He snorted, as if to say, Then you are foolish, too.
"It is hard to let go of a cherished identity," I said. That was why being declared un-Roman was such a blow for Antony. After all, if he was not Roman, what was he? "I shall be disappointed if the Jews--who are, after all, two-fifths of the city--turn from me to Octavian." It was one thing for client kings, whose loyalty did not go back very far, to desert. It was another for one's own citizens. "Is there anything more painful than desertion?" I blurted out.
"Probably not," said Epaphroditus. "It robs us of even our memories, since they must always be viewed through the smudge of betrayal."
"Well, enough of this." My spirits were low. I straightened my back. "Let us discuss the import taxes. After all, ships are still docking. We are not blockaded by sea. . . ."
It was a day like all the rest--as fine and light as the lines on a painted Greek vase--when the messenger was announced. As day after day strove to outdo the last in perfection, I had conceived a fancy that each one knew this might well be my last summer, and wanted both to console and torment me. Savor us; bid farewell to that which you are losing. So there was no other sort of day on which the messenger could have arrived, save one wreathed in warmth and sun and cool breezes.
Mardian announced him with a sniff. "A fellow who calls himself Thyrsus has come from Octavian." He tilted his head to convey disdain. "I suppose you will wish to receive him?"
So the answer had come! I gripped the arms of the chair where I sat. "Of course. But not here. I will receive him in the audience chamber." I rose. "Tell him it will not be until late afternoon." Let him wait, and wonder.
I hurried away to change into formal clothes. So quick an answer. My threats must have stirred Octavian's attention. Should Antony also be present? Surely there was an answer for him as well. But no . . . better that I speak to the man alone. Octavian was not going to agree to Antony's suggestion, so there was no point in giving him an opening for insult.
"Charmian, my audience clothes!" I demanded when I entered my chamber. "They must themselves suggest the richness of the treasure I withhold from Octavian's grasp." I must look as fabulously wealthy as Roman imagination had painted me all these years. This was the first enemy who had approached the throne, and he must be dazzled--especially as Dellius, Plancus, and Titius had undoubtedly spread lies to Octavian. This one must return goggle-eyed to his master.
The neatly folded stacks of glittering material looked like an artificial field of wildflowers, available in every hue and texture. Should I wear gold? Too obvious. Silver? Not at its best during the day. Red? Too blaring. Blue? Too retiring. White?
I fingered the material of a favorite white silk gown that floated around my ankles as if a whisper of a breeze were always blowing across the floor. But no. That was a gown for private moments.
Black? Too severe, and suggestive of mourning. Odd how I could have hundreds of gowns, and yet so few would do for any particular occasion.
From between a black gown and a yellow I saw a fold of purple barely protruding. A purple that had been twice-dyed, giving it a deep, inimitable color. . . yes. "That one," I told Charmian. As she pulled it out, I remembered that the style was perfect: discreet banding of gold threads at the hem and the shoulders, neck shown to advantage, arms covered. Under its ample folds, only the slightest hint of legs and body showed, revealed fleetingly whenever I stepped forward or stirred on my throne. Gold sandals must clasp my feet and kiss the hem of the garment.
The wedding necklace would form a riveting collar of gold around my neck, and of course there would be a gold circlet with the royal cobra on my brow. Let the Republican Roman gaze on pure queenship, and shield his eyes! Octavian and his consciously frugal homespun togas would fade into invisibility.
"Who is this man, my lady?" Iras asked as she arranged my hair around the circlet.
"Octavian's messenger," I said. "No one of any note: I have never heard his name before--Thyrsus."
She said in her soothing manner, "Octavian had doubtless never heard of Euphronius either. Whatever you do, he mimics." She pointed over to Kasu, who was combing her fingers through her wiry crown of head-fur, copying Iras at work. "Like our monkey."
I appreciated her loyalty and sense of humor. But the truth was that Octavian probably knew the name of everyone in my palace, and what he or she did. I did not doubt his spies eavesdropped even on my most intimate moments whenever possible.
The sun was halfway down to its setting place. I had made this Thyrsus wait long enough. Time for our meeting. I arose, liking the way the purple gown rustled against my legs.
He was announced while I sat on my throne, and he waited, invisible, in an outer room. The air, which perfumed itself from the flowers in the gardens surrounding the palace, was rolling voluptuously through the open windows, enveloping me in soft fragrance.
In writing this, I realize that this was my last formal audience. My first had taken place in this chamber by my father's side when he had started training me to be his heir. It seemed, in the worn phrase, only yesterday. We always know when something is our first, but we seldom--through the kindness of the gods--know when we do it for the last time. Had I known . . . But what would I have done differently? Nothing. Nothing except pay closer attention to all the details, the better to remember them.
"Thyrsus, envoy from Octavian Caesar's camp," my attendant announced. That neatly satisfied both sides--the pointed "Octavian" for me, the "Caesar" for him.
A tall young man strode in, with the proud carriage of an eagle. I sat as impassive as possible, so that no human element would detract from all the trappings of splendor around me. I saw him staring at me, looking as travelers do who first stumble toward the pyramids or the great Temple of Artemis, primed to see a wonder.
He fell to his knees, only a few feet from me. "Oh, madam!" he said, using one hand to shield his eyes, as if the sight were too much for a mortal. But the gesture was too smooth; it had been rehearsed.
"Rise," I said. I held out my scepter to indicate my wish.
"My knees will not obey," he said. "They are made weak by your splendor."
"Order them," I said. The flattery was too thick.
He forced himself up, never taking his eyes from mine. "Whatever you order, I shall do my best to obey."
"You are Octavian's aide? What is the rest of your nameThyrsus?"
"Julius Caesar Thyrsus," he replied, proudly.
"You are a freedman?" I was incredulous. He had sent a freedman to address me? So this was his answer to my tutor! He was determined to find someone lower on the social scale. Next he would send a slave.
"Yes, madam. I was freed by the generosity of my former master, now my patron, Imperator Caesar, divi filius."
"You mean Octavian." Let the contest begin.
"As you wish, madam." He smiled, a hesitant, winning smile. His eyes were very blue.
"Your master would not be pleased to hear you capitulate on his titles so easily," I said.
Again the man smiled. "My master is not here, lady, and you are. I wish to please you, and say nothing that would roil your spirits. If 'Octavian' sounds sweet to your ears, so be it."
How accommodating of him. I wondered what his true instructions were. Was this all done in accordance with Octavian's plan? "What would sound sweetest to my ears would be to hear that Octavian had departed for Rome, to let me and my kingdom continue in peace. But such words I will never hear. Where is he now?"
"In Ashkelon."
Ashkelon! My city, so precious to me at crucial times of my life. He sat there now. The thought was painful.
"He is making the final preparations for the march down the desert highway through the Sinai." His tone was kind, not haughty.
"And then to assault Pelusium," I said. Pelusium was the key to Egypt, its eastern gateway. If it fell, the road to Alexandria was clear.
"That is the plan, madam. I tell you nothing you do not know."
"This time of yea
r the desert road shimmers with unbearable heat, and you must march two days without water," I warned him. "Between Rhinokolura and Pelusium there are no wells."
"We have camels."
"You cannot drink from their humps."
"They can carry many waterskins."
"Not enough for twenty legions."
"Each soldier also carries water."
"Enough of this sparring," I said. "I say it will be difficult, and you say you know that. Let it rest. No battle is without its challenges. That is why it would be best if we could avoid battle altogether, which both Antony and I have proposed. I await Octavian's reply to our offers, which I assume you carry with you." I found his manner so likable that I could take no offense at his half-playful arguing.
"Yes, I do." He gave a short, musical laugh. "But they are not written down. I am to speak them."
"Well?"
"As for Antony's request--surely it was a jest?" He looked genuinely puzzled. "Single combat? My commander dismissed it, saying only that if Antony wished to die, there were many methods he could choose."
I winced inwardly. What other answer could Octavian give? It both shamed and insulted Antony for his foolish offer. "I see," I said. The less said about it, the better. "And mine?"
"Ah. Yours. That you will yield Egypt to him without a fight if he promises to put your children on the throne to succeed you, and not make Egypt a Roman province. Now that. . . has many considerations."
"I should have reminded him that once before, Rome captured Egypt, when his . . . adopted . . . father Caesar fought the Alexandrian War. But he wisely did not annex it to Rome then. Caesar judged it better to leave Egypt as it was. Can his political heir be less wise than Caesar the god?" I was anxious to know Octavian's mind; why did this fellow not speak it out?
"Caesar did not take Egypt because he was a captive himself--captive to your charm. It was in deference to you that he held back." He paused, as if he were debating whether to speak further. "And his glorious successor, the young general Octavian, is not as proof against them as he appears."
I had not expected this. What a clever trap. But . . . long ago Antony had muttered, I know he has a lust for you. "Is it so?" I replied cautiously.
"Yes, although I hesitate to reveal it," he said. He seemed so sincere. "He is most eager to have the opportunity to prove himself your friend."
Now I had to laugh. My friend! "Is that why he has declared war on me and called me a whore?"
"Sometimes the stronger our feelings, the crueler our words, to mask them," he said gallantly.
"Oh, I am sure his feelings toward me are quite strong. But strong in hatred, not in friendship."
"You are wrong. But give him the opportunity to prove his good intentions. Lay down your arms and welcome him to Egypt, as you did Caesar. Then he will prove a kind lord to you and yours."
"Is this before or after I present him with Antony?"
"Forget about Antony," he said. "He is negligible, inconsequential between great rulers of your stature."
"I see." And I did, to my sorrow. But Octavian's desire to lull me into submission might be turned against him, if I could somehow manage an interview while I still held my treasure safe. "Now let me reiterate my situation. I know that what Octavian desires is not me, but my treasure. He needs it to pay his soldiers, who have been living on promises for years. But he will never get it until he has met my conditions. Otherwise I will destroy it. Let me show you how." I rose from the throne and came down to stand beside him. "Come with me."
"If you would only welcome him as you did Caesar, you would find him most agreeable."
Why did he keep using that phrase? Did he mean welcome him into my bed?"
"If he would be straightforward in his dealings, as Caesar was, we could come to an understanding," I answered.
"You are young," Thyrsus said, sighing. "Is it not time you left old men behind? Youth has charms that age knows not."
"Then Octavian would not find me charming, as I am older than he."
He pretended to be surprised. "Is it even so? But you look so young."
"It must be the magic arts that Octavian swears I practice that have preserved me," I said. "But he himself seems a child to me."
"Oh no, my lady, he is now thirty-two. The same age as Alexander when he died. Was Alexander a child?"
"A glorious and eternal god-child," I said. "Come." I would lead him to the mausoleum and show him my ransom.
We passed through the connecting rooms of the palace, and the bright sunlight hurt my eyes when we stepped outside. The summer sun, magnified by the white marble of the city and the flat mirror of the sea, was so intense it bleached colors from whatever it touched.
"Where are we going?" he asked, shading his eyes.
"To a place where the sun never penetrates," I said, pointing across the grounds to the mausoleum, next to the open Temple of Isis. "To my tomb."
"So, even though you are Greek, you have succumbed to the Egyptian fascination with death?" He asked it curiously. "Even in this city of high noon, the shadow of the tomb falls across our path."
We were approaching the building. It loomed bigger and bigger before us, its portals beckoning. "To grow up in Egypt is to rub shoulders with the dead. It is inescapable; the monuments are part of the landscape. We do not believe that a body should burn like a candle and then be emptied unceremoniously into an urn." I paused. "But all this is not for many years," I assured him, "if Octavian will listen to reason. After all, why should any of us die prematurely?"
Let us live, I wished fiercely. Let us spend as many years as natural life allows us, here beneath the sun. It might be possible. If. . .
I led the way up the steps surrounding the mausoleum and through the open doors. Beside me, his heavy nailed sandals grated on the stone.
Inside, the shadows engulfed us. It took a moment for our eyes to adjust.
"This is all for you? And Antony?" he asked, His voice hushed.
"Yes. We will lie apart from the rest of the Ptolemies." I was waiting for the stinging darkness to recede so I could show him my creation--my treasure-hostage. It was cool in here, cool in a suspended, seasonless way.
"Why have you brought me here? I don't like tombs."
"Ah, but this is a very special tomb. For one thing, these doors." I extended my arm and pointed at them.
"What about them?"
"They remain open now, but are engineered so they can be closed only once. When they descend down the tracks of their posts, they seal themselves shut forever. After the last funeral--mine or Antony's--when the mourners depart, the doors will enclose us in solitude for all eternity." I paused. "It is an old Egyptian idea, grafted onto a Greek-style temple. We will not be disturbed by tomb robbers, for no valuables will be buried with us."
I sensed, rather than saw, his shudder. "Let us leave."
I ignored his request. "The valuables I am going to show you will have all been given to Octavian, and the mausoleum will be empty of treasure. That is, if he agrees to my request."
Now at last we could see. I led him past the two sarcophagi and around the polished black pillars to the mountain of treasure. He stood staring at it, taken by surprise at last. He had not been prepared for this.
I walked around the pile. "Here it is--gold, silver, pearls, lapis, emeralds-- enough to pay any debts Octavian has, no matter how large. This represents many times the annual income and treasury of Rome. It was accumulated by my ancestors--the last unplundered source of wealth in the world, save that of the Parthians. Think what your master can do with it! And it is all his, without a drop of bloodshed, without the loss of a single life, if he just agrees that either Caesarion or Alexander and Selene can be crowned ruler of Egypt. As for my person, I will remove myself. As you can see, I have prepared a place to go." I nodded toward the sarcophagi.
"By all the gods. . ." His voice was faint.
"And this is not all," I assured him. "Of course Rome would have the gra
in of Egypt at her disposal, year after year. That would be part of the bargain."
"I do not think Octavian pictured this," he finally said. "But, fair lady, this could never make him happy if it were got in exchange for your life."
"Oh, I imagine he could force himself to appreciate it," I said. "So. What will be his answer?"
He reached out and stroked a bar of gold. "It isn't even cold," he said wonderingly.
"That's right," I said. "Whoever describes gold as being hard and cold has never had the privilege of touching large pieces of it in pure form. As a metal it is very soft, forgiving, and eager to shape itself to you; and it never feels frigidly cold like iron. A mysterious substance, gold." I touched it fondly. "Bring me your master's answer as soon as possible. For you can see that I have the means of destroying it all if his answer does not please me." I indicated the wood and pitch at the bottom of the pile.
"He desires to please you." Thyrsus took my hand and kissed it. "It is his deepest wish." He stepped closer, and did not let go of my hand. "Trust him, and trust the power you already wield over his . . . his feelings." He kissed my hand again, lingering.
"Then let him stop disguising them, and allow them to shine forth," I said. "Things hidden cannot be responded to."
He kept kissing my hand, and his thick hair fell forward, touching my wrist.