Carmen Boullosa - Cleopatra Dismounts

My bodyguards were following closely. The cart was long out of sight. But there were no cows, not a single one. We came across flock after flock of goats chewing insatiably, like good Romans. But cows or anything like them, very few. There were three at the creek of a small village, one here at a house, two over there, but a hundred? It was unlikely that there were a hundred cows in the length and breadth of Italy.

The soil was changing from white to gray, to red, to black, to pink, to brown, but Apollodorus did not change. His mood was elated, his energy tireless. Everything seemed to excite him. The sands, the rocks, the grass — all were an occasion for recalling some story, each one an opportunity for laughter.

Unfortunately, at the next changing post there were no mounts for us, and we went back to riding in the cart. In it we crossed the Campanus Bridge, over the River Savus, which divides Lacium, founded by the Homeric hero, Diomedes, from Campania, Capua, Caudius, and Beneventus.

In Beneventus, the road split in two. One led to Venusia along the Appian Way, going to the heel of Italy and to Brun-disium, our destination. The other went along the Trajan Way, shorter but in worse condition, to Bari and the coast. We chose the second, because we were in such a hurry. There were so many potholes in it that we soon regretted not having taken the first route. We passed through Ordona, where people pay for water and, incredibly, swallow dust, but where the bread is the best in the world. Then came Canusius, on the banks of the Aufidius; Petreus, a place with less water than a puddle; Rubos; Bari; Gnatia, built without the blessing of the nymphs; and finally, our destination, Brundisium, where we arrived, more dead than alive, sick of all the jolting on the hard soil, but only to confront a more severe hardness, that of the sea.

Brundisium — I have already mentioned it twice, and each time I mention it, I realize, Antony, how much I have come to hate it, all these years later, for you went there to sign your treaty with Octavius. I was about to deliver your children, your twins, while you were agreeing with that puny creature to marry his sister, Octavia, now that Fulvia had died. .

We arrived at first nightfall. Without delay, for we were still worried my father might have sent men in pursuit of us, we went aboard the three quinqueremes, taking with us my jewels and a certain amount of money that my father had agreed to give me, thanks to the wheeling and dealing of my crafty mother, on condition that I would keep it for her, something I had not the least intention of doing, because, for one thing, it was funding our escape. And also the masks that Apollodorus had got for us, plus a small mountain of clothing. We cast off and anchored a little off the coast, awaiting the first light before we sailed in earnest. I had thought it best to sail away immediately but Apollodorus and the sailors told me that the Mediterranean was not to be trusted.

The ships were hardly more comfortable than the ox-carts. Curling up, maybe in terror, my maids fell asleep. Two of my men were assigned to stand watch, and the crew settled down under their cloaks. I’ve no idea where Apollodorus snuggled down, for I gave myself up to dreaming and staring up at the stars, fantasizing about the triumphs and glories that life might hold for me, successes that surpassed all I ever actually gained later in my life, for they were achieved with a purity of spirit, unstained by corruption, bestowed on me like gifts at a festival, effortlessly, void of struggle and strife.

That night I saw myself attired in extraordinary garments, the darling of all Egypt. I stood at the top of a staircase and a gazing multitude acclaimed me. I saw myself in the same garments, parading with a cortege of elephants, tigers, and lions across the Campus Martius, and the crowds cheered, calling out, “Hail, Queen! You will reign over us and over our children, and your blood will reign over our descendants!” I imagined myself riding in a chariot drawn by a dozen beasts, covered in gold, as I traversed the three parts of Gaul, clad in my fabulous clothing. The beasts that drew my chariot were gilded crocodiles, chosen to stun the mob who, of course, simply adored me! All this under the cloak of night, under the blazing stars, rocked like a baby by a sea at peace. But what I did not foresee was the one thing that would lift me to the heights of glory: the arms of Mark Antony.

Let me get back to the boat anchored off Brundisium. We set sail and spent the days in a variety of recreations. Our favorite was to perform a tableau of worship to Isis. All the passengers took part in it. When we were one day out from the port of Tarsus, two speedy ships, typical of the lightweight vessels favored by pirates, drew close. I asked my men to offer no resistance and ordered them to take up the formation we had spent days practicing. It wasn’t exactly a military one but we called it that out of whimsy. The crew had mastered it and the process had amused us in the deadly dull hours of the trip and it had boosted the morale of my maidens. Apollodorus and I knew all along it would serve as a defensive maneuver.

When the pirates were on the point of boarding our ship, they found us motionless, except for our fans, that on my orders were keeping time with the motion of the sea. I carried a scepter and a whip, the two symbols of royalty, and had dressed in Egyptian style, mimicking Isis. The crew and my guards were wearing masks, a lion to represent Sehmet, a jackal for Anubis, an eagle for Horus, a mandril for Toth, a ram for Ammon Ra. In their fists were javelins, set against Neptune, Venus, and Athena herself, for others among my servants were dressed as Roman gods. One of my maids held above my head rods plated with gold to suggest the rays of the sun. One of the servants in an eagle’s mask, concealed his body behind the fake leaves of a banana tree and shook his two hands among them. Another displayed his hands to form the claws of the eagle, the rest of his body hidden. By the head of the jackal hung the naked body of an old woman, my beloved nanny Eter, her large, flaccid breasts dangling. Over these gods of the Empire triumphed Egypt’s Isis.

When I saw the pirates moving from astonishment to action, I took one step forward and told them in my penetrating voice that I needed to speak to the captain of their flotilla, because I was heading for Cilicia and, being a princess with claims to the throne of Egypt, I required an escort for myself and my court. I said it in Greek, Egyptian, and Latin, plus a couple of barbarian languages, not knowing what they would understand. At a gesture from me, the two musicians beside me began to play the most cheerful of their dance tunes. The amazement of the pirates — at the scene, the discourse I delivered in the most solemn tone, the music that invited them to dance and laugh — worked totally in my favor. The pirates smiled, one and all. They asked for proof of my claims.

“I would have liked to bring you the golden crown that my father Auletes bestowed on Pompey,” I explained in koine. “But we Lagids never take back by force what we once have given. Take me to your king. Before we begin to sail, take this. It belongs to you.” I translated my words into half a dozen languages and handed over a purple bag that contained a mass of gleaming trinkets that I had brought for exactly such an occasion as this, bright baubles to dazzle the eye. “The future queen of Egypt wishes to share her treasures with the men of Cilicia.” Their answer was to adore me with a divine fervor.

They burst into chatter, asking me questions in various languages, for our intended assailants came from several nations. Some of their questions I answered with a felicity that brought effusive signs of enthusiasm from them.