Cleopatra's Secret: Keepers of the LIght (42 page)

“Your master has invited me to kill myself,” said Antony looking at the young officer intently. “What do you think I should do?”

“I…I could not say,” stammered the legionnaire taken aback.

“Yes, but you can,” replied Antony quietly. “You, a common Roman soldier, it is you above all people who can tell me. Am I not mocked and slandered around the campfires? Do the ladies of Rome now snicker about my cowardice in the marketplace? Does Antony deserve an honorable death? Would it erase the shame I have brought upon myself?”

The youth looked down embarrassed.

Antony saw the young soldier’s discomfort and turned his back on him. “You’ve given me my answer.”

“Lord Antony–”

“Get out of here!” roared Antony.

The terrified soldier struck his chest with his fist and quickly departed, leaving Antony alone again in the ramshackled hut.

Unexpected grief welled up in his heart to mingle with the shame and self-hatred.
Was death the only way out?

“Perhaps you shall have me after all, Jackal,” he muttered to the shadows which filled the room like dark spirits waiting to absorb him.

His eyes went to his sword resting against a beat up chest in the corner of the room. Its blade gleamed pale as the moon. He picked it up. The familiar feel of the scabbard in his hand was almost comforting.

I have you still to be my friend.

Antony stared down fascinated at the cold steel which had claimed so many lives. He dragged the sword to his seat by the window and resumed his vigil, watching the eternal ebb and flow of the dark waves with wide sober eyes.

The death of a Roman general had saved the throne of Egypt once before. When Caesar first arrived in Alexandria, so many years ago, the head of his enemy, General Pompey, had been presented to him as a gruesome present, and Rome had allowed Cleopatra to ascend the throne. Not that she had murdered Pompey, just as she did not now ask Antony for his head. And yet, wouldn’t his head allow Cleopatra to keep her throne?

He had failed Caesar and failed his soldiers. Perhaps he might not fail Cleopatra and their children.

He sat with himself and the stirring song of the waves all through the night until the sky began to brighten and the awful clarity came to him.

How to say goodbye to a world, which he could feel now with the stirring ocean air and the cry of the sea birds, was still so vibrantly alive? The world was through with him. Even Cleopatra, whom he still loved despite everything, surely despised him. The noble Queen could feel nothing but contempt for a man so corrupted by weakness.

Yet, he longed more than ever to feel her soft arms around him, hear her low voice whispering in his ear, the musky perfume of roses and myrrh enveloping them.

He remembered her as she had been on their first night together on her barge in Tarsus. She had been dressed in a robe of gold, her black-lined eyes burning with a feverish light. The memory of it had been branded into his soul. No matter what she was: witch, Goddess, woman he could only now, when the moment of passing was so close, long for her kiss to take his breath away….

But his blade beckoned.

Antony turned his mind from Cleopatra to his weapon. He placed the point against his hard belly and took a deep breath. The waves outside his window were sparkling with sunlight and the dingy little room seemed now aglow. The sky was clear and blue, and a soft breeze fanned the warm Mediterranean air gently across his face.

Let me die now, in this moment.

Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, tensing his strong arms for the plunge. But feeling something change in the room, he looked to the doorway.

Cleopatra stood there, her black hair uncombed and streaming across her heaving breasts, her face as pale as the lotus blossom. Their eyes met and his sword slipped from his hands, clattering to the floor.

Before he knew what was happening, Cleopatra knelt on the floor, her arms wrapped around his broad chest and the warm smell of her perfume rose up around them.

He grasped onto her like a lifeline.

She turned her face up to his and the naked pain in her eyes filled him with regrets. “Antony, how could you leave me alone?”

It was the question of a woman, not a queen or a Goddess. Antony smoothed back her hair and held her beautiful face in his hands. “I’ve failed you––”

“No!” she protested. “You have not failed. Do you really believe we could do anything that is not the will of the Gods?” Her eyes searched his, as if to read the secrets of his soul. “Only, no matter what they bring us, don’t turn away from me. There’s no grief too painful, no defeat too terrible. Even if death is to be our fate, don’t leave me alone in it!”

He looked away from her imploring eyes. “How can you even stand the sight of me? I’ve brought you defeat. I’ve lost your throne. You want me to stand with you, but for what?” He searched her face as if it were a puzzle he could not put the pieces to. “Octavian has won. The whole world shouts that he and Rome have won and we have failed.” He rose, and turning his back to her, pressed his brow against the wall of the hut. “I can’t live with the dishonor of my failure.”

“Oh no, Antony, you’re wrong,” she said passionately. She grasped his strong arms in her hands. “The dishonor is
not
in the failure. The dishonor comes in giving up! Antony think, in Rome there is not a single theater, only coliseums where the people amuse themselves with the torturing of innocent people and animals. Your daughter, Antonia, will not inherit your holdings or villas, because women have fewer rights than slaves in Rome. Good honest men are crucified there, merely for speaking the truth.

“If Octavian is allowed to, he will found a Godless Empire of empty conquests where men will never be sated with enough gold, or blood, or glory to fill the void inside them. The corruption of Rome will spread like a disease throughout the world and no place will be safe from it. Can you imagine the horror Octavian will bring then?

“In all the world we are the only ones strong enough to challenge him! If Egypt falls, all the culture and knowledge, all the mysteries which make life worth living fall with it. The world will change forever into a place of darkness where greed, power and ambition are prized above all else. I have seen it in my visions. Let it not be said that we abandoned the world to this barbarian without a fight! You spoke of dishonor––there could be no greater dishonor than that.”

Antony sat motionless, gazing at the floor.

Cleopatra looked at him questioningly. “Antony?”

He looked up and touched her hands, which still rested on his broad shoulders, and held them tenderly for a moment. His eyes fell on the sunlight dancing on the blue green waves and he opened his lungs to breathe in the fresh scent of sea air.

“Then let us fight…to the end.”

***

Though leaner than before, dark hollows still shadowing his eyes, Antony sat tall in the saddle, his scarlet cloak flung across his broad shoulders as he urged his stallion forward, leading his legions into the rising sun and Octavian’s approaching army. He cast one quick glance back to catch a final glimpse of Cleopatra. She stood surrounded by her courtiers, just outside the walls of Alexandria, her white robe and golden crown almost blinding in the sunlight.

Would he ever see her again?

Fixing his eyes on the vast desert before him, Antony let loose a wild battle cry and urged his mount forward. His men picked up the call and the legions tore across the powdery sand like thunder.

At twilight they set up camp for the night. The fires of his men were dwarfed by a sea of tiny lights not more than a league away, like so many twinkling stars fallen to earth in the Egyptian desert––the campfires of Octavian’s army. Antony looked out across the desert at the seemingly unending legions of Rome and his heart sank. How could he ask his soldiers to go to certain death fighting their own countrymen?

As he made his way across the camp it was unusually subdued. There were no dice games or rowdy drunken songs taking place around the fires. No glorious tales of battle recounted by the more seasoned soldiers to an audience of fresh recruits. All was silent and depressed as dusk settled into night.

Antony retired to his tent, too disheartened to mingle with his soldiers, as was his usual practice on the eve of battle. There would be no brave speeches tonight, only quiet prayers for survival.

He sat down to the sumptuous meal his steward set out for him. Cleopatra had seen to it that his army went out well fed, at any rate, thought Antony, chewing on a tender bite of roast goose stuffed with figs. He looked up as a figure in a hooded cloak quietly slipped through his tent flap.

“Antony, forgive me for coming so late,” said a familiar voice.

A broad smile spread across Antony’s face as Germanicus wearily pulled down the hood of his cloak and stepped farther into the tent.

“Well,” said Antony rising, “I had not thought to lay eyes upon you again, my friend.”

A slight frown creased Germanicus's brow. “Have I ever deserted you in your hour of need?”

“Never,” replied Antony, touched at his commander’s loyalty, especially now when it was suicide to join forces with him.

“There’s someone with me I hope you will not be unhappy to see.” Germanicus actually sounded nervous.

“Not an enemy I hope?” asked Antony cautiously.

“I hope you will not consider me so.” Octavia slipped through the tent flap to stand by Germanicus’s side.

“Octavia…” Antony whispered, astonished to see her.

“I hope you’re not angry with me for coming. I haven’t come…my only reason was to help you defeat my brother.”

“I can’t believe my eyes!” Antony still gaped at her.

“Antony, we’re here as your loyal friends,” said Germanicus. “But also as Octavian’s enemies. He has been crowned Emperor by the Senate. There’s no one in Rome for him to answer to now.”

“But you must know there’s nothing to be done,” said Antony. “I seek battle in the hope of winning an honorable death––nothing more. I can’t defeat Octavian with two legions to fight his twenty.”

“Don’t give up so easily,” urged Octavia. “There are more ways to defeat him than on a field of battle.”

“Perhaps there are,” replied Antony thoughtfully. “But the battlefield is the only playing ground I know. If I can’t defeat him here, then I never will.”

Tears brimmed in her soft blue eyes. “Are you determined to fight tomorrow?”

“I am.” Antony smiled and the ghost of the charming Roman youth he had once been seemed to animate him for a moment. He uncorked a jug of wine and filled a goblet to the brim. “Let us drink one last time together in honor of the good things we have shared and may all the bad times be forgotten in our graves.”

Antony spilled the wine on the ground to honor the Gods, the crimson drops like blood against the desert sand. He drank and passed the goblet to Octavia, who also slowly brought the cup to her lips.

As Germanicus took the wine, he glanced at Octavia. “May all crimes, known and unknown, be forgiven between us now,” and he drained the cup dry.

“Well then,” said Antony, “it’s time for us to say goodbye. May the Gods smile on you both and bless you.”

“But we’re not leaving,” said Octavia distressed. “We’re here to fight with you!”

“There’s nothing you can do to help me here. Germanicus, who's a seasoned commander, knows this.” Antony looked intently at his old friend. “But as you say, Octavian must not be allowed to rule Rome unchecked. You alone are untouchable, Octavia, and with Germanicus at your side, perhaps you can use your influence for good back home.”

“But we can’t leave you to die,” she insisted.

Antony took her slender white hand and pressed it affectionately in his own. “You will not understand this, but here in Egypt I have learned things. Things about the Gods and worlds beyond our own. I can’t say I even understand myself, but I’m not afraid to die an honorable death if the Fates decree it.” He gave her hand a squeeze then let it drop. “This is not your battle to fight and it is not your hour to die.”

Octavia stood quietly absorbing Antony’s words, silent tears rolling down her cheeks. Germanicus gently placed her mantle around her shoulders. “We must go now.”

She looked up at Germanicus. Their eyes met and Antony saw what passed between them. He smiled to himself. At least he had not completely destroyed any chance of happiness for his former wife.

Octavia turned back to him. “May your Gods watch over you, Antony.” Standing on tiptoe she kissed his cheek. He felt a surge of love for her, as for a beloved sister, as she smiled through her tears and pulled the hood over her golden hair.

“Remember me to Antonia. Give her my blessings,” said Antony.

“I will raise her to honor the life of her father,” she promised.

“Farewell,” said Germanicus, his eyes locking for a moment with Antony’s. They both knew they would never meet again. Germanicus struck his heart in the formal sign of respect.

Antony clasped his commander’s shoulders firmly. “Farewell Germanicus. Take care of Octavia.”

Germanicus nodded and Antony watched his oldest, and last, friend retreat from the tent into the cool desert night.