Kleopatra (10 page)

“If the young princess is to study with the philosopher Demetrius, we must also offer the opportunity to our elder daughter,”
said Thea.

Kleopatra clenched her arms together waiting for her sister to reply, but Berenike said, “No thank you. I’ve seen the man.
He looks like one of the bats who haunt the home of the dead.”

Thus, the next morning, and every morning thereafter at nine o’clock, Demetrius was escorted to the palace. Though the Mouseion
shared the same quarter of the city with the palaces and the Library, it was still too dangerous these days for a member of
the Royal Family to venture outside the palace walls, even with a guard. Demetrius’s black robes hung limply on his wraithlike
frame; his hair, as sparse as his flesh, dangled against his scaly scalp. Despite his frangible appearance, Demetrius was
a diligent soul, patient enough to read and discuss the dialogues of Plato with a ten-year-old girl. Kleopatra expressed her
desire to study Roman history, but the tutor assured her that the young mind must first be steeped in the Great Works, writing
of the highest quality embodying the Greek ideals of Virtue, Beauty, Truth, Knowledge, before embarking on the corrupting
influences of works written in the Latin, conceived in “that cesspool of a city.”

Though she longed to gather knowledge that would help her assist her father, she contented herself with Plato, becoming particularly
intrigued with the
Meno
and the problems it posed about the efficacy of teaching Virtue. She could not figure why some people—Charmion, for example,
and perhaps this scarecrow before her—seemed inherently virtuous and so willingly did what was right and proper while others—herself
included—had to battle their natural tendencies to achieve the Greek ideal. At least she was better than Berenike and Thea,
who did not even engage in the war.

“Might you teach me Virtue?” she asked Demetrius as they stood in the palace courtyard before a pond with lotus blossoms like
welcoming hands.

“As Socrates demonstrates, Virtue is divinely inspired. All Knowledge—and surely Virtue is a form of Knowledge—is already
known by the Immortal Soul. It cannot be taught, but must be remembered by the mind.”

“I do not follow.”

“Socrates observed that if Virtue could be taught, then all educated persons would be virtuous. Clearly that is not the case.”
Demetrius’s cheekbones were so close to his skin as to make the slightest smile look like an act of torture. The princess
beamed. “Might you direct me in the remembrance of Virtue?”

“Does your royal and Immortal Soul have the will and desire?”

“It does, Demetrius. I know it does. I shall remember Knowledge and thereby gain Virtue.” She closed her eyes tight, attempting
to recall the lost Knowledge of the Soul, but all she could hear was the sharp chirping of a sparrow. “I am getting nothing
just yet,” she said slyly. “But it will come.”

“I believe it will require some time and meditation, Your Highness,” said Demetrius. “The wings of wisdom are not necessarily
swift.”

“That’s enough for today.” Kleopatra looked up at the clear, cloudless sky. “How I wish I could go for a ride.”

“Your Highness, sometimes you seem utterly dedicated to your lessons, but at other times you are entirely distracted.” Demetrius
put his hands on his hips to demonstrate his displeasure.

“I am dedicated to my lessons, Demetrius, but I do suffer from a strange condition.”

“What is that?” The philosopher looked skeptically at the girl.

“Knowledge arouses something in me that I cannot name.” She had noticed this disconcerting feeling and did not know what to
do about it. She only knew that these days, when ideas coalesced in her mind, she could no longer just sit and contemplate.
She felt something that was either excitement or anxiety or both, and only physical exertion would rid her of the feeling.
“It makes me want to get up and go somewhere or do something.”

“What do you mean?” asked the philosopher. “You must not run away from Knowledge. You will never have an extended thought
if every time you learn something new you have to run to the stables.”

“Remember yesterday, after we finished reading Sophocles’ play
Philoctetes
?”

“Yes. Not two minutes after you read the last line, you were out of the library and begging your father to let you go riding.
Impatience is intellectual suicide!”

“Well, I was just so elated that everything turned out for the best, that Philoctetes did not have to spend the rest of his
life in pain and alone on that island, that I just wanted to celebrate with a gallop in the fields.”

“I do not follow your logic,” said Demetrius.

“I felt a spirit rise up inside me. And I just had to get it all out.” How to explain to this austere person the exuberance
she contained within her small body? How to explain to him—pale skin, brittle bones, all mind—that as much as she loved her
studies, she also loved the freedom of the outdoors, and was always torn between the two? That in these long days of confinement
inside the palace walls, she was bursting to get away?

“I am not in control of myself at these times,” she said, face flushed. “I was entirely out of sorts with the grim atmosphere
in that room. I had to escape. I wanted my pony.”

“Perhaps you would prefer that we study the great poets at the stables?”

“You do not understand, Demetrius, for you are like Charmion. You are all mental faculties.”

“I suppose it is bred into the blood,” sighed the philosopher. “Here, let us sit on the bench and rest ourselves.” He waited
for Kleopatra to sit down on the knobby cypress bench and then lowered himself slowly to sit beside her.

“What do you mean?”

“The women of your family have always been obsessed with horses. At the Olympic games two hundred years ago, the queen of
Egypt annoyed all the other horse tamers with her superior steeds. She and her sisters were the great equestrians of their
day—much to the chagrin of the Spartans, who tried to have them eliminated from the contests.”

“You sound like Meleager, obsessed with Ptolemaic history,” she said. “How do you know these things?”

“Because I am a scholar, which I suspect you shall never be. Pity, too, for you certainly have the mind for it. The spirit,
though, is rebellious.”

“You insult me, Demetrius. I wish to be a scholar.”

Demetrius cracked a wry smile. “A noble wish, Your Highness, to be a philosopher queen. But I fear that a life of action is
your destiny.”

“Espionage is a costly business, Your Majesty.”

Hammonius took Kleopatra on his knee, knowing that the girl’s attachment to him would strengthen his position and weaken the
will of the king. A large Greek man in his forties, Hammonius wore his prosperity on his stomach. His robes were of the most
expensive linen; his cologne, as fine as the exclusive effluvium made for the king. He had made his fortune by taking advantage
of the Roman craze for Egyptian goods. By special arrangement with the king, he purchased merchandise manufactured by the
government—and little else was produced in Egypt, owing to the state’s monopoly on industry—at a special price. In return,
he spied on the Romans for the king, bribing them with the king’s money in exchange for information and favors.

“What am I supposed to do? Roman senators cannot be bought for single coin or a cheap bauble.”

“I realize this,” replied the king, annoyed. “But must we be so generous?”

Kleopatra hoped her father would not deny the merchant. Demetrius was now allowing her diligent study of Latin, and she dreamed
of a day when she might apprentice with Hammonius, learning how to ingratiate herself to Roman insiders and reporting the
information back to Auletes. Then it would be she and not the twenty-two-year-old usurper who would sit beside the king and
whisper into his ear.

“These are critical times, Majesty,” said the bearlike man. “The Romans are desperate for money. Their treasury is bankrupt
from waging war all over the world, and there is a terrible grain shortage to feed their armies. They need money and they
need it now or they are going to find themselves in the middle of another rebellion.”

“I know, I know, Rome has once more turned her envious eyes upon the Egyptian treasury,” lamented the king.

“As if we do not have enough problems at home,” Thea said. “Will news from Rome help us when our own people kill us in our
sleep? Perhaps we should spend more money finding out the date and time of our assassinations.”

“The rebellion at home makes the intelligence operations abroad all the more crucial,” Hammonius said slowly, as if to a child.
“Only a greater power will subdue the insubordination.”

“Of course, of course.” The king sighed, regarding the list of expenditures Hammonius presented. Thea pointed her nose at
the paper but did not look at it. “Still, this is an awful lot of money.”

“Majesty, have you traveled abroad lately? Do you keep up with the price of things?” Exasperated, Hammonius bounced Kleopatra
on his knee as if she were an infant. “Do you think it is easy to get an audience with a Roman senator, even if he knows you
are going to offer him a substantial amount of money? These things are very delicate. Sometimes I have to wait in the Forum
all day long until I “accidentally’ run into the man I am after.”

The king moaned. The queen turned her face away from the discussion. Kleopatra moved herself to Hammonius’s other knee, which
was not bouncing.

“Many say that this new alliance between Julius Caesar, Pompey, and that rich fellow Crassus is not going to last. This Caesar
is a cutthroat whose ambitions know no bounds. He, or at least the men close to him,
must
be cultivated; it would be fatal to ignore him. Alliance with the wrong party would mean—with all due respect and sincere
wishes for your health and long life—a guaranteed loss of the throne.”

The king signed the invoice and gave it to his scribe to take to the royal bank for a withdrawal. Hammonius followed the scribe,
bowing solicitously to the king and his entourage, pleased with his negotiation.

“I do not know who is more dangerous to our welfare,” said the king. “The Romans, or the people I pay to extract information
from them.”

Kleopatra returned to her rooms for her customary two-hour afternoon nap. It was believed that a young princess must not expose
herself to the hottest part of the day. Kleopatra rarely slept during this time, but sat on her bed and read poetry, or played
with her dogs on the floor, teaching them to do tricks. The girl could not wait until she was thirteen, when the nap would
be cut to the traditional thirty-minute adult respite. When she complained that she no longer needed these baby naps, as she
called them, she was told by Charmion to enjoy the luxury of a long midday rest while she may. Nonetheless, she was unable
to sleep. She lay on the floor with her brindle greyhound, Minerva, tracing with her small fingers the long brown stripes
across the dog’s rib cage.

Kleopatra knew she had every attribute of the perfect spy. Already she had command of many languages, even the native tongue,
though every one of her ancestors had declared it inscrutable. She could tell stories, true or false, and make even the most
skeptical listener believe her. She could ride a horse as well as a man, as well as her sister Berenike. She did not get ill
in the stomach when she traveled by boat or by carriage, and this, she gleaned from Hammonius, was a most important quality.
The king did not favor those prone to the travel sickness. She feared virtually nothing, except that her father would lose
his kingdom. Most of all, she desired adventure, but she was always under the watchful eye of someone, usually Charmion, who
warned her constantly about the dangers in the streets. None of the royals left the palace anymore. They were afraid, even
Berenike, who spent her days in the nursery with the five-year-old princess, Arsinoe, teaching the child to shoot the small
bow Berenike had used as a child.

Of course, they did not possess her skills. What use would Berenike or Thea be in an intelligence operation? Face-to-face
with an Egyptian rebel, what could Thea do but beg for her life? Berenike would fight and be killed, and what good would that
do the kingdom? Kleopatra was different; she could help her father in ways that were entirely impossible for either her self-serving
stepmother or her savage sister, ways that would demonstrate to Auletes that it was she who deserved to rule at his side.

The Egyptian girls who did the light household maintenance upstairs, many of whom were Kleopatra’s age and size, were furnished
with crisp, white uniforms from the palace supply. Just yesterday, Kleopatra had wondered what she would look like in one
and had threatened the native servant Sekkie with fantastic stories of torture until the girl agreed to bring her the plain
cotton dress of the cleaning ladies and a colorful scarf to turban her head. Sekkie’s family had served the Royal Ptolemy
Household for many generations, longer than anyone could remember. Her mother was the palace’s Head Laundress. Her brothers
polished the great copper kettles in the kitchen while learning how to carve meat and fowl, jobs they would grow into upon
entering manhood. Sekkie was terribly afraid of being caught by her mother, who had warned her children that there was no
room for mistakes while in the royal service.