Cleopatra Occult (5 page)

Mark shook his head. “I have no idea and I bet Caesar didn’t either. But he likes to laugh so he laughed.”

“And then what did she do?”

Mark smirked. “Oh, by then she was on to the next witticism, I’m sure. She shoots them like arrows and only expects one out of ten to hit the mark, but she always has ten more. She can be confusing that way as she wears you down and your mind isn’t your own anymore… and you laugh until you just enjoy yourself.”

Phaedra looked down. “It must be so dull to ride with a woman like me on a road like this after having been with a woman like her.”

He shook his head. “No. You don’t worry about what you’re going to say. You don’t calculate everything. You’re just a very pretty woman.”

“She has flesh too, I’m sure, and is pretty enough.”

Mark shook his head again. “She was like a queen who knew she had to win a family quarrel or be killed. She seemed to have already turned into the marble statue for the ages, even by then.”

“She had her
charms
, I’m sure.”

“She insisted that she was Isis, in desperate propaganda. She worked very hard to make herself more than she was. She was able to raise her very own armies just by being Isis. Socrates said that the greatest way to live with honor in this world is to be what we pretend to be. He must have told that to her personally.”

Phaedra looked into Mark’s eyes. “She haunts you.”

“Now, maybe… and merely as a ghost. It’s unnerving when a goddess dies. Cleopatra is certainly dead by now—she didn’t win her war after all that effort. She’s not only dead but we got word she was allowed to mummify in the desert. A bizarre sad end for her. We shall see.”

Phaedra frowned. “What a gruesome end.”

Mark said, “Since Rome made such a fuss over that foreign civil war, she’s to be taken and propped up in Rome… put on display. Now dead, she’ll tour Rome from forum to forum. People always want a show. In the end, she’ll be used for Rome’s propaganda. Even as a mummy.”

“By the gods so you’re really going to Egypt for a mummy?”

“A very entertaining one—a mummy for a political road show. And Ptolemy will need threatened again too. Rome must keep its foot against his head.”

Phaedra asked, “What if he chops your head off first?”

Mark stiffened. “Why would you say that?”

She shrugged. “Isn’t that what you all do to each other all the time?”

He laughed as if it was a joke.

Chapter six

In the bathroom of the underground temple, Cleopatra soaked in a tub of snake’s blood. She complained to the high priestess, Iset, “Why am I in blood, and the blood of your magic snakes, at that? It’s too ghoulish!”

“Hold still, you’ll splash it on me.” Iset glanced down at her own robe. “Lay still and let it soak in, for the magic to set.”

Cleopatra stirred at it with her fingertips. “I know I’m not supposed to question you, but still.”

Iset held her finger up. “This is war with your brother. This is all a part of a spell for your anima.”

“My
soul
?”

Iset nodded. “Yes, anima, soul, your very breath.”

Cleopatra frowned. “Alas, I do need a restorative. I was feeling so very weak. That’s not like me. I’m not young anymore. My bones hurt.”

“Let your soul drink the blood.”

Cleopatra asked, “But… isn’t the blood of these snakes used for a magic reflecting pool? That’s what I’d learned once from a scroll. What magic are we reflecting? Why am I here in the middle of it all? What’s going on?”

“Calm down. The blood of my snakes has more than one magic. Only the surface gloss reflects. This magic spell is a deep river.” Iset frowned. “And of course it makes a bloody mess along the way.”

Cleopatra coughed. “I need abundant magic about now. I was knocked out and I woke up worse than ever—I can’t even dream anymore. Will this help me dream again?”

“You’ve been subjected to great evil from your brother. And the desert almost mummified you. But your magic is still strong where it matters, don’t worry. I’ll make sure it stays that way for as long as magically possible.”

Cleopatra watched blood drip from between her own fingers. “No wonder I have no appetite. This is all so awful.”

Iset swirled her hand in the air. “You will do what it takes.”

“Why do you care who’s the puppet ruler of Egypt? Rome rules it now, anyway. That’s all that it must seem to you.”

Iset answered, “It makes a great deal of difference to those in the streets of Cairo, Memphis and Thebes. When Alexander the Great kicked out the Persian occupiers, the Egyptian people saw him has a liberator. But that was then and now your brother has allowed the Egyptians to become a subjected people again. He doesn’t negotiate. Our army, merchants and nobleman, alike, are all slaves to Rome. But being so far from Rome it will soon tear Egypt apart.”

“Why won’t he negotiate anything?”

“He has nothing to seduce the Romans with.”

“They can be seduced?”

Iset nodded. “Oh, indeed. Don’t ever be fooled by how busy they appear. They are so bored with themselves.”

~

In the countryside of Tarquinii, north of Rome, the ancient cemeteries began to give way to vineyards. In his villa amongst manicured fields of red grapes, Octavian greeted Mark Antony, “Oh look who got here early… the dumb dick of Rome.”

Mark explained why he was early.

Octavian laughed as he announced to his three dozen guests, “Mark here has claimed that a plague is devouring Rome. Maybe we all won’t be so blasé after all.”

People chuckled. Mark grumbled.

Octavian continued, “So we will wear masks so the plague can’t find us. I’m sure the plague has nothing better to do but look for just us, and us alone, out here with the grapes.”

A guest asked, “Or tombstones?” The other guests laughed.

Octavian took offense at that, so snapped, “I can’t very well burn them down!”

People laughed again.

Octavian continued, “I have these Greek masks from when we did the plays of Euripides.”

A guest called out, “You said you hated the Greeks.”

Octavian nodded sadly. “I suppose they were once something to talk about but what are they good for anymore? Rome has taken over all and improved everything greatly. Everything of Greece could now burn down and we wouldn’t ever miss it again. We have Rome.”

People applauded. 

Octavian had the white masks distributed, all of the same screaming face since they’d been for the chorus who all represented one horrified character. The masks were fragile, made of stiffened linen. Octavian insisted servants wear them too—they got the ones that had become squashed. He handed Mark a squashed one, also, as he told the guests, “Look how they have transformed us!”

A guest laughed. “We now look as if we are one!”

Another guest joked, “I’ve always wanted to go to a big party and just talk to myself.”

Octavian laughed with them. “Maybe life will imitate art. Maybe I’ll finally have a soirée where everyone agrees on the same politics… only questioning
their own
contradictions.”

A guest replied, “That would be some magic trick!”

Octavian nodded. “Then it’s possible now. Masks were the origins of all magic!”

A Nubian guest with a long white beard argued, “The first magic spells came from the Phoenicians who developed their first alphabet from Egyptian hieroglyphics. The Greeks then Romans later took it up from there. Spells first came from spelling. Magic came from spells!”

Circe quietly said to Phaedra, “Nonsense. Witches only need to know the language of nature and must read clouds, spider webs, flowers and tree leaves above all else.”

Phaedra elbowed her. “Men are the city’s scribes, let them boast. Their work is what makes the money.”     

Through his mask, another male guest asked Mark, “How did you hear there was a plague? We haven’t heard any news of one.”

Mark looked down at his sandals.

Octavian pointed at Mark and laughed. “He said an old woman told him!”

People chuckled mockingly again.

Phaedra loudly spoke in Mark’s behalf, “My handmaiden, Circe, saw her too.” Phaedra put her hand on her heart.

Mark asked Phaedra, “Was she old and had a ridiculous fat wig like a gauche Persian battle helmet? Or maybe it was in the old Egyptian fashion where they look like they’re wearing a jar on their head? But she was too pale to be an Egyptian, herself.”

Phaedra looked to Circe, for her to say something.

Circe loudly spoke for all to hear, “Yes, yes indeed! Nothing gives me the frights like a plague! And an old woman told of it, on the roof. And, yes, she wore an old-style wig.”

A guest asked if she was so old she was bald.

Octavian clapped. “Oh the old gal gets around!” He added, “The Egyptians like to shave their heads and wear wigs to control lice. The lice gets around too. I could take anything as long as we don’t get a plague of lice this week!” He laughed.

Circe grabbed Phaedra’s arm and announced to the guests, “There’s more. More I haven’t said earlier. Oh now don’t have me crucified, I didn’t tell anyone for I was sure I’d be seen as mad as a Persian.”

Octavian encouraged the handmaiden to speak.

Circe continued, “The old woman warned me of plague. I turned away but then when I thought to thank her, she was gone. Truth be told… she was
gone
!”

Octavian laughed. “She runs fast, too!”

Circe clarified, “No, no, it was as if she vanished with the wind. A wind blew and she was gone! Gone so fast I even thought to look into the sky. But she was gone!”

Octavian doubted. “Then maybe it’s your imagination.”

Circe clutched the neck of her robe. “No. I felt myself shake with a force of magic. I knew it in my heart to be true.”

Mark Antony put his hand up to stop the laughter. “Yeah, I remember a wind too and then she was gone. I wanted to ask her questions but she wasn’t there anymore.”

Octavian loudly doubted that.

Mark insisted, “I swear by my sword!”

Octavian mockingly marveled, “Now we have a ghost story! With magical wind! How wonderful! And here I thought we were all escaping such a boring ole plague.”

The guests laughed again.

Phaedra didn’t laugh. “A ghost that’s warning of plague is never funny. A ghost only speaks in love.”

Mark stood next to her and nodded ardently.

Octavian became serious. “Then it’s a good thing we’re all hiding behind masks.”

Circe fainted.

Mark chastised Octavian, “Look, you’re scaring the servants again, even with your ugly face covered.”

Circe was helped back up to her feet.

Phaedra worried, “She’s burning up with a fever!”

Circe was carried away.

With Phaedra gone, Mark Antony said to Octavian, “I have a woman on my arm who’s of the merchant class. That’ll help you too, to raise some mad money.”   

Octavian took his mask off and put his nose in the air. “I’m not so destitute.”

Mark removed his mask, bristling. “You’re not better than anybody else so stop that. I was just mentioning a business deal.”

Octavian narrowed his eyes. “You always bring up business deals as if you’re doing me a favor when we all know that’s not the case. And it’s shocking to travel with women, anyway. It’s not right.”

“She’s lucky to sail with the likes of me.”

“Not in Caesar’s boats.”

Mark argued, “Why should women always get stuck on the leaky boats lost to pirates?” 

Octavian shook his head. “Women shouldn’t be on boats at all. You are shameful. You’ve always been shameful!”     

Mark huffed out his chest. “I’m Caesar’s right hand man so I have every right to be so proud.”

Octavian twitched. “But not with any right to act prouder than me!”

Mark grimaced. “Who are you? Really? You’re rich and all… but who are you to act so very lofty to even
me
?”

Octavian put his nose in the air again. “I’m special above all other men. Even you. Especially you. I’m the one named in Caesar’s will as his adopted son and heir.”

Mark Antony took a stunned step backwards. “No,
I
was named his adopted son and heir! He said he would.”

Octavian argued, “You were his boy whore and now you’re one of his old generals. Nothing more. Everybody knows that.”

Mark gasped. “How dare you say that! I’m not all that old! Caesar appointed me administrator of Egypt while he conquers opponents in Greece, Africa and Spain. I’m already his heir. I’m Caesar in Caesar’s absence.”

Octavian shrugged ambivalence. “You’re a decent general and an old faithful dog.”