The Memoirs of Cleopatra (144 page)

“Yes, well, they are all dead now,” he said with satisfaction. “They have paid the price.”

“We are not so far apart, you and I, in what we want.”

“And what is it you want?” he asked bluntly.

“To have the throne continue with the Ptolemaic line. To be Rome’s ally. And to live a quiet and honorable life, in exile if necessary.”

He did not answer immediately, but turned the words over in his mind.

“That is for the Senate to decide,” he finally said. “Now that the Republic will be restored…but you may rest assured that I will safeguard all your interests.”

“I am entirely yours, Imperator,” I said. “I throw myself on your mercy. Only give me some assurance that my children will wear the crown!”

He sighed, as if he found this embarrassing. “I will do what I can,” he said. “Certainly a house that has ruled for three hundred years…” He let the sentence trail off, teasingly.

“When I sent messages to you, I promised all my treasure in exchange for that. I now yield up that treasure to you, more than just what was in the mausoleum. Here it is, a thorough accounting.” Now I rose and placed the big wooden box in his hands. “I had it all drawn up for you, long before you arrived. See the date, see the seal?”

He was immediately interested. The list of property excited him as the letters from Caesar had failed to. He was a man of the here and now, and cared little for sentiment.

“Hmm.” He unrolled one scroll and held it out. His arms were surprisingly muscular. Perhaps the campaigns had done him some good after all. And he wasn’t coughing, either. “And this is everything, you say?”

“Yes, everything I own. In exchange for my children’s lives, their right to the crown of Egypt.”

“Hmmm.” He was studying it carefully. Suddenly he bellowed, “You! Mardian!”

What was he doing?

Mardian appeared, puzzled and on guard. “Yes, Imperator?”

“This list,” Octavian said. “Look it over! Is it a complete list?”

Mardian looked at me for directions, but Octavian was watching my face to make sure I signaled nothing. I just smiled.

“Uhh—” Mardian was sweating; I could see the beads forming on his forehead, like seed pearls. “I—no, most noble Imperator, there seem to be some omissions.” He shot a miserable look at me. But, in doubt, he had just decided to tell the truth.

“Aha!” said Octavian, a wicked smile on his face. “What sort of omissions?”

“There seems to be—there is some property withheld.”

“What sort of property?”

And in that instant, Isis granted me the power I needed. I saw directly into Octavian’s mind; it was as if I could read his thoughts as easily as he read the scroll.

He plans to take you back to Rome for his Triumph, mocking you and then killing you. He will grant you no mercy at all. Your only hope of outwitting him and escaping is to convince him you are eager to live, and are still plotting earthly schemes. He will try to counteract them—and while he is standing guard in one direction, you are free to go in another
.

Use the false accounting to prove it to him….

“Shut up, Mardian!” I screamed, and leapt at him. The gods that had given me the insight had also given me the strength to spring half across the room. I started pelting Mardian on the shoulders, the arms, and trying to smack his face. “You miserable traitor! How dare you betray me?”

Then I turned to Octavian and started crying. “Oh, this is more than I can bear! To have had to receive you in such a fashion, when you have honored me by a visit, and then to be insulted by my own servant!” I cast my eyes down. “Yes, it is true. I have held back some jewels, some art, but only because I needed something to try to placate your wife and your sister in Rome. Yes, I hoped to buy some mercy from the women in your family, praying that they would pity me, woman to woman. I did not know what else to do.”

He laughed condescendingly. “Of course you may keep your baubles. Do not worry about such things. Keep anything you like.”

“But they are not for me, they are for Livia and Octavia.”

He smiled. “Yes, indeed.”

And again, I could see into his mind. He believed that I fiercely wished to live, and was scheming to better my lot. I had won.

“Now, most gracious Queen,” he was saying smoothly, “you may be well assured, your treatment will be far beyond your expectations. You may trust me.”

He smiled, the first genuine smile of the entire interview. There was even something else in his eyes: the lechery that Thyrsus had hinted at. “And now I must take my leave. I would not overtire you.” He bent his head and kissed my hand. His hair flopped forward, and when he straightened, he smoothed it back, as if he would look his best for me.

I rose to see him to the door. “You are too kind, Imperator,” I said.

When the tramp of feet assured me he was gone, I fell into Mardian’s arms.

“Are you mad?” he said. “What is all this? What have you done?” And then, plaintively, “Why did you hit me?”

“Quickly, before Olympos returns—I must tell you that I have seen through Octavian. I know what he means to do. But we will still be able to carry out our original plan, if he is deceived into thinking we have put all such thoughts far from us. I had to pretend you had exposed my scheming. Be on guard! We will find a way, now!”

A feeling akin to happiness now rose in me. I did not know what it was. But I know now. It was completion, triumph, grasping the Olympic crown in my hands and lowering it onto my head.

Octavian outdid himself in lavish attentions. Within an hour, platters heaped high with melons, pomegranates, dates, and green figs arrived, followed by an amphora of Laodicean wine (Antony had not succeeded in depleting all the palace supplies, in spite of his strenuous efforts). He even sent his own physician in to “help” Olympos, who listened disdainfully to his advice.

The fresh figs were good. “He means to fatten me up,” I said. He wanted me well enough to walk those miles behind his chariot, through the city of Rome and the Forum. And of course I would need the strength to drag chains along with me. Yes, it would take a lot of nursing and good food. Sweet Octavian.

He cloaked his dagger in unctuous compliments that he sent along with his gifts. His heart was gladdened to see that I was out of danger. He was honored that I would trust him to carry out my wishes. I must think no more about the gifts for Livia and Octavia, but bedeck myself instead. And so on.

I lay back on the bed—spread now with the finest palace linens, sent posthaste by Octavian—and willed myself to regain my strength. Already the excitement and danger had wrought a change in me. My appetite surged back, and soon we had depleted all of Octavian’s offerings.

“Ask for roast ox,” I told Mardian. “He will send it within an hour.”

And he did. Oh, he was most solicitous.

I slept a true sleep that night for the first time since Alexandria had fallen.

Since Octavian was eager to be so accommodating, there was one request I must make in earnest: to see the children. I sent a properly cringing, cloying letter to him and waited. Soon Dolabella was knocking, answer in hand. My request was granted. The children would be brought to my quarters.

Oh, now my heart truly rose! I hungered for the sight of them, as only another mother can understand. I needed badly to see them, hold them, feel their sturdy shoulders and arms. I needed to know how they fared, what had happened to them in the nine days since we had been parted.

Octavian had yielded up my robes and gowns from the wardrobe room, and so I was able to lay aside the soiled sleeping-garment and dress myself. It was important that they should see me as I wished to be seen, so they could remember.

My own mother…what did I remember of her? My children were all older than I had been when my mother vanished, and would carry a clearer picture of me. Alexander and Selene were almost as old as I had been when Father lost his throne and fled, and I remembered that acutely. Yes, they would remember….

“Mother!” The three of them were ushered into the room, and the high-pitched relief in their voices was impossible to miss.

“My dearests!” I bent a little to embrace all three of them, holding them to me as tightly as possible. They were here, they lived, they would survive. With or without a crown, it did not matter anymore, if they would just survive!

“You’ve hurt yourself,” said Selene, looking at the marks on my arms and chest.

“It was an accident,” I said. “And they are greatly improved.”

“But how did it happen?” asked Philadelphos. “Did you run into something? A door full of nails?” He wrinkled his nose and strained himself imagining it.

“They are the marks of grief,” I said. They must be told. Did they know about Antony? I led them over to a wide bench by the window and we sat down. “Your father has died,” I said.

Alexander let out a cry. “Why?” he asked.

“When the city fell—you know we lost the battle….”

“Did he get killed in the fighting?”

How could I explain it so they would understand?

“No, not in the fighting itself, but afterward.”

“But how? How?” He was insistent.

I shook my head. “There was confusion,” I finally said. “He had to do what a brave man must. It would not have been right for him to be taken prisoner. It would have been—dishonorable.”

Selene broke into tears. “Do you mean he killed himself?”

I must tell the truth. “Yes. But he had no choice. It does not mean he wished to leave you.”
Rulers are different. We have to do things ordinary people are spared
.

“Why didn’t he have a choice?” asked Alexander. “What was so bad about being a prisoner? We are prisoners, aren’t we?”

“Yes, but only for a little while. He would have been a prisoner forever.”

“What about you?” asked Selene. She was looking directly at me. She always asked the most acute questions, as if she saw more than the others. “If he could not bear it, how can you?”

Oh, why must she ask that? Olympos and Caesarion had taught me well that I could not answer honestly. I could not risk it. And it was too hurtful to confess, anyway. I had already prepared my answer. “I am too well guarded to do what Antony did,” I said. “Octavian would prevent it. So you need not worry. I imagine we will all be going to Rome—although separately. Or perhaps you will stay here while I go to Rome. I do not know yet whether it is you or Caesarion who will rule after me. The most sublime Octavian will decide.”

“Octavian!” said Selene. “He has already visited us, and had us to his quarters. Your old rooms! He seemed very interested in us. He asked a lot of questions.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, our favorite foods, how many languages we spoke, our patron gods. You know, polite things.”

Yes. Polite things. “And what did you think of him?” I asked.

“He’s scary!” said Philadelphos. “He just stares, that funny stare, even when he’s acting friendly.”

I laughed. An accurate description.

“You mustn’t be afraid of him,” I said. “Now that he’s got what he wants, he will most likely be pleasant enough. You must pretend to like him, though. He is very sensitive about that.”

“I suppose I should hug him and call him uncle!” said Alexander in a huff. “I don’t want to! He killed my father!” Then, abruptly, “When is Father’s funeral?”

“It already was,” I said. And my heart ached that I did not even have Antony’s sword to give him. Octavian had it. But perhaps it was just as well. What son would cherish the sword that had deprived him of a living father? “And it was not Octavian who killed your father. It was just…the fortunes of a lost war.” And a lost empire, a lost world. The losses were all-encompassing, stretching out into eternity.

“Why wouldn’t they let us see it?” asked Selene.

“Perhaps they felt it would be too painful,” I said. Please don’t let her ask about Antyllus! Don’t ask if he was there!

Mercifully, she asked instead, “Do you think Octavian will make us live in Rome?”

“Not if you are ruling here. But he may take you for a visit. Would that be so bad?”

She shrugged. “I suppose not. But I’d rather go to India.”

Now I was watching them carefully—more closely than Octavian, probably—trying to imprint their images on my heart forever. My three beautiful young children, all I had left of Antony. I tried to disguise it, hoping I was subtler than Octavian. Watching is difficult to hide. And the reason for my looking…that I would never see them again. I had to will my eyes to remain clear, not well up with tears, else they would suspect.

“My loves,” I said, embracing them one by one, “we will endure this, and remember it only as a bad dream, look back on it and smile at our own bravery.”

Letting them go was hard—one of the hardest things I have ever done. Now I had only one more thing to let go. All else was gone.

I wished I had something wise to say to them, some fitting words of parting. But nothing came to me. There were no words grand enough, or kind enough.

They were gone, taken chattering back to their rooms, their guards ever vigilant. Their every movement would be watched. Octavian would keep them tightly in his grasp. As he meant to keep me.

After they were gone, a void opened around me, in spite of the company still in the room. Iras was standing looking out to sea, Charmian tending the clothes, more from habit than from need. Her slender fingers smoothed the silks, folding them so precisely that they could be stacked ten or fifteen high. It was as if she thought I would wear all of them. Her silent, graceful, familiar motions were lulling to watch.

Mardian was reading, something he usually had little time for. Olympos was sitting glumly, his arms crossed. He looked tired and defeated. We were all trapped, only passing time in our cage.

Olympos, my dear, fierce friend, I think—if you should read this, although you respect privacy so much I doubt you will—keeping the secret from you was one of the greatest sorrows of those last days. You gave me no choice (
he had no choice; it does not mean he wished to leave you
), but it made what was already difficult even more painful. To be unable to say good-bye—that is a special punishment, worse the more we care. So, now I say it, say that goodbye I could not, then. Good-bye, may all the gods keep you. And do not forget, do not forget, all you know.

Outside the day was fresh and bright. I could see the sparkling sea, the waves tossing foam like pretty girls tossing their hair, beckoning to Alexandria, come and sport with me….

Alexandria. It had been spared. It would escape the flames, the looting, the destruction that usually followed in the wake of defeat. My city would live, and my children. I had had all I could ask for.

The wind was singing, a lighthearted song. But inside we were prisoners and could only watch from the windows. It was the half-life of an invalid.

Invalid
. Not valid. To render null. To weaken or destroy the force of. To dismiss from duty. To deprive of effective or continued existence. A world of woe in that one word,
invalid
.

I was now
invalid
. I could regain validity only through death.

Heads bent over our tasks, we drifted on our thoughts, until a knock on the door stirred us. Dolabella stepped in, smartly dressed like the rising young aristocrat he was. I thought idly what a winsome man he was. He would go far in Rome.

“Your Majesty,” he said, “may I speak to you alone?”

I nodded, and the others rose silently and went into an adjoining room.

“Now,” I said, smiling, “will you take some refreshments?” Octavian had left us so well provided for that I could almost entertain a cohort.

He just shook his head, glumly.

“Why, Dolabella,” I said. “What is it?” His manner was alarming.

He came across the floor in jerky steps and then fell to one knee before me. He took one of my hands and looked at me imploringly. “Madam, dearest Queen, I hope you will believe me when I tell you that in the few days I have served as your guard, I have developed…a great respect and sympathy for you.”

What was this about? “What are you trying to tell me?” I asked. I had a great dread of knowing. He had such a look of anguish that I knew it was something serious—and that he spoke the truth.

He said in a low voice, “I have just overheard the Imperator settling his plans. In three days he will leave Alexandria and return to Rome by way of Syria.”

“And—what of us? What of us, here?”

Now his voice sank even lower. He did not want anyone to report that he had told me. “You are to be put on board ship and transferred to Rome.”

So soon! Three days!

“And once I am there…what will he do with me?”

Dolabella looked away, and took a deep breath as if steeling himself.

“He’ll lead me in his Triumph,” I finished for him. “Do not be afraid to speak it, for I have always known it. Are you certain?”

“Entirely. He was planning the festivities. There will be three Triumphs, one for Illyria, one for Actium, and the last for Egypt. You are to be its chief ornament.”

“Why, I can do double duty, appearing in two! For, after all, since he claims these were not civil wars, it follows that Roman did not fight Roman at Actium, but fought only Egyptians.” It was a bitter joke.

“It is possible you would appear in both,” he agreed, miserably.

“I thank you for warning me,” I said.

Three days!

“I am grieved to have to do so, but it seemed crueler for you not to know.”

“Yes. I am grateful that you understood that.”

Three days!

“If there is anything—”

“Yes. Yes, there is,” I said. “Let me write this request to Octavian, and you can take it to him. Please do your best to persuade him to allow it. It would mean so much to me, especially in the circumstances.”

With an odd calmness, I went to my writing desk, pulled out paper, sought the words for the simple request. I had so little time. The guards must be misled like Octavian, made to relax their grip on me, grow careless.

I handed the note to Dolabella, who read it carefully. He nodded. “I shall do all that I can, my lady.”

“It is important to me. I cannot leave without it. Surely he will not be so hard-hearted as to deny me. The soldiers can guard me all the while.”

But not in the mausoleum. They would avoid going in there, contenting themselves with watching the doors and inspecting the food going in. They would not suspect the danger already inside, waiting.

Let the basket still be there, in the shadows where it had been hidden!

“I will do my best,” he said. “This is a mournful task.”

“Do not grieve yourself over it. It is I who have brought myself to this. It is not your doing. Your kindness only makes it easier to bear.” I reached out and touched his arm. “Now go. Do what I ask.”

He nodded, then turned quickly and left.

So little time. I called my friends—for so they were, rather than mere attendants—back into the room. There could be no hiding what was to come—except from Olympos. I would have to manage him cleverly. (Forgive me, friend!)

“What was it?” asked Mardian, his normally pleasing voice agitated. Behind him came the others.

“Dolabella has been kind enough to inform me that Octavian is shipping me back to Rome for his Triumph.”