The Memoirs of Cleopatra (33 page)

I let my hand, holding the letter, fall to my side. It said so much; it said so little. Every phrase could be interpreted in different ways. “I knew that I had an utterly reliable ally nearby, a precious thing….” Was it the knowing that was precious, or the ally? “I think you will find the accommodations suitable for a long stay….” Was he expecting me to stay indefinitely? Why? And as for the clever way he both asked to see our son and avoided legitimizing his name by writing it—!

No! I would not go! He could not order me to, like a vassal or a client king!

And yet that is what you are, a vassal, a client monarch who holds her throne only because Rome allows her to. You are no different from Bocchus of Mauretania or Ariobarzanes of Cappadocia. The proud kingdom of Ptolemy has been reduced to that. But at least it has not been reduced to a Roman province—New Africa
.

There was a threat in his words, and not veiled, either. Be there to show you are not Rome’s enemy, or, like a watchman with his dogs, he was saying, I may not be able to control what
they
do. So be there.

He had promised to bring me to Rome. But I had not thought it would be like this—to do obeisance to his conquests.

My anger had passed. I knew I had to go. Never mind what he had meant when he wrote the letter. What mattered was what would happen after I got there.

I would have to learn Latin, that much was certain. If I could not understand what was being spoken all around me, I would be at a terrible disadvantage. I had never learned it because it was not a very important language, and besides, all educated Romans spoke Greek. But in Rome, of course, they would be speaking Latin.

I asked Mardian to find me a good Latin tutor, and also informed him that I would be departing for Rome in only a month and leaving him in complete charge of the government—with the help of Epaphroditus, of course. He looked uneasy.

“It is no different from when I went to Nubia,” I assured him. “That did not worry you.”

“It
is
different,” he said, his broad brow all wrinkled up. “You may stay in Rome indefinitely!”

“That’s ridiculous. What would I do there? The Triumphs will last a few weeks, that is all.”

“What if Caesar—what if he—wants you to stay there? What if he divorces Calpurnia?”

“What if he does? He’s been divorced before.”

“Yes, and then he remarried. Are you—is there a possibility—?”

“Even if I married him, I would not live in Rome like a housewife!”

“That is what women do in Rome.”

“That is changing. There is, for example, a firebrand named Fulvia, the wife of a politician, who doesn’t stay home at all but takes to the streets for her causes. Servilia, Brutus’s mother, is influential with the Senate. But that is beside the point. Those are Roman women, with Roman concerns. I have a kingdom to rule, and it is here.”

“Roman concerns would quickly become your concerns, I fear. And you would be engulfed in them, like falling into a tar pit.”

“Egypt is my first and only concern.”

“Does Caesar know that?”

“He should! He saw it firsthand!”

“You may look different to him in Rome, just the right queenly ornament to acquire for his house.”

“I have no wish to be his ornament, or to be put in a niche in his house.”

“What do you wish, then?”

“I will be his equal as a ruler, or nothing.”

I had scant time to prepare. I would have to embark for the voyage in fewer than thirty days. Thirty days to plunge into Latin, to select my entourage, to foresee the problems that might arise during my absence from Egypt, to fit myself out as if for a campaign. For it
was
a campaign—a campaign to secure myself and my country in Rome. It was also my task to take the measure of the infamous Romans on their home ground.

I set about it in methodical fashion. The Latin lessons began at once. I found them daunting. It is a difficult language, because nearly everything is determined by the case or tense of a word; its place in the sentence can be deceiving.
Amicum puer videt
and
puer amicum videt
both mean “the boy sees his friend.” So you could throw all the words helter-skelter, like a child tumbling blocks, and wherever they landed you could still reassemble the original thought by the form of the words. This should have been reassuring, but it was not, because it meant you had to memorize enormous numbers of word endings.

At least, my tutor assured me, it meant there were no double meanings in Latin. A word could mean only one thing. Ah, but what that one thing was—a Herculean task to determine!

And so I toiled away twice daily in the thickets of
sum-esse-fui-futurus
and
duco-ducere-duxi-ductum
.

My entourage was relatively easy to select. Not knowing how long I would be gone, I would not remove Olympos from his patients, but take one of his associates; I would leave Mardian and Epaphroditus behind to steer the government; I would leave Iras but take Charmian, whose expertise in wardrobe matters was a necessity. At all times I would be on display, I knew that. Even supposedly alone in my chambers—Caesar’s chambers, rather—there would be spies. I must do Egypt proud and make Caesar realize I was someone to be reckoned with, even far from my base of power. And I did not want him to have to defend himself for his taste in taking up with me; that would just lay a heavier burden on me. Of course there was vanity involved as well—why bother to deny it? I wanted all of Rome to gasp when they saw me, to say,
So that is Egypt!
I wanted to erase all memories of my father as an embarrassing, begging representative of Egypt. I wanted to dazzle their eyes with gold and beauty.

But what sort of clothes would achieve this? Charmian, with her exquisite and elegant taste, helped me to choose a variety of costumes, from the near-gaudy—gilded threads and bejeweled in the Persian style—to the most simple Grecian gowns with plain, flowing silk mantles.

“For until you actually set foot there, it is hard to tell what will
feel
appropriate,” she said. “What seems perfect here in your high, open chambers in Alexandria may be all wrong in Caesar’s villa. They say it is stifling hot there this time of year—that the Romans would sell their souls for a fresh breeze in summer. Then in winter it is very cold—oh, but you will not stay until winter,” she said quickly. “No need to worry about that. But for summer, you will need the thinnest fabrics. And for the Triumphs—then you must look a queen indeed. For your headdress: either the double crown of Egypt or the diadem of the Ptolemies. And you must be loaded with jewels, to the point of vulgarity. Let them all look, and lust, and envy Caesar!”

“Shall I wear the Red Sea pearls, all five strands of them?”

“Indeed. And the rope of emeralds, to twine around them.”

“I am not beautiful,” I said. “What if all these jewels just call attention to it?”

Charmian looked surprised. “Who told you you were not beautiful?”

“When I was small, my sister Arsinoe. And later, my friends never told me I
was
beautiful.”
But Caesar did. He said, “Child of Venus, you are fair.”
I stamped on the memory quickly.

“Mardian and Olympos wouldn’t tell Aphrodite herself, and as for the others, perhaps they assumed you knew it, or that to say it was to sound as if they were flattering a queen. Whether you are classically beautiful or not, this one thing I know: you give the
impression
of being beautiful, which is all one can ask. The jewels become you, they do not belittle you.”

I took her hands. “Charmian, you give me courage. Together we will conquer Rome!”

Little Caesarion must also be prepared. As I said, he was walking now—just barely. And although he was able to understand many words, there were few he could say as yet. I tried to teach him to say
Caesar
and
Father
, but they are difficult words to pronounce. He would laugh and blurt out all sorts of other sounds. I watched his face carefully, trying to imagine what it would look like to someone who had never seen it before. But it was an impossible task, because he was so much a part of me now, I could not make that leap of imagination to seeing him strange and anew.

I stood on the quay of the royal harbor. The wind was whipping the traveling cloak that I had draped over my shoulders, and little waves were dancing in the harbor, showing underbellies of white. Clouds raced across the sky; it was a good day to set sail.

The ship—a fast galley—rode the waves, pulling at its ropes like a child impatient to run away. Caesarion was stabbing his finger at the gulls flying overhead, shrieking with excitement. It was time to be off.

I mounted the gangplank and went aboard. All of Alexandria was spread out before me, extending far to the left and right, its white buildings more lovely and precious than any ivory. My city! My nation! I had never felt prouder or more protective of it.

I go to secure you, I thought. Alexandria, I go to make sure you are free forever.

I turned to the captain, who was standing behind me on the deck.

“Cast off,” I said. “I am ready. Make for Rome.”

HERE ENDS THE SECOND SCROLL
.

The sea rolled before me, the flat horizon opening toward lands unseen. Behind me I saw, for the first time, what sailors approaching Alexandria beheld: upon the low, featureless coastline, the tall Lighthouse beckoning; and behind it, the gleaming white buildings of the city, spotted here and there with the bright colors of flowering vines climbing over the walls. I had never left that coastline, and now I was seeing it as strangers do.

The color of the open ocean was darker and more solid than that of the harbor or river. I felt a thrill of excitement at the prospect of my voyage, of venturing out over all this deep, heaving water. We were going to follow the same direct route as the large, grain-transporting merchantmen, rather than hugging the coastline like a timid fishing boat. It was much faster, but it was also more hazardous. The route from Alexandria to Rome lay on a gigantic northwest slant of over twelve hundred miles, if you could fly like a stork. If you could not pass through the Strait of Messina—the narrow stretch between Sicily and Italy that at one treacherous point shrinks to about two miles, bounded by tidal currents and rocks and whirlpools—then you were obliged to go the long way around Sicily, making the journey even longer. The fastest time ever made on a journey from the Strait of Messina to Alexandria was six days, but going the other way it was slower, owing to the prevailing winds and currents. I prayed we would not take a great long time to reach our destination; although I was uneasy about what I would find when I arrived in Rome, neither did I wish to postpone it. My courage is highest when I can go to action; inaction saps my resolve.

My ship was an oared galley, not a warship by any means, but armed with a small number of soldiers. It was speed I had wanted for this journey, but also sufficient size to permit sailing on rough or open waters. I had not thought to need the protection of a warship. Pompey, after all, had put down the pirates.

Some twenty years earlier, Pompey had been dispatched by the Roman Senate to clear the Mediterranean of pirates, which were infesting the sea from one end to the other. Many high-ranking people—including Caesar himself—had been taken captive by them, and shipping was unsafe. Pompey had fulfilled his mandate, and swept the seas clear of them, by assembling a full-scale navy against them. Since then the goods had flowed freely and sailors had been unhampered. There were still undoubtedly places where they lurked, for no vermin is ever completely eradicated—rats scurry back to the cleanest-swept pantry. But their numbers were small now, and their favorite haunts, the Cilician and Dalmatian coasts, were far to the east. I did not know then that Sardinia and Sicily were their western playgrounds.

The ship dipped and rose, like a huge sea beast. The long, rolling motion felt good, as if I were striding over all the earth. It was now, as I stood upon the deck, feeling the first slap of salt spray on my cheeks, that I began to think seriously of rebuilding the Egyptian fleet.

It had fallen low since most of it had been lost in the Alexandrian War. Many of the ships had been burnt in the harbor because my brother had had control of them. I would have to import long timbers from Syria, but that should not prove difficult. Syria was a Roman province, and would have to obey Caesar. Yes, it was time for the Egyptian navy to be resurrected.

Now that we were under way, the captain came to stand beside me on the deck. We were headed almost due west, and the going was slow. Our big, square sail was of little use, as the prevailing wind was from the west; the rowers were hard at work, their oars dipping rhythmically in and out of the bright blue water. Overhead the sky was clear, the clouds passing to the east.

“This is the fastest route, is it not?” I asked.

“Yes, it is as straight as a Roman road,” he said. “The problem is the winds at this time of year. They blow in exactly the wrong direction. And the expanse of water is so great that there is a natural limitation on the speed of the rowers. This galley has four men to each oar, but they cannot row without rest for days on end.”

Because I had decided to enter Rome with little fanfare, and to go quietly to my place of residence, I had selected a modest ship. Now I wondered if that had been a mistake.

“A larger ship is not necessarily faster,” said the captain, as if he had read my mind. “Their heavy timbers require much more wind and muscle to move them. That is why the pirates, the best sailors in the world, keep their vessels relatively light and small. No, my lady, this is the best speed we can hope for.”

Disappointment and anxiety flooded me. Travel was so slow!

A private cabin had been outfitted for me and my attendants inside the deckhouse where the captain and officers would retire. Although they had painted it in bright colors, I could see by the paint already peeling that it would be a damp journey. They had built a bed bolted to the floor, and a smaller one for Caesarion, with guardrails. Charmian was to sleep on a pallet on the floor, which was rolled up during the day. Our chests of personal belongings were chained to rings on the floor and walls.

Little Ptolemy XIV, my consort, had a separate room of his own. I had brought him along because he had been so curious about Rome, and besides, seeing what had happened to Arsinoe would be a warning to him, although he was a sweet child so far. Also, leaving him behind might prove a temptation to enemies to use him as a figurehead and start another dreary round of civil war—the last thing I needed.

I went in to see what Caesarion was doing; he was playing with a bag filled with lentils, which one of the sailors had given him. While I watched him, his fingers released the bag and he dozed off to sleep.

Poor child! I thought. This will be a long journey.

The next morning I could barely make out a golden smudge on the far horizon; it was the coast of North Africa, the desert that lay to the west of Egypt. Gradually it receded from sight and we were alone in open water, the sea stretching endlessly on all sides.

On the eighth day a squall came up; the skies blackened and released torrents of rain. But in its wake came a gratifying change in the wind’s direction: it swung around and turned into an easterly Levanter, blowing us where we wished to go. Up went the sail to harness it.

Now we seemed to be flying—for as long as the wind continued. We reached that point in the sea where we were opposite Crete, then Greece; and then we were swept out into the greatest stretch of open sea on our entire voyage.

Charmian was not faring well on this voyage; for the first few days she had been grievously seasick. Now, pale and shaky, she emerged from the cabin and stood beside me.

“How much longer will we be on this wretched sea?” she moaned.

“I’ll put you on a camel for the return journey,” I said. “You can go the long way round—by the time you reach Alexandria we shall both be old. Caesarion will have made me a grandmother.”

“I don’t care to waste my youth on a caravan journey,” she said. “But I feel as if this journey has already made me old.”

Strange, but it had had the opposite effect on me: I found the sea air invigorating, and the unfamiliar smells and sounds I encountered every day fascinated me. There was, first of all, the pervading sea-salt odor, and the smell of the wind, bringing with it the faintest tang of the land it had blown over. There was the rich smell of the fresh-caught fish—so different from those sold in markets—and the musty dampness of the soaked ropes. The tar and resin found everywhere on board gave off a warm, raisinlike aroma that grew stronger as the sun rose.

As for the sounds, I loved the
slap-slap-slap
of the water against the hull of the ship; it lulled me to sleep. The creaking of the rigging and the
whoosh
of the sail as it filled and deflated was like nothing else. How ordinary the sounds of street and market were by comparison.

Water had lost its terror for me, for which I was deeply grateful. First I had ventured the harbor, then the Nile, now the open sea—I was cured of my fear, thanks be to all the gods!

“You will not even remember the misery as soon as you set foot in Rome,” I assured her. “You will recover readily enough in Caesar’s villa.”

I hoped it was true. I was beginning to lose count of how many days we had been traveling. Every night I moved a bead on a bracelet to keep track. We were sailing even at night, since it was impossible to anchor in these deep waters. For some days the moon had been dark, making it easier to see the stars, but nothing else.

To my disappointment, the captain had decided to take the long way around Sicily.

“If this Levanter keeps blowing, it will be much safer, even if longer,” he said. “The Strait of Messina is best approached from the opposite side, with a north wind at your back. That way you encounter the whirlpool and the rock at the outset, when you have the most maneuvering room.”

“Scylla and Charybdis,” I said. “Are they as fearsome as legend says?”

“Indeed they are,” he said. “The rock—Scylla—is almost impossible to avoid if you are trying to escape the whirlpool, Charybdis. Of course the whirlpool is not there all the time, only when violent water boils up at the tide changes, four times a day.”

“Have you ever seen her seize a ship?”

“Yes. I watched from land as a fishing boat got pulled down into her maws. The water swirls—a big, oily-looking circle—and anything nearby gets drawn into the circle. Then, once in it—the boat spins faster and faster. I saw it break up, saw its timbers come apart where they had been fastened, and the fisherman was thrown out. He clung to a piece of timber, but he disappeared right into the center of the funnel—it has an indentation that’s dark and sucking. The pieces of the boat followed him. At the center they were spinning so fast they were just a blur to my eyes; then they disappeared.”

I shuddered.

“Charybdis disgorges things, but not the things she swallows,” he said. “The fisherman never returned. But the monster vomited up deformed fish—fish without eyes and with grotesque appendages on their heads. Enormous strands of seaweed erupt from that evil center, like huge sea serpents.” He paused. “So we’ll go the other way, with your permission.”

“My permission? I am no navigator, no sailor.”

“Yet you have a feel for the sea, I can tell.”

Surprising but true. “I will leave the command of the vessel to you,” I assured him.

Landfall! The mountains of Sicily became visible, their rugged tops shining like a mirage. We steered for her, and the mountains grew slowly clearer. I felt relief flooding through me. We had reached the other side of the Mediterranean.

Then, as unexpectedly as one of Homer’s gods, the wind shifted quickly to the south—a hot, damp wind, oppressive and heavy. At the same time, Sicily suddenly became wreathed in fog. The wind was forcing us toward that shore, and we could see no rocks or other natural features.

“No more sail!” ordered the captain. The deckhands rushed to disengage the now-dangerous sail. “Oars! Oars! Row to the west!”

I was standing, watching all this with bright interest, when I saw the little ships emerging from the foggy shoreline. They were moving at breakneck speed—how could they go that fast? They must be all oarsmen and no cargo.

“Look!” I pointed them out to the captain. I expected him to say “Sicilian fishing boats” or “racing boats,” and explain about them.

Instead he went pale and cried, “Pirates! Pirates!”

They were making for us—three boats.

“Hemiolias,” he said. “Of the fastest kind.”

“I thought Pompey had destroyed the pirates,” I cried, as if saying it would make them disappear. I was still so ignorant then—I trusted in so many things.

“Most of them, yes. But some linger on—like lions in the far mountains of Syria.” He found his voice, and his courage, again. “Sails again! Sails again!” he yelled. “Come about! Make for the strait!”

The ship spun wildly around as the sail was let out and the fierce wind filled it, dragging the ship northward. We were headed toward the shore, where rocks waited in the mist. Behind us the pirates had swung their ships to follow. They were hoisting their sails now, too.

I could hear the dashing of the waves against the rocks ahead, even though I could not see them through the fog.

“Turn! Turn! Hard astarboard!”

The ship thrust itself to the right, riding on the crest of a wave. Suddenly we were in the channel, the opening of the strait. Was the current flowing north or south—with us or against us?

I was dismayed as I saw the pattern of the waves. The current was coming toward us; the wind and the waves would battle, and we would make little headway. The pirates would catch us easily—if they dared follow us into the strait.

We plunged on, the boat dipping and bucking. The wind was pushing us forward, but the waves were hitting and slapping us in the opposite direction, thudding against our bow and trying to turn us sideways, to drive us onto the rocky shore.

“Port-side oarsmen, row with all your strength!” cried the captain. Only that would keep us from drifting to the side.

The channel narrowed, becoming more dangerous by the minute. In one stretch of relatively calm water, a pirate boat caught up with us, and a grapnel was thrown on board. They tried to board us, but our soldiers hacked off their lines and let them fall into the sea. All the pirates had elected to follow; the other boats were closing in on our wake.