The Memoirs of Cleopatra Part 107

"Tighter, Eros." Antony was testing his breastplate, pulling on the straps.

"Yes, my lord," he said obediently. "It has been a long time since I have performed this duty." He yanked on one shoulder strap.

"I know. Three years since Armenia." He felt along his neck, adjusting the scarf that protected it from the edge of the armor. "By Hercules, it feels good to buckle on fighting gear again!"

I stood in the room, watching silently, seeing the beauty in the ceremony of attiring a warrior, while my heart hated the danger in it. I would rather have been going forth myself. But Antony had begged me not to, not even to ride in the rearguard. We find it easier to hazard ourselves than those we love.

He was holding his helmet, heavy ornamented bronze with a beak in front to protect the eyes, and cheekplates to s.h.i.+eld the sides. Eros had lovingly polished it last night, and now it gleamed, topped by the distinctive crest that served to identify the commander-in-chief.

From his decorated breastplate, depicting scenes of his ancestor Hercules, hung a kilt of leather strips, augmented by metal ones signifying his rank. Beneath the strips I could see the purple of his tunic, which showed when he moved.

His arms and legs were bare, but his heavy nailed sandals laced halfway up his calves. He was holding his sword, turning it over lovingly in his hands. It was about two feet long, double-edged.

"My friend," he addressed it, "we have work to do today." The sword had been his companion on many other campaigns; if only it could write a book.

Eros fastened it, in its scabbard, on the right side of his belt, then stepped back. "There, lord. It is done."

Antony tucked his dagger in place on his left side. "The s.h.i.+eld," he asked Eros.

Eros handed him the curved rectangle, with its brightly colored emblems designating the rank of the highest general.

I suddenly had a sickening vision of Alexander inheriting them; and it was sickening not because in time it would be fitting, but because Alexander was still young in the picture that flashed into my mind.

"I am ready," said Antony. "Come and kiss me."

My heart felt as heavy as a stone. What if this was the last time? I walked over to him and kissed his cheek.

"No, not that way!" He clasped me against him, against the heavy metal breastplate, and bent his head to kiss my lips. But he did not linger on them, as it would be unseemly.

"We'll beat them back to their s.h.i.+ps!" he exclaimed, striding to the door to mount his horse waiting outside. And then he was gone.

Eros grabbed up his own much less elaborate armor and followed.

True to his promise, it was only two days since the fall of Leucas. It was of utmost importance to strike as soon as possible, before the deprivations that would inevitably follow. Earlier, it was Octavian who had sought a quick resolution, while we delayed. Now the tables were turned.

His capture of Leucas had solved Octavian's fleet anchorage problem. Now he had a protected place for his s.h.i.+ps as long as he liked; he need not fear storms. His fleet was secure, and his food supply ensured for his army. And we--we were blockaded. Trapped at Actium, both the army and the navy. With astonis.h.i.+ng swiftness we had lost our strategic advantage; our lifeline to Egypt had been cut. We had to break out, or perish.

And as for peris.h.i.+ng . . . that night when we lay in bed together, I had told Antony about the poisoned cup meant for me. He had been practical about it.

"From now on, make sure everything is tasted first," he said.

"Is that all you have to say? I know that!"

"And you have no idea who held the poisoned flower?"

"No, I paid no attention. Someone who thinks his troubles could be solved by eliminating me. That means they think you will abandon this course without me--someone who does not want to sever ties with Octavian's Rome. It must have been a senator. Or even Ahen.o.barbus." The latter's disapproval of me was patent.

Antony had yawned. "No, it must have been an easterner. Poison is not the Roman way."

"Romans are notable for their willingness to adapt foreign customs."

"Not this one," he insisted. "Just be sure to take precautions. . . ." He had sighed wearily and fallen asleep.

Now he had ridden out to lead the army into battle, and I must wait at headquarters. Wait, wait, wait. Truly it would have been easier to have ridden out with him. Charmian and Iras stood by to keep me company as they had done so many other times. But there was no amus.e.m.e.nt or diversion that could fill my mind and heart.

Antony did not return at sunset. Not until near midnight did he rush back into headquarters. One look at him, with his clothing as it was when he departed, told me there had been no fighting. He yanked off his helmet and tossed it on the bed; his sword followed suit.

"He won't come out!" he yelled. "He won't face us!"

"Here." I helped him undo the breastplate. Underneath, his tunic was soaked with sweat, the sweat of anger, not exertion. I removed the heavy armor and put it safely on the floor, then smoothed out his wrinkled tunic.

"We issued a challenge. We fired stones and arrows into his camp. They are shut up in there like a turtle in its sh.e.l.l. He has built defensive walls down to the sea; that kept us from getting close enough to overrun them. Well, tomorrow we'll destroy them. We'll build machines that can flatten them. We'll--" He untied his sandals and peeled them off, kicking them across the room.

"You yourself have said that there's no way to force a dug-in army to fight, except by siege or subterfuge. I would think subterfuge would work better here than trying a siege. Remember, we are the ones blockaded. In effect, we are already under siege. To maintain a siege when you are already besieged-- now there's a trick!"

"What, are you telling me how to conduct a war?" he yelled.

"No, I am merely reminding you of what you--in calmer hours--have pointed out to me."

He flopped down in a chair. "The weakness in his position is the lack of water. We'll cut off his water supply. The springs down on the flat ground-- he's run his walls around them. But we'll ride around the head of the gulf and get inside them. . . . Yes, that's what we'll do. At dawn tomorrow--"

"Then you must rest." I rubbed his shoulders, hoping to calm him. "That is only a few hours away."

Before it was fully light, Antony and a cavalry force set out to ride around the gulf and come at Octavian from the east, sneaking up inside the walls and taking the springs. With him rode the eastern princes who had supplied cavalry: Amyntas, Deiotarus, Rhoemetalces. The Roman legions, led by Canidius, stood at the ready to swarm over the walls from the other side once the signal was given.

This time when he returned, his clothes were dirty, his s.h.i.+eld scarred, its bright paint scored by arrows and sword cuts. But he was walking stiffly, and when he removed his helmet, his face was oddly expressionless.

Was he hurt? I flew to him and begged him to tell me.

"Hurt? In the body, you mean?" He sounded confused.

What was wrong with him? "Yes, of course that's what I mean! Is it your head?" Had he suffered a blow there that had dazed him?

"No. No, it's my--it's my--it's not a wound. No."

"What has happened? Did you take the springs?"

"Yes, indeed we did. The fighting was fierce. When their precious water was attacked, that got them out fast enough. They won't be drinking there there anymore!" anymore!"

There was more to it than this. "Then what?"

"We were to follow up by attacking the camp directly, since we were now inside the walls. But then, our faithful Deiotarus of Paphlagonia suddenly deserted. Yes, just deserted, with all his hors.e.m.e.n!"

"Deserted? You mean he ran away?"

"Yes, straight toward Octavian." He sounded both stunned and furious.

"No! He has joined him?"

Antony nodded. "Gone to ally himself with the enemy."

"But--" What possible gain could he expect from Octavian? I stopped. I had nothing to say.

The bull-man who had stuffed himself at the banquet and talked about his favorite fis.h.!.+ A curse on him!

"So now I know what easterner might have wanted to poison me," I said, just to say something.

"Well, we attacked anyway," said Antony. "And they came galloping out of their camp to meet us. And guess who led the cavalry charge?"

"Not Octavian," I said. Of that I could be sure.

Antony gave a brittle laugh. "A familiar face. Marcus t.i.tius, late of our company."

"I hope you killed him," was my first, honest, response.

"No, he got away. He needs to live to continue changing sides. After all, he is young, he has a long life ahead--a long life of betrayal! Why, he may even come back to us someday!"

I hated the bitterness in his voice; it was a new note for him.

"The legions did their job," continued Antony. "The walls are down, and we are now encamped around their springs. So we are holding both sides of the entrance to the gulf."

"Are they now completely without water? What about the river Louros?"

"Yes, they still have that. It's farther from their camp. Next we can try to cut that off as well."

He slumped over and buried his face in his hands. I stood behind him and rested my head against his.

"It's only one man," I told him. "An insignificant ally. You have lost little, if it does not cause you to lose heart. Often such trifles cause us grief all out of proportion."

He reached his large hand up and grasped mine. "You are high-spirited, and such spirits are not easily cast down."

I squeezed his hand to rea.s.sure him. "The difference between victory and defeat lies in knowing which things to overlook. Think no more about Deiotarus, only think about the river Louros!"

The situation worsened. Agrippa continued his attacks on our naval stations; next Patrae and Ithaca fell. We had lost the Corinthian Gulf completely, as well as the last open pa.s.sage that s.h.i.+ps could make directly into Actium. Now everything must go by land, being dragged over narrow roads and craggy cliff pa.s.ses from far to the south. We soon began to feel the pinch as food stores dwindled; it does not take long for almost two hundred thousand people to deplete their reserves. I remembered hearing that Caesar's men had been in like state in Greece just before the battle with Pompey, and were reduced to eating gra.s.s. Unfortunately, we did not have even gra.s.s to hand.

Mid-June, and I sat under an awning before our headquarters. It was stifling both inside and out; only this little shaded stretch of outdoors offered any relief. The fresh air that blew down from the mountains during the night had ceased. I leaned my head back against the side of the building, feeling the sweat--even at this early hour--starting to course in a leisurely way down my neck and trickle between my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. I fanned myself with a small fan, but all it did was move the fetid air across my nose. The stench of the marshes with their foul vapors, blended with the reek of the refuse from an entire army, smelled like a corpse on the third day. Any hope we had had that the tides would scour the area were disappointed; they were not strong enough, and merely sloshed back and forth listlessly, moving the filth but not removing it. If anything, they made it worse by stirring it up.

A meeting had been called, but no one had yet appeared. Many people were ailing. It was worst among the oarsmen; they were falling ill at an alarming rate, and deaths were reported. Antony had gone out to inspect the s.h.i.+ps for himself, with Ahen.o.barbus and Sosius, who had left Zacynthus in a junior commander's hands. Once Patrae, Cephallenia, and Leucas were gone, Zacynthus had ceased to have much strategic importance.

I wiped my forehead with a scented handkerchief, as if that would counteract the swamp-smells around me. Flowers seemed from another world, a lost world.

Through the wavering, heavy air I saw Canidius and Dellius approaching, or rather trudging. In the heat, they had abandoned all their uniform except the obligatory underlying tunic, and that was grimy and sweat-soaked. Canidius's was a faded yellow, and Dellius's had once been blue.

"Greetings on this fair day," said Dellius, his voice dripping sarcasm as much as his forehead dripped sweat.

"And where is our Imperator?" asked Canidius.

"With the fleet," I told them. "But he will return shortly."

"The fleet is in a sorry way," said Canidius. "I think it will have to be abandoned."

"Let them decide that," I said, more sharply than I meant. The heat had stripped away our outer courtesy as well as our outer clothing.

"Have some wine while you wait," I offered them as a distraction. A pitcher and cups stood on a small table we had set up outside.

Dellius poured himself a cup, tasted it, and made a face. "One thing we're not short of here is vinegar."

The stocks of decent wine had long since run out, and what we drank now was more medicinal than anything else. At least it did not make us sick.

"Be thankful we are spared the local water." Dellius had gone sour along with the wine. "Ah. Here they come." I was relieved to see Antony and the other two approaching.

"Greetings!" It never failed to amaze me how Antony could keep his essential sweetness of nature in the most bitter situations. Now he was actually smiling. He raised his arm in salute. "Ah! My captains!"

"Help yourself to the swill," said Dellius, indicating the pitcher.

Antony did, and c.o.c.ked his head. "I've had worse. In the retreat from Mutina, we had to drink--well, never mind. Just remember the donkeys stand ready to supply our lack." He touched my shoulder. "And how are you bearing up?"

"I am used to heat," I said, to chastise Dellius. "Egypt is not exactly cold."

"True. Well, shall we begin?" Antony pulled up a stool and the others did likewise. So we huddled, the six of us, supreme commanders, under a makes.h.i.+ft awning and a shrinking shadow.

"What did you find?" I asked Antony.

He shook his head. "It is bad," he admitted.

"Bad, and worse than bad," said Sosius. "Both s.h.i.+ps and men have been attacked. The men by disease, the s.h.i.+ps by the rot-worm."

My spirits sank. The warm waters had bred the worms, a s.h.i.+p's worst enemy. We had not been able to haul the s.h.i.+ps out over the winter and tar their timbers, whereas Agrippa's had spent that time in drydock.

"I fear there will not be enough oarsmen to power them," said Ahen.o.barbus. "Even triremes require a hundred and seventy rowers, whereas the larger s.h.i.+ps, well--" He coughed and reached for a cup of wine, or what pa.s.sed for wine. "Pardon me." He hacked loudly, embarra.s.sed.

"What will we do about the oarsmen?" I asked.

"We have already taken action," said Antony. "In this emergency, we have had to--recruit locally." "What do you mean, recruit?" There were no people in the area, and certainly none likely to volunteer for service.

"What he means," said Ahen.o.barbus roughly, "is that we are grabbing men. Kidnapping them--pulling farmers out of their fields, yanking mule drivers off their mules, s.n.a.t.c.hing grinders from their mills."

Had it come to this? I was ashamed. "No!"

"War is not a pretty occupation," said Antony, and the soldier now showed, granitelike, through the politician. "But we must not lose sight of our essential objective: to win. Everything else must pale beside that."

Yes. Always the winning. There are those of us who understand that. As for the rest--let them go. They do not know how to bleed, how to sacrifice. "Can they row?" was all I asked.

"No," said Ahen.o.barbus bluntly. "Oh, they can move a s.h.i.+p. Muscle power alone can do that. But maneuver it, execute any real naval tactics, no--it is beyond them."