The Memoirs of Cleopatra Part 111

"To have gathered a fleet and an army like this, and not to use them!" I lamented the loss. It seemed--profligate.

"Neither the army nor the fleet is what it was," he reminded me. "If we could have used them in the beginning . . ." He sighed. "Now everything is changed. The worst crime a commander can commit is to fight today's battle with the troops of yesterday."

"Of course." I must defer to his experience. Let us not compound one error with another.

"If we can extricate most of our fleet, retreat to Egypt, and regroup there ..." He was thinking out loud. "The followers of Pompey were able to do this time and again."

But that army had ultimately lost. Once someone is on the run, he has lost his initiative and is the hunted rather than the hunter. I refrained from pointing this out.

"So Egypt is to be the arena," I said faintly. I did not like it. What if Octavian pursued us to our own sh.o.r.es? I did not want fighting there. That was why Pothinus had killed Pompey--to forestall exactly that.

"No, no," he rea.s.sured me. "We will merely recover there, and gather our forces again." "Perhaps it would be better to fight it out here, in Greece, now." Spare Egypt! "Your army is still intact, and Canidius is a fine general."

"If they won't fight, we can't," Antony insisted. "All we can do is leave."

"But why would Octavian bring an enormous army here and then refuse to fight? It makes no sense!"

"Stranger things have happened." He rose and took my hands in his, looking at me in a way I had almost forgotten.

It had been late already when he had hunched over his maps. Now it must be midnight. The camp was utterly quiet, like a hibernating beast. He blew out the lamps and plunged the tent into darkness, then pulled me over toward the sleeping area. Beside the bed, he took my head in both his hands and whispered, "Forgive me for neglecting you, my most precious--"

"Ally?" I could not help joking. "At least I have not deserted."

He bent his head and kissed me. "That is not funny," he said.

I tightened my arms around him. "No, it is not," I said. "Forgive me."

"It seems we both have something to forgive," he said, falling on the bed and taking me with him.

Speech after long silence, touching after long abstinence, has a headiness all its own. It was as if he were a new person, and-I must learn him all over again.

At last it had come: the council of war, where we would meet in unison one last time before manning our posts. Everyone had to be certain of his duties, and of our supreme strategy: not as simple as one would suppose.

The leaders were still deeply divided on what we should do. The only agreement was that we must do something, or perish at this wretched site. Both army and fleet had become a liability, too large to be abandoned, too weakened to be reliable. The only question was, which one was in worse condition?

Seated around the trestle table were our four admirals--the experienced Sosius and Publicola, and the less-trained Insteius and Octavius (unfortunate name in our camp)--and our leading general, Canidius, as well as Dellius.

The heat had continued unabated, as had the disease and debilitation, and as we talked, flies buzzed around the stifling chamber, boldly landing on the maps Antony had unrolled. They crawled excitedly, and I wondered if they were antic.i.p.ating all the corpses that would litter the area depicted on the map and give them joy. Antony swatted one, and its iridescent blob smeared the area of Athens.

"My friends," he said, leaning forward on his knuckles, "we must now cast our final plans."

Now that the moment had come, everyone suddenly seemed reluctant to settle on a strategy.

"Canidius, the state of the legions?" asked Antony, to fill the hesitant silence.

Canidius rose. "Of our original hundred thousand men, we have about seventy thousand still here--and fit to fight."

Now a groan or two escaped around the table. To have lost thirty thousand men, and no real battle fought! Truly disease is a worse enemy than catapults and swords.

"Our biggest loss is in the client kings who deserted; the remaining soldiers are Roman legionaries, many of them veterans."

"Just as well," snorted Publicola. "Octavian never had any of those worthless foreigners to begin with. He was smart."

I wondered whether he considered me a "foreigner," or was past caring what I thought.

"True, now the numbers are almost equal," said Canidius.

"Minus the riffraff," Publicola emphasized.

"In any case," said Antony, "with equal numbers, and Romans versus Romans, would you say we are evenly matched?"

Canidius thought for a moment. "Yes, except for morale. Spirits are always higher on the side that can claim recent victories, even if they are small ones. However, the men are eager to move, eager for action. I would recommend that we abandon the fleet, and effect an ordered retreat east to Macedonia to link up with our forces there. We can call on help from King Dicomes nearby. Octavian will follow us, and we can draw him into the land battle we have sought for so long." He looked at me. "The Queen and her retinue can depart for Egypt by land, there to await the outcome."

I was taken by surprise. "But, Canidius," I said, "you supported my presence here!" I felt betrayed.

"That was before Agrippa rendered your fleet helpless," he said. "Nov/ you are only a liability--a target for Octavian's abuse. You are harming Antony's cause to remain."

What he said was true, but there was no help for it. If Egypt did not partic.i.p.ate in this war as a sovereign state, we became like the other client kingdoms--worthless allies. The shame would be unendurable. We would deserve the censure that Rome already heaped on us.

"It seems to me that if you retreat, the troops will misunderstand and think we are conceding defeat," I argued. "Then they will desert in droves, and there will be no army left to stand and fight the pursuing Octavian."

"The alternative plan is to escape from the naval blockade and save as many s.h.i.+ps as possible," said Antony. "After all, if we lose our entire navy, the land army will be trapped in Greece, unable to cross into Asia because we will have no transport, while the enemy rules the waves unchallenged."

"Bah!" said Dellius. "Forget the fleet!"

"What is the state of the fleet?" Antony asked calmly.

"We are badly undermanned in rowers, and the s.h.i.+ps suffer from disrepair," said Sosius.

"How many s.h.i.+ps would you estimate could be manned with our oarsmen?" asked Antony.

"No more than three hundred," he said, "counting the Egyptian ones."

Now more groans sounded around the table. This time last year, we had had five hundred wars.h.i.+ps and three hundred supporting merchant s.h.i.+ps, plus scouts. What a decline!

"We must burn the extra s.h.i.+ps, then," said Antony. "No sense in making a gift of them to Octavian."

Burn my s.h.i.+ps! No, not my hard-won s.h.i.+ps! "The Egyptian ones are manned by my own mercenaries, and are entirely reliable!" I said quickly.

"The few that are left," said Publicola. "They had no magic to survive the fevers and dysentery any better than the rest."

"Forget the sea!" Canidius burst out. "The fleet is emasculated. Antony is not a naval commander, but a land general. The Roman veterans are still battleworthy. Agrippa is not much on land, and Octavian is nothing anywhere. Seek your victory where you are strongest, not where you are weakest!"

Antony shut his eyes as if to shut out all the conflicting noise. He was fighting within himself. His instinct was to fight by land, but as supreme commander he had to keep all the issues in mind, and think of the overall strategy, not just one battle. Clearly the sea offered him the best chance to husband his remaining resources and preserve a long-term goal of victory.

What would Caesar have done? But whatever it would have been, it would have needed Caesar himself to carry it out.

"I think . . ." Antony finally raised his head. "It must be by sea."

"No!" cried Dellius. "That's a mistake!"

"Listen," said Antony slowly, "Queen Cleopatra is right. Taking a weakened army in a retreat over mountain pa.s.ses is disastrous--well I know. And so should you, after Parthia. We have no commitment from Dicomes, and if the other client kings are any indication, it is best not to rely on him. Once the army withdraws, the fleet is lost, trapped here with no soldiers on board to fight its way out of the gulf, and can provide no protection for the crossing into Asia. We would then lose both fleet and army, and stand naked before the enemy, surrounded, embayed, begging for terms."

"Aren't you leaving out the possibility that there will be a land battle and you can defeat him?" sneered Dellius.

"It is unlikely he will be drawn into battle to fight for something he can win while doing nothing. If there is any consistent behavior in Octavian over the years, it is that he follows his own motto: Festina lente Festina lente, hasten slowly. He inches along, but inexorably. And he never does for himself what time, or fate, or another man's mistake, can do for him. No, he won't fight. He'll watch us go, and catch us easily with Agrippa's s.h.i.+ps when we try to cross the h.e.l.lespont."

"We might as well fight by sea and send as many of the enemy to the bottom as possible when we make our escape," said Sosius.

"To break the blockade is no riskier than to withdraw the army, and we stand to save more," I said. "We can take four or five of the best legions on board as fighters, and increase our chances of winning, and spirit some of the army away as well."

"By Hercules!" cried Dellius. "Is Octavian right? Is Cleopatra running this war?"

"Why should I not speak?" I said. "I can read the map as well as any of you--yes, and the numbers too!"

"I hate retreat as much as any man," said Antony. "It is a bitter fruit, as I know, having chewed it both in Mutina and in Parthia. But there are some retreats that are nothing more than a regrouping. I put this in that category."

"But--" Canidius looked bewildered. "What am I to do? Just wait to surrender?"

"No, you will effect the withdrawal, but only after the sea battle is over. We can then provide s.h.i.+ps to transport you into Asia."

The flies were buzzing around his head, as if they, too, were protesting. Not enough casualties! Not enough casualties! they were saying. they were saying. We don't like your plan! We don't like your plan!

"So we have decided," said Antony. "We break the blockade and take our treasure and as many s.h.i.+ps and soldiers as possible to Egypt. The army will wait, and then make an orderly withdrawal into Asia. We will burn the surplus s.h.i.+ps. All this will take place within the next few days."

"You have decided," said Canidius.

"I ajn the commander! Who else should decide?" Antony cried. "It is I who command and you who must obey!" He softened. "But I value your judgment."

"Even though you ignore it?"

"Because I do not follow it in all particulars does not mean I ignore it."

"I just pray to all the G.o.ds that you are right," said Canidius.

"Why, so do we all," said Sosius.

The meeting broke up in near confusion. The naval commanders were delighted with the decision, but clearly there was little to choose from between two unpalatable plans. Both involved a high degree of loss, and a high degree of risk. I was unhappy with the prospect of using Egypt as a staging ground, but like everyone else, I had had to compromise. When I had provoked Octavian, I had gambled with Egypt and losing even that which I had.

Perhaps I should never have ... I shook my head. What was done was done. The next generation would have had to fight the same battle. It was inevitable. And that it came in my day--well, fate had chosen and fitted me for it. All I could do now was buckle on the breastplate and hold tight to the s.h.i.+eld.

It was heartbreaking to watch. Yet I forced myself to stand on the sh.o.r.e and ache as the s.h.i.+ps marked for destruction were torched. They huddled together like people trying to stave off a collapsing roof or an earthquake, but they were doomed, forced to stay, chained fast by their anchors.

Also like innocent people caught in a fire, they were of all types--triremes, quinqueremes, even "eights" and "nines." They had been smeared with pitch and oil to make them burn better, sacrifices to our mistakes. From the sh.o.r.e, men threw flaming torches onto the decks, and the fire caught quickly.

"Oh, Antony," I said, taking his hand. It actually hurt to watch. I remembered walking through the boatyard when they were just being built, all new and proud. My children! If the sight of the peris.h.i.+ng s.h.i.+ps caused me such pain, how did any mother ever endure the loss of a real child?

"It has to be," he said.

"They pay the price of our miscalculations," I said. "It seems we have made one mistake after another."

"All war is a series of calculations," he said. "Building them at all was just another calculation. That is what makes war so expensive--all the guesses we must make, each one costing gold."

"But to see gold burning like that!"

"Think of all the gold resting on sea bottoms, lost in s.h.i.+pwrecks. When we break out, we can only pray that our treasure on board will survive intact. But you will be with it, on the flags.h.i.+p, our largest and strongest."

I always hated taking treasure on board s.h.i.+ps. But what were we to do? Leave it for Octavian? Better the sea bottom!

The fire had truly caught now, pa.s.sing from s.h.i.+p to s.h.i.+p, making a garish necklace of flame. The yellow pyres, reflected in the calm water, appeared twice as grand. All the smells of different types of burning wood--from the pungent scent of dry cedar to the mushroomlike odor of old, wet planks-- drifted toward us, enveloping us in a mantle of smoke. It stung my eyes, but I could not leave. It was a funeral, and I must stay. I owed them that, my s.h.i.+ps.

Antony put his arm around me. "Come," he said. "No need to torture ourselves."

Mistakes . . . miscalculations . . . misinformation miscalculations . . . misinformation . . . The remembrance of them smothered me like the smoke, the tangible proof of them. Oh, torment of remorse! Is there anything more fiendish, more unmanning? It made me doubt all that we now planned. . . . The remembrance of them smothered me like the smoke, the tangible proof of them. Oh, torment of remorse! Is there anything more fiendish, more unmanning? It made me doubt all that we now planned.

Fire even has a voice, a voice very like that of remorse: high, keening, evocative. It rose now from the company of s.h.i.+ps, dying, almost a whistle.

There were others gathered, watching, and I had no doubt that from his heights Octavian could see the red-stained waters, could smell the ashes. People pa.s.sed shuffling behind us, but no one would intrude on us. But gradually I became aware of someone standing off to one side, watching us rather than the s.h.i.+ps. He was hooded, and I could not make out his features.

"Antony," I finally said, "who is that? He is staring at us most rudely. Do you know him?"

Antony peered into the gloom, as if his eyes could somehow pierce the dark. He shook his head. "There is something familiar about him, but no." He raised his arm. "Sir! Come here!"

The man stood unmoving for a long moment, then came toward us as if he were the summoner, not the summoned. As he approached, he threw back his hood.

"Why, it is--" Antony struggled for the name.

"Hunefer," the man finished. "It is a long way from Rome, my lord."

Now I recognized him, too: the Egyptian astrologer I had sent to Rome with Olympos so long ago to attach himself to Antony's household and spy. He had better not betray me, even after all this time!

"I am pleased to meet you," I said pointedly.

Hunefer nodded. "And I, you." He indicated the s.h.i.+ps. "A sad day for us."

"What are you doing here?" Antony insisted on knowing.

"I have long followed your fortunes, my lord; I came here to share them."

"Well, then, they must look favorable, or you would have stayed away!" Antony sounded pleased, as if the man's very presence was a good omen.

"Perhaps he's just loyal," I said quickly. I could not bear to hear a fortune right now. Even if it were good. Mistakes. Miscalculations. Misinformation . . . Miscalculations. Misinformation . . . Misfortune. No fortune. Misfortune. No fortune.

"Even loyal servants don't go rus.h.i.+ng into a burning house," said Antony. "Or board a burning s.h.i.+p."

"Perhaps he was just trapped here, like all the rest," I said.

"Madam," said Hunefer, "sometimes the future unmasks herself like a guest at a revel. Then we come close to touching time herself. We cannot turn away from what she would reveal."