even embarrassed that I had observed him earlier, and took the cup, tasting it immediately.

Antony’s voice had risen to that rich timbre that carried long distances. “And so, my comrades, if we are zealous, we shall obtain the greatest rewards; if we are careless, we shall suffer the most grievous misfortunes!”

He looked around. “Yes, misfortunes! For who would fall under Octavian’s mercy? He has none. Where was his mercy to Lepidus, to the freedmen from whom he extorted money, to the landowners whom he turned off their property? To me, his own partner and a colleague of Caesar’s, whom he has attempted to turn into a private citizen, deprived of his
imperium?
And by his own word, not by the consent of these senators here, who dared to oppose him and were banished from Rome! If he attempted such against me, in the fullness of my power, having just conquered Armenia, imagine what he would do to someone kneeling at his feet. And yet—here’s the joke—he maintains he isn’t at war with me at all! It is you he’s declared his enemy. So he will treat you even worse!”

That was not strictly true, either. It was Egypt, and only Egypt, against which he had declared war. I bore the brunt of everything—the cost of the war, the opprobrium of Octavian’s Rome.

“It is in our power to preserve our own liberty and to do something even more heroic: to restore liberty to the Roman people, now slaves to Octavian and his faction. Therefore let us strive to prevail at this present moment and gain happiness, for ourselves and the Romans as well, for all time!”

A frenzy of cheering broke out. Once again the master of oratory had hit his target, the most crucial audience he had ever faced.

People jumped to their feet and stamped. Just behind me I saw someone going in the opposite direction. Someone pitched, headfirst, onto the ground.

It was the serving boy, and he was rolling around and clutching his sides.

“Canidius!” I grabbed his arm. “Look!” I pulled him away from his place next to me, toward the boy. I thought he could help pick him up. But instead he held me back and knelt down beside the writhing boy.

He was jerking his head back and forth and baring his teeth, while his legs splayed and his back arched.

“Poison!” said Canidius. He took a spoon and tried to stick it between the boy’s teeth so he wouldn’t bite his tongue, but they were clenched too tightly. “Be careful.” He wanted to avoid being bitten or scratched, having no idea what kind of poison it was. He searched the ground for any nails or glass. There was nothing but the gold cup, now lying on its side, a puddle of liquid around it.

“Don’t touch it!” I said, suddenly knowing. It was the wine; it had been poisoned.

I turned and looked at the others at our table, dreading to see them fall stiffly backward. But no one did.

It was my wine alone that had been poisoned.

The flower. The flower that was dipped into it—by whom?

In the shouts for Antony, no one noticed the sprawled figure of the boy in the shadows, with Canidius and me beside him.

Someone in here had tried to poison me. Or was it someone from Octavian’s camp?
I don’t think he’s succeeded in placing any spies in our camp
. Had Canidius been wrong?

I felt weak with shock. Right before our eyes, the boy went limp and died.

It was a very fast-acting poison.

Now Antony had looked around for me, and was frowning. I would have to return to my place and act as if nothing had happened. It was especially important for the enemy to know he—or she?—had failed.

Antony was holding out his hand, waiting for me. Shakily, I took it and smiled at him and the guests. I was warmly cheered; no hint of opposition anywhere.

Now we would have entertainment, meager, but such as the camp could provide. There would be jugglers and singers, a few acrobats, and a camel trained to dance. The musicians struck up, playing their rattles and cymbals at full volume. My heart kept time to them, and sounded almost as loud to me.

The night was not finished with its surprises. As the camel was attempting to cross one padded foot over another to the rhythm of a drum, a sailor came running into the room.

“Imperator, where’s the Imperator?” he cried wildly.

“I am here,” said Antony, rising. “What is it?”

The man’s clothing was stained and torn, his shoes soaked. He grasped Antony’s shoulder and whispered something in his ear.

The camel was spinning around with decorated tassels flying off his saddle, and people were applauding, throwing pieces of dates at him. No one noticed the sailor but those of us at the first table.

I saw a dark curtain fall over Antony’s face. He questioned the man quietly.

“And how long ago?…When did you come?…Any survivors?…What is left?…”

The answers were given, and at length Antony bade him seat himself. Then Antony leaned over and told me, Canidius, Ahenobarbus, and Sosius, “Leucas has been surprised and taken.”

Leucas. Our guarding island, where our supply boats landed.

“Agrippa?” asked Canidius.

The sailor nodded.

“By all the gods and goddesses, that man—!” Ahenobarbus exploded. “But the squadron there—”

“Sunk, or burnt,” the sailor told him. “He struck at sunset. No one expected—”

“By Zeus, it’s your job to expect it!” yelled Ahenobarbus.

“Not his job,” said Antony. “The admiral’s. Is he—?”

“His ship was sunk,” said the sailor. “I presume he is drowned.”

Antony gave a cry of pain.

“So now we are down to six squadrons, total,” said Sosius.

“And some of them undermanned,” said Ahenobarbus. “The oarsmen have been ravaged by disease.”

“Now where will we land our food, clothing, weapons?” asked Canidius.

“It will have to come overland,” said Antony. “The ships will have to land at one of the southern ports and unload the grain there, and then carry it here by pack animal.”

“No, that’s too difficult,” said Sosius. “You can sail farther out, as I still hold Zacynthus, and then make a dash into the gulf from due west.”

“Neither of these is satisfactory for long. Well, we will have to force the battle right away, before our food runs low,” said Antony. “Yes! Battle within two days. This decides it.”

The camel was finishing his dance, and his proud trainer was bowing to cheers. The camel stopped, then snorted and spat.

“Tighter, Eros.” Antony was testing his breastplate, pulling on the straps.

“Yes, my lord,” he said obediently. “It has been a long time since I have performed this duty.” He yanked on one shoulder strap.

“I know. Three years since Armenia.” He felt along his neck, adjusting the scarf that protected it from the edge of the armor. “By Hercules, it feels good to buckle on fighting gear again!”

I stood in the room, watching silently, seeing the beauty in the ceremony of attiring a warrior, while my heart hated the danger in it. I would rather have been going forth myself. But Antony had begged me not to, not even to ride in the rearguard. We find it easier to hazard ourselves than those we love.

He was holding his helmet, heavy ornamented bronze with a beak in front to protect the eyes, and cheekplates to shield the sides. Eros had lovingly polished it last night, and now it gleamed, topped by the distinctive crest that served to identify the commander-in-chief.

From his decorated breastplate, depicting scenes of his ancestor Hercules, hung a kilt of leather strips, augmented by metal ones signifying his rank. Beneath the strips I could see the purple of his tunic, which showed when he moved.

His arms and legs were bare, but his heavy nailed sandals laced halfway up his calves. He was holding his sword, turning it over lovingly in his hands. It was about two feet long, double-edged.

“My friend,” he addressed it, “we have work to do today.” The sword had been his companion on many other campaigns; if only it could write a book.

Eros fastened it, in its scabbard, on the right side of his belt, then stepped back. “There, lord. It is done.”

Antony tucked his dagger in place on his left side. “The shield,” he asked Eros.

Eros handed him the curved rectangle, with its brightly colored emblems designating the rank of the highest general.

I suddenly had a sickening vision of Alexander inheriting them; and it was sickening not because in time it would be fitting, but because Alexander was still young in the picture that flashed into my mind.

“I am ready,” said Antony. “Come and kiss me.”

My heart felt as heavy as a stone. What if this was the last time? I walked over to him and kissed his cheek.

“No, not that way!” He clasped me against him, against the heavy metal breastplate, and bent his head to kiss my lips. But he did not linger on them, as it would be unseemly.

“We’ll beat them back to their ships!” he exclaimed, striding to the door to mount his horse waiting outside. And then he was gone.

Eros grabbed up his own much less elaborate armor and followed.

True to his promise, it was only two days since the fall of Leucas. It was of utmost importance to strike as soon as possible, before the deprivations that would inevitably follow. Earlier, it was Octavian who had sought a quick resolution, while we delayed. Now the tables were turned.

His capture of Leucas had solved Octavian’s fleet anchorage problem. Now he had a protected place for his ships as long as he liked; he need not fear storms. His fleet was secure, and his food supply ensured for his army. And we—we were blockaded. Trapped at Actium, both the army and the navy. With astonishing swiftness we had lost our strategic advantage; our lifeline to Egypt had been cut. We had to break out, or perish.

And as for perishing…that night when we lay in bed together, I had told Antony about the poisoned cup meant for me. He had been practical about it.

“From now on, make sure everything is tasted first,” he said.

“Is that all you have to say? I know that!”

“And you have no idea who held the poisoned flower?”

“No, I paid no attention. Someone who thinks his troubles could be solved by eliminating me. That means they think you will abandon this course without me—someone who does not want to sever ties with Octavian’s Rome. It must have been a senator. Or even Ahenobarbus.” The latter’s disapproval of me was patent.

Antony had yawned. “No, it must have been an easterner. Poison is not the Roman way.”

“Romans are notable for their willingness to adapt foreign customs.”

“Not this one,” he insisted. “Just be sure to take precautions….” He had sighed wearily and fallen asleep.

Now he had ridden out to lead the army into battle, and I must wait at headquarters. Wait, wait, wait. Truly it would have been easier to have ridden out with him. Charmian and Iras stood by to keep me company as they had done so many other times. But there was no amusement or diversion that could fill my mind and heart.

Antony did not return at sunset. Not until near midnight did he rush back into headquarters. One look at him, with his clothing as it was when he departed, told me there had been no fighting. He yanked off his helmet and tossed it on the bed; his sword followed suit.

“He won’t come out!” he yelled. “He won’t face us!”

“Here.” I helped him undo the breastplate. Underneath, his tunic was soaked with sweat, the sweat of anger, not exertion. I removed the heavy armor and put it safely on the floor, then smoothed out his wrinkled tunic.

“We issued a challenge. We fired stones and arrows into his camp. They are shut up in there like a turtle in its shell. He has built defensive walls down to the sea; that kept us from getting close enough to overrun them. Well, tomorrow we’ll destroy them. We’ll build machines that can flatten them. We’ll—” He untied his sandals and peeled them off, kicking them across the room.

“You yourself have said that there’s no way to force a dug-in army to fight, except by siege or subterfuge. I would think subterfuge would work better here than trying a siege. Remember, we are the ones blockaded. In effect, we are already under siege. To maintain a siege when you are already besieged—now there’s a trick!”

“What, are you telling me how to conduct a war?” he yelled.

“No, I am merely reminding you of what you—in calmer hours—have pointed out to me.”

He flopped down in a chair. “The weakness in his position is the lack of water. We’ll cut off his water supply. The springs down on the flat ground—he’s run his walls around them. But we’ll ride around the head of the gulf and get inside them…. Yes, that’s what we’ll do. At dawn tomorrow—”

“Then you must rest.” I rubbed his shoulders, hoping to calm him. “That is only a few hours away.”

Before it was fully light, Antony and a cavalry force set out to ride around the gulf and come at Octavian from the east, sneaking up inside the walls and taking the springs. With him rode the eastern princes who had supplied cavalry: Amyntas, Deiotarus, Rhoemetalces. The Roman legions, led by Canidius, stood at the ready to swarm over the walls from the other side once the signal was given.

This time when he returned, his clothes were dirty, his shield scarred, its bright paint scored by arrows and sword cuts. But he was walking stiffly, and when he removed his helmet, his face was oddly expressionless.

Was he hurt? I flew to him and begged him to tell me.

“Hurt? In the body, you mean?” He sounded confused.

What was wrong with him? “Yes, of course that’s what I mean! Is it your head?” Had he suffered a blow there that had dazed him?

“No. No, it’s my—it’s my—it’s not a wound. No.”

“What has happened? Did you take the springs?”

“Yes, indeed we did. The fighting was fierce. When their precious water was attacked, that got them out fast enough. They won’t be drinking
there
anymore!”

There was more to it than this. “Then what?”

“We were to follow up by attacking the camp directly, since we were now inside the walls. But then, our faithful Deiotarus of Paphlagonia suddenly deserted. Yes, just deserted, with all his horsemen!”

“Deserted? You mean he ran away?”

“Yes, straight toward Octavian.” He sounded both stunned and furious.

“No! He has joined him?”

Antony nodded. “Gone to ally himself with the enemy.”

“But—” What possible gain could he expect from Octavian? I stopped. I had nothing to say.

The bull-man who had stuffed himself at the banquet and talked about his favorite fish! A curse on him!

“So now I know what easterner might have wanted to poison me,” I said, just to say something.

“Well, we attacked anyway,” said Antony. “And they came galloping out of their camp to meet us. And guess who led the cavalry charge?”

“Not Octavian,” I said. Of that I could be sure.

Antony gave a brittle laugh. “A familiar face. Marcus Titius, late of our company.”

“I hope you killed him,” was my first, honest, response.

“No, he got away. He needs to live to continue changing sides. After all, he is young, he has a long life ahead—a long life of betrayal! Why, he may even come back to us someday!”

I hated the bitterness in his voice; it was a new note for him.

“The legions did their job,” continued Antony. “The walls are down, and we are now encamped around their springs. So we are holding both sides of the entrance to the gulf.”

“Are they now completely without water? What about the river Louros?”

“Yes, they still have that. It’s farther from their camp. Next we can try to cut that off as well.”

He slumped over and buried his face in his hands. I stood behind him and rested my head against his.

“It’s only one man,” I told him. “An insignificant ally. You have lost little, if it does not cause you to lose heart. Often such trifles cause us grief all out of proportion.”

He reached his large hand up and grasped mine. “You are high-spirited, and such spirits are not easily cast down.”

I squeezed his hand to reassure him. “The difference between victory and defeat lies in knowing which things to overlook. Think no more about Deiotarus, only think about the river Louros!”

The situation worsened. Agrippa continued his attacks on our naval stations; next Patrae and Ithaca fell. We had lost the Corinthian Gulf completely, as well as the last open passage that ships could make directly into Actium. Now everything must go by land, being dragged over narrow roads and craggy cliff passes from far to the south. We soon began to feel the pinch as food stores dwindled; it does not take long for almost two hundred thousand people to deplete their reserves. I remembered hearing that Caesar’s men had been in like state in Greece just before the battle with Pompey, and were reduced to eating grass. Unfortunately, we did not have even grass to hand.

Mid-June, and I sat under an awning before our headquarters. It was stifling both inside and out; only this little shaded stretch of outdoors offered any relief. The fresh air that blew down from the mountains during the night had ceased. I leaned my head back against the side of the building, feeling the sweat—even at this early hour—starting to course in a leisurely way down my neck and trickle between my breasts. I fanned myself with a small fan, but all it did was move the fetid air across my nose. The stench of the marshes with their foul vapors, blended with the reek of the refuse from an entire army, smelled like a corpse on the third day. Any hope we had had that the tides would scour the area were disappointed; they were not strong enough, and merely sloshed back and forth listlessly, moving the filth but not removing it. If anything, they made it worse by stirring it up.

A meeting had been called, but no one had yet appeared. Many people were ailing. It was worst among the oarsmen; they were falling ill at an alarming rate, and deaths were reported. Antony had gone out to inspect the ships for himself, with Ahenobarbus and Sosius, who had left Zacynthus in a junior commander’s hands. Once Patrae, Cephallenia, and Leucas were gone, Zacynthus had ceased to have much strategic importance.

I wiped my forehead with a scented handkerchief, as if that would counteract the swamp-smells around me. Flowers seemed from another world, a lost world.

Through the wavering, heavy air I saw Canidius and Dellius approaching, or rather trudging. In the heat, they had abandoned all their uniform except the obligatory underlying tunic, and that was grimy and sweat-soaked. Canidius’s was a faded yellow, and Dellius’s had once been blue.

“Greetings on this fair day,” said Dellius, his voice dripping sarcasm as much as his forehead dripped sweat.