She was tired of being summoned-by him, by Romans, by men. This would be the last time she answered such a call. Queens summoned others; they were not summoned themselves. But when Capito came to her so respectfully on Antony’s behalf-at least he had not sent the debauched Dellius again-Kleopatra talked it over with Hephaestion and they agreed that she should respond.
She was elated that he had chosen Antioch, a city founded by Seleucus, the companion of Alexander and of her ancestor Ptolemy. At the mouth of the Orontes River, at the crossroads of two major trade routes, the city resembled Alexandria in many ways. It had been settled by a Macedonian general; it was full of libraries, parks, Greek and Asian statuary, crowded markets with every luxury, tall white mansions, and wide boulevards; its large Jewish population lived harmoniously among the Syrians and Greeks. Kleopatra spoke all the languages of Antioch- Greek, Syrian, Hebrew, and the Arabic dialect of some of the merchant class. She not only had visited the city frequently in her youth, but her family held a palace there. It was the capital of Syria, of the Seleucid empire. Caesar had liked it so well that he made it an autonomous city even after Pompey had annexed it to Rome. Her father had spent much of his youth there with his mother, and there he had also met his first wife, Kleopatra’s mother. Kleopatra decided she would go directly to those lavish quarters where her parents had once lived and “summon” Antony to her.
She did not enter Antioch quietly, but was met at the seaport thirteen miles from the city by a royal Syrian entourage. For her own transportation, she ordered a white Arabian steed, decorated in the finest bejeweled saddlery the local craftsmen had to offer. With flaming red plumes dressing the animal’s head and a saddle and reins of studded rubies, Kleopatra and her retinue rode into Antioch in the middle of the morning when the markets would be most crowded. Pipers brought from Alexandria announced her presence so that people flocked to the streets to see the queen on her snowy, high-prancing mount. She welcomed the animal’s haughty gait; it was how she would have walked into town herself if she were on foot.
He needed her. She knew why; knew about Antony’s army of one hundred thousand men who would take the Parthian empire for him once and for all. She knew how much it took to clothe, arm, and feed such a horde of human beings; how much it cost to feed and maintain the horses and dogs; how much it cost to dress and heal the soldiers’ wounds; how much food it took to make those soldiers strong enough to fight and to bury their dead on the battlefield after the day was won. Would it not be convenient if food and money flowed freely from the neighboring country that just happened to be world’s largest producer of grain?
Kleopatra knew all too well what Antony required and where he intended to get it. She was prepared for all his tricks, for the facile charm that he could muster without effort, for the poetry that flowed from his lips as if he were the scribe of Euripides, for the smoldering looks that could melt a woman’s heart, make her knees weak, and extinguish her will. She had spent four years without those niceties. She had trained herself not to miss them one bit. After Antony’s long absence, she knew, finally, what his flattery and his lust were worth in the end. Nothing.
This was a business meeting and the topic was money.
This time, neither party kept the other waiting. Antony arrived promptly at the palace at the appointed time with Capito, who stood stiffly by his side. Perhaps he was present to alleviate the need to address the consequences of their former intimacy-unrecognized children, and a woman’s abandonment. Apparently there were to be no games, no theatrical presentations, no divine costumery. Kleopatra was dressed sedately, though she had taken every effort to make herself solemnly beautiful. Since the birth of the twins, she had been soaking in donkey’s milk from Aswan to revive her body’s skin. No longer a peanut brown coltish maiden tanned from long days on her horse, she was paler, rounder, more serene than the last time he had seen her. Truth be known, if asked, she would have said that though she was thirty-four years old and the mother of three children, she was at the height of her physical appeal. She liked the new roundness that had come with the twins; her breasts were fuller than ever before, and any wrinkles that may have been tempted to appear were smoothed by the extra pounds. She felt more solidly ensconced in her own body, more real, more vivid. She was still athletic. Her thighs were still columns of muscles, her arms long for her height and free of fat, and she could still manage a stubborn horse as well as any man she knew. All the pretense of youth was gone. She no longer needed to assume costumes and personae to present herself as she wished to be perceived. She had become what she had always hoped she was-a woman whose natural charms and ferocious intelligence were made exponentially apparent as the sole and sovereign ruler of a great nation.
Antony, too, had changed. Kleopatra had steeled herself against his charisma, but found herself disarmed by his presentation. He had aged. A deep line slashed his formidable brow from hairline to nose, the kind that only came from wrinkling one’s brow in worry. He had put on weight as well, but Kleopatra did not think the new pounds sat so attractively on his physique. Somehow, with his new imperfections, she found herself liking him better. His godlike features were now tempered with the weight of his humanity.
“Your Majesty.” He did not move toward her, nor did he smile.
“Imperator.”
She was so focused on controlling any emotion that she did not notice what language they spoke. But emotion she felt. His eyes dislodged her composure, though she prayed she did not reveal it to him. She was completely unprepared for the fact that his eyes were identical to the eyes of their twins-brown and deep, as if one could fall into them and swim straight to the underworld, losing oneself forever. So many times she had looked into her children’s eyes, fascinated with the expression, not realizing-or not allowing herself to remember-that they were Antony’s. She waited for him to speak.
“We have many things to discuss. Are you prepared?”
To whom did he think he was speaking? she wondered. She had no intention of resuming their intimate rapport before she had everything she wanted. She saw that she would have to set the tone of dispensing with small talk. She invited him to sit down. Then she asked Capito to leave.
“I believe the messenger has accomplished his mission,” she said, nodding in his direction. She was pleased to see that he did not ask Antony’s permission to depart, but took Kleopatra’s dismissal as an order.
“Now then,” she said.
“Kleopatra,” Antony began. But she cut him short.
“Imperator, I know why you have called upon me. I have been watching with great interest your doings on my borders. Very clever. You’ve set yourself up brilliantly.”
“How do you mean, madam?” he asked formally.
“You have given power to the kings and princes and noblemen whom you think you can control. Not because you are generous by nature, but because you realized that you must have strong and secure countries in Asia Minor and the Arab lands to prevent Parthian invasions. Herod, you have made king of the Jews. Not a strategic move in the long run, but I do understand why you did it. You’ve propped up Artavasdes of Armenia so that you’ll be able to follow Caesar’s strategy of invading Parthia from the north. I don’t think you’ll be able to keep him loyal. The man is notorious. The king of Media is a more intelligent risk. Monaeses-well, you’ve given him too much of Syria. But he is more interested in trade than in your wars and is a man easily bought and sold. Now let’s see. The kingdom of Cappodocia. You’ve entrusted the land all the way to the Parthian border to Archelaus, son of the bastard prince who married my sister Berenike and fought with her against my father. Do you think he’ll really be loyal to you? Oh, but he is under the influence of Glaphyra of Cappodocia, is he not? And you secured her loyalty in her bedroom, so she will not be tempted to betray you. That is the way with your women, is it not?
“And now, the missing link in your chain is Kleopatra of Egypt. That is why you are here. To judge her resentment for your d
esertion of her and to negotiate.”
“I see that your intelligence operations are still intact, Kleopatra of Egypt.” Antony smiled. “As well as your intelligence.”
“What did you expect? I am not finished. I have also been informed that you have given large tracts of land in Asia Minor to a couple of crafty Greek planters-what are their names? Polemo and Amyntas? Do they not sound like characters in a play by Aristophanes?”
“What is your point, Your Majesty?”
“My point is that the queen of Egypt shall not be made to settle for less than your plebeian upstarts, or less than Herod, whom you made a king. I was born from a great line of kings, I will thank you to remember. I did not need a Roman to appoint me to this throne. I know what you require from me, and as always, when you ask something of a woman, you will get it. Here is what I require from you in return.”
Kleopatra called for her scribe. “The map, please.”
He returned with a thick scroll, which he unrolled and laid before Antony. Antony said nothing, but raised his eyebrows.
“This is a map of the empire of my ancestors. The black borders represent the countries chiseled away from us through the years by the greedy appetite of Rome.”
“Thank you for this instruction in history and geography, Kleopatra.”
“I want it restored to me.”
She could not be sure, because he was not meeting her gaze, but she could swear that he had rolled his eyes. He took another long look at the map, collected himself, and spoke. “I know that has been your ambition all along, Kleopatra, but now is not the time to ask for such things. When we succeed against Parthia, then you’ll have the lands of your grandfathers once more.”
“We, Imperator? I do not believe I am going to war, nor do I believe that I shall be queen of Parthia when you are done.”
Antony put his hands on the arms of his chair and leaned toward her. “Have you forgotten our ambitions, Your Majesty?” He was almost seething, not in anger but in intensity.
“I have heard nothing of such ambitions for many years. Perhaps they were the reveries of foolish lovers. But those two people are gone, and we are here in their stead. I will reiterate my demands. You have given great power to those who rule the lands on my every border. You have weakened me. Here is what I require. Please look at the map. I want the northern frontier of Syria. It was held by Ptolemy Soter and it is rightfully mine. I want Ptolemais Ace and I want Ituraea. Believe me, if you give me Ituraea they shall hail me as queen in Damascus, that much is guaranteed. Going south, I want Hippos and Gadara and the lands surrounding them. You can let Herod keep Gaza, but I must have control over the date groves. They are very lucrative, and were taken from Egypt long ago. I also need more control over the Red Sea. Do you see the plan, Imperator? I want the seas that surround me. It is imperative if I am to support your war. I know that your ally in Rome is not your ally at all, and I will not be vulnerable to his invasion while your back is to him in Parthia.”
Antony shook his head. “I see that you have had too much time to think.”
“Ample, Imperator.”
“Dare I ask about the health of our children?”
“Children are not the subject of these negotiations. If you are inquisitive about your issue, you must come to Alexandria sometime.”
“Kleopatra, don’t be cruel.”
“Do not dare speak to me of cruelty.”
“You think that your informants have kept you apprised of everything, but even they do not have access to a man’s heart.”
If she did not know that Antony was a consummate performer, she might have pursued this line of dialogue. She might have let herself begin to hope for more than the restoration of the empire of the Ptolemies. She might have hoped for a restoration of their partnership, their dreams. But he had a Roman wife who was pregnant again with their second Roman child. True, he had just sent her back to Rome, but that did not mean that he was ready to switch his loyalties. As with the unfortunate Fulvia, Antony required a loyal female to watch over his interests in Rome. Who better than the sister of his rival? Who would have access to more information? Who would be better to follow the machinations of her brother? A female. Loyal, but vested with no real power, so that she would never be as threatening to Antony’s interests as a man.
“Your heart is not part of these negotiations, Imperator.”
“That is where you are mistaken.”
“Where was your heart when you ignored the letters of our children’s birth? When you turned your back on everything we had so carefully planned? You have no heart. What beats in your chest is the drum of ambition.”
She had pushed too far. Emotion had sneaked into the room and made itself palpable. She tried to retract the feeling, the anger, the bitterness, but it had escaped and was now on the loose.
Antony leapt from his chair. She did not know if he was going to attack her and she shrank back, but he threw his arms in the air. He stood over her like a huge animal.
“You frighten me, Imperator. Please sit down.”
He did not sit but dropped his hands and stared at her. “I wonder what you might have done under the circumstances, Kleopatra. You, who hold paramount your ambition to preserve your throne for yourself and your children. I wonder what you would have done if you found out that the person you trusted the most had broken that trust over her own ambitions.”
“I know what I would have done, Imperator, because that is precisely what happened to me. And yet here I sit willing to negotiate again with that person.”
Antony took a deep, exasperated breath. “There is no winning an argument with you. I won’t explain myself, then. I won’t tell you the horror that Fulvia’s actions brought down on our friends and allies. Poor woman. I won’t go into that at all, how her defeat broke her courage and how my anger murdered her. All right. That’s extraneous here. And I won’t go into the story of how I was manipulated into marrying a shy, smiling Roman matron as part of a peace treaty. Do you know what peace means to the people of Rome, Kleopatra? Do you know how many years our conflicts have gone on? How many of our friends and relations we have watched die? My grandfather was murdered and beheaded, my stepfather executed, my mentor Julius Caesar assassinated. How many faces across the battlefield have I once called friend?
“The world yearns for peace. I believed that by my alliance with Caesar’s nephew, and by my marriage to his sister, that I could bring peace. I believe it no more.”
“What do you believe now?”
“I did nothing that you would not have done to secure your own future and position and that of your people. I have seen the risks you are willing to take. And you have told me of the difficult decisions you have had to make. ’In matters of state, let your blood run cold.’ I did not invent that phrase, Kleopatra, but I took your advice, believing that you above all persons would understand.”
“I see that you know me too well, Imperator, and that is my own fault. You seem to know me through and through, and yet I do not even know where your alliances lie. I do not know this heart of yours that you speak of so freely.”
Antony paced, hands on the belt that was slung low on his hips. She noticed that he did not wear a sword. “I have reason to believe that my partner and ally plans to betray me, has betrayed me, and works to sabotage the war against Parthia. As part of our agreement I promised him one hundred and fifty ships to fend off Pompey’s son Sextus in the Mediterranean. I delivered the vessels before I left Rome. Octavian, for his part, promised me twenty thousand troops, four legions, for the war. He has yet to deliver despite all my demands. It’s clear that he’s trying to weaken me. Either he cares not for his sister and turns a deaf ear to her pleas for peace between us, or she is in league with him at every turn. I have no way of finding out the truth, and so I have decided that the question is moot. She does not matter. Marriage to her has secured no peace and no loyalty. I sent her home so that you and I might resume our former strategies, everything we pla
nned when Caesar was alive, and everything we planned after his death.”
He finished his speech and waited for her reaction, but against all desire to question him more, she remained silent and solemn.
“Do you accept?”
This was no drama staged for her benefit, Kleopatra could tell. For Antony the actor always had a spirit of play about him. This Antony, the Imperator, was the straightforward soldier, the plainspoken man whose authenticity won the hearts of his men. Though she had no guarantee that he would not again change his mind, she also knew that he was correct on one point-she would have acted as he had if presented with the choice. She had turned her back on Archimedes after he had gone into exile with her and prepared her for war against her brother. She had had no choice, but she knew that the gods would eventually exact a toll, and they had, when they sent Antony back to Rome and gave him a fertile and beautiful Roman wife. After Caesar’s death, she had had little choice but to align herself with Antony, and she had little choice now. Stability for the kingdom superseded all other matters. And so it was with Antony. He had decided from his broad range of options that she was the best choice for alliance. She tried to suppress the hope and the swelling of victory that rose up inside her, but after so many years of desolation and uncertainty, she found that her Stoicism broke down entirely. Still, she must not appear so vulnerable. She tried to look as stern as possible.
“I have issued my request, Imperator. I accept your terms only if you accept mine.”
Antony looked again at the map. “It is premature, Kleopatra, but given the circumstances, I accept. It will be difficult to explain to my colleagues what I have done.”
“Imperator, you have no colleagues. You must get used to that notion. When we are victorious in Parthia, you will have no equal.”
Antony knelt beside Kleopatra and took her hand. “No equal but you.”