Kleopatra
“Why is he coming to see you?” asked Auletes. “Does he wish your support?”
“I have already told him that there is nothing I can do. The senate has voted against him. His only two choices are imprisonment or exile. I have advised him to take the latter. When the time is right, I will do what I can to recall him.”
“That seems fair,” said Auletes, wondering if he would be forever condemned to the same indifference from Pompey.
“He doesn’t listen to reason,” complained Pompey, eating a grape and spitting its seeds on the floor. “They tell me he’s retired his senator’s toga for peasant’s rags, walking the streets all hours of the day ranting that if he is to be treated like a martyr he will dress like one. He beseeches absolutely anyone he sees, whether knight, senator, magistrate, butcher, or slave, to come to his aid.”
That is what your indifference is forcing my father to do as well, thought Kleopatra.
“I have told him that he must be an example and obey the Constitution and the laws of the land. He has spent his entire life defending the very principles he now defies. I am afraid he has gone mad.” Pompey spoke evenly, but Kleopatra could not help but notice an air of defensiveness in his voice.
“Sir.” The houseman rushed into the atrium and stood nervously before Pompey, as if Pompey would defer to ancient custom and kill the messenger. “The sentinels report that Cicero approaches the house.”
“Take care of it, man,” Pompey hissed to him. “I am not here, do you understand? I am not here, no matter what.”
Kleopatra heard a commotion coming from the courtyard and the footsteps of Pompey’s household staff rushing to investigate the disaster.
“Pompey, do not desert me in my hour of need!” The voice came roaring from the outdoors, dramatic, sentimental, and demanding all at once, having as imperious a quality as Kleopatra had ever heard, despite the fact that the speaker was pleading. The footsteps grew louder. “Where is the man I have mentored and held dear all the days of my life?”
The door to the vestibule was open, allowing Kleopatra to hear the houseman say, “Please, Senator, he is not at home. May I offer you a warm bath and a cup of wine before you go back to the city?”
“Out of my way, liar! Hear me, Pompey, who is called Magnus. The animal Clodius had his gangsters sling dung at my person in the Forum! Come out here, Pompey, and see the shit I have endured for the Republic.”
Pompey got to his feet. “Do excuse me,” he said curtly to the royals, and then ran so quickly from the room that he knocked over one of the prized murrine drinking cups, shattering it to pieces. Leaving Cicero screaming in the vestibule, Pompey headed for the back door leading to the garden. “His usual hiding place,” said Auletes.
The orator entered the room. Not so mean-looking as Cato, the princess thought, but just as old and cantankerous. Covered in dirt from the ride, he was dressed in a tattered tunic, and trailed by a younger man. Cicero looked down his considerable nose at Auletes and Kleopatra. “Who are you?” he asked Auletes.
“I am Ptolemy Auletes, king of Egypt.”
“Oh, good gods,” said the orator, rolling his bleary eyes. He turned around and left.
Auletes put his head in his hands. “Are these the great men whose decisions send thunderous shock waves throughout the world?”
He looked into his daughter’s eyes, scaring her with his haggard appearance. She noticed that the skin under his eyes had begun to sag into his cheekbones. “My god, daughter, who is running Rome?”
“Awaken,” said the voice. “Awaken, child. Rise.”
Kleopatra opened her eyes but saw only darkness. No oil lamp was lit. Only the sound of her cousin’s voice filled the void. But it couldn’t be him, for he was still at school in Greece. It must be a dream, she thought. He has come to me in a dream with a message. She opened her eyes again and saw the vague silhouette of a man’s body.
“Surely this cannot be my little cousin Kleopatra. Kleopatra is a child. Even in the dark I see the body of a young woman.”
Kleopatra sat up, pulling her sheet up to her neck.
“It is Archimedes, my love. It is your cousin. I am here.” A large, warm, hardened hand laid itself upon her small one and gently rubbed it. “It is I, darling cousin, darling girl. You must hurry and get dressed. The king has summoned you into his chambers.”
A dream. A dream in which her handsome cousin had come to Rome and had entered her bedroom. Now she would go on one of night’s strange and mysterious journeys with him. She knew she should be afraid, but his voice was as soft as satin and as familiar as the oldest of friends.
“Archimedes? Are you man or apparition?” The girl withdrew her hand and rubbed her eyes. Her cousin lit a candle, revealing his familiar face.
“Cousin!” She threw her arms, almost lifeless with sleep, around his strong neck. “Cousin, you have come to us.” He returned her embrace. “Yes, I have come to you, but there is no time now to talk. Charmion will dress you, my darling. You must come. It is an emergency of state and your father requires your presence. Now quickly, into your clothes.”
Before she could ask questions, he was gone, and Charmion appeared with a fresh dress. “Do not waste time with speech. Your father needs you. Here is a lamp. Now go to him.”
The princess navigated her way down the long halls of Pompey’s villa, wondering what had transpired in the night to bring her cousin to her. Was Auletes ill? She crept along the corridors, shrinking from the shadows. As she approached her father’s rooms she heard a low mumble of voices. Greek voices speaking in hushed tones. Several men stood outside the door to Auletes’ chamber. Men she knew. Men from home.
Princess. Kleopatra. Some bowed, others commented on her growth in the months she had been away. A young lady. Her soft cheek brushed several rough faces. She was caught up in the embraces of her Kinsmen, but no sooner had she received their affection than she was hustled into the room.
“Daughter,” boomed Auletes as she met his cheerful face. He appeared to be in the middle of an odd nocturnal celebration. Roman slaves served the Greek visitors trays of hastily prepared food and cups of wine. Kleopatra wondered again if she were awake or asleep, for this was the stuff of dreams. Surrounded by his men, he raised a cup to his child. “Our Kinsmen have brought extraordinary news.”
“What is it, Father?” Kleopatra blinked at Archimedes, who kept quiet, deferring to the king.
“Thea is dead,” Auletes said slowly, chewing every word as if it were a delicious morsel.
The princess stood very still absorbing the announcement. It was as if all had become silent awaiting her reaction. “Is my father once again king?”
“Your father has always been king,” said Archimedes. “Sit with us, Princess, and hear the tale we bring, for it is full of unexpected events. The queen was found slain in her chamber. We do not know the identity of the murderer.”
“Who is this hero?” Auletes asked. “We must find this patriot and reward him.”
“Your Majesty, we believe it was Demetrius.”
“My friend! My savior!” cried the king. “Why did he not join this delegation? Why is he not here to celebrate with us? I have been so worried about him.”
“Sire, Demetrius, too, is dead. His body was found the day after the queen’s body was discovered. It is believed that he murdered the queen and then took his own life.”
“Oh blessed friend!” cried Auletes. “Blessed, blessed man. Why did he do this thing? Why did he not spare himself?” He looked straight at the stricken face of his daughter. “Did he not know that we loved him?”
Kleopatra did not answer. She thought only of the tall, thin man who had become her friend, tutor, mentor, confidant. She did not believe he was gone. Gone the way of Mohama, snatched from her by merciless Fate. Who was next?
“He shall be deified upon my return to Egypt. I shall have him interred next to Alexander himself,” the king said. “He is a hero and he died a hero’s death. A Titan in a sc
holar’s disguise.”
Archimedes stood next to the princess and took her hand. She clutched it tight. It was both strange and familiar, this man’s hand in hers. Archimedes turned to the king. “Sire, we must save our grief. There are great complications. We must act with the utmost expediency if you wish to be returned to the kingdom. Egypt is in utter turmoil, but many factions still support you.”
“Then return I must. Are you telling me I no longer require a Roman legion to march with me into my city? That I may simply pack my trunks and go home?”
Kleopatra felt her cousin’s hand tense. He lowered his voice. “It is a bit more complex than that. You see, in the confusion following the death of the queen, your eldest daughter seized power.”
Berenike. The Amazon queen, now the queen of Egypt. Kleopatra shuddered, recalling her vision: the bleeding neck of Arsinoe, her own dead body at the child’s feet, Berenike victorious over her sisters. Had she planned it all from childhood? Had she feigned attachment to Thea, knowing that she would use their closeness for Thea’s demise?
“Seized? What do you mean, seized? How does a petulant girl ’seize’ power?” The king was less shocked than disdainful. “Berenike is a child. Come, let us make arrangements to go home.”
Archimedes dropped Kleopatra’s hand and moved closer to the king. “She is eighteen, Your Majesty. And she is backed by the eunuch Meleager, the demes of Middle Egypt, and the army. The priests of Upper Egypt and certain Greek factions in the city are still loyal to you. But the situation is grave. That is why I left my studies in Greece and returned to your service.”
The king sat back in his chair, exhaling violently, as if expelling all the joy from his body.
Archimedes continued. “Apparently, Meleager has been quietly raising support for Berenike all over the country. He has sent a party to Seleucus, a bastard Syrian prince, to propose that he marry Berenike and bring his army to Alexandria. It is said that Berenike is against the marriage, but Meleager wishes it because Seleucus is someone he can control, someone who would be beholden to him for his power.”
The astonished king said nothing. Kleopatra waited for him to begin to rail in his usual manner against her sister, transferring the loathing he had visited upon Thea onto Berenike, but the king merely sat motionless, as if he had been stabbed from behind and was dead.
“Sire, there is much to do. Meleager has sent a delegation to Rome to speak out against you.”
“Here? Here to Rome? But he is against all things Roman,” argued the king.
“They call themselves the One Hundred. I believe he paid them handsomely to come here. But they are traitors. In the middle of the voyage, about twenty of them left the expedition to join a Cilician pirate hunt for gold. Such is their allegiance to their cause.”
“And what is their cause?” Auletes asked anxiously.
“They are headed by a philosopher, Dio, and they intended to appear before the senate to speak out against you, to squelch any assistance for your return, and to ask Rome to back Berenike as the legitimate ruler. They also plan to ask for Rome to sanction Berenike’s marriage to Seleucus.”
“I am lost.” The king threw back his head and began to cry.
“Your Majesty, we do not have even one hour to waste in meditation or regret. Or grief for that matter,” Archimedes said. “The One Hundred have already docked in Italy.”
“Wretched is the man betrayed by his own family,” Auletes said.
“Oh nonsense, Your Highness. Utter nonsense.”
Hammonius—friend, merchant, Kinsman, spy, a man not of royal blood but with the wealth of a king—had been silent through the discourse. Gathering his affably heavy body into an erect position, he reminded Kleopatra of the great brown bear in the Alexandria zoo that had been a gift from a Galatian queen. “Let us not admit wretchedness. Let us plot victory.” Hammonius raised his ample arms. “Are we ghoulish spirits bringing you bad omens? Or are we your Kinsmen, ready to rally to your cause? Your Majesty, we are men of action. Now let us act.”
“You are right, my friend. I must collect myself. Tell me about the One Hundred. Or is it the Eighty?” The king laughed, to Kleopatra’s relief. “Who are these eighty traitors and how shall we dispense with them? And who is this Dio? Do you know him, Daughter? Do you consider him a philosopher of any importance?”
Kleopatra did not like Dio. He was arrogant and had paid her no attention when, as a child, she had traipsed after the dark-gowned scholars of the Mouseion seeking access to their knowledge. “He teaches the works of others but cannot be called an innovator or a thinker himself. Nor does he have the compassion of our Demetrius.”
Archimedes said, “Dio is the mouthpiece of Meleager, Your Majesty. It was the eunuch who petitioned for him to be brought from Athens to the Mouseion. All the while he was on Your Majesty’s payroll, he was secretly publishing pamphlets against you and distributing them through a network set up by Meleager throughout the city. And now he is here, docked at Puteoli, waiting for the senate to schedule a time when he might lead his eighty into the Curia with a list of their grievances against you to plead the case for the reign of Berenike.”
“Where will they get with the senate?” Auletes asked with contempt. “Why should the senate back them when I am here as the guest of Pompey?”
“It is believed that Berenike has access to the treasury,” answered Archimedes.
It was almost dawn. Auletes looked at the princess. “The lessons of monarchy are not always pleasant.”
She shrugged. Auletes stared at his daughter for a long while. “I’m not another Potbelly, you know, killing philosophers just because they displease me.”
“Of course not, Father.” Did he think her attachment to the scholars caused her to overestimate this Dio’s worth? Berenike was a traitor. Kleopatra was first in line for her father’s throne. “Father,” she said. “It would hardly be like denying the world an Epicurus. Let us act now and without remorse.”
“Spoken like a queen.” Hammonius knelt before Kleopatra. “May I have permission to kiss your hand?”
Kleopatra extended her hand, allowing the big man to place his soft, warm lips upon the back of her small mitt. “The princess has an infallible ability to judge character.”
Archimedes followed Hammonius and kissed the hand of his cousin. But Archimedes was twenty-two years old and tall with very square shoulders and lean, dark arms. Kleopatra quivered when his lips lingered against her skin. He must have felt it, too, because he looked into her eyes as he held her hand and said, “What a princess you are. What a woman you shall be.” She blushed and hoped that no one noticed—though how could they not?—and she chastised herself for this display of emotion at such a tense and crucial time. After all, she had just sanctioned a man’s death. And on that matter she felt numb, bloodless. Her father and his men were fools if they thought Demetrius could kill anyone. Kleopatra was certain that it was Berenike who killed Thea and Demetrius.
Hammonius brought the meeting back to order. “Your Majesty, I know a man. He is not a particularly good man, but he is a powerful man. A man of action. An effective man. I believe we might take our dilemma to him. I believe he can help us.”
“Tell me, Brother,” said the king, interested, “is there a Roman who might come to our assistance? I have found them to be entirely inert. I would be happy to contribute to the purse of one who has no fear of action.”
Hammonius looked about the room. “All here are beholden to secrecy. Swear it now upon your lives and the lives of your families. Whoever betrays his brothers in this matter will surely die. The man who will save the king is despised in this home.”
“Here is what I think of your choice of husband, eunuch.” Berenike stepped aside. Three of her women dropped the strangled corpse of Seleucus, the Syrian bastard prince, at Meleager’s feet. The young Arsinoe stood next to her tall sister, laughing at the spectacle. The astonished eunuch beheld the dead man, his neck purple and bruised, his head dangling l
oosely from the rest of his body, his lifeless face contorted in surprise and agony.
“Did you really expect the queen of Egypt to accept this saltfish-monger?”
“You have known him three days. How is it that you believe you can murder whomever you do not like?”
“I am exercising the ancient right of queens to choose and even to murder their husbands.” Berenike laughed, her grin a radiant half-moon. “I remember all your lessons, Meleager. As you taught me, in the days before Theseus disrupted the natural order, the Greek queens of old selected a new king every year, sacrificing the old one up to the goddess for the fertility of the soil. 1 simply sacrificed this one a little early.”
The little girl Arsinoe radiated the same lustrous smile in the direction of the eunuch, as beautiful as Berenike’s, though more chilling in the younger face.
“Those are ancient myths, Your Majesty,” he replied, careful not to stare too long into the dead man’s eyes, for it made him shudder. “Not instructions for the living.”
“Then you should have made that more clear in your lessons,” she said triumphantly. “Please rid us of the body,” she continued. “And never forget that I make my own policies. I have chosen my husband. He is Archelaus of Pontus, whom I met when I last visited that country. He is brave, he commands a large army, and he is handsome beyond compare.”
Archelaus of Pontus? How could this dazzling girl’s judgment be so demented?
“But Your Majesty, he is the illegitimate son of Mithridates, the enemy of Rome. Have you forgotten that one hundred of your most esteemed countrymen are in Rome at present petitioning the senate on your behalf? What will the Romans think when they hear It you married the offspring of the man with whom they were at war for three generations?”