The Cupid boys parted their fans to give him access to the queen. He bowed dramatically before Kleopatra, rising slowly, as if his blood rushed to his head. When he stood erect again, his eyes were wide. Perhaps he was drunk.
“Your Majesty!”
She could not tell if he was mocking her.
“How nice to see you, Dellius,” she said. “And where is the Imperator?” She could not make small talk. If Antony had left Tarsus, she would have to make a hasty plan as to her next move.
“Why, he is in the marketplace hearing the local cases, though I imagine that at this point, he is very much alone. As you can see, the entire community has come to greet you.”
“But not the Imperator?”
“Oh, he expects you this evening at his lodgings. He is most anxious to see you.”
No, that would not do. Kleopatra remembered the awful time long ago that a Roman dignitary, Cato, had summoned a king-her father-to his lodgings. It was an indignity then, and it would be an indignity now. If only out of respect for the memory of her father, she would not go to Antony. If he wished to negotiate, he must come to her. He must see how a queen arrives to do business with a Roman general. No longer the girl in exile who rolled herself in a rug to meet Caesar, Kleopatra was in full command of herself and her nation. Her throne was unchallenged. She would sit on this chaise and act like a goddess until he arrived.
“But Dellius, I have prepared so very diligently for the Imperator’s entertainment. I will not allow the burden of hospitality to fall on his already overencumbered shoulders-broad and strong though they may be,” she said with just enough innuendo for Dellius to take back to Antony as enticement. “He must come to me and reap the rewards of my attempts to amuse him. He won’t regret it.”
“I shall tell him directly,” Dellius said. With a slight hop, he turned from her and went away quickly.
The sky had grown dark. Kleopatra remained on the chaise, holding her position, hoping her cosmetics had not begun to smear. The air was cooler now, but the boys continued to fan the insects away from her face. When would he appear? She wanted to slip below into her cabin, wash her face, eat a small meal, and go to bed.
She heard his voice before she saw him, talking loudly and coarsely to his companions. The flat sound of Roman sandals on the deck was unmistakable, as was the laughter in Antony’s voice. The voices and the footsteps grew closer and suddenly stopped. Silence hung in the air, the whooshing of the fans the only sound breaking the quiet. Then he laughed as only Antony laughed, not from the throat, but from the great cavern of his being, as if every organ, every ounce of oxygen and blood was in on the joke. She heard the footsteps quicken, rushing toward her. She did not move.
“Your Royal Grace!”
The lady-in-waiting who had rehearsed announcing the Imperator tried to say his name but was interrupted.
“No need to announce such an old friend,” he said, rushing the chaise but stopping short at the sight of her. His eyes grew wide. He forgot to bow, standing very still with his mouth open and his lips frozen. Whatever he had intended to say was swallowed in the astonishment at her image, or so she hoped.
Finally, he recovered. “It is as they are saying in the marketplace. Aphrodite has come to Tarsus.”
To revel with the new god, she replied, sitting up.
She did not invite him to be seated, but enjoyed the awkwardness of him standing before her.
“Is this the vessel that astonished Caesar with its luxury?” he asked.
“Yes, but it was so old and in disrepair when he sailed with me. I’ve had it renovated for you, Imperator, in honor of your great victory over Caesar’s assassins. It was the very least I could do to show my gratitude to you for vanquishing the enemies of my son’s father. I tried to guess at your tastes, but time was short. You must forgive my delay in answering your summons. You see, I was in the throes of trying to please you.”
She had never known him to be without words-millions of words, flowery, hyperbolic, ribald-whatever the occasion called for. But now he stood quietly, his thick brown eyebrows asking questions, making three deep wrinkles in his high and fine forehead. His curly hair was clean and free of pomade, hanging loosely about his face and ears; his body was wide and full, muscles rippling from the recent labors of war. As always, he belted his tunic very low like Herakles, and a broadsword hung at his side. He was as superb a specimen of the human male as the species had to offer, she thought. Not slim and elegant like Archimedes, whose beautiful masculinity held a touch of feminine refinement, but rather someone entirely masculine. She invited him to sit beside her, and he took his place almost gingerly, sweeping his cape aside. She recalled when she was a girl of fourteen and had met him for the first time. Then, too, he had swept his cape over his shoulder, revealing his powerful arms, and she had been taken by the beauty of the gesture. He sat very near her and she smelled his musky scent.
“We have many things to discuss,” he said. “The world has changed since we last met.”
“Yes, and we have changed with it. Will you and your men dine with me this evening? I’ve had my cooks prepare a twelve-course meal to serve forty.”
“Forty? There are but fifteen of us here,” he said.
“But do your men not like the company of women?” she asked, looking at her ladies in white, each chosen for her beauty and ability to converse.
“Do you mean to have them enchanted?” he said.
“I mean to alleviate their boredom while their leader discusses the business of state,” she replied without any coyness.
“Caesar always admired the many variations of your personality Kleopatra. He used to say to me, ’Antony, she is not a mere woman, but she is all women.’”
“It is simply a necessary element of being a queen. Most women must enthrall only one man. I must have that power over an entire kingdom.”
“And have you any objections to turning the full force of your attentions on one man?” he asked, sitting so close to her that she could feel his heat and smell the wool in his clothes. He looked down at her, gazing quickly over her body, taking in her face, her breasts, her legs, her feet. Then he looked back into her eyes.
“It depends, Imperator,” she replied. “On whether I have the power of his full attention in return.”
“And what is it that commands this exclusive attention?”
She smiled at him. It was time for levity. “Shall we start with dinner?”
How many pheasants, quails, doves, boars, lambs would have to be roasted, braised, boiled, before her terms were accepted? How many fish would have to be procured, skinned, and cooked in sauces? How many heads of lettuce washed and salted? How many dates and figs harvested, how many cheeses sliced and served, how many enormous jars of wine emptied into gold goblets and spilled down Roman throats before Kleopatra had exactly what she wanted? Her cooks had brought ample food to feed a legion of men, or so they thought, but now, on the third day of the festivities, Kleopatra sent them into the Syrian markets to bargain for the town’s goods, paying exorbitant prices and shouting down the local shoppers to procure yet more delicacies to appease the Roman contingent.
How many sets of gold and silver plate, with bejeweled goblets to match, would have to be given away as souvenirs of the evenings? Last night, at the end of the third feast, Kleopatra had surprised her Roman guests with her most extravagant gift yet. She had produced litters made of ebony, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, cushioned with the down of baby geese and draped in red and gold silks, to carry each Roman guest home. She had told each guest that she was making a gift of his litter. He was welcome to keep it as a token of her friendship. But as they were Romans and terribly cruel and greedy, she had to make a point of telling them that the Ethiopian torchbearers who lit the way home were to be returned.
It seemed they would never tire of her hospitality, and why should they? For she was undoubtedly the most lavishly generous host they had ever seen. She had heard stories of the opule
nce of the court of Darius the Persian, but she believed she may have outdone him. Tonight, having given away the crates upon crates of precious cargo she had brought from Egypt, she spent in excess of one talent on rose petals, which were presently being strewn over the dining floor so deep that they cushioned the sandal. It was a more delicate touch than the Romans might appreciate; yet they seemed to grow more accustomed to Graeco-Egyptian refinement with the passing of each night.
For the past three evenings she had sat with the Imperator, picking at her food while he gobbled great masses of his, sipping her wine cautiously and trying to keep up with his massive appetites, all the while bargaining for her kingdom. He had surprised her by immediately putting her on the defensive. There were those who said that she had not been a victim of a storm when she set off with her fleet to send him reinforcements in the war against Caesar’s assassins, but had invented the problem so that she would not have to take sides in Rome’s civil war.
She could not believe that he dared suggest such a thing, and turned on him with a fury that was not contrived. “How can you think I would conspire with Caesar’s murderers? Three times Cassius demanded my support, and three times I turned his messengers away, even when he threatened to march on my city!”
“I was sure that was the case,” he said. “But I did want to put to rest these rumors.”
“Why would I come to the aid of the men who thrust the daggers into my son’s father? Their victory would be my son’s death.”
“I understand, Your Majesty. There is no need to get angry with me.”
She dismissed everyone from their table so they could talk alone. Antony’s men, accompanied by her ladies-in-waiting, took chairs on the deck of the vessel, where they could continue their drinking and flirtations by the light of her lamps.
“We made a pact, Antony, do you not remember? A pact between the three of us. You affirmed it once again after Caesar’s death. Or were you just serving up words to pacify me?”
He smiled and took her hand. “The New Triumvirate. The triangle of power. I do remember, Kleopatra, and I meant every word. And so did Caesar. Of course, I have had to join a Roman triumvirate in the meanwhile. To keep the peace, you understand.”
She did not know if he was mocking her. “How much has changed in the triangular configuration, Imperator? One angle, two angles, or all three?”
“Caesar is dead, and conditions have changed. Let us just say that new actors are assuming leading roles. We must go with the times, Kleopatra, but that is no reason to forget the original plan. To continue with our little theatrical metaphor, the words remain the same, but take on new meaning when performed by new artists.”
“If two players remain the same, that leaves a third role to be cast. Do you think your new partners might fill that role, or do you think they wish to recast the entire production?”
“They may wish for an entire new cast, particularly one of them, the younger one, who wishes he might rewrite the very words the actors say. But he may not. I won’t have it. I do believe that once the little fellow reconciles himself to his subordinate role, he will be satisfied and will read the lines written for him. And then you and I might simply continue with the plan we made with Caesar. I see no reason not to carry on his ambitions. It would be a tribute to his greatness to subdue Parthia in his name, and to honor the alliance he made with you.”
She did not know this Octavian, this new corner of their triangle. She did know Lepidus. The man was not a leader, but was willing to throw his money and his troops behind whoever he believed would prevail. Octavian’s motivations were less clearly defined. He was young, one and twenty, and physically unimpressive. But that did not mean that he could reconcile himself to a world in which one of the three most powerful people had a rich kingdom in a strategic location, and a son who was also called Caesar.
“I would like to make an offer to you, Imperator. To establish the strength of our alliance, I suggest you set up your eastern headquarters in Alexandria. I shall furnish whatever you require for the war on Parthia-men, ships, food, horses, saddlery. You may even take a legion of Egyptian whores if that is what your men need on the campaign. But your permanent center of operations in my country will let the world know of our partnership.”
“I have always regretted cutting short my visit to your city all those years ago. It’s a splendid location to organize the campaign. Done. It’s so easy to be magnanimous with you, Kleopatra, when you offer so much in return. What else?”
“I would like you to ask the Roman senate to recognize me for my efforts to help you in the civil war, and you must ask them to recognize my son as the son of Caesar.”
“That will require a little more finesse, but I don’t see it as a problem. Is there anything else, Your Majesty? Because I have a few additional demands of my own.”
She hesitated. She had promised Hephaestion that she would not return to Alexandria until Antony had agreed to eliminate her sister. In matters of state, let your blood run cold. Hephaestion had used those words again when they spoke of this or any difficult matter. It was not always easy to allow one’s blood to run cold, but Hephaestion’s philosophy had always proved right. Yet it was not so easy to ask for the demise of one’s own blood. But Egypt was full of malcontents ready to back a rebellious rabble-rouser’s claims to the throne. Renegade Ptolemies always found supporters in one region or another, with one faction or another. Between the Egyptians who hated the ruling class, and the Greeks who loved to take sides, someone like Arsinoe could always find enough support to cause grave trouble.
But, like Caesar, Antony was loath to execute a woman.
“I am a generous man,” he said, “and determined to follow my mentor’s example of mercy.”
“May I point out to you that Arsinoe urged the governor of Cyprus to join with Caesar’s assassins in the civil war. The two of them, along with the high priest of Ephesus, who is sheltering her now, have repeatedly declared Arsinoe the true queen of Egypt. Would even Caesar have been merciful under such conditions?
“I don’t think you fully apprehend the danger. Arsinoe is not like some Roman citizen who happily changes allegiance with the shifting tides of power. She’s a traitor, a deceiver, and the daughter of Thea, the traitor who usurped her own husband’s throne while he was in Rome pleading for his kingdom.
“Are you aware,” Kleopatra continued, pacing the floor with her argument as if she were prosecuting a case, “that Arsinoe turned on both Caesar and myself in the Alexandrian war, slipping out of the palace against Caesar’s orders, and joining with the eunuch Ganymedes against Rome’s attempts to restore order to the Egyptian throne? She had deceived our brother, Ptolemy the Elder, into thinking she was his ally, all the while conspiring against him. And she used her younger brother as her agent against me until the Prime Minister did away with him.
“She will not rest until I am dead and she is sleeping in the state bed,” Kleopatra concluded. “Some evenings, I feel her menace in my dreams, as if she is already testing out my mattress for her back.”
“It seems to me she is merely a spirited girl, powerless but vocal,” Antony replied.
“Do you so underestimate the power of a woman’s voice?” she asked. “I hear that in Rome, those at the highest levels of government and society cling to your wife’s every utterance.”
She thought she might have insulted him, but it seemed impossible to insult this good-natured man, who relished a good laugh at himself even more than he enjoyed taunting others. He smiled at her words and leaned very close to her. “And men of all nations cling to yours. But what man would not want Her Majesty’s sweet breath whispering in his ear? It may be soft and perfumed, but it causes shivers and quakes in every crook and cornice and shaft of a man’s body.”
She merely smiled. She had grown accustomed to Antony’s coarse innuendoes. He was the type of man-open, lusty, exuberant-who could get away with such things without seeming insulting.
“Even
when that sweet breath carries a request that the man considers unpleasant?”
“Especially so. The paradox of a bloody demand transported by something so sweet confuses the senses.”
“I am most sorry to have confused the Imperator,” she said.
“I am most delighted to have experienced the confusion,” he replied. “May it be the first of many.”
“It shall be as you wish, Imperator. But there are, of course, considerations.”
“Of course. But I cannot see my way just yet to agreeing to proscribe your sister.”
She allowed-and very sweetly-that she respected his position. But when the evening drew to its end-just as the morning light was coming up-she refused to let him come to her bed. “I am just a woman, Imperator, and therefore weaker than you. I won’t be able to negotiate so well on behalf of my people if I have fallen for your manly charms.”
With one finger he tipped her chin, raising her face to meet his eyes. “That argument is best made by a man, Kleopatra,” he said. “I doubt that any man’s charms would influence your negotiating strategies.”
She was very glad that she was exhausted, because she wanted him badly. He was thrillingly tall, broad-shouldered, and intelligent. She thought he always smelled of sex, and she did not know how he accomplished that. Everything about him evoked the sensual in her. She remembered how, at fourteen, she could not even look at his naked calf without blushing. Now she had the same problem with his face, his chest, even the curly brown hair on his chiseled forearm.
But at the evening’s end, she exercised all discipline and descended to her cabin, leaving him stunned and alone. Or so she thought. She found out that he had quickly ordered two prostitutes from the town to tend to his needs before he fell asleep at nine o’clock in the morning, waking three hours later to hear court cases in the town’s forum.