The Memoirs of Cleopatra Part 98

One must not quail at sending a sister to the executioner, if she has proved to be treacherously aiming for one's throne. Antony was not capable of such ruthlessness--although he had done it at my bidding. It was he who had ordered her taken from the asylum at the temple and put to death--at my request.

Now, looking at her tomb, knowing that she lay inside it, imprisoned there in death, I felt both relief (in recognizing that she would unhesitatingly have done the same to me), and sorrow at what I had proved myself capable of doing. There was also regret for any life that is so short. She had been twenty-five.

"Yes, Majesty." He hung his head, as if somehow it had been his doing.

"She was popular here?"

"We--yes, she was popular here." He had given up trying to put another face on it.

"Beauty wins many friends," I said lightly. People warmed to a pleasing face; they preferred a dishonest beauty to a trustworthy plain person. You can see it even in taverns; a comely hostess serving mediocre food has many customers. Especially if she is personable as well.

I trailed my hand along the polished stone. Arsinoe was in there. Arsinoe was in there. "Hail, and farewell, sister," I said, so softly only the dead could have heard it. "Hail, and farewell, sister," I said, so softly only the dead could have heard it.

That night, in the fine house we had been given on the slope leading up to the state agora, I was quiet. I tried to pa.s.s it off to Antony as weariness, and indeed I was very tired. I had had little time to put all the kingdom's affairs in order and make provision for my absence after Antony's summons came. Then the sea voyage, in late autumn, had been trying. The fact that Antony, with his perennial optimism, was standing on the brink of war against Octavian was a startling relief, but it had happened so suddenly. I felt I had to hurry to him and bolster his resolve before he changed his mind or talked himself out of it, making excuses for Octavian again. But it had left me exhausted.

"What is it, my love?" Antony had asked, glancing up from his papers to see me staring uncharacteristically out into s.p.a.ce.

"I am tired," I said. "I think I will go to bed early."

"Yes, I am sure you are tired. Such a journey, at this time of year! I told you, you need not come. ..."

"As if I would have stayed away." I reached up and brushed away the hair falling over my forehead. Even that seemed a vast effort.

My feet were propped up on a footstool, and Antony came over to me and took off my sandals. He started rubbing my feet.

"Sometimes this will wake you up," he said. "It sends the blood back into your head."

At that very moment, t.i.tius appeared in the room. Antony looked up at him, but kept holding my feet.

"Yes?" he said.

"Imperator, I have received the promise of King Amyntas of Galatia to contribute at least two thousand cavalry to our . . . effort," he said smartly. But I saw his eyes fasten themselves on my feet, although he did not move his head.

"Good," said Antony. "They are the finest in the east." He let go of my feet and stood up. "I trust the others will commit themselves soon, in terms of numbers." He nodded proudly toward me. "The Queen has arrived."

"I am pleased to see you, Your Majesty," he said. His smile was smooth and charming.

He and Antony drew aside and discussed army details.

I continued sitting there, thinking about Arsinoe. She had given me no choice. Had she been content with her lot in life--as princess, not queen-- she would be living still, not shut up in that tomb. But it is rare to be satisfied to stand on the platform next to the highest position. I knew Antony would be happy enough with half the world. But Octavian would have all or none, and would not leave him in peace. It was just as well. I was like Octavian myself--as Arsinoe's tomb silently attested. Now we could grapple, with the whole world as a prize, and Antony could not demur.

We argued at the Great Temple of Artemis, letting all that beauty witness our quarrel. We had started out happily enough, pretending to be ordinary sightseers on the sacred way that wound around the mountain to the temple over a mile away. I was surprisingly excited to be seeing it. I say "surprisingly" because there are those who a.s.sume that nothing has the power to stir an Alexandrian, as we are sophisticated, jaded, and sated with the wonders of our own city.

There were, of course, throngs of visitors, since the temple was renowned all over the world. The westerners came to see the architecture, to behold the white marble columns as high as cedars and as dense as a real forest, to marvel at the artistry that had conceived it, and at the engineering that had translated dreams into stone. The easterners came to do homage to the great Artemis, the mother who in this manifestation was a mighty and demanding earth G.o.ddess, allied with Cybele Magna Mater, who brought fertility but at the same time demanded that her priests be castrated. She was nothing like the Greek Artemis, the virginal huntress, but was more tuned to the dark rhythms of women and their moon-cycles.

There had been a temple at this site as long as men could remember; an earlier one built by King Croesus had burnt down on the night Alexander the Great was born. When the power of the G.o.ddess was questioned--how could she have permitted her temple to be destroyed, if she was so mighty?-- the story was told that Artemis had been away that night, attending the birth of Alexander. Be that as it may, when Alexander himself came here, he offered to help rebuild the temple. But his offer was refused, on the grounds that it was not fitting for one G.o.d to build a temple to another.

Now, as we rounded a curve in the road, the temple appeared before us, enormous, looming, dazzling. Coming upon it suddenly seemed to magnify it. The clear Aegean sunlight intensified the white until it exploded like a fiery moon upon our eyes. Everyone halted in wonder.

"It is all men say," I murmured. I took Antony's hand; somehow when we gaze on high beauty we want to touch another person, to ground ourselves.

As we approached, the temple grew until it seemed to fill the sky. I had read that the slender columns, more than a hundred of them, were sixty feet high. I knew the temple measured as long and wide as our gigantic Gymnasion. But knowing and seeing--ah, how different!

A fleeting thought as we drew closer, and the atmosphere of the temple enveloped us: How stern and beguiling a mistress is the love of beauty; what sacrifices she demands of her adherents. Yet we seek beauty in order to possess and serve it with the same fervor we seek food and territory. It was the beauty of Helen that had called forth the Trojan War. Helen herself said very little-- as little as the statue in the temple we now approached. Beauty is entire of itself; it does not need to add speech.

The temple was elevated on three platforms that served as steps; the first platform itself was taller than a man. The longest side of the temple was as long as the side of the pyramid of Cheops; the sheer weight of the building must be almost unmeasurable.

"And to think this was built on a swamp," said Antony. "And that the temple has not sunk into it--not yet."

Yes, I knew that Theodoros, who had solved a similar problem with the Temple of Hera in Samos, had laid down alternating layers of hides and coal in the bog to serve as a foundation. But how that could support such weight?

Like many lovely things, we found as we came near it, the temple had an unworthy setting. True, the sea nearby made a fitting frame, but the people swarming on the grounds were a motley sort. The temple and its environs offered asylum, and all manner of men took advantage of it. Along with runaway slaves, political troublemakers and thieves betook themselves here, where they could live for years, begging and making pests of themselves. They were bold, knowing they could not be touched. They called to us as we pa.s.sed, shoving themselves forward and demanding money.

"I'll show you the G.o.ddess!" one cried, tugging at my gown. "I know all about her! She is old, very old!"

"For this I should pay you?" said Antony, with a laugh. "Tell me something I don't know."

"Yes, sir, that I can--" He reached into the folds of his mantle and drew out a silver statuette. "Here, the likeness of the G.o.ddess, pure silver, that I swear--touch it, see for yourself--"

Antony brushed him aside, only to be met with another, springing up like the warriors sown from the dragon's teeth.

"Very good, sir, this Artemis is pure silver, fas.h.i.+oned by my son, studied in Rhodes, yes--"

"Go away," said Antony. To me he observed, "And to think once the legendary Amazons took refuge here, and the' philosopher Heracleitus, and later the citizens of Ephesus stretched a rope from here to their acropolis to extend the sanctuary--making the entire city an asylum. Then these vermin were multiplied a hundredfold!"

Nearer the temple they were joined by hordes of castrated priests who served the G.o.ddess, as well as other orders of priests selling pieces of the sacrificial meat, and the famous prost.i.tutes who claimed to help men wors.h.i.+p the G.o.ddess carnally. The official virgin priestesses ignored them, weaving through them as though they did not exist.

Here was where Arsinoe had taken asylum, hiding behind the robes and office of the chief priest. But she had been dragged out on Antony's orders. I wondered if the sight of Roman soldiers penetrating the sanctuary had caused the others to tremble--or had they tried to sell them Artemis statuettes, too?

But Antony was not the only one to violate the sanctuary; the great Alexander had, too, making three criminals face their deaths.

We pa.s.sed through the closely packed columns in the front of the temple. They looked like the ones in Thebes, where they cl.u.s.tered so thickly there was no sense of being in a hall. It was said they had to be so close in order to support the heavy stone beams serving as a roof, and that the weight of the lintel was so great that the architect had been overcome by the task of raising it--that he had thought of suicide. But Artemis (of course!) had raised it for him. Around the base of the columns were exquisite carvings of heroes, nymphs, and animals.

Inside the temple, a profound coolness and hush. There was a courtyard open to the sky in the middle, and then the G.o.ddess herself reigned in the back recesses of the temple. Here she was surrounded by winking lamps and offerings of flowers.

She was not gigantic as I would have expected from the scale of the building, although she was more than life-size. But she was utterly unlike our Grecian idea of movement and fluidity; she was closer to the deep stillness of the Egyptian G.o.d statues. Her body was not that of any normal woman, but stiff and straight like a mummy case, and covered with dozens of b.r.e.a.s.t.s, which festooned her chest like swollen bags. On her lower body--or rather, the garment covering that blocky body--were griffins and lions. Her face, impa.s.sive and strong, looked straight ahead, and there was no hint of love or softness about her--strange for a mother. On her head a temple-headdress reared up, looking like a tower. She looked mysterious, ancient, and disturbing.

I felt, suddenly, the power of the east that was so threatening to Rome. It was not the present-day armies they were fearful of, but the primitive G.o.ds and peoples behind them--shadowy forces that had yet to be entirely tamed. This statue, with its unhuman body, its castrated priests, its links with something lost in time but fertile, dark, and demanding, was frightening.

"I don't like her," I whispered to Antony. Seeing her made me think of secret rites, blood spilled, daughters violated and sons unmanned, all to satisfy her. But she would be insatiable, as the earth is insatiable for our bodies even as it feeds and sustains us--because it knows it will eventually devour us. This Artemis was a stern devourer.

"Don't let her hear you," said Antony, in jest.

The sightless eyes of the G.o.ddess seemed to be aimed in our direction.

We turned and left her on her pedestal, at stiff attention.

Outside, on the temple platform, I lingered to study the figures carved into the bases of the columns. A light breeze whispered, and the still-flat surface of the sea was a s.h.i.+ning sheet reflecting the late afternoon sun.

Antony stood impatiently, s.h.i.+fting his v/eight from side to side, crossing his arms and drumming his fingers. When I am with someone who is eager to be gone, it is difficult to lose myself in art. With a sigh, I turned from the columns. I would return another day. But I was annoyed, and as soon as he spoke, I disagreed with him.

"All this," he was saying, gesturing with his hand toward the soaring columns, white as milk, "is what they do not understand."

What was he talking about? And why must he talk, instead of letting me enjoy the carvings? "Who? Who does not understand what?" I said, hoping for a short answer.

Instead he launched into a list of his misgivings about the Senate, and how they must be made to understand--and approve of--his actions here in the east.

"It is different here," he said. "These ancient kingdoms--they do not wish to become modern, to do away with their kings. Just because Rome will have no king does not mean others must follow suit."

Well, what of it? "Yes, true," I concurred.

"The Romans do not understand the territorial grants I made in Alexandria," he said.

So that was what this was about! Before I could say anything, he went on.

"But they must be made to understand--and approve. I will announce it in a letter, which the new Consuls will read to the Senate when they take office. Thanks be to all the G.o.ds that the two Consuls for next year are my men--my admirals Sosius and Ahen.o.barbus. I will address the Senate through them! They will take my part against Octavian!"

Why was he so obstinate, so blind? I looked longingly at the carvings; hopeless to focus on their pristine beauty now. "Curse the Senate!" I said, too loudly.

Heads of others on the platform turned, straining to hear what would follow. Even Antony was brought up short.

"I--" he began, casting about for words. "The Senate--"

"The Senate ceased to have any moral authority when it stood by and saw Caesar murdered," I snapped. "Now most of those members are gone, and have been replaced by--what? Little men who know only envy and equivocation and timidity. Forget them! Even if they supported you, it would mean nothing."

"The const.i.tution of Rome abides with the Senate," he said quietly. " "But of course, I cannot expect you you to understand!" to understand!"

"It's you who do not understand!" I shot back. "You cannot see the changes that have swept over Rome, and that they are permanent. The Senate's authority is gone, it's as cut off as--these priests' manhood!" I indicated a pa.s.sing priest, hurrying down the steps. He glared at us.

"They are the only authority left," he maintained stubbornly.

"They are the only semblance semblance of authority left. But it is only the shadow of authority. The Senate died along with Caesar. And it didn't even have an official funeral." of authority left. But it is only the shadow of authority. The Senate died along with Caesar. And it didn't even have an official funeral."

Angrily he strode down the steps. Whenever he heard something he did not fancy, he rejected it.

I followed him. "Don't run away from me when I am talking to you!" I said. If any of my subjects had dared do such a thing . . .

I caught up with him. We were still in the temple precincts, and a quarrel seemed out of place. "People are looking," I said. "Behave yourself!" Had he no thought for our reputations?

"I don't care!" He stamped away.

"You must maintain decorum!" I said. "You are not an adolescent roaming the streets of Rome with Curio now! If you would rule the world--"

He turned on me. "It's you who would have me rule the world!"

Now a large crowd was staring, and listening. I fell silent, and began walking swiftly by his side. This must be suspended until we were in private.

Alone that night, in our s.p.a.cious house so graciously provided by one of the city councillors, Antony appeared to forget the tiff. He was high-spirited, drinking too much wine, eating too much, and laughing too much. I saw through it, and waited for us to resume the argument--or conversation.

This particular dining room had a mosaic featuring bits of food meticulously rendered, so it looked like droppings from a banquet--there were bones and fruit skins and sh.e.l.lfish littering the floor. It was much in fas.h.i.+on at the time, and I appreciated the artist's skill in depicting the food, although I thought it rather wasted. Why portray garbage? But Antony, as he drank more, became fascinated with it, and started dropping his own food on the floor.

"Why, I can hardly tell the difference!" he said, watching a melon rind wheel across the floor and finally lie still next to a bunch of mosaic cherries. "Look!"

He leaned on his forearms and studied it carefully.

"Even the twins have outgrown such behavior," I said, more sharply than I intended. "Now you are on a level with Philadelphos."

He c.o.c.ked his head. "They say infants have great wisdom," he said. "And how many grown people wish they had time to play?"

"It seems you must be either an infant or the ruler of the world to do so. All the people in between do not have the luxury."

"Ah ... the ruler-of-the-world business again. I knew it was bound to come up." He heaved himself up on his elbows and gave a half-smile. "Well, I am ready. Tell me of my high destiny." He reached out and took his goblet, peering into its depths. He sloshed some more wine into it and drank it down.

"Antony, you drink too much." There, I had said it.

He laid his hand over his heart. "You wound me," he said, looking stricken.

"It is true. It is not--not good for you." What I wanted to say was that when he was younger it had not affected him, but now . . .

I expected him to argue, but he did not. "I know," he said. But that did not stop him from filling his cup again. "But I like the way it sets my mind free . . . lets it roam where it will. . . and sometimes it shows me wisdom, or a new way." He swallowed it down. "And sometimes it just puts me to sleep," he admitted. He held out the goblet. "Farewell, fair friend--since Cleopatra will have it so." He put it down ceremoniously, carefully. "And to think that we are in a region with the world's best wines nearby. Lesbos and your sweet nectar, Chios with your magic grape, you must come no more!"

"Why must you go to extremes?" I asked. "You do not have to banish it from your life altogether. Just moderate it."

Now he spoke altogether seriously. "There are some of us with a temperament that precludes moderation. We must have a total embrace, or a total forsaking." He stood up. He was not unsteady, and his words were clear. "Had I not been such a man, I would not be here now, with you. I would have played with you, enjoyed our time together, but never pledged myself. That would have made Rome happy. Rome--which was all too pleased to see you as my mistress, but horrified to see you as my wife. I spit on such conventions."

"Why then, oh, why, do you then ache for their approval? If you do not approve of them, why should they approve of you?" Why should we wish those we do not respect to respect us?

"I do not know," he said. "In Rome, we reverence our mothers above all others. And for good or ill, Rome is my mother."

By now I had risen from the table, too, and he embraced me, folding me close to him. I leaned against him, wis.h.i.+ng there was something I could do to lessen his pain. It was clear he must displease his mother, Mother Roma, at least the Rome as she now was. But mothers had a way of rejoicing in the feats of wayward sons, if they were only successful.

"You underestimate the love of a mother," I finally said. "She will never abandon you. Rome will welcome you. Rome is not the Senate, nor is she Octavian. You are as Roman as either of them. And when you prevail, and return victorious to the hills of Rome--"

"Ah, that again." he sighed. "It always comes to that."

"Yes, it comes to armies," I said. "Rome has always been about armies. The history of Rome is the story of her armies."

Arms about each other's waists, we wove our way slowly to bed, picking our steps carefully. My reluctant Imperator, my jolly Dionysus, quiet now, subdued ... he seemed to wish only to sleep. The weight of what he must do pressed down on him, and he had sought the wine in order to be free. And I had spoiled it, ruined his escape.

But as he lay silent beside me, I felt his arm tighten underneath my head. His fingers reached out and began to play with my hair. It made my skin tingle.

"A woman's hair . . ." he began, speaking to himself. "Most beautiful of all her jewels."

I lay silent, my eyes closed. Let him do what he wished. I loved him so--I only wished the best for him. Why could he not understand that?

"My Queen," he finally said. "I have never really grown used to having a queen in my bed."

And I had never grown used to having a hearty mortal in mine.