Kleopatra (36 page)

The king—smiling and remorseless—rode in an open carriage in the midst of the army as if he commanded it. Gabinius and Rabirius
paraded with the king, the latter hanging on to the king’s robes, as if waiting to catch any coins that might magically fly
from his purse.

Despite the grim event that had begun the day, the mood was festive. It seemed that all of Alexandria had turned out for the
event. Egyptian vendors sold water, wine, and beer to the spectators, while their children hawked small trinkets—cheap bangle
bracelets, phony signet rings, toy crocodiles on wheels. Kleopatra, riding Persephone behind her father’s carriage, noticed
that many people were drunk for the occasion, carrying big smelly leather flasks of wine that spilled the liquid down the
sides of their mouths as they drank.

Kleopatra could not believe that the population had changed its mind about her father. Perhaps two years of chaos had reconciled
them to the king and his policies. Or perhaps her father had arranged for supporters to appear. Both were likely. And perhaps
the citizens had to get intoxicated to go along with the charade. She wondered if she would ever be reduced to paying for
her subjects’ approval. It appeared to be a family tradition.

Exhausted after the parade, Kleopatra tried to excuse herself to go to her chambers, but her father did not wish to be alone.

“We are very busy today. One must be tireless, young lady,” said the king, who had many times excused himself from his duties
on the excuse of fatigue. Today he seemed younger, resilient, as if energized by the death of Berenike. Kleopatra wondered
how he had so easily erased from his mind the image of his firstborn dying a bloody death by his own command. Perhaps he was
merely cloaking his grief behind this facade of vivaciousness.

“Your Majesty,” said Archimedes. “The young cavalry officer Marcus Antonius wishes an audience with you.”

“Marcus Antonius. Do I know the man?”

The princess’s heart quickened. “Father, do you not remember what we heard about him in Rome? He was the friend of Clodius
who had an affair with his wife, Fulvia. When Clodius found out, Marcus Antonius went to Greece to study oration, but the
real reason he left was because Clodius was going to kill him!”

“From what impeccable source did you hear this idle gossip?” asked the king.

“From Julia. She said that Antonius is a favorite of Julius Caesar. And that he is the most handsome man in all the world.
And that he is the most famous lover of women, too. And the bravest soldier. And the most daring horseman and swordsman in
the empire. I think Julia loved him, though she could not say so in her husband’s house.”

“That sort of loyalty would seem extreme when practiced by a Roman woman,” said the king dryly.

“The princess does have several facts correct regarding Marcus Antonius,” said Archimedes. “He is handsome, for a Roman. And
brave. Have you not heard of his many services on your behalf?”

Archimedes looked around for interlopers. He leaned closer to the king and the princess, explaining to them that Gabinius’s
troops were, despite the impressive show they put on for the population of Alexandria, an undisciplined bunch with no particular
loyalty to either Rome or Gabinius. They had refused to cross the desert into Egypt even on Gabinius’s command, preferring
to stay in Syria to loot and drink. Gabinius was paralyzed, but Antony took command. He spun fantastic stories of the untold
riches and exotic sexual pleasures that awaited the soldiers in Egypt. “He is most eloquent, they say, a natural teller of
tales. He convinced the troops to make the long and waterless march through the deep sands.”

“Does this Antony believe these mythic stories of our country?” asked Kleopatra, wondering if Antony was just another Roman
come to Egypt to fleece her father. “Does he think my father is like Darius the Persian?”

“I do not know, Cousin, though that is what many Romans think. But Antony’s sheer enthusiasm and his own willingness to endure
the hardships of the march shamed the lazy soldiers into crossing the waterless desert.”

“Then he is remarkable, is he not?” said the king. “The gods shall be with such a man.”

“There is more, Sire. When Gabinius’s men saw the multitudes of enemy soldiers awaiting them at the fortress at Pelusium,
they tried to turn around. But Antony roused them by leading the charge. He made them ashamed of their cowardliness, and they
followed him into battle. That is why Your Majesty is at home today.”

So it was this man’s courage and not Gabinius’s gold that motivated the men. “Is it possible that there is one Roman who is
truly brave and good?” Kleopatra asked. “One we can depend upon for action?”

Archimedes paused. “He wishes to take up the matter of Archelaus’s funeral with you, Sire. It seems that he was a friend of
Berenike’s late husband.”

“What? You tell me of this man’s good qualities and his services on our behalf and then you tell me that he was a friend of
my most egregious enemies?” the king said, offended.

“Oh, please, Father,” cried the princess. “Marcus Antonius is a powerful man. If already he has performed such services to
us without knowing us, think of what use he may be to us if we befriend him?”

“Of course we shall meet with the man. But I am warning you. I will not be overruled!”

There was no sight more arousing to a girl of fourteen than Antony at twenty-seven. Kleopatra could not look directly at him,
nor could she turn away. She met his eyes—brown, lambent, and as penetrable as rich soil—swallowing her as if she were a fresh
seedling. They were deep-set beneath a broad, lordly brow, and full of merriment despite the solemnity of the occasion. Though
she longed to gape at him, she could not manage more than a furtive glimpse in his direction. It was as if he knew it, too,
and could read her embarrassing thoughts. He stared as much as she shied away, forcing her to look again at the aquiline,
fine nose, the cheekbones like proud peaks, the acute cleft in his chin, the broad neck with muscles like taut rope. His red
cloak hung carelessly over one massive shoulder. He wore his tunic girt low about his narrow hips; a sheathed sword hung at
his side. He had removed his breast armor, so that Kleopatra could see the muscles in his chest distorting the folds of his
garment. He was so majestic of body that she wondered if he had been fathered by a giant, a Titan. The girlish titillation
caused by Pompey, even by Archimedes, became a shattering earthquake in the presence of Antony. She could take no more and
quickly dropped her eyes to his feet, quivering at the sight of the leather straps of his sandals snaking up his sharply hewn
calves.

“Your Royal Highnesses,” he said, bowing low to the king and his daughter. “Welcome home.” He waved his arm around the room
as if it was he who had invited them there.

He is reminding us of our debt to himself, Kleopatra realized through her infatuation. The man was both beautiful and crafty.
A deadly combination in a woman, thought Kleopatra. How much more dangerous in a powerful man?

“Thank you for hearing my plea on behalf of the Syrian Archelaus. I realize that he caused you some harm, but in the end,
is it not better to demonstrate charity? You have won, Your Majesty. You have prevailed. Archelaus was once quite the favorite
of your friend Pompey. Did you know that? Pompey rather admired him and bore him no grudge for being fathered by Mithridates.
I do not suggest that Pompey condoned the marriage to your daughter and the actions against yourself. Only that death does
inspire sentimentality in old friends. Pompey may not take kindly to Archelaus being humiliated in death. After all, none
of us, no matter how bold, wishes to be haunted by those who have gone before us.”

Antony let the king ponder the complex situation while he explained that in better times he had received the hospitality of
Archelaus in his native country. “I was his friend, though here, Fate called upon me to fight against him. Let us remember
the lessons of the poets. The gods do not reward those who deny proper burial to the fallen.”

Antony’s manner was friendly yet deferential, but Kleopatra had difficulty concentrating on what he said. His cloak draped
negligently around him, and each time he wished to make a point, he cast it behind his shoulder, shrugging off its weight.
His arm in motion was beautiful, strength radiating in each small gesture.
He is the living god
, she thought.

Auletes weighed the argument, twirling the hairs of his left eyebrow unconsciously as he did when he was thinking. “I suppose
it would be no great concession to agree to your request,” he said, to the great surprise of the princess. Could this man
have her father spellbound, too?

“Particularly since you have performed such services for us and without even knowing us, or asking for a reward.”

“Only a dignified repose for the body of a friend,” Antony corrected.

“I hear, my boy, that you shamed your men into crossing not only the desert, but the Serbonian marsh, where no drinking water
to be had. My people call that land the breathing hole of Typhon. I am not certain I would have crossed it myself, even to
recover my own kingdom!” The king winked at Antony as if the two of them were longtime friends.

“What is thirst compared to justice? I was able to convince them of the rightness of the cause. It was not so much a challenge,”
Antony replied. “The soldier finds his purpose in the willingness of the commander to endure suffering.”

“You please me, my dear boy. Your argument is sound, your speech is persuasive, your Greek excellent, and your cause a compassionate
one. Yes, you please me. I would that you were my son.”

“I am flattered, Your Highness,” Antony said. “But if I were your son, you would no longer like me so. I have caused displeasure
to more than one father. But if you will permit, there is another favor I would ask of you.”

“And what is that, my young warrior? Name it. My kingdom is yours.”

“The prisoners, Majesty. The rebels held in the jail. I understand they are to be executed tomorrow.”

“Correct. Who does not do away with his enemies has no tomorrow. You are a man of the world. Surely you know that,” huffed
the king.

“I have interrogated the prisoners myself, Your Majesty,” he said, smiling, his highly arched nostrils spreading to meet the
rise in his cheekbones. He was polite, solicitous even, but always appeared to know that he was going to win the argument.
“Many are the victims of confusion that ensued in the wake of your exile and the death of the late queen. They’re rather simple
opportunists, fallen prey to the flowery words of the persuasive eunuch Meleager. More to be pitied than harmed, I think.
I believe you will gain more by demonstrating clemency. Besides, your daughter executed the late queen’s supporters, saving
you the trouble. The last of them, the General, died in battle with Archelaus. I have here the list of the proscribed and
the dead.” He handed Auletes a long scroll of names, those fallen to Berenike’s sword of vengeance.

“I follow the example of my spiritual father, the great Julius Caesar,” he continued as Auletes read the list. “He always
says, ‘Antony, the fearful govern by the sword, the great by mercy.’ Your Majesty has no more cause for fear.” He looked not
at the king, but at his daughter, who this time boldly looked back, trying to force down the red that crept up her neck and
into her cheeks.

Auletes paused, wrinkling his forehead. Kleopatra did not know if her father found this young Roman’s words threatening or
persuasive. After a few moments, Auletes nodded his head agreeably. “I shall rest in your word. It shall be as you wish, young
man.”

“May the gods bless you, Sire,” Antony said. “And now, I am off. I thank you for the honor of speaking before you.”

“No, no,” said the king. “You must not leave us. You are one of us now. I will show you the very soul of Egypt. The tales
you told those greedy soldiers about the pleasures of our country are not mere fantasies for those who are my guests.” He
winked at Antony.

“It would give me nothing but pleasure to remain in your service, but I have been summoned by Julius Caesar, who requires
my immediate appearance in Gaul. He has appointed me commander of the cavalry.”

Kleopatra’s hand involuntarily covered her mouth, her hopes squelched. She hoped he either did not see the gesture, or if
he did, she hoped the proper interpretation eluded him—a fact she doubted. His flitting eyes seemed to touch every surface
of her body and mind. She did not wish him to leave. Why didn’t her father say something to make him stay, this powerful Roman
they now had in their audience? This man with the wicked eyes, the sharp wit, the vast chest. This Titan who threw about the
names of his elders—names that made ordinary men quake—as if they were his friends. Julius Caesar. Pompey. They
were
his friends. Father, she wanted to shout, please do not let him go, for here, finally, is the Roman who will help us.

“I am in despair that we did not have the opportunity to converse, Princess Kleopatra,” he said. “We shall meet again, I am
certain.”