The Memoirs of Cleopatra Part 114

Once anch.o.r.ed, we awaited the arrival of whatever stragglers might have managed to break away and follow us, as well as the heavier transports and the s.h.i.+ps from the few ports we still held, while we counted the accompanying vessels and refitted them for the long voyage back to Egypt. Some hundred s.h.i.+ps, all told, had escaped. The senators were all safe, and poured off the s.h.i.+ps onto the docks; about sixty-five hundred legionaries survived and were with us. Mithridates of Commagene and Archelaus of Cappadocia were still loyal and with us, and King Polemo of Pontus was still ours. Antony forced himself to greet them heartily and thank them for their steadfastness. I watched him, and only I could see the despair that lay behind the good manners. Good manners are the last thing to desert us, so it seems. They remain behind to mock us with their hollow sound when all else has fled.

On the sixth day, in a hastily erected banqueting pavilion on sh.o.r.e, Antony gave a farewell feast for his friends. First we had tramped up to the acropolis to stand at the temple of Poseidon and give thanks to him for our miraculous escape. (At least that was what the official prayers said.) Standing looking out over the wide expanse of water below us, I felt an acute longing to be on the sh.o.r.es that awaited us far to the south: Egypt.

I was ready to return to Egypt, be restored by Egypt, have solutions to our dilemma whispered to me by the sands of Egypt. Egypt would not fail me. And I would not fail it.

At this very tip of land, which protruded like a finger from the mountainous spine of Greece, I felt all of Europe at my back. It was time to leave, to go home.

We trailed down the steep slope and then into the makes.h.i.+ft banqueting hall. But Antony had provided well, and Poseidon had yielded up a bountiful catch for us, along with wild goat meat from the mountains.

Antony had still not confided in me, and so I was as much a guest as anyone else. I had no idea what he had planned. After everyone had eaten (I noted that he himself ate little), he rose and addressed them. After thanking them for their loyalty, he then announced that he was releasing them from their pledges.

"We have fought a good fight, my friends," he said, lifting his cup to them. "But where I go, you cannot follow."

Did he mean . . . ? Oh, surely not! But it was the Roman way. Commanders in his position often . . . and before a public audience, too.

The thought must have occurred to the others, too, for they rose in protest. "Good Imperator, no!" they cried.

Now Antony looked close to tears, as he was touched by their horror at the threat of his loss. "No, no, good friends," he a.s.sured them. "I withdraw to Egypt. You cannot accompany me; there is no purpose in it. You must make your peace with Octavian."

Again a cry of protest.

Antony held up his hands. "Hear me. It is not necessary to follow me further. It will only be to your harm. You must accept what has happened, and see to your own safety. I can offer you a safe conduct to Corinth, and protection and hiding with my steward Theophilus until you can make arrangements with Octavian."

The buzz in the tent grew louder.

"Do not fear. Caesar made clemency fas.h.i.+onable," he said with a disarming smile. "I am sure Octavian will follow his example." He looked around. "He will reserve his wrath for the Queen and me, no others."

In his present mood, he would probably welcome that wrath, as some sort of deserved punishment.

"And now"--he gestured toward two of his attendants, who dragged a chest across the ground and flung open the lid--"I have raided one of our treasure s.h.i.+ps to provide for you. Take the money, take the gold and silver, as payment for your services and as protection for your future."

He had helped himself to the treasure s.h.i.+p? Without consulting me? I stared at him.

The men were shaking their heads, refusing the gift. Antony kept urging them, and they finally filed up--does any sane man refuse gold for long? Some of therr vere weeping, and for that I did not begrudge them the money. Surely Antony would be touched by seeing that in the eyes of others he still held his honor.

That night he finally came to my--our--chamber. He had discharged his duty, had said honorable good-byes, and must now strip himself of all that remained, and prepare for the long journey ahead.

He had laid aside his mask when the guests departed, and now was solemn and subdued. "I am a man in exile," he said. "I have no place to go, except to hide in my wife's country, and beg for shelter." He sank down on the edge of our bed, and it creaked under his weight. "I am a Roman driven from Roman sh.o.r.es."

I was weary of this; I had no more words to dissuade him. "Come to bed," was all I said.

"I am no longer a leader of Romans; now I have truly become what they called me: an easterner, a foreigner. Rome has cast me out." As he spoke he untied his sandals, bending over so low I could hardly hear him. Slowly he removed his formal clothes by himself; since his defeat he had not even allowed Eros in his presence. Then he lay down and stared up at the ceiling.

I rose to the bait. "Aren't you forgetting Canidius and his fifty thousand men?" It was reported that, as arranged, Canidius had begun withdrawing the army to make the trek into Asia. "And the five legions in Cyrenaica, and the three in Syria? You are hardly a Roman without followers."

"Ahhh." His voice was a long sigh.

He was clearly exhausted, for he fell deeply asleep in an instant. I was relieved; it was the first time I could relax my vigil over him. I was still worried that he might try to emulate Cato, or Brutus, or Ca.s.sius. His polite performance tonight had not fooled me.

It would have been good if he could have been allowed to sleep, to repair his torn spirits. It would have been kind of the G.o.ds to grant us that. But in the darkest hour of night, we were awakened by a messenger with urgent news.

Canidius was here.

"Send him in." I pulled on a decent covering gown and helped Antony to throw on a robe. The news must be terrible. Canidius was supposed to be far away with the army.

Well, let us hear it. Let all the blows rain down on us. Let every disaster empty itself on our heads.

Antony had pulled himself to his feet, leaning on a tent pole. He was groggy after being fetched from the depths of sleep so soon.

Canidius came in, holding a lantern. His hair was wild, his face sweaty, his garments stained. "Forgive me, Imperator," he said, kneeling.

Antony touched the top of his head. "Yes. I do. Whatever it is. It doesn't matter." He reached out his hand and made Canidius rise.

"The army has surrendered to Octavian," he said. "I fled for my life."

"Many deaths?" asked Antony, as if he wanted there to be: more men to heap on his pile of remorse for his failures.

Canidius shook his head. "None."

Now Antony was brought up short. "What?"

"No deaths. There was no fighting. We had marched a little way toward Thrace when Octavian sent a column to negotiate a surrender. The men-- the centurions--knew they could hold out for good terms, that Octavian would be anxious to avoid fighting. And so they bargained, with a skill that would make a rug merchant proud. In the end the centurions were able to extract a promise from Octavian to preserve the six historic legions, like the Fifth, the Alaudae, and the Sixth, Ferrata Ferrata, the Ironclad, and--"

At the sound of the precious names, Antony gave a piercing cry like a wounded animal. "No! No!"

"The rest will be absorbed into other legions in the usual way," Canidius finished. "And they will get their settlement, and their land in Italy--"

Antony turned to me, ignoring Canidius. "Yes, that's what they want," he said. "Remember the old soldier, the one after Parthia, the one who said, when we visited him, that he wanted his plot of land in Italy, not a foreign place? The old veteran--O G.o.ds, did he die at Actium? I shouldn't have taken him on board the s.h.i.+p! If he'd remained, he'd be going back to Italy!" With that, he threw himself on the bed and beat his chest.

Canidius looked at me, his eyes wide.

"He has been this way since the battle," I said. "Do not be alarmed."

But Canidius was. "Madam," he said, "this is the saddest spectacle I have witnessed in all the war."

Finally Antony sat up, brus.h.i.+ng the tears from his eyes. "Forgive me," he said. "But the old man--" He shook his head.

"I had to flee," said Canidius. "I could not expect Octavian to show mercy to me." He paused. "But you should know the truth. I stayed with them until the terms were complete. Octavian's version, which is part of his agreement to flatter the troops, is that they went on bravely fighting until they were deserted by their cowardly commander."

That was a bad choice of words--but how was he to know?

Antony gave a sigh, but said nothing.

"But there was no fighting. And the troops made peace only because they knew there was now no way for you to pay them. They were forced into it."

"Because I had deserted them, you mean?" Antony yelled. "Run off with the treasury?"

"I didn't say that. It was just a fact. Their paymaster was gone. Octavian was near."

Now Antony glared at me. "What was that you said, about Canidius and his troops? You'll have to change that." He shrugged. "It's all over. It's all over. Come, my last companions, we have a sea voyage to make tomorrow."

After Canidius had been shown out, Antony flung himself facedown on the bed and did not stir, lying like a dead man.

It took nine days to sail from Taenarum to the sh.o.r.es of North Africa. We had to give a wide birth to Crete because it now belonged to Octavian, and we could not put in there. Canidius went with us, as did several of Antony's die-hard friends {he still had them, in spite of his contentions), including one who had once served Brutus, offering to die in his stead, and then clinging loyally to Antony after being spared. I hoped he did not mention Brutus and his "n.o.ble" end, which might spur Antony on to imitate it.

Antony had quelled his outbursts and now entered into a phase that was even more disturbing: a stony, stoic, disinterested manner. He was alert, pleasant, attentive, but all with a deadly detachment that was chilling. Halfway into the voyage he had suddenly demanded to be taken to Paraetonium, at the westernmost edge of Egypt, where there was a small military outpost. He claimed he needed to "inspect" it--but what was there to inspect? It was nothing but a cl.u.s.ter of mud buildings, a small landing, and a lot of sand, heat, and scorpions. In nearby Cyrenaica, we still had five legions. I knew he wished to hide there, out of sight of mankind, and lick his wounds. Or inflict the wound that would end all wounds.

But what could I do.7 Forbid him Forbid him7 Had I not been the one reminding him he was still a general who commanded legions. Had I not been the one reminding him he was still a general who commanded legions.7 Now he claimed he wished to visit a military post. Stay with him, guard him Now he claimed he wished to visit a military post. Stay with him, guard him7 It was demeaning for both of us, and it was crucial for me to return to Alexandria before the dreadful news of Actium had reached it. I dared not delay. It was demeaning for both of us, and it was crucial for me to return to Alexandria before the dreadful news of Actium had reached it. I dared not delay.

We made landfall just a short way from Paraetonium; the blinding white rocks and sand seemed to radiate heat. Baking in the sun were the low, brown buildings, with a drooping palm or two providing no shade at all at noon. Motley, shedding camels dozed around what pa.s.sed for a well.

Antony silently gathered up his belongings and put on his uniform, as if he were going to a grand ceremony. Attired thus, he looked like his old self-- if you did not look into his eyes. And the beak on his helmet prevented it.

Alone in the cabin, we faced one another.

"Antony, inspect your post here, then come back aboard," I said. "We will wait." It would hardly take very long for him to see what there was to see.

"No," he said. "I need to stay. I will follow. I promise."

"When?"

"That I cannot say."

"Please don't delay! You are needed in Alexandria. The children--"

"Give them this." He stripped off his silver military awards carelessly and dropped them into my hand. "Tell them what they were for." He paused. "Now I must go."

"No good-bye?" I could not believe we could part like this, stiff strangers.

"It is only for a little while," he said cryptically. Then he bent and kissed me, a formal kiss that turned into a real one.

As he and his two friends descended onto the sh.o.r.e, I saw that he still had his sword, as well as his dagger. He had not given those to me for the children's remembrance. Obviously he thought he still had need of them.

We were two days' sail west of Alexandria, and I needed that time to decide what to do. With Antony gone, my anxious watching could stop, and I felt an immense, sad relief as we sailed away from Paraetonium. I stood watching it recede, although the dazzling light made my eyes ache and finally the site vanished in a blaze of white. I knew he would be wrestling with his own fate in that lonely outpost, but he would have to do it alone, as ultimately we all do. Others become superfluous annoyances when our supreme hour of decision comes.

From the time I was very young, I felt I had a sort of power to predict things. Often I would get a nudging feeling that this this would happen rather than that, and when it turned out that way, I would tell myself that the G.o.ds had granted me the power of prophesy. But now I knew that what I possessed instead was an acute ability to weigh factors and make informed guesses-- would happen rather than that, and when it turned out that way, I would tell myself that the G.o.ds had granted me the power of prophesy. But now I knew that what I possessed instead was an acute ability to weigh factors and make informed guesses-- perhaps a more valuable trait for a ruler. At this moment, however, I did not know, I could not guess, which way Antony would go. All the factors seemed to weigh evenly, would tear and pull at him equally on both sides. Selfishly, I wished that he would ignore the beguiling sword and the Roman way, and decide to live, taking his stand with me. But not if it would utterly destroy him as a man.

And so I gave him to the G.o.ds; I mourned him in my heart as if he had already taken the Roman course. He must be dead to me now if I was to do what I must.

I knew with a certainty (not prophesy, but shrewd guess) that Octavian had sympathizers even in Alexandria. There always are people who wish for change, who are dissatisfied with the king. I had once been told a very hard truth: There is no one whose death is not a relief to someone someone. That is triply so for a monarch. Well, I must strike at them before they struck at me, which they would feel free to do as soon as the news of Actium reached them. I still had a little time.

I must sail into Alexandria alone; the rest of the bedraggled s.h.i.+ps should lag behind, lest their condition shout the truth. And I would sail into the harbor with the s.h.i.+p garlanded as if we had been victorious. Yes! I would not betray, by so much as a flicker, what had really happened. Then I would speed into the palace and have my enemies--who had doubtless gained strength in my absence--rounded up and dispatched.

And Artavasdes, our enemy. Even before his capture, he had been in league with Octavian. His master would doubtless restore him to his throne in Armenia, and thus our clemency in sparing him would be thrown back into our faces.

Well, I could prevent that. He would never live to laugh as he ascended the steps of his throne again, as he had smirked in ascending the steps to us at the triumph. It was good Antony was not here to stop me.

HERE ENDS THE EIGHTH SCROLL. THE EIGHTH SCROLL.

Chapter 78.

THE NINTH SCROLL.

The Antonia, her gilded stern scrubbed to s.h.i.+ning once more, her purple sails brushed free of salt, her bow garlanded, sailed triumphantly into the harbor of Alexandria. I had stationed my attendants on deck in colorful attire, and threatened them with dire punishment if they did not wave and sing joyfully. For myself, I put on my royal robes and headdress, and stood under the mast where I could be seen by all. her gilded stern scrubbed to s.h.i.+ning once more, her purple sails brushed free of salt, her bow garlanded, sailed triumphantly into the harbor of Alexandria. I had stationed my attendants on deck in colorful attire, and threatened them with dire punishment if they did not wave and sing joyfully. For myself, I put on my royal robes and headdress, and stood under the mast where I could be seen by all.

Never has the sight of the white, pure Lighthouse been more beautiful to me, calling me home after what had been a very long and perilous journey. My limbs ached with the weariness of it, but I must appear fresh. And the tall serenity of the Lighthouse, unmoving in spite of the waves das.h.i.+ng across its base, gave me strength.

The sh.o.r.es were lined with crowds, cheering wildly and throwing flowers that floated out on the water, little dots of red, yellow, purple, blue. The palace, on its gra.s.sy peninsula, beckoned coolly. Behind the sh.o.r.e rose the cubes of the buildings, as white as salt. I closed my eyes and made a vow.

I must keep it, must keep Egypt; the Ptolemies could not forfeit it as punishment for Roman failures in the field. I must do whatever it took to keep it for my children: humble myself to Octavian, abdicate in favor of my son, make other alliances that would keep Rome from swallowing us, kill my enemies. I must even, if necessary, kill myself. Anything. Anything. No price was too high. I could not let nine generations of Ptolemies end with me, let the last of Alexander's heirs be vanquished and vanish from living history. No price was too high. I could not let nine generations of Ptolemies end with me, let the last of Alexander's heirs be vanquished and vanish from living history. Anything. Anything. And I must not flinch. And I must not flinch.

We docked at the royal landing stage; I sent messengers out immediately to post proclamations of the victory (which I had hurriedly composed in my cabin) all over the city. After waving, greeting the crowd, we were whisked into the palace and out of sight.

Now the real work could begin.

I climbed the wide steps up to the inner hall of the palace, where Mardian, Olympos, and the children were lined up waiting. I threw protocol aside just as Antony had stripped off his medals and threw my arms around them, seized with joy at seeing them. Getting my arms all the way around Mardian was proving more and more difficult; in his excitement, Olympos forgot to be unemotional, and even kissed me; Alexander almost knocked me down in his effusiveness. Little Philadelphos clung to my legs, and Antyllus bowed smartly.

Standing a little aloof was Selene, who gave a shy smile. And behind her-- my heart stopped when I saw Caesarion.

While I was gone, he had turned into a man. Somewhere between being fourteen and now months past sixteen, he had pa.s.sed into adulthood.

Now--and even his movements were different--he came toward me. I had to look up at him. He took my hand in his, and it was a big hand, which utterly covered mine.

"Welcome, Mother," he said. His voice had changed, too.

Now I knew it more than ever. I must do anything to preserve his rights, his throne. Literally anything. My son, Egypt's new king.

"Why, Caesarion!" I said, so stunned by this new self I was at a loss for words. "I--have missed you," I finally said. I would never stoop to saying, My, how you have grown. My, how you have grown.

"And I, you. I am so happy it is over, and you are back. Tell us, what happened? The victory--how grand was it? How many s.h.i.+ps sunk? Where is Octavian? Is he dead? I hope so!" He grinned.

"Don't tire your mother with all these questions," Olympos said sharply. I knew then that he had guessed. Well, soon he would know.

"That's all right," I a.s.sured Caesarion. "Let us retire into our private quarters, and there I will tell you all. All. . ."

Safely inside our most private withdrawing rooms, the doors bolted, all attendants dismissed, I told them the dreadful truth. They took it silently and unresisting. Only Caesarion looked dismayed, and kept asking for diagrams to ill.u.s.trate what had happened, which squadron went where, which legion was deployed where. . . .

Finally Mardian asked, "Where is Antony?" From the way he asked it, I knew he thought Antony was dead. But surely he did not think I was so self-controlled I could have concealed it this long!

"He is . . ." How to describe it without adding to his dishonor? ". . . at Paraetonium. He wishes to inspect the legions to the west at Cyrenaica."