The Memoirs of Cleopatra (122 page)

Everything was ready. We had taken six legions on board the vessels, armed and ready for fighting. We hoped to surprise Rufus and slip away rather than engage in combat, but that was probably too optimistic.

My helmet was hot, and I felt stifled inside the cloak. I opened its front; no need to be bundled up now. On deck, the archers with their store of arrows, the slingers and javelineers stationed in the towers, were eager to set off. At both prow and stern were mounted catapults to fling stones and shoot arrows. Oh, we were a proud sight. But it would be better not to have to use any of it.

At the signal from Sosius, the squadrons began to move in file toward the opening. We had close to three hundred ships, and keeping them in formation was a task in itself. The first lot emerged safely, and from what I could see, Rufus’s fleet was anchored to the north, not near the entrance at all. Then, as we streamed out and as my ship approached the mouth of the gulf, there was movement to our right; Rufus had been startled into action. The oars on his “six” were digging frantically and the ship was moving fast toward our lead ships. Trailing in his wake were two others, hoisting their collapsible towers and preparing to pelt us with rocks and arrows. And behind them a host of triremes and quadriremes stirred themselves into action.

Our oarsmen speeded up so we could escape the confined waters. We shot out past the two guard towers at the entrance to the gulf, but Rufus and his ships were closing in on us.

“Down!” yelled Sosius, just in time for us to duck and avoid a volley of stones. He then stood up and signaled to his own men to fire back. Fireballs followed, but rolled harmlessly off our deck and into the water.

Making quickly for our sides were two smaller ships, perhaps triremes. Their crews were propelling them through the water at high speed, and their gleaming rams, riding high out of the water, were aimed at our sides. One of them thudded against us, but was thrown back by our reinforced timbers. The other poised itself for an attack below our waterline. But a stone from our catapult almost swamped it, knocking it spinning. A cheer went up from our decks.

Several ships farther out had now engaged and were fighting. This was not going to be easy. “Faster!” Sosius ordered, to move us out into open water. We could not help our brother ships other than to fire on their enemies, and that we did, hoping to sink them.

Suddenly our ships broke free; Rufus’s vessel had been injured, and all was thrown into confusion. We had a clear shot to escape. I felt immense relief and jubilation. Free! Free! We had got away!

But still no wind, and we could not raise our sails. Where was the wind? Why today, of all days, must it be late? The rowers could not keep up their speed for long. Behind us there were many more ships waiting to come out into the open water. And then…then…a heavy mist seemed to originate from the far side of Leucas, white and impenetrable. Like a malevolent blanket it spread out, creeping around the island, to the gulf entrance and, with astonishing speed, over both fleets. We could not steer, except blindly.

On faith we had to keep rowing forward, not at all sure we were going straight. We had to slow our speed for safety. I clung on to the rail, trying to see something besides whiteness to the south. And swimming through the mist I saw what I must dismiss as an evil vision, brought about by the confusion. It looked like…it looked like…it could not be…enemy ships!

Oars lifted out of the waves in perfect rhythm, flinging arcs of water to each side, and the prow of Agrippa’s “six” reared itself not three hundred feet away. And dimly, farther back, were the shapes of others, like a running pack of lions.

“Back water!” yelled Sosius, seeing it at the same time as I. “Change course!” We must change direction and try to ram him head-on, rather than present our side to him. “Prepare to fire!” Soldiers climbed up on the towers, and the rest lined the rails, bows at the ready.

But the size of our ship meant that we could not change course quickly. We were in the process of turning when Agrippa was upon us, and the ship shuddered with the impact. I was thrown to my knees, and clutched at a pile of rope to keep from sliding across the deck. Crawling to the rail, I saw Agrippa’s ship below, reeling from his assault on ours. Our stout reinforcements had saved us; his ram had not been able to pierce our sides. Our soldiers were now unleashing a hail of arrows at him, and managed to start a fire on his deck. A swarm of men ran out with hides to smother it.

“Let the Queen surrender!” I heard someone yelling; was it Agrippa himself? I pulled myself up to my feet and looked down. Could that be he, the tall, wide-shouldered man calling up to us, brandishing his spear? But in the melee it was impossible to tell, and it had been years since I had seen him, just a boy, in Rome.

The enemy had now formed a barrier out to sea that we could not cross; their numbers were so great they could afford to form a double line.

“Back!” ordered Sosius, and he signaled to the others to change course.

“Back?” I cried. After all this, we would have to return? I ran up to him and grabbed his arm. “No, no!”

Roughly he yanked it off. “We must!” he said. “We are outnumbered and surprised. Would you lose the entire fleet?”

“We couldn’t—some would escape—”

“Not enough,” he said. “We cannot risk it.”

I had the authority, but not the naval experience, to countermand his orders. I had to meekly stand by while we—oh, the shame of it!—turned back into the gulf, rejoining those ships which had never managed to leave in the first place. I wept with anger and frustration.

I reentered the headquarters which I had thought never to see again. How different it looked now, what a hated prison! It looked—it ought to have been—deserted! Is there anything more humiliating than to return like that?

And Antony was gone, already crossing the mountains with Dellius and Amyntas and the Galatian cavalry and the three legions. When he got to lolcus, and we weren’t there—

I flung myself down on the abandoned bed and beat it with my fists. The bed, not meant for such an attack, collapsed in a welter of legs and straps.

Antony returned when he heard of our disaster. It wasn’t only for me; he was unwilling to abandon his fleet and half his army. Now we were all back where we had started, except for the unfortunate ships lost in the attempted escape.

“A fog that late in the day”—he shook his head—“and Agrippa coming to the rescue in his timely fashion. It’s hard to believe.”

“Don’t forget that the wind failed, as well.” One would almost think that the gods had deserted us, that our cause was doomed. But I must not allow myself to think like that. What if Caesar had thought that way at Alesia? That was no way to win battles.

“Uncanny.” Antony was sitting, his arms resting on his knees, hands hanging limply. “I would say—no, never.”

He had been thinking the same thing as I. But we must not give in to that mood. The gods enjoyed testing us to see what we were made of, that was all. This was not final.

“It is time for another attack on the river Louros,” he said. “I think we will have conviction behind our assault this time.”

The day stood fair, the wind—obedient now, perfect for an escape, as if mocking us—blowing early. Antony would lead the attack in person, commanding the Roman cavalry and supported by Amyntas and his Galatian horsemen; Dellius would provide the muscle of two legions behind them. In case they were successful in forcing a wider battle, Canidius and the other legions were ready for the signal to swarm up the hill.

As before, they would ride around the head of the ten-mile gulf and approach the river from the east. If they could succeed in surprising or overpowering them quickly, Octavian’s forces would be without a water supply. Let them drink seawater, then, and go mad!

Mounted and wearing my protective helmet and shield, I waited with Canidius. No, I did not expect to fight; I was not trained with swords or spears. But I could not bear to wait out of eyesight, not knowing what had happened until it was long over. And so, properly prepared, I sat my horse and watched, my eyes trained to the east, searching for any betraying movement.

Canidius rode over beside me. His horse looked thinner than was ideal, but that was not surprising.

“Hail,” he said, reining up. His helmet gleamed in the fierce sun, making an intense spot of light that moved as he moved his head. He gestured toward the east, jerking his horse that way. “Today, the gods willing, the tide will turn in our favor.”

Yes.
The gods willing…
They had been stubbornly against us so far. But their most outstanding characteristic was capriciousness. A shove here from Apollo, and Patroclus stumbles, a whisper from Athena and a mortal blow is averted…. Let this work in our favor today! Let them embrace us!

“What must be, will be.” I was surprised to hear these words come from my lips. They were not exactly what I meant. “And what we wish, will be,” I assured him.

Behind me the massed legions were waiting, standing patiently, as they had been trained to do. I could smell the leather of their gear and hear the low murmurs of their voices.

“How are their spirits?” I asked Canidius quietly.

“Were they higher, I would be well content,” he replied tartly. “The conditions day after day wear away at them. And then there are the taunts from the other camp, the arrows and stones carrying messages, fired right into our midst.”

“Saying what?”

Silently he handed me a paper, which he had kept folded inside his glove. “I picked this one up this morning.”

I opened it. “ANTONY IS NO LONGER HIMSELF. YOU FOLLOW A MADMAN. HE CANNOT PROVIDE FOR YOU.”

“Tired old lies,” I said lightly.

“They are taking their toll,” said Canidius. “I am hard put to counteract them.”

“But they have seen him, they hear him speak!” I gathered the reins into my hands, wrapping them around my palms.

“Yes,” he admitted. “But the lies wear away at them like drops of acid, corroding everything they touch. They wonder, in their hearts, how Antony can give them their plot of land when it is all over. He has no rights in Italy now. And that is what they really want.”

“But the purpose of war is to
win!
Just as Octavian will seize Egypt if he wins”—horrible thought! insupportable outcome!—“Antony’s rights in Italy will be restored.” It was all so simple.

“Their hearts have grown faint,” said Canidius bluntly. “Perhaps there have been too many years of civil war, and it is hard for them to believe in anything anymore. They are just tired, and want an end.”

“Then they must fight to achieve it!” But I was not addressing the men; my exhortation fell only on Canidius’s ears. His words were chilling, ominous. Had Antony lost his power to inspire and lead them? Had his fortunes run aground, mired in the faintheartedness of his men? What a fall that would be, what an unexpected thing to topple an empire!

“Yes, I know,” he said. He turned his head abruptly to the east, his attention instantly riveted in that direction.

Now I could see the sun glinting on something moving; far across the gulf, many points of light danced as riders approached the swamps guarding the approach to the precious river.

“There!” I said, almost under my breath. But Canidius’s eyes were focused on his legions; he had forgotten me, as well he should. The only thing that mattered now was the fight that would unfold at the river, and how we could win it.

He trotted off to take his position, and I was left to stare at the tiny moving figures on the far side of the gulf. No sound carried across the water; all I heard were the cries of gulls swooping and diving.

I clutched the reins and waited. If there was a charge up the hill, I meant to follow with the rearguard. I would not grieve Antony by placing myself in too much danger, but I must be there, must be a part of our battles.

I was trembling. I was surprised; I had not thought myself so tightly wound with anticipation. The troops were drawing themselves up, fastening their helmets, adjusting the hand-straps on their shields.

Then, from far away, a rise of voices—cries and shouts. The faint sounds of a tumult reached us.

“Ready!” Canidius ordered, his horse nervously prancing before the lines.

A horn sounded from the river, blowing notes we were to follow.

“
Signa inferre!
” It was not the command for a charge, but only an order to advance. The troops marched briskly in formation, aimed toward the hill, Canidius at the fore.

O Zeus! O Hercules! Be with your son today, give him strength and glory!
I prayed.
Let Antony ride, resplendent, into the enemy lines, scattering them into confusion
.

A lone, wavering note sounded from the attackers, the music suddenly choked off in midnote. What had happened? I was halfway up the hill, but through the lines of troops and the distance, I could see little.

I saw some movement from the west side, but truly, it meant nothing. Canidius and his legions were still marching smartly uphill, but then the vanguard seemed to halt.