The Memoirs of Cleopatra (15 page)

After she left, I felt more lost than ever. Before, I had not known what I did not know, imagining it a simple matter of assembly, like building a chair or cooking a stew. Now I knew it was much more than that, and something that was unteachable. I would have to face Caesar with neither knowledge nor experience in this realm, and by the time I acquired any, it would be too late. I felt like a human sacrifice.

I took special care in selecting the rug. I knew that, as a connoisseur of fine furnishings, Caesar must not disdain my gift. It also allowed me to distract myself by comparing the scarlet thread of Cappadocia to that of Arabia, and other such weighty questions. I took an entire day to decide between my two final choices, which served the purpose of postponing my meeting with Caesar a little longer. But the rug was finally lying in its canvas bag at my feet, and I was sitting forlornly in the fishing boat that Apollodoros was rowing—ah! all too competently—a safe distance from the shore, westward to Alexandria.

I could see the dim glow of the enemy campfires, see the smoke drifting inland. But we soon passed them by, and the sands were empty. He raised the sail. Then, much too soon, the green of the Delta started. We were coming closer.

I did not see the Lighthouse. Long before we came in sight of it, I had crawled into the rug and Apollodoros had fastened it around me. I was imprisoned in the dark, faintly sweet-smelling, threaded prison, and I could feel every shudder and thump as the boat bounced over the waves. I felt us shake as we passed a very rough spot, and I guessed that was the entrance of the harbor, where the waves dashed against the base of the Lighthouse even in good weather. As we bobbed and bucked, and I began to feel sick, I couldn’t help a faint smile; all that effort in selecting the rug, and I might end by ruining it!

Now, that would impress Caesar, I told myself. How inviting, how alluring! I bit my lip and willed myself to think of flat horizons. Then, just when I thought I could not stand it another minute, the pitching stopped. We had entered calmer waters. In a muffled way, I began to hear voices. There were other boats nearby.

Of course there would be. The palace still had to be supplied with food, linen, and firewood. Surely one more boat would not be noticed.

I heard Apollodoros shouting good-natured remarks to the other boats. The water under the boat was quiescent now, and we glided along. Soon there was a gentle bump, wood against wood. Then I felt the boat bounce and ride higher in the water as Apollodoros stepped out. He was pulling it along a canal, most likely the main one that led south to the lake and north into the palace area.

What was the hour? It must still be daylight, the normal hour for commercial vessels to be out, but I hoped it was near sunset. The later I got to Caesar’s quarters, the more likely he might be alone.

We glided along the waterway and then came to an abrupt stop. This must be the entrance to the palace grounds. I heard, muffled and indistinct, the voices of the guards and of Apollodoros. What was he saying? O Isis, you must have given him the words, because next I heard the sound of the iron grate being lifted so we could float past. Apollodoros gave a cheery call of thanks.

I felt us being tied up. Then nothing. No movement, no voices. I felt as if I were strangling. The tightly rolled rug prevented me from filling my lungs with air, and the lack of movement was disorienting.

I must have either gone to sleep or become unconscious, because I have no memory of what happened until I was jolted awake. The rug was being carried. But was it by Apollodoros, or someone else? I tried to lie so naturally that nothing—except my weight—might betray my presence. I had told Apollodoros to explain the weight by saying there were gold goblets inside as a gift to Caesar.

I lay as straight as I could, hoping that I did not make any suspicious bumps. Yet I mustn’t be so rigid that the rug looked as if it held a rod inside; I had to drape as if I had no backbone.

My neck was about to be snapped, and with each footstep my head thumped against the inside of the roll. That, added to the lack of air, began to deprive me of my senses. I saw little shooting stars before my eyes at each jolt.

Now we were stopped again. I heard low voices, then louder ones arguing. Then the creak of a door.

I stiffened; I could not help myself. I heard more voices. Then I felt the rug being placed on the floor, and a tug as the bindings were cut away. Suddenly there was a yank, and the entire rug shot out from around me, propelling me out and onto the slippery onyx floor. I slid several feet before I could free my hands to stop myself. As I looked up, I saw two lean and muscular legs, their feet encased in Roman military boots, right before me.

I sat up, my eyes following quickly up past the leather strips of the general’s uniform and then over the cuirass, and then I was looking directly into his face: Caesar’s face.

I recognized it from his busts and his portraits. The features were the same. But what none of them had captured was the reserved, deadly power of the man.

“Greetings,” he said, and his voice was quiet, almost a whisper. But not the sort of whisper that is afraid of being overheard; it is the whisper of one who knows others will strain to catch his every word, and he need not deign to raise his voice to conversational level.

Still, I caught the shadow of surprise crossing his face; he was unsuccessful at hiding it entirely.

He reached down to take my hand and pull me up. I was struck with his utter assurance; how easily I could have slashed at him with a knife. Instead I merely rose and found myself facing him.

I forgot that I had been frightened, so puzzled was I by this man and by my surroundings. The hours inside the rug had left me dazed and unsteady on my feet. It was dark outside. Oil lamps had been lit in the room. Where had the time gone? How long had we waited in Alexandria? Caesar seemed to be alone. Could this be possible?

“A gift from the Queen of Egypt,” Apollodoros was saying, gesturing to the unfurled rug. Caesar stepped on it.

“But it is not Egyptian,” he said.

“I am the Egyptian,” I said.

He was staring at me. He looked as if he knew well how to smile, but was deliberately withholding it. “You are not Egyptian either,” he finally said, with virtually no expression. It was impossible to tell what he thought. Yet his lack of animation was not cold, but strangely teasing and luring.

“My ancestry, as Caesar well knows, is Macedonian, but as Queen of Egypt I have taken the spirit of Egypt for my own.”

“Is that so?” Caesar walked around me as though I were a tree, rooted and growing in his—my—chamber. For I now found myself as an intruder in my very own apartments.

“Do you like the tortoiseshell doors in this chamber?” I asked, more boldly than I felt. “I was always most fond of them. Are you my guest, or am I yours?”

Now he laughed, but his face still held that peculiar reserve of power and watchfulness. “We are both one another’s. You will have to educate me about these things. I am merely a Roman barbarian.” He sat, selecting a hard-backed chair.

I chose not to answer that. “I am here, as you requested.” I waited.

He raised one eyebrow. “In good time, too. I am impressed. Most impressed.” He nodded.

“I was told you respected speed.”

“Above almost all other things.”

“And what are the other things you respect?”

“Fortune, and the courage to grasp it.” He leaned back and crossed his arms. They were brown, lean, and sinewy.

“I have heard you are a gambler. That you cried, ‘Let the dice fly high!’ as you crossed the Rubicon.”

“You have heard much,” he said.

“Your boldness was rewarded,” I continued. The truth was, I had not heard much, and had almost come to the end of my knowledge of him.

“As you hope yours will be,” he said.

“Yes.”

Now, at long last, he almost smiled. “Boldness is its own reward. It belongs to only a select few.”

It was as if I were hearing my own thoughts miraculously voiced aloud by another. “No, it
brings
rewards. For many rewards are grasped only by the bold,” I answered.

“Enough words,” he said, and waved for Apollodoros to depart.

He bowed and withdrew. Then Caesar turned to me.

Now was the moment. He was going to reach out and take me, just as he took Gaul and Rome. I braced myself. I was ready.

“Why did you send supplies to Pompey?” he suddenly asked.

I had had my eyes downcast, waiting. Now I looked up to see him watching me, well aware of what I had been expecting, but not interested in pursuing it. He even looked disgusted, or possibly only amused. It was impossible to tell with him.

“I had to,” I said. “Magnus Pompey had been my father the King’s patron.”

“What about the son, Gnaeus Pompey?”

“What about him?”

“Is he your ally? What did you owe him?”

“Nothing.”

“Good. I mean to kill him. And I would not have you be my enemy thereby.” He said “I mean to kill him” as casually as a boy says, “I am going fishing.” Then I remembered hearing once that Caesar had threatened a Roman tribune with death if he continued pestering him with questions about treasury funds, and that Caesar had then added, “And this, you know, young man, is more disagreeable for me to say than to do.” Suddenly the story was absolutely believable.

“Do as you like,” I heard myself saying.

“Oh, are you giving me permission?” he said. “Kind of you.”

“I am not here to discuss Pompey. I am here because I have been unlawfully deposed from my throne, and because you have the power to set it right. My brother and his advisors are evil—”

He winced. “Please. That word is overused. Suffice it to say I don’t care for them or for their manner of operation: inept and without honor. You shall have your throne back, never fear. I shall see to it.” He paused. “As you said, boldness brings rewards. And you have proved most bold.”

“I thank you,” I said. But could I trust his word?

“Now all that is over,” he said, smiling at last, “do I have your hand, as my loyal ally?”

I gave it to him. He grasped it in both his. I was surprised to find that he had small hands. “You will find my loyalty to be absolute,” I said.

“A rare commodity. And even rarer among Ptolemies.”

Now he seemed to have switched into another personality. His brittle demeanor had softened, but his dark brown eyes were still wary. He sat relaxed, and his hand was nowhere near his sword. “I wish to believe you,” he said with all sincerity. “I myself always keep my word, but until now I have found no fellow in that.”

“You will see,” I assured him. And I kept that promise, being loyal to him until long after his dying breath.

“Yes,” he said with that same smile, “I remember promising the Cilician pirates who kidnapped me that I would return and kill them. They didn’t believe me, because I sang songs with them and kept good company around the campfire. But I kept my word.”

I shuddered. “Do you mean you keep your word only about killing? I mean more than that when I give my word.”

“I keep my word in all things, good and bad.”

“What about your marriage vows?” I blurted out. How could the notorious adulterer claim to always be loyal?

“Well, where marriage is concerned, it is a different matter,” he admitted. “In Rome the marriage vows are trampled on. But I was faithful to Cornelia.”

“The wife of your youth,” I said.

“Yes. I loved her. Perhaps that is a capacity that one loses with age.” He said it regretfully, and I almost believed him. “Perhaps all that is left after the age of fifty is loyalty and love for one’s fellow soldiers.”

“Do not think that way!” I heard myself saying. “That is worse than being defeated in a battle!”

Now he broke out into a true smile, not a half one. “Wait until you are defeated in a battle before you say that. There is
nothing
worse than being defeated in battle.”

“Spoken like the conqueror of the world,” I said, staring at him. He
was
the conqueror of the world, the new Alexander. Yet here he sat on a chair in my room, and he was not even a particularly large man. “I hope you will utterly defeat my brother and his army!”

“Thus far nothing has happened. I have been sightseeing in your magnificent white city, going to the Museion, taking in lectures, reading in the Library. The Egyptian army is still guarding against
you
on the eastern frontier.”

“When they find I have slipped through, they will be here soon enough.”

“Then I shall have quite a challenge. I have only four thousand men with me, and thirty-five ships. I understand there are twenty thousand men in the Egyptian army. I am outnumbered five to one.” He said it cheerfully.

“We shall defeat them!” I said fiercely.

“But in the meantime I shall send for reinforcements,” he said.

“Prudent,” I said. Then we both laughed. “Let me show you your quarters, Imperator,” I said. “I am familiar with them, as they were mine.”

“And can be again,” he said. He crossed his lean arms.

“I would appreciate that,” I admitted. “I can find you very comfortable quarters in the building adjacent to the temple of Isis.”

“No, I meant that you should live here with me.”

“With you? To share your couch?” Here it came, as I had expected. The conqueror must take all the spoils.

“Couches are uncomfortable. I prefer a bed. Show it to me.”

“Where have you been sleeping?”

“On the couch. I was waiting for you before I used the bed.”

“You were waiting for me?” I was disappointed. Had I not surprised him? Was he not astounded with my ingenuity in coming to him through enemy lines?

“I was. I was informed that you were resourceful, clever, and passionate—at least that is what your enemies claimed! That made it a sort of test. I would have tried to find a way to get to Alexandria, were I in your place; I believed that you would, also, although I could not predict what method you would use. And so I waited. Knowing that if you came as I expected you to do, I would salute and admire you for it. And want you. And only then would I wish to use the bed. Show it to me.” He stood up, his powerful lithe frame rising instantaneously.

The astonishing thing was, I wanted to. The terrible chore, the awful sacrifice—it was not to be that way. This was entirely unexpected. I could not explain it to myself.

“Come with me,” I said. “Follow me wherever I take you.” I took his hand, liking the feel of it.