Kleopatra (46 page)

She gave Pothinus a look that indicated that his business with her was concluded, whether he liked it or not.

“You may leave me now.”

“Your Majesty,” began Pothinus. “I do not know if your brother will accept these terms. He so looks forward to a ceremony.
He believes it an important introduction to the people. For myself, I am certain the populace would be heartened at the sight
of a boy king.”

“Have my brother see me if he wishes to discuss the matter.”

“But we are his Regency Council. I think it appropriate that we settle it here and now,” said the eunuch.

“You said it was my brother who would protest. Now I find that you are confused. You must learn to delineate between your
own wishes and those of the future king.”

She dismissed them by returning her attention to the papers on her desk. The noise of Pothinus’s adornments echoed in her
head long after he left the room. She said nothing.

“You must accept this marriage, even if you escape the ceremony,” Hephaestion advised.

“Must I?” she answered. “Must I really?” She had no intention of complying with any of them. Her plans did not include them,
anyway, but she was not sure she should say this to Hephaestion, who could be so very conventional when it came to matters
of form. Why, she asked herself, should I subject myself to a ceremony that demonstrates that I am aligned with my brother
and his council of freaks?

“My Lady, you’ve had your way with your father these last years. You’ve all but ruled alone. But your brother has as much
legal and blood claim to the throne as you.”

“I can handle my tedious, schoolboy, Homer-quoting brother,” she said. “But I cannot govern with his Regency Council. I ruled
this country with my father and then alone when my father lacked the interest. Why should I share the crown with a pompous
eunuch, a dandy general, a second-rate philosopher, and a little boy?”

“In point of fact, the law favors the male heir regardless of age,” said Hephaestion, using his most reasonable tone.

“Laws are made by mortals and can be changed,” said Kleopatra. There was precedent for solitary female rulers; she had confirmed
that on her recent voyage.

“I must warn you that if you will not cooperate with the Regency Council, you will bifurcate the government. You may threaten
the peace your father established.”

“Let us not fool ourselves. Neither my brother nor I rule Egypt. Rome and its demands govern us all. I intend to continue
my father’s policy, which Pothinus entirely opposes. I intend to secure the support of the Romans.”

“But why would Rome support you against your brother? That would be against the terms of your father’s will, which the Roman
Pompey vowed to enforce. What is your strategy for getting their support?”

“The gods have not yet enlightened me,” she said. It was something her father might have said. “I can tell you one thing.
I will not be manipulated by that lot. Alexandria cannot contain us all.”

“In that case, My Lady,” replied the Prime Minister, “it will be interesting to see which of you leaves first.”

Kleopatra had successfully avoided a ceremony, but custom and Auletes’ will demanded the union of brother and sister. The
estranged siblings were named husband and wife in all the official documents, and also, in accordance with the will, added
“Lovers of Their Father” to their lengthy formal titles. After the documents were signed, Ptolemy the Elder, now King Ptolemy
XIII, wielding a ceremonial scepter that he undoubtedly had fished out of the Treasury, leaned across the table and whispered,
“May the Immortals bless our bed, dear sister. By the seed of my loins will many Ptolemies spring from your pretty thighs.”

She looked into his eyes and saw Thea—Thea without any of the beauty. Kleopatra moved toward him as if she were going to kiss
him. Instead, she hissed in his face, “This is the closest that your half-grown cock will ever get to my thighs, little brother.
When it grows to full size, you may use it to pleasure your eunuch. That is what he wants—for me to be dead and for himself
to be your queen.”

The boy king slammed his scepter on the table, making a jagged scar in its perfectly polished surface. Kleopatra’s servant,
despite many attempts, was never able to entirely erase it.

Kleopatra had the kitchens prepare an array of foods and drinks for the two sons of Marcus Bibulus to sample while she and
Hephaestion conducted business with them. It was always a delicate undertaking, entertaining Romans; it was important to appear
not only stable, but prosperous. Demonstrating weakness to the Romans was an open invitation for occupation of one’s country.
On the other hand, demonstrating wealth was an open invitation for extortion.

“Your Majesty, we thank you for receiving us,” said the elder Bibulus, a soft, portly young man with a serene face.

“And for receiving us so graciously,” chimed the younger brother, taking in the dimension and the details of the great Dionysian
reception room. “Our father sends his greetings to you.”

“I regret that I did not come to know the eminent Marcus Bibulus during my stay in Rome. My father and I were sequestered
in the suburban villa of Pompey and did not attend many social functions.” Kleopatra wondered if they knew what she knew—that
their father, Marcus Bibulus, had been the laughingstock of Rome. He had been Julius Caesar’s co-consul, but was so intimidated
by Caesar that he spent his year in office at home. He remained indoors for eight months under the excuse that he needed to
search the skies for auspices before he rejoined the government. Bibulus’s cowardly ways spawned the joke that the year had
marked the consulship of “Julius” and “Caesar.” But ineptitude did not seem to do harm to one’s political career; now Bibulus
was governor of Syria, the lucrative post vacated by Alexandria’s greedy liberator, Gabinius.

“My father’s province is in a state of emergency, Your Majesty, and he requires your aid,” said the elder Bibulus Though he
addressed Kleopatra he faced himself to Hephaestion, who redirected his gaze toward the queen. Kleopatra wondered if the Roman
had a difficult time conducting diplomatic relations with a woman, since no Roman female partook in government. No matter.
He must learn. She cocked her head to the side, indicating interest in his speech.

“The Parthians have refused to leave the Syrian borders. We have tried to push them into Mesopotamia, but they will not budge.
There is no Roman army in the region, so we are all in grave danger. The Parthians, as Your Majesty well knows, are unpredictable
and warlike.”

The younger brother, perhaps more sensitive to the power arrangements in the room, explained to Kleopatra that if the Romans
lost the Syrian province to Parthia, all Rome’s allies, including Egypt, would be in danger. “My father requests that you
send him the militia left here by Gabinius to keep peace in Alexandria. Your kingdom is presently at rest, while our province
is threatened. We know the army is still intact, and it’s a Roman-trained fighting force. Can we count on your generosity?”

Kleopatra and Hephaestion exchanged quick glances. The Gabinians, despite the settlements made by Auletes, were still a menacing
presence in Alexandria. The greedy mercenaries had quieted their reign of terror upon the citizens, but had not entirely transcended
their brutish ways. They made the occasional unreasonable demand upon the throne, and the throne, intimidated by the presence
of an army force that bore no loyalty to the ruling order, inevitably acquiesced. Hephaestion knew that Kleopatra would love
to be rid of them altogether. But this was also an opportunity to ingratiate oneself to Rome, a chance to alter the balance
sheet in terms of who owed what to whom. It would not do to reveal that Rome’s request was a boon, rather than a burden, to
Egypt.

The queen and her adviser knew each other’s minds and said nothing.

“Will you honor the request of my father, and do this favor for the people of Rome?” asked the elder. Kleopatra could see
that he was trying to subdue the arrogance in his voice but without much success. The younger was the better diplomat, waiting
with a pleasant look on his face, confident that their demands would be met. Kleopatra did not want them to get their way
by coercion. Far better that she appear generous and beneficent.

“Prime Minister, do you see any reason why we cannot fulfill the request of our friends? Do speak up if you have any qualms.
The sons of Bibulus are our friends and will certainly understand if there is any reason we cannot accommodate them.”

“Your Majesty,” he said in a tone that she alone recognized as overly earnest and concerned. “We have had peace in the kingdom
since your father settled with the Gabinians and ensured their loyalty to the throne. While we are not presently in conflict,
I worry that the absence of the Gabinian army might endanger our security.”

Kleopatra accepted this news with an affected slump of posture, as if someone had thrown a heavy weight into her lap. She
remained silent, pensive. She cast her eyes into the air.

“Your Majesty,” said the younger Bibulus in a gentle voice. “I do not speak for the Roman senate, nor for Pompey, nor for
the present consuls. But I do speak for my father, who is an honorable man. Should any harm come to you in the absence of
your army, my father will immediately come to your aid. He will vindicate you with all the resources of Rome that are at his
disposal. And I assure you there are many. By honoring our request, you, like your father before you, will declare to the
world that you are a Friend and Ally of the Roman people. Rome does not forget her friends.”

How naive was this seemingly thoughtful man? Probably five years older than she, he was still spouting the idealistic rhetoric
of his youth. Did he honestly believe what he said? Or was he better practiced at the art of diplomacy than she thought?

The queen looked imploringly at her Prime Minister. “How can we refuse these men in their hour of need?”

“If Your Majesty understands the risks involved and still wishes to proceed, then I shall have to be content and hope for
the best,” said Hephaestion.

“Go directly to the commanding officer and settle the matter. I will send word that they are to obey your instructions and
accompany you immediately to Syria in whatever number and order you demand.”

The men bowed to Kleopatra, and then spent the better part of an hour talking to her about the latest intrigues in Rome, and
the threat of the upstart Julius Caesar, who had amassed far too big an army to remain benevolent. The elder son spilled his
wine on the mosaic face of Dionysus as he recalled the insults his noble father had suffered during his year as Caesar’s co-consul.
Kleopatra said very little of substance, instead turning the conversation to more benign subjects such as the number of seats
in the new theater Pompey had recently erected in the city and the quality of the most recent productions. They argued gently
about whether Roman actors had the grand stage presence of their Greek counterparts. It was an altogether festive end to the
execution of a grave matter.

The next morning, Kleopatra awoke to the news that the sons of Bibulus were dead, murdered by two commanding officers who
made it very plain that they had no intention of going back to Syria. They were very fond of the life they led in Alexandria,
married to beautiful women, enjoying their salaries and doing little to earn them. Why should they march to Parthia to defend
a Roman stronghold? Many of the Gabinian soldiers were Syrians, happy to see Bibulus attacked. When the brothers protested
that the queen herself had made the order, the officers seized them and slit their throats.

Enraged at the soldiers’ arrogance and disobedience, Kleopatra ordered an investigation into the murders. Fearless of her
wrath, the two responsible parties admitted to the killings. Without delay, she ordered them arrested, enchained, and sent
them to Bibulus for punishment. She told Hephaestion that she was unwilling to sacrifice relations with Rome over two hotheaded
mercenaries.

“And what will the Regency Council have to say about these independent actions of yours?” the Prime Minister asked.