“Call them off,” Caesar demanded of the king. “Call them off or you will die.”
Caesar grabbed the boy and held him by the arms. Pothinus, alarmed, signaled for the militia’s commander to cease fighting. The men stepped back.
“You see, Great Caesar, you are not safe here.”
“Nonsense. I am Caesar, and all places are safe for me.”
The eunuch had no response to this. He would learn, Caesar thought. That is, if he lived long enough.
“Attend to the wounded immediately,” Caesar said to his commanding officer. He turned to the boy king. “Now then, where is your palace?”
“If anyone goes to meet Julius Caesar, it shall be me.”
Kleopatra was adamant. She looked at her closest advisers, Hephaestion, Archimedes, and Apollodorus the pirate. Through her trials in exile, these three had been her most loyal and astute chancellors. Still, did they imagine that she would send one of them in her place for the most important meeting of her life? She looked about the table and wondered which of these men might communicate better than she with Julius Caesar. Which of them had her education or her command of languages, including Caesar’s own? Who but she could converse so dexterously on the arts, or on philosophy, which she knew also intrigued him? Which of them knew the details of his history as she did, or had sat at the banquet table of Pompey the Great as he petted the pretty breast of Caesar’s own daughter, Julia?
Archimedes interceded. “Caesar has already made his intentions clear. He wishes to make peace between you and your brother. He has already made himself a confidant of the king. Do you not think we should send him a representative?”
“Yes,” Kleopatra said. “I believe we should send him the queen, just as he requested.”
“That is much too dangerous,” replied her cousin. “There is no safe route into Alexandria. I do not care what Caesar has said—if you are intercepted by Achillas’s troops, you will not live to meet the Roman.”
Kleopatra felt a surge of will rise up and take over her being. Her heart pounded with more ferocity than she believed it could withstand. She would have liked to have taken the organ out of her body and put it on the floor, where its maddening rhythm could not hurt her. She put her hand to her chest to stop the turbulence that had kidnapped her internal self. Reading her body’s signals, Archimedes took her hands and put them in his, squeezing firmly as if trying to bring her back from some dark place without clutching her to him and giving away their intimacy.
This was the news they had heard: Julius Caesar made the boy king send two messengers, Dioscorides and Serapion, to Pelusium to convey the king’s wishes that there be peace between the king and his exiled sister. Without delay, Achillas had them arrested and murdered. Now Caesar was at war with Achillas. But Caesar had only three thousand men with him in Alexandria, whereas Achillas could raise five times that count.
“You would do well not to put yourself in harm’s way to meet Caesar,” Hephaestion said. “He is outnumbered.”
“Five to one is not good odds, even for Caesar,” echoed Archimedes.
“I would wager that Pompey’s supporters said precisely that before the battle at Pharsalos,” countered Kleopatra. “I always said that Caesar would prevail against Pompey. Is there any chance that he can be defeated by a bloated eunuch, a punctilious scholar, and a foppish general?”
Kleopatra did not know if she was up to a game of chess with a master like Caesar, but she was willing to try. What choice did she have? It seemed to her that Fate had led her on a specific path to this distinct moment in time, and now she had little recourse but to go to Alexandria and confront Caesar—not as an enemy but as a potential friend in the sea of monsters into which he had docked in Egypt. She would lay it all out for Caesar—how her father had made her his queen while he was still alive, and how he had wished for her to continue to reign after his death. She would describe how her brother’s Regency Council had banished her, in direct opposition to the will of the late king, who was, after all, a Friend and Ally of the Roman People.
She said, “It is crucial that I go to Caesar and speak on my own behalf. He has called for a meeting.”
Archimedes protested. “Kleopatra, it is much too dangerous. Thousands of Achillas’s men remain at Pelusium; thousands are on their way to Alexandria now. Who has control of the seas, we do not know. You must send an emissary. There are many possible emissaries and only one Kleopatra. If anything should happen to you—” He broke off. He could not say what he wished to say. He continued: “If anything should happen to you the throne would be lost to Caesar, to the eunuch Pothinus, to your brother, who knows? Which would be the worst for Egypt it is impossible to say.”
She did not know if her lover had begun to suspect what was in her mind, or if he was merely acting the protective Kinsman. She hoped that she had concealed from him the plan that had begun to take form. It began with the recognition that she felt a mild thrill whenever she said the name Julius Caesar. She found melody in its syllables, and she found herself mentally repeating it time and again. She liked the discernible quiver of fear the mention of the name seemed to inspire in whoever said it. Even if the speaker attempted to demonstrate disdain, what was usually projected was awe.
She felt as if she knew him. Her fascination with him began when she was a mere girl of eight or nine, escaping to the bazaar and overhearing the tales of his prowess in politics, on the battlefield, and as a lover. She had paid strict attention to his actions in the world and listened for gossip about his private life whenever she had the opportunity. Soon it seemed as if all the world was fascinated with this man, for his private life was the subject of popular discussion everywhere, or wherever civilized people lived and kept abreast of important affairs. She had analyzed his actions, trying to put together the pieces of the puzzle of his difficult personality, and now she must meet him, if only to see if her perceptions about him had been correct.
“Who can get me to the city?” she asked.
Before Archimedes could protest, Apollodorus offered, “I believe I can promise you a safe journey to the shores of Alexandria, Your Majesty. We can take a small escort of your men—men who will not talk, that is—to the sea, where we will meet with my vessel. We will sail within a very short distance of the harbor, and at the moment when night is about to fall, lower the small dinghy and row into shore. I will send word ahead by land to one of my comrades, who can easily smuggle us past the harbor police as if we were refugees or merchants with small goods to sell at the market the next day. You must disguise yourself, however, or you surely risk being recognized. It is not easy to mask the greatness of a queen,” he said with some pride.
“Then this is our plan,” Kleopatra said. “Might you get a letter to Caesar?”
“Yes, it will be sent with the man who will ride to the city ahead of us.”
“Scribe!” she said.
“Kleopatra, I know that there is no stopping you. But I just want you to know that I protest.” Archimedes looked at her with much concern.
“Cousin, I believe I have no choice. I am going to introduce myself to Caesar. I want him to know that he will have to reckon with me before he makes any irreversible arrangements with my brother, who undoubtedly has told him I am a traitor to our father, or a lunatic, or worse.
“Write this down in your best Greek letters,” she said to the scribe, who had jumped so fast to the queen’s summons that his ink and paper juggled precariously as he approached her. He positioned himself on the floor and sat attentively as she began to dictate.
To Gaius Julius Caesar,
I have been informed of the ignoble murder of Pompey by Pothinus, my brothers regent, whose treachery sent me, the legitimate queen of Egypt, into exile for fear of my life. My father and I were the guests of Pompey in the days when the two of you were aligned in government and by the solemn marriage between your daughter and the Imperator. Julia was a wonderful companion to me in my exile. I can testify that she and
the General were, in those happier early times, deeply content and in love. I nope that Knowledge is a comfort to you now. As for the Imperator, I despise the odious methods by which he met his end. He came to Egypt for refuge because early in the war Pothinus had acted as his friend, giving ships and men to his cause. I his action was against my wishes and better judgment. Unlike my brother’s regents, I did not believe that Pompey, whom I had observed eight years prior in Rome as already exhausted with public life, could defeat the man who had subdued Gaul and Britannia. I was to be proved correct, but at that time my power had been usurped by the Regency Council, and as I reared for my life, I was even then planning my escape from Alexandria. I am returning to the city under cover, and I will find a way into the palace to meet with you. I wish to continue my father’s legacy as Friend and Ally of the Roman People, and I am prepared to carry out my part in upholding that bargain. The stories toId of the great Julius Caesar boast of his wisdom, his mercy, and his fairness. It is these noble qualities I look forward to meeting when we stand face-to-face and solidify what I hope will be a lifelong friendship.
Yours, Kleopatra VII, Queen of the Two Lands of Egypt
Archimedes followed Kleopatra to her tent, assuming a lover’s privilege.
“One week ago, we were prepared for war, death. We made a lover’s foolhardy send-off to life,” he mused.
Kleopatra did not want to meet his eyes. “This has been the lesson of my life,” she said. “I can never make plans for myself or for my country, for our collective destinies are entirely intertwined with the designs of Rome. Her Fate dictates mine. I must bend to her will, as did my father and his father and so many of our fathers before him.”
“The gods are cruel weavers, spinning the threads of grief and problems around us as if we were spindles,” said Archimedes, taking her hand, pulling her to his chest. Kleopatra was relieved to hide in the shelter of his arms so that she could avoid his face.
“Perhaps this design may turn out for our good after all,” said Kleopatra. “I shall pray to Athena, the master weaver, for a lovely outcome in this tapestry of seeming woe.
“Perhaps you should not pray to the goddess of war in a matter where you only wish for peace,” said Archimedes, kissing her forehead.
“Then I shall pray to Aphrodite, who encourages love,” said Kleopatra. She lowered her head, though she knew he wanted her to raise it so that he could kiss her.
“It is a risky business, involving the volatile Aphrodite in such a grave affair.”
“Then let us pray to the god of Caution, whoever he is,” she said, pulling away from him and closing the matter.
“You are very different this morning, Kleopatra,” he said.
“I am preoccupied with my mission. I had prepared for war, and now I find that I must be a diplomat. And a very clever one at that.”
Though she did not admit it, she knew what he meant. She knew that he was thinking of her behavior just twelve hours in the past, when she let him hold her breathless body and submitted to him utterly. But at this moment, there was not a thing she could do to recover last night’s bewildering emotions. It was as if she had regained her balance, her power.
She was grateful to be back on solid ground, for she felt as though she had been losing herself in his love. Every night, at lust’s furious conclusion, she prayed that there would be more; that the gods would allow her to have this exhilaration as a constant part of her life and not just mete it out in stingy increments. Archimedes had made her moan and gasp and reach for that ultimate pleasure, which to her prior self had been just a vague rumor, like a story that is told about people who live far away. Before they were to go to battle, she had prayed that they both might live and prevail so that they might repeat the glory of the moment. Every night since, she immersed herself in his passion and in the mysterious revelations she had about hers.
What oracle might have prophesied the events that she had learned of today? What god had primed her and Archimedes for love one day and then sent Caesar marching directly into her world in the next? Archimedes was right; they were merely the spindles the gods used to weave the threads of their ironies. But Caesar was a man who tempted the gods, who had made an apparent bargain with Fortune.
And it was a deal into which she, Kleopatra, intended to be admitted.
But what must she do now? Archimedes was in a state. He paced about the tent like a lion that had stumbled into the wrong den. She knew that he was wondering if Julius Caesar was going to usurp the privileges he had taken for himself the previous evening.
It had occurred to Kleopatra—as it would occur to any woman who had to negotiate with a man thirty years her senior—that Julius Caesar, the notorious lover, might attempt to make a conjugal union between them a condition of alliance. And what would she do? She loved her cousin, there was no doubt of that, and now, as she looked into his bewildered brown eyes, she felt herself drawn toward him again. But he was not the man who could save her kingdom. In matters of state, let your blood run cold. The eunuch Hephaestion had advised her thusly time and again. There was no choice. And yet Kleopatra felt ill at what she must do now to this beautiful and loyal man. Only last night he had told her that she was intoxicating, that she was an enchantress, a woman for whom men would kill for the privilege of being taken into the rapture of her intimacy.
“Woman, goddess, queen,” he had muttered over and over again while he lost himself in her. If that was only a lover’s heated speech, so be it. Perhaps that was what all men said as they pleasured themselves. She had no way of knowing. But in that moment, he had given Kleopatra the key to men. Or one of the keys, at any rate. Money certainly was another. And what would a man not do for power and position? What had Julius Caesar done already for these things?
Well, she had it all, did she not? She had the treasures of her ancestors, the riches of Egypt, the bloom of youth, and the knowledge that the Achilles’ heel of a man was not necessarily in his foot.
This was her battle gear. It was not an army or a navy, but she had access to those things, too. She was as well armed as anyone Julius Caesar had ever faced.
Read more from the further adventures of
Kleopatra (Volume Two),
available in bookstores in August 2002
Kleopatra looked out the window at the scene that had greeted her all the mornings of her days before her flight into exile. There was little in the Royal Harbor to suggest Roman occupation of Alexandria. The pleasure vessels of the Royal Family rocked lazily at the dock. The morning fog had lifted, revealing a sky already white with heat above vivid blue waters, and she was grateful that she was no longer breathing the deadening summer air of the Sinai.
She did not know whether her country was in fact occupied or not. Caesar acted like a guest who had made himself overly comfortable rather than as the hostile commander who had entered the city with his standards raised, immediately engaging in a skirmish with the Alexandrian army. Kleopatra did not care what version Caesar put forth of the story. She believed he had entered her city with the intention of taking it. He had thought it would be easy; she was sure of this. Caesar had just defeated Pompey and was confident of his invincibility. But he had underestimated the Alexandrian hatred for all things Roman, the old Greek pride that the city’s citizens still carried in their very veins. They did not lay down their arms for the exalted Roman general. Far from it.
Now Caesar and his men were virtually barricaded inside the palace walls, so angered was the mob at his presence. Yet he did not act at all like a prisoner. She had asked him if he was at war with her brother, and he replied that no, he was a friend to the Crown, as was all of Rome. He had come to Alexandria merely to chase down his former ally and old friend Pompey, whom he had had the unfortunate task of defeating in Greece in battle over whose policies would predominate in Rome. He had intended to reconcile with Pompey, to bring him back to Rome and to his senses, and to make Pompey see that the greedy Roman senators who had incited him t
o go to war with Caesar were acting in self-interest rather than in the interests of either Caesar or Pompey. “But your brother’s eunuch Pothinus had already taken care of the issue for me. Upon my arrival, he presented me with Pompey’s head.” Caesar had looked very sad. “I may be at war with Pothinus,” he said. “I may be at war with your brothers army but not your brother. We shall see what unfolds in the coming days.”
How could a man be so casual about war? she wondered. Perhaps it was from a lifetime of waging it. And yet he seemed equally calm and dispassionate about everything, even those things that usually provoked the extreme emotions: debate, negotiation, money, sex.
She let her mind drift with the oceans waves as she assessed the new order of things. She was no longer in exile, waiting for the right moment to attack her brother’s army. She was again the queen of Egypt. Caesar had overwhelmingly defeated Pompey and the Roman senate, thus this made him the most powerful man in the world. And Caesar was now her benefactor and lover.
Could it have been just yesterday that she was in the middle of that great blue sea, stowing away on a pirate’s vessel to sneak back into her own country? She had dressed herself as well as she could without her servants, knowing that the last leg of her journey would be a rigorous one and that she could not arrive in the harbor of Alexandria and be recognized. She had let Dorinda, the wife of Apollodorus the pirate, help with her toilette, fixing and bejeweling the locks that had been neglected while she was in exile. She would have done it herself, but her hands had shook with anxiety; she had fought with her advisers, rejecting their claims that it was too dangerous to reenter Egypt, and now she was faced with the task of using stealth to slip past both her brother’s army and Caesar’s army to meet with the Roman general.
At dusk, in view of the Great Harbor of her city, she had found herself with Apollodorus in a small vessel bobbing in the water. In the fading sunlight, she had seen the familiar Pharos Lighthouse, the landmark of her youth and one of the great hallmarks of her family’s reign over Egypt. The tower was bathed in diffuse red light, which lingered as the sun sank behind her into the depths of the Mediterranean. The eternal flame in the top floor of the tower burned vigilantly. The imposing structure that had served as a marker of safe harbor for three centuries was the genius of her ancestor Ptolemy Philadelphus and his sister-wife, Arsinoe II, and now it welcomed her home. This had not been the first time she had approached her country from the vantage point of exile. But this was the first time she had returned from exile to find a flotilla of warships in a V formation pointing dangerously toward her city.