The Memoirs of Cleopatra (31 page)

I was very tired, and sank down on the bed. “I have had a most…unusual…evening with the Kandake.” I held up my arm, with its heavy bracelet. “She gives gold as easily as children give away field flowers. And she seems to harbor a great disrespect of men.”

Iras laughed.

“I did not say ‘dislike,’ I said ‘disrespect.’ That is unusual in a world where they rule and control most everything—except here in Meroe, evidently.” I lay down, weariness surrounding all my limbs. Then I remembered. “The monkey! The Kandake said there was a monkey in here to serve us!”

“There has been one, scurrying around,” said Iras. “I saw it sitting up on top of one of the chests, then it ran away. I called to have it removed, but I suppose no one could understand me.”

“Her name is Kasu,” I said. “She is supposed to see to all of our wants.”

“Ah, then where is she? Now we are ready to sleep, and no monkey in sight.”

“Kasu!” I called. “Come, Kasu! We are ready to retire!”

I never imagined that the creature would appear by the side of the bed like magic; she must have been hiding inside the window curtains. She walked over to us with dignity, bowing her head. She
was
green. Her stiff, brushlike fur, framing her black face, looked as if it had been tinted. The rest of her fur, except the tip of her long tail, had a similar hue. She was about the size of a two-year-old child. But from what I had heard of monkeys and apes, I knew that, proportionate to their size, they are much stronger than a human. Someone at the Museion had once told me that an ape is eight times stronger than a man—how he arrived at this conclusion he did not explain. That would make Kasu a monkey to respect.

“Bed, Kasu,” I said, patting it.

The monkey looked disdainful, as if I were insulting her. Obviously she knew what a bed was, and that I wanted to sleep in it, her eyes seemed to say. She ambled over to a chest and took out bed linens and coverlets, and then put them carefully on the bed. She polished the headrest tenderly with her leathery palm, then cocked her head as if to say,
All right, it’s ready now, stupid
.

I disrobed and put on my sleeping garments; Kasu quickly gathered up the discarded clothes and carried them off somewhere. She then prepared Iras’s bed and took her clothes away, and returned solicitously carrying a small lamp, which she placed by our bedside.

“I hope she did not light it herself!” said Iras.

“It must have been already lit,” I said, hoping that was true.

“It looks as if we must go straight to sleep,” said Iras. “Our keeper has decided it.”

I yawned. “It is just as well. I am exhausted; without this parentlike monkey, we would probably stay up too late.”

I watched as Kasu made her way over to a far corner of the room; now I could identify a basket that probably served as her bed. She was going to retire, herself. She flopped down and stretched her arms above her head once. Then she sighed and lay down.

I closed my eyes. What an overwhelming day this had been; what a mythical kingdom I had entered. I removed the bracelet and dropped it on the floor beside me. It landed with a loud
clunk
that sounded more like lead than gold.

I slept; I dreamt; I awoke with a start. Moonlight, as silvery as Isis’s garment, spread itself across the floor, lying like a carelessly tossed shawl. It was not brilliantly bright, but diffused; it embraced the lower legs of the tables and chairs and left the rest in shadow. I could see the gold cuff on the floor by my bed, its detailed miniature figures coming alive in the peculiar slanting light.

Then I saw the cobra. I thought I was dreaming, or that it was a wooden sculpture that I had somehow overlooked earlier. A dark wooden one, against the far wall. It was motionless. Yes, it was a sculpture. I felt my fear drain away.

Just then it moved. It inched forward and raised its head. My heart stopped.

It was not especially large. But all cobras are poisonous, even the babies; I knew that. I held as still as I could, and tried to remember everything else I had learned about them. Mardian and his snakes had been part of my childhood; he had had one old cobra that he kept in a pen by itself, with very close-fitting bars. He had been fond of it, but certainly had never handled it.

“It’s a lie that you can become immune to snakebite,” he had said when I asked him about a tribe of men reputed to be so. “Our happy little fellow here has enough poison in him to kill five men with one bite.”

Remembering his words, the very tone of his voice, I felt sweat break out all over me. Five men. This snake—the royal cobra of Egypt—could dispatch five men, all in one bite. A good night’s work.

“And how long does it take to die of snakebite?” I had asked.

“Some men have succumbed in only a quarter of an hour,” he had said. “Others may take an hour or so. It depends on where you are bitten, and whether the snake has bitten someone else first. It does not seem to be especially painful. Prisoners beg to be executed by snakebite. Of course it would be improper, since the cobra is a royal beast, and divine,” he had said, in his most official tone.

“Of course,” I had echoed him.

The cobra moved again, gliding away from the wall. He came out into the center of the room, but avoided the patch of moonlight. He just remained still and looked at it quizzically. I could see the bead of his eye, with a smaller bead of light reflected in it. His tongue flicked out; he seemed to be testing the air.

Could he smell my fear? Could he sense our living presence? Was he going to glide over to my sleeping couch, spread his hood, lean over me and strike?

I held as still as a statue. I did not dare to speak, or to warn Iras, lest she move suddenly.

He made his way cautiously into the light, moving only a hand’s breadth at a time. He was banded, and his light and dark skin was beautiful. He was indeed a divine instrument of death—sleek and slender and delicately colored.

He did not care for the light. He turned his head and slithered to one side, coming still closer to the bed. I gripped the wooden frame, prepared to vault myself in the opposite direction, hoping my arms were strong enough to propel me. Even so, I might not land far enough away; cobras were supposed to be lightning-fast. I had never seen one strike from a distance, as Mardian’s old pet had never been given the opportunity.

A movement from the other side of the room. Were there two of them? No, it was the monkey, moving in her sleep. The cobra turned so suddenly and sped off toward her so fast that I did not see his actual path. One instant he was near my bed, the next speeding across the room. A dark shape reared up; his hood was spread. I heard noises, scrambling, a hiss, high, raucous squeals, first of anger and fear, then of shock and pain. Another hiss. Then something falling across the room.

Trembling, I stood up and grabbed the sputtering oil lamp and held it up. Its feeble flame did not reveal much, but I saw the long, dark shape of the cobra disappearing out the open window. At the base was the standing lamp he had overturned. He was gone!

Kasu was howling, grabbing her tail. I rushed over to her, followed by the dazed Iras.

“Light another lamp!” I cried. “A snake has attacked us! We need more light!”

Iras shrieked.

“The snake is gone, there’s no need to fear!” I said. “But we need light!”

The monkey was shaking in terror. But had she been bitten? It was hard to tell. I did not see anything at first. But she clutched her tail, and between the fingers I could see a swelling beginning.

“It got her tail,” I said. “Oh, please, Kasu, release your grip so I can see!” But such was the strength of the monkey that even now I could not pry her fingers away from the injury.

“A tourniquet,” I said. “It’s only the tip of the tail. We can tie it off.” Hands shaking, I drew off the leather thong that was woven around her basket to hold her blanket in place. I tied it halfway up the tail, making it as tight as I could.

“Call for the guards,” I said. “We need someone strong enough to get her fingers loose so we can cut open the wound and suck out the poison, before it spreads further.”

Suddenly Kasu went limp; the fear and shock had caused her to faint. Her fingers loosened and fell away, and I could see the wound. There was only one scratch; evidently the snake had missed and hit her only a glancing blow rather than a full puncture.

“Thanks be to Thoth!” I breathed. The baboon-god of wisdom had protected his own, even against the royal cobra.

After such a night, it is little wonder that I found myself nervous as I stood beside Amanishakheto in the throne room and awaited the prisoner. Outside, all was bright and glorious; night had fled with the snake, and they both seemed unreal.

Amanishakheto was dressed in fiery red robes overlaid with a blue beaded sash, and again she was loaded down with gold jewelry. On her head was the Nubian crown, which had a double cobra. The Egyptian one had a single cobra. Just seeing the creature depicted in gold and wrapped around her head made my encounter of the night seem even more nightmarish.

The doors at the far end of the room swung open and a young man, yoked and chained, was brought in. Two enormous guards flanked him.

I was startled by the resemblance to my late brother. He was almost exactly the same height and build, and his features were similar enough to convince anyone who had not seen the true Ptolemy. When he spoke, I could see that he had hoped to win followers by his voice and words. He had obviously studied Ptolemy’s manner of speaking, and had mastered his inflections and choice of words. He must have heard him many times; this boy may have been in the royal household as a servant.

He stood, feet in their iron fetters spread apart, head high.

“Greetings, most noble sister,” he said.

Oh, he was bold. And clever. I could not help but admire that in him.

“I am not your sister,” I said coldly. “You share no blood with me.”

“It would be convenient for you to convince others of that. But you and I know the truth. You thought you were rid of me in that battle at the Nile, but I escaped. I let you and Caesar think you had won. But now Caesar is gone, and you are alone.”

“Except for my three Roman legions,” I said coldly.

“Bah! What is that? Foreign troops. They will flee when you need them. Now you must admit the truth, and restore me to the throne. As Caesar had proclaimed me to be, I am joint ruler with you. As our father wished.”

“Enough of this. It is amusing, and I admit you are clever. You have studied the accent and expressions well. But you are a liar. My brother is dead. I saw him; and now he rests with his ancestors in our mausoleum. Now you had best name your true ancestors, so that we can allow you to rest with them.”

The color drained from his face. He had expected more of a hearing. But surely he did not expect me to be fooled. Perhaps he had assumed I had spent so little time with my brother that I would have a faded memory of him. But not enough time had passed. It was only a year since Ptolemy’s death.

I turned to Amanishakheto. “This person is no kin of mine, not brother, not consort, not joint ruler. He is a common impostor. Let him die the death of a usurper. He who attempts to wear the royal cobra on his brow must be of the blood royal. His is not—although he has courage, that I grant him.”

His eyes sought mine out, begging, challenging.
Let me live
, they said.
Let me live
.

Today, tonight, they haunt me. Not because I was wrong in my decision, but because it had to be made. Soon my son, my dear Caesarion, may have to look in Octavian’s eyes the same way, make the same silent plea. And Octavian is much harder of heart than I. Thus the boy’s eyes haunt me, because they are now my own son’s. All our deeds are visited on us from a different vantage point. A cup that tastes sweet when we are sitting may be bitter indeed when we are standing.

“Take him away,” said the Kandake. “Prepare the place of execution.”

As the young man was being led away, she said to me, “They are taken beyond the city gates and slain there. Unless he reveals his true family, he will be buried in a desert grave.”

The boy turned to us with one half-defiant, half-pitiful look, before he was shoved out the door.

“After the heat of the day has faded, I would like to show you my pyramid,” she said. “I always enjoy a desert ride.” She smiled. “Don’t you?”

Shadows were creeping from the rocks and trees when we set out. It was the time of day when the light changed, and the desert began turning from white-hot to mellow red. The sky was still blindingly blue, heat still emanating from the ground. But high on our camels, swaying and dipping, we were protected from the worst of it.

Amanishakheto’s saddle had a canopy on it, and she sat happily shaded from the sun as the beast ploughed his way through the sand like a ship.

She had seemed most anxious that I view her pyramid. Did she think I had never seen one? Now I understand, of course, that one is always very proud of one’s projected resting place. I am in the process of completing mine; indeed I find it oddly fulfilling to design my own tomb. But then I considered the Kandake peculiar and morbid to want to visit it with a guest.