The Memoirs of Cleopatra (30 page)

“Large shipments of the tamarind come to us on the winds of the monsoon,” she said. “We can tell by the flavor which area of India they come from.”

“It is most delicious, and refreshing,” I said. The taste was strong, bracing: a drink for soldiers, sailors, traders—and queens. “You may tell the Kandake I am pleased. And when may I meet with her?”

“In the cool of the evening she would like to receive you, at the pavilion by the water sanctuary.”

As she turned to go, I realized what it was about her costume: she was clothed in the style of ancient Egypt, in the sort of clothes we had not worn in a thousand years. I recognized them only from temple wall carvings.

At sunset I was led along the winding path, with its border of flowers, to the water sanctuary. We would have called it a pleasure pool, for it evidently existed to provide a passive sensual indulgence for the ruler. The eyes were pampered by the azure-colored tiles at the bottom of the pool, which tinted the water magically blue; the nose by the scent of the water lilies; the skin by the cool air wafting across the water; the ears by the discreet chorus of tiny frogs cheeping, and the twittering of birds among the lilies. A few butterflies swooped in and out of the water garden’s thicket.

I was alone in the falling evening. Servitors lit silver lanterns, and behind me I could hear the low, confiding murmur of a fountain. Then a great, umbrella-covered litter swayed its way into my line of sight, the fringe over its parasol dancing wildly. I saw a bejeweled hand draped over the side.

The curious vehicle, borne by sweating, broad-shouldered men, approached the pavilion. Just before the steps, they set it down and stood back. The curtains parted, pushed aside by another hand just like the first. A head poked out, then a leg draped in voluminous, pleated robes. With a heave, the entire figure burst forth, her enormous shoulders shaking the medals pinned to her sash. It was like an elephant crashing through the underbrush. I expected her skin to be gray and wrinkled. But it was richly black, and smooth as polished metal.

She drew herself up in quiet dignity, and, with a disproportionately small hand, adjusted her wig and vulture-goddess headdress.

“Your Majesty, most honored Kandake Amanishakheto,” I said, “I am pleased to behold your most noble face.”

She sighed, and the medals on her bosom shimmied. “Queen Cleopatra,” she said. “You are as beautiful as they say. Welcome to Meroe. You are also as clever as they say, since you knew the journey was necessary, and as determined as they say, since you have managed to make the trip in less than fifty days. It is indeed a great surprise and pleasure to see something that
is
as it is reputed to be. So few things are.”

“I thank you, Your Majesty. From what I have seen, Meroe exceeds the fables. It is an unknown treasure.”

“Good. We do not want to be overrun with settlers of the wrong sort. When a place becomes popular, that’s the end of its charm—don’t you think?” She gestured, and out of the shadows a servitor appeared and began fanning her with an enormous ostrich-feather fan. The feathers, dyed scarlet, gold, and blue, made a rainbow in the air.

“Let us seat ourselves.” She walked with slow, deliberate steps over to a stone throne—the only type strong enough to support her weight. I saw the outlines of her legs through the sheer pleated fabric of her gown, and they looked bigger in diameter than the cedars of Lebanon in my chamber ceiling. Her feet—like her hands, strangely small—were shod in golden sandals.

She sank down with a sigh, and all her clothes seemed to sigh around her. Thick tassels, hanging at the ends of silk cords, rustled and swung at her hem like barley in a windstorm.

“I know this boy is not your brother,” she said quietly. “But others are all too ready to believe. Why do impostors always attract followers? It is best we deal with him between ourselves. I detest lies and deception, and I especially abhor those who turn their backs on the truth to follow falsehood!” Her eyes—soft, brown, melting ones—flashed as hard and black as obsidian.

“It is part of the human condition, I fear,” I said. I did not want to stir her up; she seemed terribly agitated.

Does this mean I was without ideals or honor, as my enemies have said? No. But no one could have grown up in the court I did and held any illusions about what people are capable of. And then there was Caesar…. Ever since he had left, Caesar had destroyed what little belief in men had remained to me. It was touching that Amanishakheto had preserved so much of her original trust. Obviously no one but an enemy had ever betrayed her—never a friend or a lover. It is the latter that crush us.

“It should be punished whenever it occurs, then perhaps it won’t rear its head so readily!” she said. “Even a born behavior can be whipped out of someone.” She nodded emphatically. “Yes, the lash can cure interrupting, pushing, stealing, and fighting.”

“But it does not cure hatred or plotting or ingratitude,” I said.

“No, it cannot cure the heart, only the hands,” she agreed. “But it is the hands that ruin a kingdom. Let people think whatever mischief they like, as long as they keep their hands folded nicely in their laps.”

I laughed. She had a point. “I think the people of Meroe are fortunate to have such a wise ruler,” I said.

“And the Egyptians are fortunate to have such a resourceful one,” she shot back at me. She was quick. “I think perhaps we should consider a partnership.”

I looked at her carefully. In the dull twilight it was hard to study her face without being rude. I had not had the opportunity really to look at her, and before I have a serious conversation with someone I like to have taken their measure. I believe I am able to read much in a face.

I turned my full attention to Amanishakheto.

She was giving her equal attention to me, studying me quite frankly. “So young a queen,” she said. “And already so many years of governing—not tranquil years, either. Difficult to manage. It excites the imagination
—my
imagination, at any rate. Do you really have any intention of sharing power with your brother—your
real
brother, that is?” She was smiling serenely, a mountain of solidity.

Such penetrating, deadly questions, asked as if she expected straight answers. “No,” I said, obliging her. “No, I plan eventually to share the throne with, and pass it to, my son.”

She was nodding in approval. “That is what we do in Meroe. The Kandake’s son will reign—we call him the Qore—but his wife becomes the next Kandake. The truth is that it is the Kandake who has power.”

“Your son?” Where was he? Was there one?

“Oh yes, my son,” she said. “He is a naughty boy, doesn’t pay much attention to his duties. But that is typical of men, don’t you find?”

“I am confused. Is he a boy or a man?”

“A grown man in years,” she said. “I myself am over forty. My Naughty One, Natakamani, is almost twenty. But he has a good wife, Amanitore, who, thank all the gods, will make a good Kandake after me.”

“Is there a—the father of Nata—Natakam—?”

She rolled her eyes, then closed them as if in bliss. “Oh, he has gone to his pyramid.” She certainly seemed happy that he rested there, and not in the palace.

“May he reside there in peace,” I said piously.

“I haven’t heard any stirrings,” she replied. “No rustling of his
ba
.”

I thought we should leave her unnamed consort to molder, and return to the living. While she was talking my eyes had been caught by the wide, intricately worked gold bracelets she wore on both her upper and lower arms. The patterns and design were unlike anything we had in Egypt; the two heavy halves were secured with a thick pin.

“Here.” She seemed to read my mind, for suddenly she extended her arm to me. “Look.” She undid the bracelet and handed it to me.

It was very heavy; it felt almost like a manacle. But the workmanship on it was delicate: a raised figure of the goddess Mut with four outstretched wings, each feather gleaming with a lapis inlay, guarding a patterned wall of geometric lapis stones.

“Take it. Wear it. It is yours.”

I was insulted. “No. I wished only to see it. I was not hinting in any way that I expected it for a gift.” I handed it back to her.

She pushed it back into my hands. “Had I thought that, you can be sure I would never have given it. Did I just not finish saying that I hate falsehood? I wished to give you something I could see for myself that you appreciated and fancied, rather than some trinket that my ministers would find suitable. Besides, we have a plenitude of gold here.”

That was the usual claim. Even poor countries said that, when presenting a gift. Or hoping to lure someone into an alliance. But Nubia abounded in gold mines.

“I thank you, then.” Wearing it would require a very muscular arm. “I noticed a great deal of silver,” I said. “Now do not give me any! But it struck my eye because it is rare and seldom used in Egypt. It has a subdued beauty of its own, like moonlight.”

“I have always imagined that Isis must love silver,” said Amanishakheto. “Silver seems very like her. I have been to Philae in the moonlight, and if ever she was there, it was then.”

Philae. I forced myself to smile. “Yes, Isis seems like a silvery being,” I finally said. “Your clothing is shot with silver thread, I see. And it is quite different from ours—either Egyptian or Greek.” I waited for her to explain about it—about the tassels and the shawl, and the medals—but she did not. “I noticed when I arrived that your palace servants dress in an ancient manner. The servant who came to my chambers was dressed in the style of someone from the court of Ramses.”

“Ramses once ruled Nubia. We retained what we liked of that reign, and discarded the rest.”

“So it is preserved here long after it has vanished in its homeland.”

“Such is often the case,” she said. “It is the gods who preserve or destroy, by hiding things in odd places.” She stirred on her stone throne. “It is time for me to eat again,” she said suddenly. “I must keep up my weight.”

“I am afraid I do not understand.” The darkness had come upon us rapidly and suddenly I could barely see her face. A lively wind was whipping the flames of the torches, and swaying the tassels around the hem of her garment.

“I mean I have to work to be this large! If I let myself become as thin as you, I would be off the throne in an instant! It shows my might to be big, so I can trample my enemies underfoot.” She removed one of her sandals and dangled it before my eyes. I could just make out the stylized depictions of enemy peoples on its sole. That meant that with every step she was treading heavily on them. Poor enemies. “Who would tremble before a woman like you? No one here in Meroe, I can tell you!” I could not see her face well enough to see if she was joking.

“Are the men required to be large? What about your son? Or your—the late—?”

“No, of course not! The men are supposed to be tall and bulging with muscles, able to chase their enemies in the desert. But the women are supposed to look like elephants, grave, majestic—and unstoppable.”

Elephants. I suddenly remembered Juba and his elephants against Caesar.
No, no, I’ll not think of Caesar now
. Caesar would take care of the elephants, as he had taken care of everything else—Pompey, Ptolemy, Pothinus, Pharnaces. Unfortunately Juba and Scipio’s names did not begin with
P
.

“But I will do anything necessary to be Kandake, even eat ten meals a day,” she said cheerfully. “I’ve come to adore those fatty ostrich patties, and camel milk with a sediment of honey, and pastry made of ground walnuts, rolled in butter, and coated with honey. The fat of lambs’ tails…oh, it’s been an ongoing battle, but I’ve conquered my aversions, I tell you. I can even relish a platter of fried peacock sausage swimming in olive oil, covered with melted cheese. Umm.” She clapped her hands, and out of the growing darkness her litter appeared. “I will have to return to the palace to partake of my mid-evening meal. Tomorrow we will meet in the throne room, and I will have the impostor brought before you. You may give your verdict on him.” With the help of two bearers, she heaved herself up off the throne. “I trust your quarters are satisfactory. I have assigned a servant of the chamber to wait on you.”

“That is not necessary,” I assured her. “I brought my own attendant; in fact, she is Nubian.”

“No, I insist you permit this slave to serve you,” she said.

“I do not care for slaves. I do not have them in my royal quarters; all my attendants are free men.”

“This is a slave unlike any you have had before. Utterly discreet, hardworking, amusing, loyal—and green.”

“Green?” Now she was joking.

“Yes, green. Her name is Kasu, and she is an African green monkey. Her only drawback is that she has a tendency to steal. On the other hand, she can fetch things down from high places.”

“A monkey! You have monkeys as chamber servants?”

“Indeed,” she said, as she made her way majestically—and laboriously—down the steps to her litter. “The King of Punt sent a family of them to me long ago, along with a shipment of other animals destined for Rome. I took a fancy to them and kept them for myself. I suppose I, also, have a tendency to steal. Like master, like servant.” She daintily lifted up her foot to enter the litter. “Now they have bred and are everywhere in the palace. Handy creatures. Well, just try Kasu for one night.” She gave an airy wave of her hand and disappeared into the dark.

My own litter materialized, but I waved it away so I could walk a bit. My head was spinning. Amanishakheto was no ordinary monarch, and no ordinary woman. Perhaps the two never went together.

The luxury of the suite of rooms I had been given was more noticeable to me upon returning. Perhaps Amanishakheto did have gold to spare, after all. Iras was attempting to read a commemoration—I assumed—that was set in the wall. She shook her head.

“This script means nothing to me.”

“Have you been able to understand better the conversations you have heard?”

“No, I have to request that they speak the Lower Nubian dialect. You must remember, my family came from near the border with Egypt and were connected with the priesthood; that is why I was serving in the temple at Hermonthis. In many ways we were Egyptianized. For example, I’ve never heard of this lion-headed god they have here, Apedemak.”