When We Were Gods, page 23
The oracle also spoke of a golden child who would be born on the birthday of the sun, the twenty fifth day of the Roman month of Decembris. But she doubted if Antony’s baby would wait that long to see the world.
Everyone loved her now. In the chora, she was Isis, Queen of the World; in Alexandria, even the poisonous Greek court had been silenced by her diplomatic maneuvers. She held the Mediterranean in the palm of her hand.
If only she knew what was happening on the other side of the Parthian mountains.
News arrived from Apollodorus, all of it bad. Octavian had won Sicily.
Sextus had been defeated at sea, the untried Agrippa confounding his critics. His newly constructed fleet of big ships had proved too much for the Son of Neptune. Agrippa had devised a new weapon, the harapax, a catapult that fired a grappling hook. He had hauled Sextus' smaller Liburnians against the sides of his floating fortresses, holding them long enough for his men to board and destroy them. Sextus had fled to the east with just seventeen ships remaining from three hundred.
Then Sextus's land army had surrendered to Marcus Lepidus, the forgotten third member of the Triumvirate. Lepidus had used these appropriated legions as basis for claiming Sicily as his own, in direct challenge to Octavian. But he had misread the mood of his soldiers. They were sick of fighting. Octavian had ridden into Lepidus's camp with a handful of officers and bought them off. Lepidus had groveled for his life, throwing himself at Octavian's feet and kissing his sandals. Octavian had been generous for once, and sent him into exile, instead of giving his neck an airing.
Octavian is like the Hydra, Cleopatra thought. Just when you think you have finished him, he rears up again, growing heads in other places.
In the second month of the Egyptian new year, at the height of the Nile, she gave birth to a son, Ptolemy Philadelphos. The next day she received more news from Rome. Octavian had put up a notice in the Forum, declaring the civil wars at an end. The Senate had granted him the right to wear the laurel wreath at all times, as Caesar had done.
This changes things, she thought. Unless Antony comes back from the east with the King of Parthia's head on a plate, we are in serious trouble.
Chapter 78
Quintus Dellius marched across the marbled hall, all leather and bronze, the helmet with its red crest under his right arm. This was not the joyous messenger she had hoped for. His face was set in a grim line, his cheeks hollowed with exhaustion.
‘Majesty,’ he said and bowed. ‘Greetings from Imperator Mark Antony.’
‘Tell me what has happened,’ she said, steeling herself, for she had already guessed.
‘He needs your help,’ Dellius said.
‘Where is he?’
‘In Syria, Majesty, at Leuke Kome, a place called the White Village, north of Sidon. He asks that you come immediately. He needs money, food, and clothes for his soldiers.’
‘How bad is it?’ she asked him.
Dellius swallowed, hard. ‘There are twenty thousand of us back from the mountains.’
A murmur around the court. Forty thousand Romans lost, then. A disaster.
‘Tell him I will come,’ she said.
Chapter 79
Leuke Kome
Syria
Row upon row of the sick and wounded were stretched out on the bare earth under threadbare blankets, or lay fevered on wooden cots. Men cried out, delirious with pain and fever.
A dreary haze of camp smoke drifted across the town.
When they saw Antony, they shouted out his name. He stopped to all who called to him, to whisper a few words of comfort. He felt ashamed. These men deserved better. He had let them down.
Some of them might yet survive, to return home broken, without limbs or eyes. The rest would die here in these bare hills from the cold or fever or from their wounds. Was this all that was left of his unconquerable army? The finest ever gathered in the East, he had boasted to Cleopatra when they had marched out of Antioch.
He shivered inside his cloak. He wore three tunics and had wrapped woolen strips around his legs, but the wind still bit into him like steel.
He finally found the man he was looking for. He knelt down, put a hand on his shoulder. The soldier opened his eyes.
‘Sisyphus,’ Antony said.
‘Look what they did to me,’ he murmured. ‘These Parthians must be real marksmen to hit so small a target.’
A freezing drizzle drifted down and rain dripped from the flimsy awning over their heads. Antony lifted the blanket. The surgeon had removed the dwarf's arm, below the left elbow. The bandages were rank and oozing.
‘We'll get you out of here.’
‘It's not been an easy life up until now. If it's over, I shan't miss it.’ Sisyphus closed his eyes, resigned to whatever the goddess of Fate had decreed for him. ‘What did we do it for, my lord?’ he said.
‘We did it for Rome.’
‘I think we did it for you. Was it worth it?’
Antony and Quintus Dellius stood on the sea wall, watched the whitecaps hastening before the wind. Their cloaks billowed and flapped around their legs.
‘Where is she?’
‘She promised me she would come, my lord.’
‘We have no food, little water. My army is dying by degrees.’
‘You can at least save yourself,’ Dellius said.
By that, of course, Dellius meant he wanted Antony to save him, as well. If he rode ahead to Alexandria, he would need to take his general staff with him.
Antony shook his head. ‘I will not abandon my army. If she does not come, they will die here and I will die with them.’ He searched the grey horizon for sails, for sign of a savior.
What a desolate place, Cleopatra thought, a perfect spot to host a disaster. There was a harbor of sorts fashioned from rock, but the hinterland was flat and featureless. It was called the White Village, but the jumble of houses on the beach looked grey to her.
Her flagship led her fleet into harbor. Crammed below the decks of the Antonia were blankets, tunics and cloaks. Her other ships were loaded with grain. She had also brought money; three hundred talents in gold, the weight of a hundred men.
As they came close to the shore she could make out the ragged remains of his army.
Canidius and Dellius escorted her to his tent. Antony was still too proud, or perhaps too ashamed, to meet her at the wharf himself. Those who could, crowded down to the shore to stare, hollow-eyed skeletons wet and shivering in threadbare blankets.
His tent was comfortable enough. Thick carpets kept out most of the sand. Antony huddled in a curule chair, wrapped in a purple cloak. He stood up to greet her, but he would not meet her eyes. He had never tasted defeat like this before, she supposed, and here he had drunk it down to the dregs.
At Mutina, his defeat had been due to overwhelming numbers. But this was his campaign, at his time, at his choosing. This was supposed to be his destiny.
He had aged ten years.
‘I knew you would come,’ he said.
‘Of course I came.’
‘You have brought food?’
‘All the grain I could load on the ships at such short notice. And clothes for the winter, and money. As you asked.’
A wind sent the tent flapping, brought with it the stench from the camp.
‘Tell me what happened.’
‘We were betrayed. It was the Armenian, Artavasdes.’
The siege engines and the baggage train had slowed their progress through the mountains, he said. So Antony had split his force, left Artavasdes in the rear to guard the supplies and the ballistae, along with two legions under Oppius Statianus, while he went ahead with the rest of the army. But as soon as he was gone, Artavasdes and his cavalry returned to Armenia. The Parthians fell on Statianus and his men, slaughtered them and captured the legion eagles. All the siege equipment was burned.
He put his head in his hands.
I got as far as the Parthian border, he said. I invested Phraaspa but without my siege engines I could not capture it. Winter was drawing in and I could not stay in the mountains without shelter so I had to withdraw. We were harried by the Parthian cavalry the whole way, we fought eighteen defensive battles in twenty-seven days. I lost forty thousand men in the fighting or to the cold.
When we finally reached Syria I realized we could not go to Tyre or Sidon as the Parthians had already cut the road. So we came here.’
The precious blueprints had come to nothing, she thought, because of Antony's impatience. Was it part of Caesar's plan to split his forces? Was it good military planning to rely on client kings without at least keeping their families with you as hostage to their goodwill? Caesar would never have made such mistakes. Much good the treasured legacy had done when he had virtually ignored Caesar's strategy and rushed ahead with his own makeshift plans.
Still, it was done now. Parthia had been his dream, not hers. Now they could concentrate their minds on the real business, in Rome. First she must shock him out of his self-pity.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘you made a mess of that.’
His head snapped up.
‘Caesar would have been in India by now. I told you not to go to Parthia. The odds were loaded against you from the start.’
‘If it wasn't for Artavasdes, we would have won. The Parthians were warned of our plans.’
If it was not that, she thought, there would be some other excuse. It was a pointless war with an inevitable conclusion.
‘Forget Parthia. You have heard the news, about Octavian?’
‘That he defeated Sextus? It was not his victory. It was Agrippa's.’
‘A distinction that Rome has missed. Lepidus has gone too. Off to his country estate.’
‘Octavian had no right to dismiss him without consulting me.’
‘Once something is done, these finer points of law tend to be forgotten.’
‘The tide will turn.’
‘Only if you are prepared to make waves.’
He brooded on this. ‘I am grateful you have come,’ he said finally.
‘I only wish you would take my counsel as readily as you take my gold.’
‘I will repay you,’ he said, but his eyes were hard and angry.
She had hoped for a better welcome. But as Mardian had once warned her, no kindness ever goes unforgiven.
Chapter 80
She lay in his arms listening to the night. The sound of the waves crashing on the breakwater could not drown out the cries of the wounded. The oil lamp swayed on the crossbeam, the wind whipping the canvas. The camp bed was hard and narrow. He clung to her.
‘I have some good news, at least,’ she whispered.
‘I long to hear it.’
‘You have a new son.’
‘A son?’
‘I have called him Philadelphus.’ She ran her fingers through his hair. ‘It is not over. You have Cleopatra. You have our children. You have Alexandria as your capital and all the wealth of the East behind you. You will build a new and better army. I already have the greatest navy in the world and it is yours to command.’ She kissed his forehead. ‘But you must forget Parthia.’
‘I could have won,’ he whispered. ‘If it were not for Artavasdes, I would have won.’
‘Bring your soldiers back to Egypt. You can rebuild and re-equip your legions there. Send Quintus Dellius to Rome and announce a great victory. Have him tell the Senate that you have returned from Parthia staggering under the weight of the treasure and that you are preparing to go back and finish the job. The truth is whatever you make it. Look at Caesar. The whole world thinks he conquered Britain. He told me he was shipwrecked and fought off a few Celts who tried to raid his tents.’
‘I will yet ride my horse through Babylon,’ he said.
‘Forget Babylon. Your real enemy is in Rome!’
‘We have survived the worst,’ Antony said. He and the officers of his general staff were gathered around a trestle table, staring at the charts and maps laid out in front of them. ‘We will regain our strength and take our revenge on Armenia. Then we will draw up new plans for our conquest of Parthia.’
‘Forty thousand veterans are not easy to replace,’ Canidius said.
‘Octavian still owes me four legions from our agreement at Tarentum.’
Another of his generals, Ahenobarbus, spat on the ground. ‘You have no hope of getting them from that twister.’
‘We don't need Octavian. Cleopatra has offered us her full support.’
A shuffling silence.
‘She braved the winter storms to come here. She has earned our gratitude.’
‘She just wants you in her power,’ Ahenobarbus said.
‘Let us take what she offers and extend her our friendship in return,’ Dellius said, his voice more reasonable. ‘But let us regroup in Rome, not Alexandria. For this campaign we will need good Roman soldiers and we will not get them in Egypt.’
‘You forget that she is my queen.’
‘And a very useful political alliance it is,’ Plancus said. ‘But first of all, you are a Triumvir and a Roman.’
By all the gods, Antony thought, even this little toadie wants his say now.
‘What do you think, Canidius?’ Antony said.
The general’s mournful face creased into an even deeper frown. ‘There is no doubt that we need her help. But you should not ally yourself too closely with this woman. You must attend to Rome, or you will leave yourself in an impossible position.’
‘Rome does not care what their generals do with their nights,’ Antony said. ‘A little scandal is good for a man. Look at Caesar! Besides, there are no armies without money, and Cleopatra is my banker. And it never pays, gentleman, to upset your banker.’
‘You charter dangerous waters, my lord,’ Dellius said.
‘We all charter dangerous waters. It is the nature of leadership. I have made up my mind. We go to Alexandria!’
Chapter 81
They had to wait on the weather before they could ship the remnants of Antony's army to Alexandria. It took weeks, Antony supervising from his tent on the beach.
One day a Roman Liburnian appeared in the harbor. Dellius ran in and breathlessly announced that there was a messenger on board come from Greece.
The courier had been sent by Octavia. She was in Athens with seventy ships. She had food, supplies and two thousand of Rome's best soldiers, handpicked from Octavian's personal bodyguard. They were at his command.
Octavia awaited his instructions.
Cleopatra felt light-headed with rage. Surely he would not betray her twice.
‘Noble Mark Antony, you are indeed blessed among men. One defeat and the sea is crisscrossed with ships carrying your wives, all of them rushing to your rescue.’
She could not credit that he might consider Octavia’s offer. His word is his bond among men, she thought, but when it comes to women he is blown about like a leaf in the wind. I risked the winter storms and the approbation of half of Egypt to come here, and now that he has eaten my food, used my ships and hoarded my gold, he leaves himself open for offers.
‘Two thousand men!’ he said. ‘That little bastard owes me twenty thousand. I signed the treaty in good faith. My ships for four legions.’
‘If she had the four legions, you would go to her, wouldn't you?’
‘Of course not. I would not entertain such an idea.’
I would like to believe you, she thought. But I can tell that you are tempted. ‘You give me your word?’
He stared into space.
‘I must know what you intend! Come to Alexandria and I will make you master of the East. Or you can go back to Athens and be the Triumvir's brother-in-law.’
She waited for his answer. He hesitated.
‘Don't do this to me,’ she whispered.
‘You have to trust me,’ he said.
Athens
Quintus Dellius waited in the atrium, while the chamberlain went ahead to announce him. He stared at the mosaic under his feet. It depicted the god Dionysus, holding a thyrsus rod wrapped with ivy. There were naked maenads all around him. An unfortunate allusion, Dellius thought.
He looked around. There was a mural of Aphrodite, mistress of the sea, with a three-masted galley in the background. The goddess was cool and fair, her eyes like blue chips of ice. She more closely resembled Octavia than the woman in Alexandria who claimed to be her earthly incarnation.
The chamberlain came to fetch him.
‘Quintus Dellius, you have news of my husband?’
‘The noble Mark Antony sends greetings to the Lady Octavia.’
‘He is well?’
‘The campaign in Parthia was...’ He searched for the right word. ‘Rigorous. He is tired but otherwise in good health.’
‘We received news in Rome that he has won many victories there.’
‘It was only the weather that drove us back.’
‘I await my lord's instructions,’ Octavia said. ‘I have brought with me from Rome cattle to feed his army, as well as clothes for his soldiers and reinforcements from the Palace Guard.’
‘My lord is exceedingly grateful. But he wonders why your brother has not sent him the four legions promised him at Tarentum.’
‘Octavian campaigns in Illyria. He needs the soldiers there.’
‘Four legions from the forty-five at his command seems not too much to ask.’
‘I do not understand military matters. I know my brother means my husband no ill will. My presence here is proof of that.’
Your presence here is proof of quite the opposite, Dellius thought.
‘But you have not answered my question,’ Octavia said. ‘Do you have instructions from my husband on how I should proceed?’
‘My lord is most concerned that you are abroad without protection. It is his wish that you return to Rome immediately, where you will be safe.’
