The Memoirs of Cleopatra (67 page)

Unfortunately the hapless Archelaus had arrived at almost the same time, traveling eagerly over land and sea to come to my court. I felt sorry for him, and that predisposed me to like him—the opposite of Dellius. But he would have to wait until I had dealt with Dellius.

At length Dellius stood before me, his eyes level with mine, as I was seated on an elevated throne. He had very dark eyes and a pitted complexion that made him look hard. Although he was standing, legs apart, and I seated, he gave the impression that it was he conducting the audience.

“Greetings, most exalted Queen of Egypt, from Lord Antony,” he said Iaconically. “I am come from his lordship to order you to appear before his court to answer certain charges.”

Surely I had not heard him right. “Would you repeat that?” I said in a level tone.

“I said, Lord Antony requests that you report to him to defend yourself against certain accusations—accusations which are spelled out in this letter.” He handed me a scroll, then stepped back smartly. He was almost smirking.

“Requests me,” I said, considering the word. “For a moment I thought you said he ‘ordered’ me.”

“Lord Antony would be most pleased if you would come to him in person to explain certain things.”

“Now he would be ‘most pleased,’ and I am only to ‘explain’ matters, not defend myself or answer charges,” I said coaxingly. “Things are softening by the moment.” I clutched the scroll. I would read it later—not in front of this haughty, hostile man. “And where am I to come?”

“To Tarsus, where he will move shortly,” Dellius said.

“You may tell Lord Antony that the Queen of Egypt does not respond to rude requests, nor obey a Roman magistrate, nor have to defend herself. I am disappointed that my ally, once my friend, would see fit to approach me in such a manner. Unless you have misrepresented him?” I gave him the opportunity to clear Antony.

“So that is your answer?” he asked, bypassing it. “You will not come?”

“No,” I said. “Let him come here if he wishes to speak to me. He knows the way. He was here fourteen years ago. He will not have forgotten.”

Alone in my chamber later, I read the scroll and found its charges ridiculous: that I had helped Cassius and Brutus! That I had sent the four Roman legions to them! He must know that they had been sent to Dolabella, and captured by Cassius. And it was the traitorous Serapion who had turned the fleet stationed at Cyprus over to them. I had lost a fortune in trying to bring my fleet to Brundisium for the Triumvirs. How could he have forgotten that? I was deeply insulted.

But later I could not help wondering if others had whispered these suggestions to Antony—Glaphyra, or Octavian himself? Especially Octavian, who would be happy to discredit the mother of Caesarion, and sever his tie to Rome.

Archelaus had been waiting for several days, and after Dellius had been packed off, I braced myself to see him. Before I betook myself to the audience hall to welcome him formally (Mardian had done so in my stead already, but now it must be repeated), I let Iras do what she longed to: apply cosmetics to my face and dress my hair. In the meantime, Charmian was to select the costume.

Why did I do this? Did I hope to frighten him off if I looked too artificially colorful, too over-costumed? Although I was the richest, most powerful woman in the world—how lightly that phrase falls, here!—I knew well enough how to put someone at his ease by being approachably human. I also knew how to keep people at a distance. It was all in the manner: the tilt of the head, the tone of voice, the look in the eyes.

I seated myself on a bench where the north light would fall on my upturned face and said, “Very well, Iras, perform your magic.” I shut my eyes and waited.

Her deft fingers patted the skin on my cheeks and traced the line of my jaw. “The treatment has worked,” she said. “The ill effects of all that salt are gone.”

A pity, I thought. It should have lasted a bit longer—at least until this suitor went home.

She spread a creamy lotion all over my face, rubbing it in with circular strokes.

It had a delicious aroma.

“Oil and cyperus grass, my lady,” she said. “Now I will remove it with the mixed juices of sycamore and cucumber.” She applied linen pads soaked with the juices and rubbed my face. It began to tingle.

“This will make the skin look as fine as polished marble,” she said. “Although it does not need much improvement. Now, I will cool your eyes with a wash of ground celery and hemp. Keep them closed.”

She laid two cool bandages on my eyes and said, “Rest and think of a cool mountain.”

The weight on my eyelids seemed to alter my thoughts, and I drifted away to someplace I had never seen—a wooded hillside with tall cypress trees and sheep grazing, where light breezes played.

“Now,” said Iras, removing the pads, bringing me back to the room. Where had I been? “For lining the eyes, do you prefer black kohl today, or the green malachite?”

“The malachite,” I said. “Kohl is for every day, and this is not an everyday occurrence—meeting a candidate for my hand.” If it were just for holding my hand, I would not be so defensive.

She took a cosmetic stick and drew fine lines all around my eyes, over the lids and beyond the corners. “Now open.” She held a mirror up. “See how the green deepens the natural green of your eyes.”

Yes, it did. Caesar had loved the color of my eyes—he said they were the shade of the Nile in shadow. But since then, I had not worn the green; I let the kohl make my eyes darker. I nodded, surprised at how bright they looked.

She dipped her finger in a small pot of ram’s fat mixed with red ochre, and dabbed it on my mouth, reddening it. “There!” she sighed. “You hide your lips and their shape when you leave them uncolored.”

I was beginning to look—not like a stranger, but like a very enhanced version of myself.

“Your hair is gleaming from the juniper juice and oil we rinsed it in last night. Now all I must do is comb it and braid it with gold ornaments.”

“That is good,” said Charmian, behind me. “For I had selected the green gown with gold embroidery.” I turned to see the gown she was holding; it was in the Phoenician fashion, with gathered shoulders and a panel to float from the back.

“I think you are readying me for Mount Olympus, to be received by the gods,” I said. “It will be a letdown to walk into my own audience hall.”

“For you, perhaps, but not for
him
,” Charmian said. “He has traveled a long way, after all, just to see this.”

I sighed. Poor man—poor boy—whichever he was. Mardian had been vague about that. “Yes, yes,” I said, standing still while Charmian lowered the gown over my head. Another servant brought gold-braided sandals and put them on my feet—feet that had also been rubbed with fragrant oil. Now Iras set to work on my hair, and Charmian brought out a jewel box and selected an emerald necklace and gold and pearl earrings. She also presented a bracelet shaped like a cobra.

“It is his gift, my lady,” she said. “Archelaus brought it, and wished you to wear it.”

“I see.” I took it and examined it. It was exquisitely fashioned, each scale of the snake rendered realistically, and the eyes were ruby. Against my will, I was touched. How could he have known my partiality to snakes? I put it on.

I entered the hall ceremonially, passing a knot of people on one side without looking at them, until I mounted the steps of my throne-platform. Then I turned and welcomed them, bidding Prince Archelaus of Comana to come forward.

From out of the group of courtiers, envoys, and scribes a tall young man detached himself and made his way to me. He carried himself like a prince, neither obsequious nor haughty, I thought, and I was surprised to see how comely and pleasing he looked.

“Welcome, Prince Archelaus,” I said. “We are pleased to receive you at Alexandria.”

He smiled. “And I, most exalted Queen Cleopatra of Egypt, am honored to be here.”

I wanted to find his words or manner unappealing, but they were winsome.

I extended my arm. “I thank you for your gift. It is most beautiful.”

“The artisans in Comana are skilled,” he said. “It was my pleasure to commission it.”

After more of these public pleasantries, I invited him to join me in the pavilion on the palace grounds and dine in the open air. I also pointedly dismissed all the attendants and spying servants. Together we descended the wide steps of the palace and walked across the green lawn to the white, shaded pavilion, where a table and couches were already waiting. He walked very gracefully, and took long strides. He was also quite a bit taller than the one head I had specified.

We settled ourselves on the couches, reclining as custom dictated. He propped himself up on one elbow and looked at me. Suddenly we both burst out laughing, as if we were conspirators together. I had just undone all the careful, formal costuming of myself.

“Forgive me,” I finally said. “I am not laughing at
you
.”

“I know that.” And I knew he did. “Nor am I laughing at you. I suppose I am laughing in relief. I almost did not come, and a hundred times on the journey I asked myself why I
did
come. I felt a fool.”

“You were brave,” I said. “I appreciate that.” I looked carefully at him. He seemed about my own age, with dark, straight hair and a mouth like that of Apollo. I wondered if his mother was likewise attractive, compelling Antony’s interest.

“It was worth the journey, just to see you,” he said.

“Please. Do not resort to timeworn formulas.”

He smiled. “The trouble with timeworn formulas is that once in a while they are true, and then no one believes you.”

“Tell me about your kingdom,” I said, shying away from the personal. “I have never traveled anywhere except Rome and Nubia.” I was becoming more curious about the rest of the world.

He explained that it was a region of Cappadocia, but not as mountainous, and had maintained its independence—just barely. “The Roman eagle is pecking away at us, but so far has not carried us off to her nest.”

“Yes, I know all about that.”

He looked surprised. “It should not be such a worry to you,” he said. “Egypt is a large morsel, hard to digest.”

“I think Rome has a big enough stomach.”

I could see him thinking, debating whether to launch into the question of my liaison with Caesar. He decided not to. “Comana is safe enough for the moment,” he said.

Now I debated whether to say
Thanks to your mother’s charms
, but likewise thought better of it. Instead I said, “What do you think of your new overlord?”

A servant appeared, bringing the first course—lettuce, rolled cucumbers stuffed with sea bass, spiced quail eggs. Archelaus took a long time making his selection.

He speared a quail egg before responding. “We are thankful it was Marc Antony rather than Octavian. After the battle of Philippi, the vanquished lined up to surrender to Antony first. No one wanted to fall into Octavian’s hands; they knew he would be unforgiving. Some of the prisoners, due for execution, begged Octavian for assurances of honorable burial. He just sneered, ‘You will have to take that up with the carrion crows.’ ” His appetite dampened, he chewed the egg slowly.

Yes, I could picture that. And I could imagine him smiling his perfect smile as he said it.

“It could have gone to no one but Antony,” I said. “Along with the territory comes the task of invading Parthia, and only Antony could carry it out. Besides, he has served in the east before, and knows its ways.” I took a sip of the white wine, diluted with mountain water. It still had a slightly astringent flavor. “Has he been—terribly busy?”

“Day and night,” said Archelaus. “Especially night.”

Seeing the look on my face, he reached for more words.

“But he has been diligent in attending to business,” he assured me. “Interviewing people day after day in headquarters, making decisions that seem fair and well considered. Ephesus is a fine city, situated on the sea as it is, with its marble buildings and streets—but of course you are used to that in Alexandria. But one thing it has that Alexandria doesn’t—a countryside well suited for riding. Lord Antony took me out several times for riding and hunting. I got to know him as a private man.”

The second course arrived, roasted kid, smoked peacock, and sliced ox meat. There were three sauces to accompany them: pepper and honey, cream of cucumber, and chopped mint in vinegar. He looked at them and finally took two.

“And what is he like—as a private man?” From Dellius’s summons, I suspected that the sudden elevation to power had changed him, corrupting his sweet nature.

I was surprised when he answered, “A prince among men.” He paused. “A man among men, a soldier with the common soldier.”

“Oh, you mean he changes his manner to suit the occasion! He colors to suit the coloration around him.” A human chameleon, that most slippery of creatures.

“No, I mean the opposite,” he said. “I mean that he is always himself, no matter the company. He is at base a plain man, an honest man—and what is more noble and princely than that?”

“Unfortunately it is not often found among nobles and princes,” I said.

“I believe he deceives others as little as possible, and himself not at all. If people are deceived in him, it is because they have deceived themselves, seeing what is not there.”

“Has he seen my sister?” I asked. What had he done about Arsinoe?

“No,” he said. “Arsinoe is still in sanctuary at the Temple of Artemis. Antony does not frequent the temple. Enough of his men have been availing themselves of the unofficial prostitutes there, the ladies who…er…purport to serve the goddess with their earthly skills.”

Now we both broke out laughing again. I was glad Antony did not go there; it would be demeaning. But what business was it of mine?

Archelaus was telling a story about his court. I listened, but paid more attention to my own reactions to him. I was watching them as closely as a child staring at a butterfly’s cocoon, waiting for it to open.

I had enjoyed the afternoon, and I found Archelaus appealing. But only as I found many other things, and people, appealing: the priest of Serapis who came to me whenever I wished to celebrate an anniversary or make a special offering; the woman who tended the lotuses in the palace pool, and fashioned delicate necklaces from them. The head charioteer, well-favored and strapping. They were all attractive human beings, who warmed my heart with their wit, skill, or kindness. They made daily life a delight.