Cleopatra (8 page)

To continue…

A young woman arrived in a sedan chair. She was a little older than myself and very beautiful. Her hair was swept up in the style of a noble lady and she wore a white toga with a thin, crimson sash. Her eyes were kind. The way she smiled at me gladdened my heart.

An official introduced her to me as Julia, the bride of Pompey. I was surprised such a sweet-looking girl was married to that man, that vulgar brute, but even more surprised when she said her father is Julius Caesar!

As we visited with each other, slaves brought in goblets of apple nectar so we could refresh ourselves. They also served us bread, sliced thinly and topped with cheese and bits of black olives. A reader stood by the fountain, reciting the latest poem by Catullus who himself lives in a nearby villa.

Well, I'll be brief now, for it is quite late and my eyes feel heavy. Julia's visit was solely to invite me to the theatre tomorrow afternoon! I will be happy to see more of Rome and perhaps make a friendship with her.

13 Junius
Still in Rome

So much rain. I've been ill with a terrible cold, so have not recorded my thoughts for some days. Now as I pen this, the hour is late, the house of Atticus is quiet. His reader left an hour ago. For the moment, my companion is a white cat sitting in the doorway that opens out onto the garden. It is watching a nightingale drink from the fountain. (O, beware, little bird.)

To continue about my day with Julia…

The streets of Rome are as crowded and noisy as Alexandria's. Slaves carried our chairs with a bumpiness that made me grab onto the sides for fear I would tumble out. It would be a messy fall, because the cobblestones are soaked with refuse: kitchen garbage, dung from horses and dogs and, most putrid of all, waste from latrines that has been thrown out windows. Stepping stones imbedded in the road are the only way people can cross the street without fouling their feet.

Such wretched air! The sides of my sedan had curtains made of thin blue silk that protected me from splashes and from the eyes of curious men, but the heat was stifling inside. O, to be home again, where the sea breeze is as near as my face.

During our ride through the streets, Puzo jogged alongside me. And to my amusement, so did someone's little muddy pig, which followed us until some boys chased it away. When we arrived at the theatre, Puzo's legs were so caked with dung he washed in a public fountain before coming in with me. This theatre is similar to the one we have in Alexandria, an open-air stage surrounded by seats that spread upwards, giving the appearance of a large bowl.

We were escorted to the front seats, which are reserved for nobles, that is, senators and visiting royalty such as myself. The next twelve rows behind us are for knights – this is what Julia calls the wealthy businessmen (such grand flowing togas and fat chins!).

A servant placed cushions on the stone bench for us. I turned around to look up at the crowds beginning to fill the audience. The steps upwards were such a steep climb, my heart was thankful that we were on the ground level.

Soon the play began. It was titled
The Clouds.
It is a Greek comedy written hundreds of years ago by Aristophanes. From where the actors stood, their voices carried clearly to us as well as high up and around the theatre, for the audience laughed or hissed at the same times we did. I was lost in enjoyment! The satire was about our great Socrates. But it was so biting, I think if he were alive today he would drive a sword through the writer.

O, it was good to be out. I noticed people staring at me from time to time, as I was in the front row, centre, which is the seat of honour. Perhaps they are curious about an Egyptian princess who dresses as a Roman. No matter. Puzo watches carefully for my safety.

The play ended at sunset. On the way home, Julia instructed our servants to carry us down an alley that opened up into a quiet little courtyard. It was lit by a lantern hanging from the branches of an olive tree. Tall walls surrounded us, and I could hear from the apartments above sounds of families ending their day – children being tucked into bed and other noises.

I soon realized we were in a public eating place. We stood at a waist-high table that curved around a charcoal fire. Julia took two coins from a pouch that was tied to her belt and laid them on the bar. She told me that children stop here in the mornings for breakfast before they go to sit with their tutors.

The cook put ground meat onto a plate. Several small bowls on a sideboard held salt and other spices. He pinched some of each, then added a fistful of pine nuts to the meat, mixing it together with his hands. Then he patted the meat into two flat disks, each the size of his palm.

From a jar he poured olive oil into a pan that was heating on the coals. The oil spit when he dropped in the meat, then began sizzling. I was quite taken with the delicious aroma. At last, the cook picked the meat out of the hot pan with his fingers then placed it between two slices of bread, handing one to each of us.

We ate standing up. I was so hungry I wanted more, but did not want to impose on Julia. I had not thought to bring coins of my own. As we were climbing into our sedans something splashed near my feet. I looked up to see an open window where someone had just emptied a chamber pot.

Barbarians.

Julia and her guard saw me to the door of Atticus' villa. Thanking her for the lovely day, I asked what our meal was called. It had tasted so good.

“The usual,” she said, “fried dormouse.”

To continue…

Bad news has me in low spirits today.

It seems there are not enough soldiers to escort us to Egypt. Most of the military is far north with Caesar, so now we must wait! We need legions to battle the peasants and those who put Berenice on Father's throne, but it will be many weeks before more men are trained.

In my heart I worry. It is already June. Summer solstice will be soon. From that day forward, the sun's shadows grow longer, the days shorter and cooler. Because the winds favour ships travelling south, it would be possible to journey home in ten days, before autumn, before Poseidon and Neptune throw contrary winds at us. But we must leave no later than early September. The seas are too dangerous after that.

I am sick at heart about this. There are so many things I miss about home. I miss Olympus and Theophilus, our long talks and days of study. Arrow and Bucephalus, what has happened to my pets? Most of all, in this heavy summer heat I miss the ocean breeze.

I am Princess of the Nile, but this evening I do not feel royal. I want to stomp my feet! I fear I will go mad – yes, mad – if I have to stay here through the winter. Woe is me!

After dinner

Rome is stinking hot. Most of the wealthier citizens have left the city for their cool summer homes along the coast. How I envy them. Though Alexandria has odours, there is
always wind off the sea to blow the foulness away.

I have not written about my worries lately. If the Romans are plotting to kill Father and me, and to conquer Egypt, what can I do to stop them? They will do what they do when they want. And my fears about Father's betraying me? I must be kind to him and not give him cause to think I am like my older sisters. True, I want to be queen, but not by any ill deeds. In my heart I wish I could stop him from drunkenness, but what daughter can save her father from this?

Meanwhile, he has been visiting the soldiers in their barracks and watching new recruits learn drills. He meets with senators and prominent citizens to ask for money and help restoring him to his throne. Father wants to have as many Romans on our side as possible.

It seems he is behaving himself, perhaps because he knows he must. After all, he is now king in name only, his throne being occupied by Queen Berenice. She is twenty years to my twelve, and if I know her as well as I think I do, she is probably just putting on displays of fashion and beauty.

I doubt we will ever hear that she has bettered the lives of the Egyptian people or anyone else besides herself. Though she is my favourite sister, my heart has no respect for her. This, too, makes me sad. It makes me want even more to be queen.

On another subject, bad weather is reported. Hail has damaged many of the vineyards and vegetable gardens near Ostia.

15 Junius

It seems that my low mood was reported to Tullus Atticus. To cheer me, he sent a silver plate to my chamber. On it was a letter, his wax seal on the top of the page and this message:

 

Come, dear Princess, to Herculaneum. A royal suite overlooking the sea awaits you.

 

My heart swelled with happiness. Atticus has invited me to his summer villa on the Bay of Naples, what a kind old baldie. Julia says his place is in a small cove near her own villa. O, joy. Neva is packing, for tomorrow we leave!

This evening when I saw Atticus walking in his garden, I ran to him with thanks. Now I regret the bad thoughts I had towards him.

“Dear girl,” he said, “never mind the tears. When you arrive in Herculaneum, spare yourself no expense. My purse is long enough.”

23 Junius
In the seaside town of Herculaneum

I have been drowsy and content. O, how the sea lulls me. For one week, I have played in the salt water and napped in the sun. Julia says my skin is turning dark, like a commoner's, but I tell her, “And?” (It is so very boring to be royal all the time!) Neva reads to me more often than usual, always ending with the letters I have received from Olympus and Theophilus. As a result, my heart has memorized their words.

Did I mention that the Appian Way goes from Rome to the Adriatic Sea? It was built with large blocks of lava, thus it is black in colour, also it is eighteen feet across, wide enough for three chariots to race one another. I mention this only because our caravan came upon a terrible scene. A poor man with a donkey and vegetable cart had been run over and killed by soldiers who had no thoughts but for themselves.

Who drives the fastest chariot should be decided at the race course in the circus, not on a public avenue. If these men had been
my
soldiers, I would make them give a year's wage to the man's family.

During our journey, I was also distressed by many crosses I saw alongside the road, like tall dead trees. I knew the story. My sisters and I had been told about Spartacus ever since we were little, how he led a slave revolt against Rome that lasted two years. When General Crassus and his armies finally captured Spartacus, Crassus ordered his soldiers to crucify the slaves who had survived battle, six thousand in number.

O Isis!
Not until last week when I personally was on this road did I understand. For more than one hundred miles the Appian Way had been lined on both sides with men hanging from crosses. It was a valley of death that would have taken travellers days to pass through. They would have walked under shadows of the dying men.

The slaves' bodies were left there to rot in the sun, as a warning:
never argue with Rome.

Even though this happened fourteen years ago, some crosses that remain still have bits of skeleton attached, a hand, a foot. I did see this myself.

Olympus once explained to me in medical terms why crucifixion is the worst of all cruel punishments. After being forced to carry his own cross to the place of execution, the criminal is stripped naked and fastened to the wood with ropes or nails. He hangs by his arms in agony, sometimes for days. Finally, the pressure on his lungs makes him suffocate; it makes his heart burst open.

When Olympus told me this, I remember thinking at the time, only
O,
and then I changed the subject. I knew Romans are the most barbaric people on Earth, but so what? They were an ocean away.

How could I have been so insensitive? I wonder in my heart if I will order such torture when I become queen. I think not. O, I hope not. In Egypt, at least our prisoners meet their deaths quickly.

Now indeed, another subject… We took this road south to Capua, then turned onto a narrow, rough path that skirted the vineyards on the lower slopes of Mount Vesuvius. (This is where Spartacus and other runaways had hidden.)

For our entrance into Herculaneum, I kept myself out of sight behind the drapes of my carriage. Ours was a royal parade with servants waving flags and colourful silk streamers. Tambourines and singing made all of us merry. I could see through my blue curtains that children lined the road and were running alongside us through the streets. When I slipped my hand out to wave, some excited girls pointed to the jewels on my fingers. These girls were barefoot and wearing short tunics with garlands of ivy in their hair. Their sweetness warmed my heart.

The servants of Atticus had already received word of my arrival, thus all was ready. The rooms were sweetly scented with roses floating in cinnamon oil, bowls of fruit were on the tables, my bed cushions were powdered with spices, all so lovely. And I was happy knowing Julia would be arriving the next day.

To continue…

Yesterday was summer solstice, the longest day of the year. Though parties and banquets went long into the night, and there were bonfires at every street corner and all along the shore, I did not join in the festivities. My spirit was low, and I was still weary from our long journey so I stayed in my room. Neva has her own small chamber adjoining mine, Puzo rests in the hallway. My other guards are posted throughout the villa.

I never tire of listening to waves breaking on the beach. My suite faces the bay, and a breeze comes in through a window above my bed. O, how sweet are the sounds and the scent of the sea. This lovely similarity to Alexandria makes me all the more homesick.

All day I've been looking out at the bay. Father promised that his ships will come for me in a few weeks, on their way to Egypt. He also promised that I will not have to return to stinking Rome.

Near midnight, after my large hourglass ran out, I was still too restless to sleep so I stole out to walk along the beach. Breaking waves looked like lines of white foam. In the moonlight I could see a fishing boat anchored in the cove. It moved up and down as the swells rolled under its hull, and there was someone on deck pulling in a long grey net.

The beauty of this evening and the familiar tang of salt air reminded me so much of home I found myself choked up, yes, crying. I sat in the sand, my arms wrapped around my knees. Would anyone guess this is an Egyptian princess weeping on a Roman shore, weeping from fear and loneliness?

My heart was in torment. There were so many things that could go wrong! What if Father stayed in Rome all summer and his ships never came? What if they did come, but he was too drunk to remember I was here waiting and they sailed past the Bay of Naples without stopping? Something else. He might decide I am a threat to him and deliberately leave me behind, exile me in Italy. O, I tremble at the thought of being abandoned.

For many moments I grieved over this, then finally stood up and brushed the sand from my legs. Suddenly, on a wild impulse, I ran into the water and dove under a wave. O, it was cold! But I felt wonderful, and in an odd way, cleansed of my tears and misery. As I walked along the dark shore in my dripping dress, I made a royal decision.

I, Cleopatra, have no power over what Father does or thinks. I can do one thing and one thing only: wait.

It was then that I noticed a glow in the sky and thought perhaps it was from a lighthouse down the coast. But then I heard the roar of a crowd and remembered the amphitheatre: gladiators were fighting one another tonight.

When our caravan had arrived in town, I saw graffiti painted on the stone walls, with gladiators' names. These had made me smile:
Titus has big arms. He is a heartthrob to young girls. Arcus is a maiden's hero.
Were these men now in the arena?

My own heart felt heavy now, knowing that the cheers meant a man was being killed. Tryphaena loved this cruel sport. She told me she enjoyed the excitement and betting on who would be stronger, lion or man. Because of my youth I have not yet attended such a contest.