Kleopatra (32 page)

“But we will see nothing from here!” protested Kleopatra. “And the odor is putrid.”

Her father’s quiet glare silenced her. She perched herself atop a wooden table under a small round hole from which she could
look out.

“There is the vessel to Delos,” explained Archimedes, pointing at a small sailing ship. Kleopatra wished he would put his
arm around her shoulder as they looked together to the sea, but he did not. “And there is the ship of the One Hundred.” It
was a larger boat, with tall sails and, below in the gallows, long slits for oarsmen to propel the craft should the winds
fail them.

From the small opening Kleopatra witnessed the unfolding of Clodius’s great scheme. She watched as Clodius kissed a cloaked
woman before she turned to board the ship headed for Delos. Her disappointment at not seeing the face of the beauty overtook
her and she tried to escape the careful watch of Archimedes and sneak out the door, but he caught her and sent her back to
her roost. Moments later she was gratified when the infamous one turned as she reached the deck to wave a final good-bye to
her brother, revealing the notorious features that had dazzled so many.

Clodia’s womanliness could not be restrained by her bulky travel clothes. She was graced with perfect proportions. The full
mouth, red from the sea wind. The high cheekbones and dark slivers of shiny onyx eyes. The elongated neck and full chest tapering
into a dainty waist. Long legs hidden under a skirt that protected her from the sea air. The luminescent skin—flawless, at
least from the distance, but what woman has driven men to ruin without the feature of a perfect complexion? The dainty wistfulness
as she waved a languid hand at her brother. Most of all, the nose, small, pinched to aristocratic perfection, resting indifferently
in the middle of her face without interrupting the grace of her other features.

Kleopatra would never have such a face. It was her most vivid thought. Already her nose was too big and her eyes, though hot
with intelligence, were not large nor dramatic enough to compensate for that feature.

Two sailors took in the plank. Clodia disappeared and the ship left the dock.

Glum at her own prospects, Kleopatra lowered herself upon the table and went to sleep.

“If I had been a weaker man, I would have wept at the sight of the familiar faces.” Kleopatra hopped upon the lap of her father,
dodging the goblet Archimedes put into his hand. “Let me tell you a tale of betrayal and revenge.”

They were men he had trusted. Men he had made rich by his generosity. Men with whom he had hunted, dined, whored. Harpalus,
the mathematician to whom the king had given a large stipend to come to the Mouseion and study. Lycus, the philosopher Auletes
invited to the palace time and again to discuss theological issues. Icarius, the importer of spices, who was just awarded
a monopoly on nutmeg and cardamom. Nestor, the whoremonger of the Fayum, who provided the Royal Brothel with some of its most
unusual talent. The admiral Periander, whom Auletes suspected—but could not be sure—was one of his bastard sons by a court
governess. How else did the ingrate think he got the officership so young?

“Daughter, I almost wept to see who had deserted my cause and joined with Berenike and the eunuch. But I knew that I had no
time to waste in grief. Ascinius went before me and his men followed close upon the rear. Quietly, we entered each cabin.
I pointed at the traitors I recognized, and in the blink of an eye, they were done, just like that. Still asleep, the most
of them, but I picked each of the condemned up by the scruff of his nightshirt and said, “This is my final gift to you, traitor.
Give my regards to the ghost of my wife.’ And then …” The king slid his hand across his neck. “We did our business and then
vanished as if into thin air. The others aboard are still asleep, the lazy bastards. What a surprise awaits them when they
awaken.

“The One Hundred are now down to sixty,” he continued, stroking his cup. “How lucky are the twenty cowards who deserted to
hunt gold with the pirates. Traitors though they be we cannot begrudge them their lives. The gods decide who stays and who
goes, eh?”

“What is happening now, Your Highness?” asked Archimedes. “Should we not flee this location before we are found out?”

“No, no,” said the king, nonchalantly. “Clodius has it all planned out. We mustn’t interfere. Open the shutters here and behold
what he has wrought.”

From the open window, they saw a man kneeling on the dock, frantically waving his arms at the ship that carried Clodia, the
beautiful Lesbia, to Delos. He beat his chest, appeared to curse the heavens, and then threw his body flat upon the rough
wood of the dock and beat its boards with his fist.

“Who is that crazy man on the docks?”

“That is Caelius Rufus, the thief who stole the jewels of Clodius’s sister. Clodius told him that she wished to reconcile
with him, and as a token of sincerity, she had a very heavy purse to leave with him,” laughed the king. “So he is a little
sad to have missed her boat. Now, observe the genius of Clodius in action.”

Hammonius emerged from the ship of the One Hundred with a Greek sailor who pointed at Caelius splayed upon the dock and yelled,
“There he is, the one who murdered the Alexandrians. Grab him.” Stunned, Caelius sat up, having no choice but to submit to
the sailors, who took him into custody.

Suddenly, like a deus ex machina, Clodius appeared.

“Now watch,” said the king. “Clodius shall say that Caelius is a gentleman and a nobleman and demand that he be released to
his custody. And Clodius, being Tribune of the People, shall be obeyed.”

The sailors let go of Caelius, who fell into Clodius’s arms, leaning against him, weeping.

“And to think, Father, the Romans always accuse the Greeks of being devious,” Kleopatra said.

Days later, to the delight of the king, the philosopher Dio mysteriously died of poison. But Auletes’ pleasure, like most
of the joy in his life, was short-lived. The very next morning, Pompey came to the king with a very solemn face. “You are
always welcome in my home, my good friend,” said Pompey. “But for your own safety and the safety of your daughter, I must
insist you leave.”

“But what of my cause? I have not even had an opportunity to speak before the senate, and as far as I know, no one has solicited
their support on my behalf,” he said pointedly. “I have no country. I have nowhere to go,” he wailed.

“I shall take up your cause when the time is right,” replied Pompey. “The senate is rather distressed with you, my friend.
A date was set to hear the grievances of the Alexandrians, but when the time came, not one man showed up. It was then discovered
that twenty among them had been brutally murdered, and that they had fled Italy. No one has spoken of charging you with this
crime, but Rome is thick with the notion that you are responsible. It is being regarded as an act of tyranny.”

Kleopatra said nothing, but thought of the tyranny of Julius Caesar, of Clodius, of Pompey himself. What hypocrites were these
Romans, doing anything they liked and then hiding behind Republican ideals when it was politically convenient.

“The timing is not good for you,” Pompey continued. “The senate is nostalgic for a more democratic time. The ways of a monarch
are feared here. I’m afraid the senate is not in the mood to favor you. We must wait for a more auspicious time.”

“My usurping daughter sits upon the throne. I have no country! Where am I to go? Am I forever banished from my kingdom?”

And I, too? wondered Kleopatra. Perhaps she would not grow up to be a queen as predicted, but would live with her father herding
goats on some uninhabited patch of land in an inhospitable sea.

“Your Majesty,” interjected Archimedes. “Perhaps there is a safer and more neutral place where you might wait for the tide
to turn in your favor. Leave Hammonius here to attend to your business and remove yourself to calmer waters.”

“Your young Kinsman is right,” said Pompey. “The Egyptian question is always a topic of debate in the senate. But now is not
the time to force the issue one way or another. Remember the fate of your brother, Ptolemy of Cyprus.”

With that ominous reminder, Pompey excused himself on the pretense that his wife waited for his presence in the garden, where
they were to take a tour of their spring flowers. “May the gods be with you, my friend,” he said. He kissed the hand of the
princess. Kleopatra knew they would not see Pompey again, that he would avoid them until they were packed and gone. She imagined
him sneaking a look to make certain that they rode away from his villa and were gone for good.

As soon as Pompey quitted the room, the king let out a long, slow, frustrated growl. “These Romans have taken everything from
me and given me nothing in return but a debtor’s certificate. I may as well be a dead man. I am nothing without their assurances.
I will not go until I have satisfaction!” insisted the king.

Kleopatra thought her father sounded like an obstinate child who demanded a thing that would be harmful to him, but a thing
he wanted anyway.

“Your Majesty, there is a rumor about that your host is organizing a group of thugs to do street battle with Clodius,” whispered
Hammonius. “There is a man, Titus Annius Milo, an undercover associate of Pompey, who has just purchased a team of well-trained
gladiators. It is said that he will use these men against Clodius’s mob. The city streets are already rife with violence.
Get out while you may.”

“We must go somewhere where we will be safe, Father,” said the princess. “Pompey was either threatening us or warning us.
I do not know which. But I would very much like to leave Roman soil.”

“My dear child, the entire world rests upon Roman soil,” said the king dryly. “We shall go wherever you like. I leave it to
you and your Kinsmen. I am going to withdraw myself now and enjoy the warm and cold plunges of the Roman bath while I still
may.”

The king swiftly departed, leaving the princess and her advisers to watch his bulk sway from their presence, his great ass
waddling like a goose.

“What shall we do?” Kleopatra turned to Archimedes. She hoped her cousin would offer a solution.

“You are one day to be queen, my cousin. Perhaps the decision should be yours.”

Archimedes’ eyes twinkled at Kleopatra. She thought he might be teasing her again, treating her like a child. She would not
offer a serious idea if he was going to strike it down with laughter. She said nothing, waiting for him to reveal that he
had been joking.

He looked at her impatiently. “Now come, let us put our rather brilliant heads together.”

T
he air is alive with the breath of the gods. Can you not feel it on the inhale?” The king took in a great swallow of air,
puffing out his chest. He exhaled like a horse, blowing his lips and neighing.

After punctilious deliberation, Kleopatra had chosen the Lydian city of Ephesus as the location to wait for their future to
unfold. She had remembered from her history lessons that Herodotus had praised the Ionian founders for settling in places
that had the most beautiful climate and scenery in all the world. She knew that they would be welcome there. The city had
burned to the ground on the night of Alexander’s birth and had been rebuilt by the great Ptolemaic queen Arsinoe II and her
first husband, Lysimachus. Kleopatra had heard that the city rivaled Alexandria in temples, museums, libraries, and brothels,
and was alive with foreign and Greek peoples, merchants, holy men, seers, prostitutes, and scholars. Not to mention, as Hammonius
pointed out, that the ancient temple of Artemis, the city’s most famous attraction, was also a world bank in which the Ptolemies
had stashed a goodly sum of their gold.

Auletes was so pleased with Kleopatra’s decision that he told her with a wink that she would henceforth rule the kingdom.
“What a pleasure to ride through the streets without fearing for your very life. If I never see Rome again I shall remain
a happy man.”

Auletes had not again mentioned the incident at Puteoli. It was as if the memory of the slayings had vanished along with the
lives of the dead. “My dears, we shall not be lazy here,” he said, patting the white slender hand of Hekate. “We shall spend
our days attending the lectures at the academy. Why, we are in the birthplace of Herakleitos. The home of Artemis. Ah, back
to civilization.”