The Memoirs of Cleopatra Part 126

"He's here!" he said. "Just sighted, down the road to Canopus. He's rus.h.i.+ng, pus.h.i.+ng the men at double march. He must mean to get here and pitch camp before sundown."

The plumes on his helmet swayed, and its beak prevented me from seeing his eyes. But his voice sounded young, eager.

"I see nothing," I said.

"The dust cloud should be visible soon," he said. "He is kicking up quite a storm. The cavalry is leading by a mile or so; he's using them as scouts. We'll attack them before they can find a resting place."

"What, now?" It could not be now; it was already afternoon and ... I had had it so firmly in my mind that the confrontation would be a ma.s.sive battle.

"Catch him by surprise," said Antony. "Destroy his advance guard." He patted his sword. "Ah, to do a man's work again!" He caressed it like a neglected pet.

"What shall we do here?" I asked. I would have to ready the mausoleum, gather the children. . . . O G.o.ds! Was it all to be set in motion now--now, on this cloudless, still day? Deeds set in motion, to slide along of their own accord, unstoppable like the tomb doors on their tracks?

"Pray to all the G.o.ds for our success," he said, taking both my hands in his and enclosing them. "They will hear you."

I looked at his sunburnt face, his eyes still invisible under the helmet's shadow. "Kiss me," I suddenly said. It seemed very bad luck for him to venture forth without it.

Quickly he bent and kissed me, his mind already far away. "Farewell, then," he said.

Was this all? I knew it was all it could be, but it seemed a very meager leave-taking. "Farewell," I echoed, seeing him turn and disappear down the steps, a swirl of cloak.

I clung to the sharp edge of marble at the rampart, feeling unable to move, to leave, to begin to do what I must. To set things in motion . . .

Now I could see the smudge on the horizon. The s.h.i.+ps were coming. Octavian's fleet was on its way, under oars rather than sail.

So this, my tenth scroll, is to be the last. I have just begun it. And it is fitting. Ten is a number with its own mystique; not as magic, perhaps, as seven or three or twelve, but it will do well enough to contain my life. There are ten fingers, there are ten lunar months in the forming of a child, and ten days in the Egyptian week. Isis at Philae visits Osiris on his island every ten days. And all men revere the number one hundred, which is ten tens.

Along with everything else, provision is made for thee, scroll, and all thy brothers. I will fill thee up until my hand can write no more. And if it chance that all this is silly and premature, why, then there may be twenty scrolls someday, as my life continues to unfold--not stopped on a hot, still day.

The hours crept by. The water clock dripped. The shadowlessness of noon gave way to the slanting pools of darkness that grow out of buildings, stones, trees. And I sat, waiting, alternately writing this and gripping the arms of my chair.

Mardian joined me. It is not true that another person can distract you. Waiting together made it worse. At one point he reached over and took my hand in his. It felt different.

"Why, Mardian," I said, "you have taken off your rings." He was never without them, his emerald and lapis beauties.

"Perhaps it is my own way of going out to battle," he said. "Stripping away all that which cannot help me now, and Pll be cursed if I allow it to help another!"

Mardian had no family, no one to leave it to. And no one to mourn him afterward. I had thought of everything but that, imagining that he would be left behind to oversee things--whatever those things would be. But they would never let him do so, and he would suffer punishment as if he were of my own family.

"Mardian," I finally said, "we have talked of many things, and I foolishly gave you instructions to carry out--afterward. I see now how unthinking that was. Not because you are unreliable, but because I provided a refuge for everyone but you. Forget about the instructions and come with me when I give you the signal."

"Come--where ?"

"With me, Charmian, and Iras. We are resolved upon our course of action. I need not describe it; I am sure you know it. What is left unsaid cannot be argued against. You are welcome to join our circle. I am afraid it is the only safe, secure refuge I can offer. The only one that is unanswerable to Octavian."

"I see." His voice was sad. Had he expected that I had come up with some other, miraculous solution? Or surely he had not believed that I had just meekly accepted Olympos's dictates? "It cannot be otherwise." He nodded gravely.

"No," I said. "Olympos does not control all the keys that can unlock the secret house of death. Although he would like to!"

Olympos they would let alone. He would be free to come and go and carry out my mission. If he liked, he could even go to Rome and observe the Triumph! Yes, he would have entire freedom.

"Thank you for your invitation," Mardian said, as if I had invited him to a fine banquet. And, in a way, I had. "If necessary, I will accept. But perhaps it will not be necessary. The city is well prepared, and the troops fairly evenly matched. Lord Antony seemed in his old form, and--"

"Yes. He has come back to himself." But even his old self had lost battles.

Dusk had come, a deep, rich purple one--as intense as the noon it followed. The tender violet seemed to well up from the sea itself and spread out over the city. It was a night the Alexandrians would have reveled in, holding dinners and lectures and debates, all flavored with imported sweet wines and delicacies. But in the lengthening evening there was no stirring in the streets.

Servants came in to light the lamps--the few servants remaining. I had dismissed the freedmen and sent them home. Now only slaves and very loyal attendants stayed on. Gone were the hordes of attendants who made the palace a colorful, noisy place. The glow of the lit oil made yellow halos in the chamber.

Then we heard it--a clatter at the gates. We both stood and clasped hands. Whatever it was, the moment had come. I shut my eyes and took deep, long breaths.

More noise, the sound of horses and armed men. I flew to the window and looked down. The flaring torches in their hands showed the riders to be-- Romans. But which Romans? They were laughing and flushed, jumping with energy.

Then I saw, bareheaded, Eros. He was wheeling his horse in circles, drawing arcs with his torch.

"Eros!" I cried, and then I saw Antony behind him.

He looked up, and his face was exultant. Without waiting, I grabbed Mardian's hand and together we rushed down the steps and out into the courtyard, into the milling hors.e.m.e.n.

"My Queen!" cried Antony, as we reached him. He leaned over and scooped me up onto the saddle; kissing me all the while. I was suspended in the air while his lips clamped down on mine and barely let me breathe.

"We've done it!" he cried, as he helped me into the saddle in front of him. "We fell on them so quickly they could barely get onto their horses--routed them--killed a hundred or so, and sent the rest scurrying back to Octavian!" He laughed, and kissed me again. "You should have heard them yell! Like scalded cats!"

Canidius had pulled Mardian up onto his horse, and now we smiled at each other, relief flooding us and making us limp. The death instructions receded, seemed an obscene dream.

"Come! A feast! A feast!" Antony cried to his men. "Can that be arranged, my love?"

"The kitchens are as ready as need be," I a.s.sured him. We would manage.

"And wine, wine, enough to rejoice us but not impair us for the morrow," he said. "And music--"

"Yes," I said. "Tonight, anything."

Details followed. Of how they had streamed out the gate, galloped down the road some five miles, past the grove of Nemesis where Pompey's memorial was, and found the beginnings of a camp being set up. The trenches had been started and the streets outlined, but nothing else. The men were resting with their horses, and scarcely had time to mount after they saw Antony's forces bearing down on them. They were tired, and had little fighting strength to counter the attack. A number were slain outright, and the rest scattered, disappearing in all directions.

"Some of them even rode out into the sea!" said Antony. "As if they expected Poseidon to rescue them!" His big hands were curled around a gold drinking cup, and he swallowed a draught of wine. "Ah. And here is the bravest soldier of all--my lieutenant Aulus Celsus. He rode right into their midst, wreaking havoc, endangering his own person."

I looked up to see a burly young man still wearing his armor--stained leather cuira.s.s and battered helmet tucked under his arm. Antony had swept everyone in for the feast dressed as they were.

Celsus bowed stiffly. "It was my pleasure and duty."

"He is too modest," said Antony. "The truth is, he was the very hand of Mars. I would be content--no, proud--if any of my sons made such a soldier."

"It seems you are in need of better fighting gear," I said. "We will make your reward useful as well as profitable." I nodded to one of my attendants. "The gold armor that was old Polemo's--it shall be yours." The storehouse of military treasure was not heaped in the mausoleum, as weapons and armor do not pile tightly.

"Oh no, I could not--" He started to demur, but Antony stopped him.

"And I say you shall," he insisted. Then, after Celsus had taken his leave, Antony whispered to me, "That was as profligate as me."

I did not care. Riches meant little at the moment; they had become just more items to be disposed of. I shrugged.

The noise in the room was rising, aided by the wine and the soaring relief. It was almost like days gone by--but the tension was still there. The men were eating heartily and drinking deeply, but not to lose themselves. At length Antony rose from his couch and held up his hands for silence. It fell quickly--too quickly, showing it had been lurking all the while.

"My friends," he said, "for your bravery today, I commend you. For our fighting tomorrow, I exhort you to slack not! For tomorrow . . . tomorrow we shall meet the foe in our full force, and his. Not just a vanguard, but the whole army. All our fortunes ride on this battle."

The men all stood attentively, but their faces were blank. I could not guess their feelings.

"I challenged Octavian to single combat," he suddenly said. "Yes! I invited him to meet me, man to man, sword in hand."

I had not thought it was possible for them to become stiller and more blank-faced, but they did. The roomful of soldiers stared at him, not even moving their eyes.

"And he refused. But rather than refuse outright, he said flippantly, 'If he wishes to die, there are many other ways open to him.' How clever. How cutting. But you see, he was right. I have thought much on it." He held out his cup for it to be refilled. A servant came forward, and Antony waited for him to finish pouring before he resumed his words. "And I have concluded that tomorrow I shall seek either to live or to die in honor. To defeat the enemy would be honor, and to die in battle would be equal honor. Either way, I conquer." Now he took a long, deliberate sip of the wine. "So drink with me, and pour the wine freely in my cups, for tomorrow you may serve a new master, and I lie dead."

Now at last they stirred, and words poured forth like the wine.

"No, sir, you cannot--"

"Never, I will die with you--"

"Why go into battle, then?"

The page pouring the wine had clasped his arm and begun crying.

"Nay, stop," Antony said. "I did not mean to make you weep. Nor do I mean to lead you into a battle where I do not expect victory. I only meant that, should the G.o.ds see otherwise, they cannot bereave me of my honor, even though I fall."

His words were disheartening them. For a commander to speak so matter-of-factly of his death was hardly inspiring. Some of the younger ones were s.h.i.+ny-eyed, and the more seasoned ones were s.h.i.+fting on their feet.

"Just fight as you fought today, and tomorrow we will gather in this same hall, to feast and shout until the fretted ceiling overhead shakes as with an earthquake!" I cried. "The wind sits fair for victory!" I stepped forward. "I have spoken to the G.o.ds. Isis will not desert, no, she will protect us! And Hercules, your ancestor"--I took Antony's hand and held it aloft--"will wield the club for us." I looked around at the men. "Do not your officers wear the ring engraved with the likeness of Hercules?" I knew Antony gave such rings to his men. "He will strengthen your arms!"

Antony's staunch followers now crowded around him to a.s.sure him of their devotion. The musicians struck up again. The wine flowed. Outside, the streets were still deserted.

Waiting in the chamber. All dark except for one lamp. Charmian has removed my gown, folding it and storing it as she has a hundred--a thousand-- times. My sleeping garments slide over my head, as if I truly plan to sleep. I hold my metal mirror up to my face, and in the dim light I see only wide eyes, devoid now of the kohl lining them, the powdered malachite on the lids. Just ordinary eyes, not even weary or lined. Nothing shows in them, neither joy nor fear. Only a slight curiosity.

Yes, I am curious. It has been reduced to that, now. The unanswered questions will surely be answered tomorrow.

Antony is here ... I must stop.

He stepped into the room, bringing light with him.

"What? So dark?" he said, taking his lamp and using it to light the others, including the many-branched one standing in the corner. While he did so, I left the writing desk and stole over to the bed, then climbed on and covered myself.

I watched him as he moved about the room. Still so unbowed, so full of strength.

"Ah. Time to rest," he said, turning to strip himself of his armor and tunic. He did it himself in easy movements, not wanting to call Eros. "In only a few hours I will put you on again," he said to the garments. He laid his sword and dagger on top of the pile.

"Leave those things," I told him, holding out my arms to him.

He came to me as he had, also, a hundred, a thousand times, and embraced me. Everything we were doing was only a repeat of a thousand prior actions-undressing, holding each other, lying down. Nothing singular in anything. The very ordinariness of it was lulling.

"You have spoken to the children?" Only in that did I betray the difference between tonight and any other.

"Yes. Just now. It was h^rd."

Tomorrow they would leave their quarters and go into the special rooms prepared for them. "For them as well," I said.

"I think to them it is something of a game," he said. "Children love secret pa.s.sages, locks, hiding."

I held him against me. "Why did you light all those lamps when we must try to sleep?" I asked him. I did not want to have to get up and extinguish them. He pulled back a little. "Because I wanted to look at you." He did not say one last time. one last time.

I was touched. "Then look," I said quietly.

He studied my face as intently as if he were inspecting a text. "For years this has filled my vision," he said. "It has been all I have seen."

I could not help smiling. "Then all of Octavian's rantings are true," I said. "The Triumvir had no eyes for anything but the Queen, his world had shrunk to her bedroom--"

"No, that is twisting it. I only meant that you have filled my world, but not obscured it. If anything, you have enhanced it, clarified my vision."

He did not need to say all the things he had done for me, in my name. Now the reckoning was at hand. He stopped looking, closed his eyes, bent forward, and kissed me.

We embraced for a long time, a lingering clasp. Beyond pa.s.sion. Finally, lying quietly side by side, I had to say it.

"Tomorrow, when you leave, I will ready myself to go to the mausoleum. Charmian, Iras, and Mardian will be with me. But we will wait to shut ourselves in until we have word of what has happened. Should it be Octavian who rides up to the palace, he will never take us alive. Nor lay his hand on the treasure. But there can be no mistake. You and I must have a clear signal for what has happened. If I do not hear the trumpet sound two notes, and you cry, 'Anubis!' I will flee to the monument and there proceed to the rest."

"Why 'Anubis'?"

"Because anything else--my name, or your name, or 'Isis!' or 'Victory!'-- could be shouted by anyone. But no one will think to shout 'Anubis.' That way there can be no mistake."

"Then we are resolved that unless Octavian is beaten, we will die?"

I hated that word, die. die. "If he is not beaten, we will die anyway, only the time and place will be of his choosing." "If he is not beaten, we will die anyway, only the time and place will be of his choosing."

Antony bent his head. "Yes."

"Let us talk no more about it," I said.

"Strange how many times I have made final arrangements," he said. "In Parthia, at Paraetonium . . . then my friends refused to let me, and now you, my wife, urge it."

It struck me to the quick that he would see me as a minister of death, more unfeeling than Eros or Lucilius. "It was not the time then," was all I could say. "To do things prematurely angers the G.o.ds, but to delay at the proper time thwarts their will for us." I kissed the side of his face, the very borders of his hair, where it curled over his forehead, his ears. "I would keep you forever," I whispered. "And I will, but not here. We will have to continue in Elysium."

Did I really believe in it? Were there Elysian fields, meadows with b.u.t.terflies and wildflowers waiting for us? I wanted to believe it. I want to, now. Now . . .

"Can we not die together?" he said plaintively. "To die apart is the cruelest blow."

"There is no way," I said stoutly. "For I would stop you, and you stop me. Neither of us could let the other go first, and stand by. While we delayed, Octavian would come upon us. No, this is the only way." Yet I held him tighter, as if that would prevent it.

I could not go into battle with him; I had to stand to the last in my city. He could not s.h.i.+rk the task of leading his army. At dawn we would part, and each meet the death fas.h.i.+oned for him. It would be foolish for me to be slain on horseback, pitiful for him to hide in the mausoleum and take my method of death, since it was uniquely royal and Pharaonic. He must die as a Roman, I as an Egyptian.