To this, Cato did not respond.
Auletes had no choice but to request a meeting. Contemptuously, Cato declined.
“Who is this Roman that he should make my father suffer?” Kleopatra asked. She was sitting on her father’s lap late one evening after a long banquet, sipping from Auletes’ golden goblet. It pained her to watch her kingly father fret like a nervous serving girl over this Roman swine.
“Who is this Roman that he should insult our king?” echoed the inebriated Kinsmen. The men were sprawled about the dining hall, some having forsaken their couches and sitting directly upon the table amid platters of fruit and pitchers of wine, their boots unlaced, their long legs stretching the width of the table. The wealthy Rhodian businessmen invited to the dinner to meet with the king sat back in their seats, with languid limbs slung over the arms of the sofas. Only Charmion, the sole adult woman present, remained sober and sufficiently erect.
“We have heard that Cato is always drunk,” offered the Rhodian statesman with whom the king lodged. Presently, he appeared to share that condition with the Roman. “They say that he yells at his servants if they try to bring him food and beats them if they do not bring the drink fast enough when he requests it.”
“He is nothing,” said a Kinsman. “His family were still dirt farmers when His Majesty’s family had ruled Egypt for generations.”
“He has no right to humiliate a king.”
Kleopatra could see that the talk, meant to bolster and cheer the king, had the opposite effect. I know my father better than all these men, she thought. She settled into the crook between the king’s shoulder and his belly, adjusting her position on his lap, unaware that she absorbed the king’s anxiety about Cato into her own small body. Nervously, she fingered his cup, taking another gulp of bitter wine. She had drunk enough to be sleepy, though her fears kept lax-ness at bay. Auletes seemed neither to notice nor to care that his daughter was getting drunk. He cuddled the girl to his chest, causing her to topple the cup and spill the red liquid upon his linen robe.
She put a repentant hand to her mouth, but Auletes simply laughed and clutched her harder, so that she could feel the quake of his belly rising and falling as he amused himself with her accident. He took the cup from her small hand, drained the rest of the wine, and threw the cup on the floor.
“More!” he called to no one in particular.
A servant rushed toward him with a fresh white robe, but this man he kicked in the chest, sending him toppling backward. The Kinsmen and guests laughed at the calamity, and the stunned servant—stunned, for Auletes was not a cruel man—immediately saw the wisdom in joining in the laughter. He picked himself up, brushed off the fresh garment, and proffered it again to the king, though this time at a distance.
“More wine, fool,” said the king, still laughing. “More wine! Not more clothes!”
The Kinsmen again laughed at the servant, who recovered his dignity by snapping his fingers toward the two serving girls huddled in the corner who scurried to fill Auletes’ glass, almost tripping over each other. In the rush to please the king, their pitchers clashed, and he doubled over in an uncontrollable spasm of laughter, almost sending his daughter off his lap. Kleopatra, afraid that the two great colliding pitchers would smash her head, ducked into the shelter of her father’s gut, bringing more peals of merriment.
“Tomorrow it shall all be settled,” the king said, releasing the tight squeeze he had on the girl on his lap. “Tomorrow, I shall meet with the Roman.”
Kleopatra sat up as if startled out of a dream. She shook her head to try to clear the drowsy feeling.
“Tomorrow the Roman comes here?”
“No, child, the Roman is not in a position to leave his chambers.”
“Has he been censored by his superiors?” the girl asked.
“He has a more compelling reason than that. His doctors have prescribed routine ingestion of laxatives for his flatulence, and he does not wish to leave his chambers in this vulnerable condition. The Roman has invited me to attend him in his quarters,” said the king matter-of-factly.
A red-faced Kinsman pushed himself off his chair and struck an indignant pose. “Our king must not humble himself to the summons of an ordinary Roman citizen.” The men of Rhodes, who had long been squirming under the Roman thumb, shook their heads in agreement, muttering crass comments about Cato’s condition.
“We depart for Rome in two days. Dignity is a small price to pay for Rome’s sanction,” said Auletes. “I have said before that the gods are with Rome and I am with the gods.”
But the Kinsmen and the Rhodians did not see the king’s wisdom.
“How is it that you do no understand our situation?” shouted the king. “You are like children. You are worse than children, Brothers, because my daughter is wiser than you.”
Kleopatra sat up straight on her father’s lap, surprised to be dragged into the argument and afraid to look at the insulted Kinsmen.
“Kleopatra, tell our Kinsmen why it is that Egypt has no Roman governor, despite the fact that every neighboring country has fallen to Roman domination.”
Every bleary eye in the room was on the child. “Go on, girl,” said the king. “Speak up.”
She took a deep breath, “Because King Ptolemy XII Auletes, Pharaoh of Two Lands, son of Dionysus and the native god Osiris, and my father, is a friend to Rome.”
“Precisely, my child.” He ignored his men and locked eyes with his daughter. “Remember this: Always, we are threatened by the might of Rome. Always we must slake the beast. Do you understand that, Kleopatra?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Because the one thing that Rome always needs—the true god and idol and soul of the Republic—is the one thing we Ptolemies always have.”
They said the word together. “Money.”
The Kinsmen laughed, but Kleopatra was worried by the fatigue in her father’s eyes. “I shall remember it always,” she said. “Tomorrow, I shall accompany you to meet the Roman.”
“You are eleven years old.”
“I am a princess and I can impress the Roman with my knowledge of the Latin tongue and of Latin literature. I shall be the strictest evidence of your loyalty to Rome, father. He will think that you have paid honor to Rome by educating your daughter in the Roman language and the Roman arts. I shall be your brightest emissary.” She stared at her father, avoiding the skeptical faces of his men, who had since grown quiet.
“So you shall,” said the king, to the astonishment of all present, even the princess. “I shall let you be my littlest diplomat.”
Kleopatra had never seen a more stern-faced old man than Cato. His mouth appeared set in a permanent grimace, with deep crevices slashing downward from the corners. He did not rise upon the royal party’s entrance, but remained in his chair with a blanket covering the lower part of his body, so that the princess could not be certain that the chair upon which he sat was not a toilet. With an indolent wave of the hand Cato bid Auletes to approach him. The Kinsmen were mortified by this behavior and desired to move against him, making ominous rattles with their swords, but Auletes signaled to them to be still.
“Who is the child?” the Roman asked, speaking in Greek to the king but staring into the face of the young girl, who stared back at him.
The Roman did not understand that he mustn’t address the king first. A Kinsman said, “The princess Kleopatra, the king’s second daughter. She is well-versed in languages.”
“Is that so?” he said slowly, as if words alone, no matter what their meaning, put him in a foul way.
Kleopatra held her father’s hand, anticipating a cue of some kind, but received none. The king stepped toward the Roman. The princess moved with him until they took their seats opposite the Roman. The Kinsmen awaited their king at the back of the room.
“I have considered your position, Your Majesty,” offered Cato, apparently oblivious to the customary formalities accorded to a king. “I must advise you to abort this voyag
e to Rome. You must go back to Egypt and reconcile with your people.”
“Marcus Cato,” the king began in so agreeable a tone of voice that the princess would have thought he was speaking to one of his favorite pets. “I would like nothing better than to reconcile with my people, as you call them, but I am in an untenable position without the support of Rome. The citizens of Egypt—Greek and Egyptian and Jew alike—are hostile to me for acquiescing to the demands of Caesar and Pompey. My subjects have suffered under the strain of high taxes necessary to pay Rome what Rome requires. This is the cause of their rebellion. Were it not for the demands of Caesar and Pompey upon me, my people would be perfectly content.”
“Nonetheless, that does not change my opinion.” The Roman doubled over his stomach, issuing such a loud cry of pain that the king instinctively jumped to help him. Cato, one arm clutching his stomach, raised the other to ward off the king. Auletes took his seat.
The Roman sat up, his eyes turned toward the heavens as if to ask the gods why this ill health had befallen him. “You see my predicament?”
“I won’t keep you, my Roman friend,” the king said. “I only wish to know your considered opinion of the reception I shall receive in Rome. Might you characterize the mood of the senate?”
Cato said, “My good king, the senate is no more useful than an old man’s prick.”
Auletes burst into laughter despite the gravity of the situation. “If the senate is of no use, then, pray tell, who governs Rome?”
“It’s a monarchy, much like you have in Egypt. Pompey is king; Caesar is queen.”
Kleopatra had heard those exact words in the marketplace. She wondered, but did not think it suitable to ask, if, in addition to bedding Pompey’s wife, Caesar had bedded the great man, too. She would discreetly inquire on this matter in Rome.
Auletes pressed Cato for more information. Who might he see in Rome to help his cause? But Cato grew weary of company, perhaps because of his condition, perhaps for need of the drink. He said, “Sire, there is a Roman law forbidding a citizen to sell himself into slavery in order to pay his debts, but I believe it is still permissible for a foreigner to do so.”
The Kinsmen drew their swords. Auletes rose upon hearing this abominable insult, and the princess with him. She hoped her father’s men would take vengeance upon this insulting Roman who talked to her father as if he were a common servant. She would have liked to witness a fight, even at the high cost to her father.
But Cato allowed a crack in his relentless grimace. In a calming tone he said, “I thought our conversation benefited by the insertion of humor, Your Majesty. Believe me, I am trying to save you from what will be humiliation, should you proceed to Rome.”
The king waved to his men; reluctantly, they resheathed their swords, but they did not sit.
“Listen to me, Sire,” Cato continued. “I am known to be a plain-speaking man. You will never receive more sound advice than this: Go home and raise the money to pay your debt. Do not appear in Rome begging more favor, or this will be a game you play without end. You could turn Egypt into liquid silver and pour it into their pockets and it will still not appease either the senate or Pompey or the vulture Caesar. The leeches who rule Rome will bleed you dry.”
The princess was astonished at the Roman’s candor. He spoke without fear, knowing Auletes might repeat his words to Pompey, to other senators, to Caesar himself if he had the opportunity. Yet the old grouch appeared to be free of the anxiety that his words might be reported to his Roman colleagues.
“You cling too fiercely to your situation, my dear King Ptolemy,” he said gently, almost charitably. “I would not worry so about the annexation of Egypt. Should this occur, it would liberate you. You would no longer have these concerns.”
“Yes, I could be liberated—just like my brother.”
“I will clarify for you the unfortunate circumstances that occurred in Cyprus. I realize that the actions of Rome and the death of your brother must be cause for some mystification. You see, my enemies in Rome needed to be rid of me. They cannot tolerate a vocal and persuasive critic. The great man Marcus Tullius Cicero is next, of course. They will banish him, somehow.”
“What is your meaning?” asked the king.
“It is very simple. Caesar has an agenda of legislation he wishes to pass this year. I am against him in every cause. Therefore I must be got rid of, and therefore, he and his gangster, Clodius, concocted the charges of piracy against your brother, giving them an excuse to send me off to Cyprus to pick his treasures dry. It is my duty, distasteful as it is. At least I shall perform my services without lining my own pockets.”
“That is a remarkable tale,” said the king.
“I see that you view me with skepticism, but that would be a mistake. I am not a particularly imaginative man. I do not invent wild stories. Take my advice; to trust either Pompey or Caesar would be a miscalculation. Unlike my peers and colleagues in Rome, I have no aversion to speaking the truth.”
“What are my choices?” asked the king. Kleopatra could see that the Roman’s honest manner of speaking intrigued her father.
“Return to Egypt and reconcile with your subjects. I offer my services to you. I and my staff will accompany you to Alexandria. We shall meet with the necessary parties and negotiate a settlement between them and yourself. Do you see how far I am willing to go to have you avoid the treachery and bribery you will confront in Rome?”
“And would you not extract your own price for this deed?” asked the king.
“Your Majesty, I am as rich as I ever care to be.”
“This is an exceptional offer, my good man, and one I shall sincerely consider. What do you propose my other choices to be?”
“You might take the offer your brother was too stubborn to accept. Submit to the inevitable: Await the news that your country is Rome’s next annexed nation. At that time, take up the robes of the priest, save your family, and live in peace. Or perhaps you might negotiate with Caesar or Pompey, whichever decides to march into your kingdom and usurp your treasury. They might allow you to remain on the throne. But surely you are aware that you would be a king in name only.”
The Roman sat back and rubbed his ailing stomach. He raised an index finger into the air ominously. “I say this for your own protection. Do not go to Rome with your hand out and your pockets open. There will be no end to the price you will pay.”
“Have I been disgraced or not?”
Auletes did not trust the Roman; yet he believed that Cato’s offer to travel to Alexandria was made with noble intentions. The princess did not trust the Roman’s motivations, but was not sure that the king should not honor the proposed scenario. The Kinsmen, on the other hand, believed the king had been mocked.
“Send word to Demetrius,” the king gruffly ordered his secretary. “Tell him of Marcus Cato’s offer and ask him if he thinks such a delicate arrangement might be made without an outbreak of violence.”
But upon return to the great parlor of the Rhodian mansion, Auletes received a letter that made his direction very clear.
To: Ptolemy XII Auletes, former king of Egypt
From: Meleager, Regent and Adviser to Queen Kleopatra VI Tryphaena
Enclosed please find a document signed by the Egyptian and Greek tribe leaders of the majority of the phratries in the city. The people of Alexandria and of Lower and Upper Egypt have declared you an illegal usurper. You are officially deposed. Your wife, Kleopatra VI Tryphaena, is the recognized ruler of Egypt. You and your daughter, the princess Kleopatra, are banished forever from the kingdom of Egypt and all her territories, including but not limited to territories presently under her domain. Should you be found on the soil of the Two Lands of Egypt, the penalty is death.
Auletes dropped the letter. His body quaked; red crept into his cheeks, his nostrils, his neck, his forehead. “Treasonous bitch!” he spat, saliva flying madly across the room like a burst of hail. “Lying whore, blemish to the memory of her mother.”
r /> The king gripped the back of his chair with both hands and shook it, rocking its legs against the tile floor. He picked it up and crashed it to the ground, breaking off one of the legs. His men watched, silent. Kleopatra cowered, waiting for her father to calm, wondering what role her sister Berenike played in the coup.
“To Rome,” ordered the king. “To Rome.” He brandished the splintered leg of the chair at no one in particular. “If it costs me every cent of my money, I’ll see the bitch dead.” The king paced about, the chair leg in his hand like a big shank of mutton. “She will be awakened from her thrall by the mocking face of a Roman centurion and his soldiers. And I will be commanding them to treat her no better than a whore to be passed among them.”
A cold calm passed over Auletes’ face, relaxing his features. “When she begs for death, I will personally cut her venomous throat.”
“Father, what of Demetrius?” asked Kleopatra, thinking of the emaciated scholar at the mercy of Thea’s cold inclemency. “Surely he will be killed. We should never have left him there. We should have insisted that he come with us. And what about Berenike, Father? Does the eunuch say that she had a part in this?”
The king made no response, his face unusually icy. Kleopatra preferred her father furious, a state of mind that appeared less dangerous than this calculated chill. “Thea sits on the throne, while the eunuch rules. There is no mention of Demetrius. There is no mention of Berenike. But if either of them is aligned with Thea, I shall see them dead, too.”
ELEVEN
Mohama threw back her head, dangled the small morsel of fruit above her open pink mouth, and then dropped it in. Aware that she was being watched by every man on deck—the soldiers, the Kinsmen, the servants, the king—she chewed the fruit slowly, rocking the pit back and forth from cheek to cheek. Finally, she walked to the bow, spitting the seed into the water.
An exasperated princess waited for her at the game table. She wished she had eaten the bowl of cherries herself and not brought them to Mohama, who used them to agitate the men. But Mohama had an intemperate love for such fruits, having been ignorant of them for most of her life, and the princess, who had not much appetite, and who had been deprived of nothing, preferred to finish her repast with one chewy date.