Chapter Twenty-Eight #2
I wrapped my arms around myself, pulling at the gold cloak I wore. Every morning, I dressed in formal garb and stood in this spot on the bow of my ship. I knew the importance of my presence for the troops, though it fatigued me, the sun sheening my skin with sweat.
Antonius often joined me, and so we stood, like two statues of the gods, awaiting our fates.
“Do you remember when we first met?” I asked him.
He looked at me, his gaze tender. “Of course. That was the very moment I fell in love with you. You were cut from bronze and gold in the Temple of Venus.”
I tutted. “You did not love me then.”
“I did,” he said seriously. “I may not have known it, but I did. The gods carved our love in stone, for why else were we both drawn to the temple that day?”
I did not tell him about my quest for mint to soothe my stomach.
“Do you think we will survive this, Marcus?” I asked.
He reached for my waist, slipping his hand around me. “We will.”
“And if we don’t?”
His smile dropped and he looked to the distance where the sweltering heat beat down on the armour of our soldiers.
“If we don’t, then we will be immortalised like Isis and Dionysus before us. We will be remembered as the lovers who fought for justice, who stood tall in the face of tyranny.”
I thought of the rumours that bloomed in Rome, the petals scattered across the world by the winds of fate, and I grew doubtful.
“It is our tyranny the Romans speak on.”
“Rome is not the world. Octavian’s empire will be lost in history.[*] You are Egypt.”
I was still unsure. I sensed the mould of my legend had already been carved. Though it would take years, centuries, for the cast to set.
Antonius saw my lips turn down and reached for my cheek. “We will not be forgotten, and so we will live on.”
If only the tales spoke of Antonius’s kindness, and not his capricious moods, and told stories of my tenacity and not my sexual prowess.
“Imperator, my queen, we have had news from our commander in Methone,” Dellius said behind us.
I turned to him. Once a Roman emissary, he had become a trusted general in Antonius’s army. I had disliked him from the moment he had arrived in Alexandria all those years before and summoned me to Tarsus.
“What do they say?” I asked impatiently.
Dellius’s eyes flickered briefly over to me, but then he answered as if Antonius had asked the question.
“Octavian has taken Methone.”
Antonius swore and began pacing. “He’s going after our supply routes.”
“Let us come away from the railing,” I said. “I do not wish our soldiers to see our disquiet.”
He seemed as though he might argue, but then he looked back at the infantry and the sea of soldiers who stood waiting to take our orders.
“Yes, come, let us move into the ship’s heart.” He strode away, Dellius falling into step behind him before I could follow. I scowled at the general’s back.
When we were comfortably seated in the room we had chosen as our war council, I spoke again: “We were waiting on those supplies from Methone to feed the troops. They will now hunger.”
“Yes, though I have a solution,” Dellius said with a hint of arrogance.
“Go on.”
“Herod is abandoning Actium; we can trade for his supplies.”
“Another ally is leaving us?” I said. “Why was I not told of this?”
Antonius frowned. “I told you to inform the Pharaoh yesterday, Dellius.”
“I thought bringing you the news was sufficient.” Dellius pushed out his chest.
“I grow tired of his insubordination,” I said, as if Dellius was not there.
“Dellius, please remember that the Pharaoh is my partner in all things,” Antonius said sharply.
Dellius’s bow was stiff, and still he faced Antonius, not me. “Yes, Imperator.”
I dragged my gaze from him and back to Antonius. “We must lure Octavian onto land. His blockade will be the death of us if we cannot supply food to our fleet. Herod’s supplies will not last long.”
“We need to discuss with the rest of our allies. Dellius, send for them. It is time to end this battle.”
Dellius returned with the kings and queens of Asia Minor and the East. Together we formed a plan to force Octavian’s hand. We had many more soldiers than him, and if we were able to draw the Romans out to central Greece, the battle would easily be won.
I learned a lesson too late that day: when someone first shows you their true nature, believe the face they turn to you.
Dellius took the plans that we made that day and gave them to Octavian. I will never know what it was that swayed his loyalties. Did he see the end was in sight? Or was it as simple as his hatred of me?
Either way, his defection became one of many. With the lack of food and burning weather, soldiers flocked in their masses to Octavian’s side.
The dread in my belly had sunk into my bones. So much so that I found it hard to conduct my daily routine on the bow of the boat.
“I must sit,” I whispered in Eiras’s direction. My maid came forward just as I began to sway. She caught me and lowered me onto the ship’s deck. That was where Antonius found me.
“Cleopatra? Are you well?”
He kneeled by my side.
“No, Antonius. I am not.” I took the cup of murky water Eiras offered and drank it, despite it tasting brackish.
“What is it that ails you?” he asked. I looked into his hollowed eyes, lack of sleep robbing them of vibrancy. The green in their centre, which I had once thought the most beautiful and invigorating colour, now reminded me of the Actium marshes.
“This war presses down heavy on my heart. We cannot continue like this. We have to retreat before we starve here.”
Antonius collapsed beside me, sighing. Then he laughed, shaking his head. “If the soldiers look to us now, they’ll be greatly disappointed by the figures they see.”
I reached for his hand and squeezed it. “It is time to go home. Let us amass more troops, rally for more allies. Our time in Actium is over, but the battle is not.”
“I see the sense in what you suggest,” he told me, “but how are we to manoeuvre through the gulf? Octavian still blocks our path.”
My father’s voice came to me then across the great distance of my memories. I lay tangled in Berenice’s bloodied sheets, cursing his hand in her murder.
He had gently lifted me from the bed and said, “We are Egypt, and Egypt is us. Sometimes we must sacrifice what we hold dear. But Egypt must live. Always.”
With my father’s words ringing in my ears, I stood shakily and looked back over the fleet.
“We must sacrifice some of our own army. Order thirty of our ships to attack the eastern flank, then while Octavian is occupied, we make for Egypt.” I spoke quietly, too softly for anyone but Antonius to hear. We no longer trusted anyone but each other.
“We’ll be condemning all aboard those thirty ships to death.”
I nodded grimly. “Strip the vessels of all but the sparsest of crews. And tonight, let us invite the commanders who lead them to dine with us. We can empty the kitchen supplies, consume all the wine. Give them a night with the gods before their noble death on the morrow.”
—
The last meal in Actium was a raucous affair. The thirty commanders filled the dining hall of the boat, bringing with them voracious appetites. I had instructed the kitchens to assemble a feast that was reminiscent of the many we’d had back in Egypt.
Stocks were low, but they were able to hunt waterfowl from the bay, roasting them in batches so that the evening wore on far later than I had wanted.
We used the last of our wine, ensuring the commanders’ cups were always filled.
Tributes were made in my and Antonius’s honour and we accepted them politely, raising our gold chalices up in respect.
But as the dinner came to a close, I urged Antonius to pronounce his final words. And seal their fates.
He begged for silence from the wine-merry crowd and they granted it to him. “Many of you may be wondering what fortune has led to your attendance here this night. I am here to tell you that tomorrow is the day we strike at the heart of our enemy.”
There were shocked murmurs.
“You mean to say we make a move on the blockade?” a young commander asked. He could not have been much older than Caesarion. I looked away.
Coward, my inner voice said. You cannot face the men you send to their deaths?
I forced myself to turn back to him as I stood, drawing the gaze of the room to me. The soldier’s brown eyes were wide and innocent, not seeming the eyes of a soldier.
“Yes,” I said. “Tomorrow, you have all been chosen to lead the battle. We have brought you here to honour you, for your names will forever be written in history.”
I feel shame now, for I cannot recollect the name of any of my commanders from that day. They died so I could live a few more months. An unworthy cause.
Some of the commanders began to cheer but the boy was frowning. “Why have you recalled my archers to land, then?”
I felt Antonius tense beside me.
“We do not need archers to best Octavian’s fleet,” I said quickly. “His ships are far smaller, our naval rams will be enough.”
This seemed to ease the boy’s worries and he joined in the growing cheers.
Antonius and I did not sleep that night. We stood on the bow of my ship and watched the sun rise.
“This was not the outcome I expected,” he said quietly.
“We have our health, Marcus. We have each other. And we have our children.” I leaned against him and he pressed his nose to my hair.
“That, perhaps, is the one benefit of this day. We will get to see our children very soon. I have missed them.”
“As have I.”
I thought again of the young commander. I was grateful Antonius stood at my back so he could not see the tears swimming in my eyes.
Guilt does not fade with time. Some feelings do, like anger and grief. Even the vibrancy of love loses its light, if not its warmth. But guilt? Its roots wrap around my soul, sometimes making my breath stutter.
“This is not the end of the fight,” Antonius said.
“It cannot be, for Octavian will never allow Caesarion to live.”
“And so, Octavian must die,” he said firmly, and my heart swelled.
I turned to face him. “Thank you for loving me, Marcus.”
He smiled then, and it was as if the sun had appeared from behind a cloud. “There has been nothing easier or simpler than the love I have for you.”
When he kissed me I felt his tears mixing with mine on my cheeks.
Soon we would be parted. I would be in Egypt working on defences, while he would go on to Cyrene to bring back the legions we had secured there.
“Can you not come home to Egypt with me?” I whispered into his ear.
“You know that is what my heart desires. But we need the infantry in Cyrene if we are to have a chance of defeating Octavian in Alexandria. Any delay leaves us vulnerable.”
I knew he spoke sense.
“You will be with me always,” he said, and he reached into his tunic and withdrew a small wooden figurine.
I laughed as I recognised the small carving of Dionysus that I had chosen for him in the market.
“Take it and place it next to your heart,” he said.
My hand went to my neck and I removed the ivory knife I had worn since the day the hakawati had tried to kill me.
“As long as you will wear this,” I said.
He knew how much the necklace meant to me. I pressed my lips to the sheath before looping the chain over his neck. Then I took the figurine from him and placed it in my dress above my heart.
“In life or in death, Marcus, I will see you again,” I said.
Once the sun had risen, I led what remained of my navy to the eastern waters, to await an opening in Octavian’s fleet.
Up ahead were the thirty vessels we had released as sacrifice to allow for our escape.
I watched as the first Egyptian ship made it through the blockade, ramming into the Roman navy. Fire arrows rained down upon it, setting the deck alight.
I forced myself to look as the flames licked up the sides of the boat. My eyes stung as the fire burned flesh, tears falling once the ship had sunk.
Ten Roman ships fell before there was sufficient space to move my fleet through the blockade. And ten more of mine.
Thousands died that day.
Would I do it again?
Yes.
I did not look back once we had sailed through the gulf. I did not check to see if Antonius followed. My eyes were on Egypt. And my country called to me, like no man ever had.
Skip Notes
* I urge you to reach for your pen and mark the years that the Roman Empire lived and died. Then take your pen and walk ten, fifteen paces from the paper. Mark the ground and look back to the dots on your page. That is the legacy Pharaonic Egypt left. Millennia versus five centuries.