Cleopatra

H >> H. Rider Haggard >> Cleopatra


I glanced round. At the further end of the chamber was a heavy curtain
that hid a little place built in the thickness of the wall which I used
for the storage of rolls and instruments.

"Haste thee--there!" I said, and she glided behind the curtain, which
swung back and covered her. Then I thrust the fatal scroll of death into
the bosom of my robe and bent over the mystic chart. Presently I heard
the sweep of woman's robes and there came a low knock upon the door.

"Enter, whoever thou art," I said.

The latch lifted, and Cleopatra swept in, royally arrayed, her dark
hair hanging about her and the sacred snake of royalty glistening on her
brow.

"Of a truth, Harmachis," she said with a sigh, as she sank into a seat,
"the path to heaven is hard to climb! Ah! I am weary, for those stairs
are many. But I was minded, my astronomer, to see thee in thy haunts."

"I am honoured overmuch, O Queen!" I said bowing low before her.

"Art thou now? And yet that dark face of thine has a somewhat angry
look--thou art too young and handsome for this dry trade, Harmachis.
Why, I vow thou hast cast my wreath of roses down amidst thy rusty
tools! Kings would have cherished that wreath along with their choicest
diadems, Harmachis! and thou dost throw it away as a thing of no
account! Why, what a man art thou! But stay; what is this? A lady's
kerchief, by Isis! Nay, now, my Harmachis, how came _this_ here? Are our
poor kerchiefs also instruments of thy high art? Oh, fie, fie!--have I
caught thee, then? Art thou indeed a fox?"

"Nay, most royal Cleopatra, nay!" I said, turning; for the kerchief
which had fallen from Charmion's neck had an awkward look. "I know not,
indeed, how the frippery came here. Perhaps, some one of the women who
keeps the chamber may have let it fall."

"Ah! so--so!" she said dryly, and still laughing like a rippling brook.
"Yes, surely, the slave-women who keep chambers own such toys as this,
of the very finest silk, worth twice its weight in gold, and broidered,
too, in many colours. Why, myself I should not shame to wear it! Of a
truth it seems familiar to my sight." And she threw it round her neck
and smoothed the ends with her white hand. "But there; doubtless, it is
a thing unholy in thine eyes that the scarf of thy beloved should rest
upon my poor breast. Take it, Harmachis; take it, and hide it in thy
bosom--nigh thy heart indeed!"

I took the accursed thing, and, muttering what I may not write, stepped
on to the giddy platform whence I watched the stars. Then, crushing it
into a ball, I threw it to the winds of heaven.

At this the lovely Queen laughed once more.

"Nay, think now," she cried; "what would the lady say could she see her
love-gauge thus cast to all the world? Mayhap, Harmachis, thou wouldst
deal thus with my wreath also? See, the roses fade; cast it forth," and,
stooping, she took up the wreath and gave it to me.

For a moment, so vexed was I, I had a mind to take her at her word and
send the wreath to join the kerchief. But I thought better of it.

"Nay," I said more softly, "it is a Queen's gift, and I will keep it,"
and, as I spoke, I saw the curtain shake. Often since that night I have
sorrowed over those simple words.

"Gracious thanks be to the King of Love for this small mercy," she
answered, looking at me strangely. "Now, enough of wit; come forth upon
this balcony--tell me of the mystery of those stars of thine. For I
always loved the stars, that are so pure and bright and cold, and so far
away from our fevered troubling. There I would wish to dwell, rocked on
the dark bosom of the night, and losing the little sense of self as I
gazed for ever on the countenance of yon sweet-eyed space. Nay--who can
tell, Harmachis?--perhaps those stars partake of our very substance,
and, linked to us by Nature's invisible chain, do, indeed, draw our
destiny with them as they roll. What says the Greek fable of him who
became a star? Perchance it has truth, for yonder tiny sparks may be the
souls of men, but grown more purely bright and placed in happy rest to
illume the turmoil of their mother-earth. Or are they lamps hung high
in the heavenly vault that night by night some Godhead, whose wings
are Darkness, touches with his immortal fire so that they leap out in
answering flame? Give me of thy wisdom and open these wonders to me, my
servant, for I have little knowledge. Yet my heart is large, and I would
fill it, for I have the wit, could I but find the teacher."

Thereon, being glad to find footing on a safer shore, and marvelling
somewhat to learn that Cleopatra had a place for lofty thoughts, I spoke
and willingly told her such things as are lawful. I told her how the
sky is a liquid mass pressing round the earth and resting on the elastic
pillars of the air, and how above is the heavenly ocean Nout, in which
the planets float like ships as they rush upon their radiant way. I told
her many things, and amongst them how, through the certain never-ceasing
movement of the orbs of light, the planet Venus, that was called Donaou
when she showed as the Morning Star, became the planet Bonou when she
came as the sweet Star of Eve. And while I stood and spoke watching the
stars, she sat, her hands clasped upon her knee, and watched my face.

"Ah!" she broke in at length, "and so Venus is to be seen both in the
morning and the evening sky. Well, of a truth, she is everywhere, though
she best loves the night. But thou lovest not that I should use these
Latin names to thee. Come, we will talk in the ancient tongue of Khem,
which I know well; I am the first, mark thou, of all the Lagidae who know
it. And now," she went on, speaking in my own tongue, but with a little
foreign accent that did but make her talk more sweet, "enough of stars,
for, when all is said, they are but fickle things, and perhaps may
even now be storing up an evil hour for thee or me, or for both of us
together. Not but what I love to hear thee speak of them, for then thy
face loses that gloomy cloud of thought which mars it and grows quick
and human. Harmachis, thou art too young for such a solemn trade;
methinks that I must find thee a better. Youth comes but once; why waste
it in these musings? It is time to think when we can no longer act. Tell
me how old art thou, Harmachis?"

"I have six-and-twenty years, O Queen," I answered, "for I was born in
the first month of Shomou, in the summer season, and on the third day of
the month."

"Why, then, we are of an age even to a day," she cried, "for I too have
six-and-twenty years, and I too was born on the third day of the first
month of Shomou. Well, this may we say: those who begot us need have no
shame. For if I be the fairest woman in Egypt, methinks, Harmachis, that
there is in Egypt no man more fair and strong than thou, ay, or more
learned. Born of the same day, why, 'tis manifest that we were destined
to stand together, I, as the Queen, and thou, perchance, Harmachis, as
one of the chief pillars of my throne, and thus to work each other's
weal."

"Or maybe each other's woe," I answered, looking up; for her sweet
speeches stung my ears and brought more colour to my face than I loved
that she should see there.

"Nay, never talk of woe. Be seated here by me, Harmachis, and let us
talk, not as Queen and subject, but as friend to friend. Thou wast
angered with me at the feast to-night because I mocked thee with yonder
wreath--was it not so? Nay, it was but a jest. Didst thou know how heavy
is the task of monarchs and how wearisome are their hours, thou wouldst
not be wroth because I lit my dulness with a jest. Oh, they weary me,
those princes and those nobles, and those stiff-necked pompous Romans.
To my face they vow themselves my slaves, and behind my back they mock
me and proclaim me the servant of their Triumvirate, or their Empire,
or their Republic, as the wheel of Fortune turns, and each rises on its
round! There is never a man among them--nothing but fools, parasites,
and puppets--never a man since with their coward daggers they slew that
Caesar whom all the world in arms was not strong enough to tame. And I
must play off one against the other, if maybe, by so doing, I can
keep Egypt from their grip. And for reward, what? Why, this is my
reward--that all men speak ill of me--and, I know it, my subjects hate
me! Yes, I believe that, woman though I am, they would murder me could
they find a means!"

She paused, covering her eyes with her hand, and it was well, for her
words pierced me so that I shrank upon the seat beside her.

"They think ill of me, I know it; and call me wanton, who have never
stepped aside save once, when I loved the greatest man of all the world,
and at the touch of love my passion flamed indeed, but burnt a hallowed
flame. These ribald Alexandrians swear that I poisoned Ptolemy, my
brother--whom the Roman Senate would, most unnaturally, have forced on
me, his sister, as a husband! But it is false: he sickened and died of
fever. And even so they say that I would slay Arsinoe, my sister--who,
indeed, would slay me!--but that, too, is false! Though she will have
none of me, I love my sister. Yes, they all think ill of me without a
cause; even thou dost think ill of me, Harmachis.

"O Harmachis, before thou judgest, remember what a thing is envy!--that
foul sickness of the mind which makes the jaundiced eye of pettiness
to see all things distraught--to read Evil written on the open face of
Good, and find impurity in the whitest virgin's soul! Think what a thing
it is, Harmachis, to be set on high above the gaping crowd of knaves who
hate thee for thy fortune and thy wit; who gnash their teeth and shoot
the arrows of their lies from the cover of their own obscureness, whence
they have no wings to soar; and whose hearts' quest it is to drag down
thy nobility to the level of the groundling and the fool!

"Be not, then, swift to think evil of the Great, whose every word and
act is searched for error by a million angry eyes, and whose most tiny
fault is trumpeted by a thousand throats, till the world shakes with
echoes of their sin! Say not: 'It is thus, 'tis certainly thus'--say,
rather: 'May it not be otherwise? Have we heard aright? Did she this
thing of her own will?' Judge gently, Harmachis, as wert thou I thou
wouldst be judged. Remember that a Queen is never free. She is, indeed,
but the point and instrument of those forces politic with which the iron
books of history are graved. O Harmachis! be thou my friend--my friend
and counsellor!--my friend whom I can trust indeed!--for here, in this
crowded Court, I am more utterly alone than any soul that breathes about
its corridors. But _thee_ I trust; there is faith written in those quiet
eyes, and I am minded to lift thee high, Harmachis. I can no longer bear
my solitude of mind--I must find one with whom I may commune and speak
that which lies within my heart. I have faults, I know it; but I am not
all unworthy of thy faith, for there is good grain among the evil seed.
Say, Harmachis, wilt thou take pity on my loneliness and befriend me,
who have lovers, courtiers, slaves, dependents, more thick than I
can count, but never one single _friend_?" and she leant towards me,
touching me lightly, and gazed on me with her wonderful blue eyes.

I was overcome; thinking of the morrow night, shame and sorrow smote me.
_I_, her friend!--_I_, whose assassin dagger lay against my breast! I
bent my head, and a sob or a groan, I know not which, burst from the
agony of my heart.

But Cleopatra, thinking only that I was moved beyond myself by the
surprise of her graciousness, smiled sweetly, and said:

"It grows late; to-morrow night when thou bringest the auguries we will
speak again, O my friend Harmachis, and thou shalt answer me." And she
gave me her hand to kiss. Scarce knowing what I did, I kissed it, and in
another moment she was gone.

But I stood in the chamber, gazing after her like one asleep.



CHAPTER VI

OF THE WORDS AND JEALOUSY OF CHARMION; OF THE LAUGHTER OF HARMACHIS; OF
THE MAKING READY FOR THE DEED OF BLOOD; AND OF THE

I stood still, plunged in thought. Then by hazard as it were I took up
the wreath of roses and looked on it. How long I stood so I know not,
but when next I lifted up my eyes they fell upon the form of Charmion,
whom, indeed, I had altogether forgotten. And though at the moment I
thought but little of it, I noted vaguely that she was flushed as though
with anger, and beat her foot upon the floor.

"Oh, it is thou, Charmion!" I said. "What ails thee? Art thou cramped
with standing so long in thy hiding-place? Why didst not thou slip hence
when Cleopatra led me to the balcony?"

"Where is my kerchief?" she asked, shooting an angry glance at me. "I
let fall my broidered kerchief."

"Thy kerchief!--why, didst thou not see? Cleopatra twitted me about it,
and I flung it from the balcony."

"Yes, I saw," answered the girl, "I saw but too well. Thou didst fling
away my kerchief, but the wreath of roses--that thou wouldst not
fling away. It was 'a Queen's gift,' forsooth, and therefore the royal
Harmachis, the Priest of Isis, the chosen of the Gods, the crowned
Pharaoh wed to the weal of Khem, cherished it and saved it. But my
kerchief, stung by the laughter of that light Queen, he cast away!"

"What meanest thou?" I asked, astonished at her bitter tone. "I cannot
read thy riddles."

"What mean I?" she answered, tossing up her head and showing the white
curves of her throat. "Nay, I mean naught, or all; take it as thou wilt.
Wouldst know what I mean, Harmachis, my cousin and my Lord?" she went on
in a hard, low voice. "Then I will tell thee--thou art in danger of the
great offence. This Cleopatra has cast her fatal wiles about thee, and
thou goest near to loving her, Harmachis--to loving her whom to-morrow
thou must slay! Ay, stand and stare at that wreath in thy hand--the
wreath thou couldst not send to join my kerchief--sure Cleopatra wore it
but to-night! The perfume of the hair of Caesar's mistress--Caesar's
and others'--yet mingles with the odour of its roses! Now, prithee,
Harmachis, how far didst thou carry the matter on yonder balcony? for in
that hole where I lay hid I could not hear or see. 'Tis a sweet spot for
lovers, is it not?--ay, and a sweet hour, too? Venus surely rules the
stars to-night?"

All of this she said so quietly and in so soft and modest a way, though
her words were not modest, and yet so bitterly, that every syllable cut
me to the heart, and angered me till I could find no speech.

"Of a truth thou hast a wise economy," she went on, seeing her
advantage: "to-night thou dost kiss the lips that to-morrow thou shalt
still for ever! It is frugal dealing with the occasion of the moment;
ay, worthy and honourable dealing!"

Then at last I broke forth. "Girl," I cried, "how darest thou speak
thus to me? Mindest thou who and what I am that thou loosest thy peevish
gibes upon me?"

"I mind what it behoves thee to be," she answered quick. "What thou art,
that I mind not now. Surely thou knowest alone--thou and Cleopatra!"

"What meanest thou?" I said. "Am I to blame if the Queen----"

"The Queen! What have we here? Pharaoh owns a Queen!"

"If Cleopatra wills to come hither of a night and talk----"

"Of stars, Harmachis--surely of stars and roses, and naught beside!"

After that I know not what I said; for, troubled as I was, the girl's
bitter tongue and quiet way drove me wellnigh to madness. But this I
know: I spoke so fiercely that she cowered before me as she had cowered
before my uncle Sepa when he rated her because of her Grecian garb. And
as she wept then, so she wept now, only more passionately and with great
sobs.

At length I ceased, half-shamed but still angry and smarting sorely.
For even while she wept she could find a tongue to answer with--and a
woman's shafts are sharp.

"Thou shouldst not speak to me thus!" she sobbed; "it is cruel--it is
unmanly! But I forget thou art but a priest, not a man--except, mayhap,
for Cleopatra!"

"What right hast thou?" I said. "What canst thou mean?"

"What right have I?" she asked, looking up, her dark eyes all aflood
with tears that ran down her sweet face like the dew of morning down
a lily's heart. "What right have I? O Harmachis! art thou blind? Didst
thou not know by what right I speak thus to thee? Then I must tell thee.
Well, it is the fashion in Alexandria! By that first and holy right of
woman--by the right of the great love I bear thee, and which, it seems,
thou hast no eyes to see--by the right of my glory and my shame. Oh,
be not wroth with me, Harmachis, nor set me down as light, because the
truth at last has burst from me; for I am not so. I am what thou wilt
make me. I am the wax within the moulder's hands, and as thou dost
fashion me so I shall be. There breathes within me now a breath of
glory, blowing across the waters of my soul, that can waft me to ends
more noble than ever I have dreamed afore, if thou wilt be my pilot
and my guide. But if I lose thee, then I lose all that holds me from my
worse self--and let shipwreck come! Thou knowest me not, Harmachis! thou
canst not see how big a spirit struggles in this frail form of mine! To
thee I am a girl, clever, wayward, shallow. But I am more! Show me thy
loftiest thought and I will match it, the deepest puzzle of thy mind
and I will make it clear. Of one blood we are, and love can ravel up our
little difference and make us grow one indeed. One end we have, one land
we love, one vow binds us both. Take me to thy heart, Harmachis, set me
by thee on the Double Throne, and I swear that I will lift thee higher
than ever man has climbed. Reject me, and beware lest I pull thee down!
And now, putting aside the cold delicacy of custom, stung to it by what
I saw of the arts of that lovely living falsehood, Cleopatra, which
for pastime she practises on thy folly, I have spoken out my heart, and
answer thou!" And she clasped her hands and, drawing one pace nearer,
gazed, all white and trembling, on my face.

For a moment I stood struck dumb, for the magic of her voice and the
power of her speech, despite myself, stirred me like the rush of music.
Had I loved the woman, doubtless she might have fired me with her flame;
but I loved her not, and I could not play at passion. And so thought
came, and with thought that laughing mood, which is ever apt to fashion
upon nerves strained to the point of breaking. In a flash, as it were,
I bethought me of the way in which she had that very night forced the
wreath of roses on my head, I thought of the kerchief and how I had
flung it forth. I thought of Charmion in the little chamber watching
what she held to be the arts of Cleopatra, and of her bitter speeches.
Lastly, I thought of what my uncle Sepa would say of her could he see
her now, and of the strange and tangled skein in which I was inmeshed.
And I laughed aloud--the fool's laughter that was my knell of ruin!

She turned whiter yet--white as the dead--and a look grew upon her face
that checked my foolish mirth. "Thou findest, then, Harmachis," she
said in a low, choked voice, and dropping the level of her eyes, "thou
findest cause of merriment in what I have said?"

"Nay," I answered; "nay, Charmion; forgive me if I laughed. It was
rather a laugh of despair; for what am I to say to thee? Thou hast
spoken high words of all thou mightest be: is it left for me to tell
thee what thou art?"

She shrank, and I paused.

"Speak," she said.

"Thou knowest--none so well!--who I am and what my mission is: thou
knowest--none so well!--that I am sworn to Isis, and may, by law Divine,
have naught to do with thee."

"Ay," she broke in, in her low voice, and with her eyes still fixed upon
the ground--"ay, and I know that thy vows are broken in spirit, if not
in form--broken like wreaths of cloud; for, Harmachis--_thou lovest
Cleopatra!_"

"It is a lie!" I cried. "Thou wanton girl, who wouldst seduce me from my
duty and put me to an open shame!--who, led by passion or ambition, or
the love of evil, hast not shamed to break the barriers of thy sex and
speak as thou hast spoken--beware lest thou go too far! And if thou wilt
have an answer, here it is, put straightly, as thy question. Charmion,
outside the matter of my duty and my vows, thou art _naught_ to me!--nor
for all thy tender glances will my heart beat one pulse more fast!
Hardly art thou now my friend--for, of a truth, I scarce can trust thee.
But, once more: beware! To me thou mayest do thy worst; but if thou dost
dare to lift a finger against our cause, that day thou diest! And now,
is this play done?"

And as, wild with anger, I spoke thus, she shrank back, and yet further
back, till at length she rested against the wall, her eyes covered with
her hand. But when I ceased she dropped her hand, glancing up, and her
face was as the face of a statue, in which the great eyes glowed like
embers, and round them was a ring of purple shadow.

"Not altogether done," she answered gently; "the arena must yet be
sanded!" This she said having reference to the covering up of the
bloodstains at the gladiatorial shows with fine sand. "Well," she went
on, "waste not thine anger on a thing so vile. I have thrown my throw
and I have lost. _Vae victis!_--ah! _Vae victis!_ Wilt thou not lend me
the dagger in thy robe, that here and now I may end my shame? No? Then
one word more, most royal Harmachis: if thou canst, forget my folly;
but, at the least, have no fear from me. I am now, as ever, thy servant
and the servant of our cause. Farewell!"

And she went, leaning her hand against the wall. But I, passing to
my chamber, flung myself upon my couch, and groaned in bitterness of
spirit. Alas! we shape our plans, and by slow degrees build up our house
of Hope, never counting on the guests that time shall bring to lodge
therein. For who can guard against--the Unforeseen?

At length I slept, and my dreams were evil. When I woke the light of
the day which should see the red fulfilment of the plot was streaming
through the casement, and the birds sang merrily among the garden palms.
I woke, and as I woke the sense of trouble pressed in upon me, for I
remembered that before this day was gathered to the past I must dip
my hands in blood--yes, in the blood of Cleopatra, who trusted me! Why
could I not hate her as I should? There had been a time when I looked on
to this act of vengeance with somewhat of a righteous glow of zeal. And
now--and now--why, I would frankly give my royal birthright to be free
from its necessity! But, alas! I knew that there was no escape. I
must drain this cup or be for ever cast away. I felt the eyes of Egypt
watching me, and the eyes of Egypt's Gods. I prayed to my Mother Isis
to give me strength to do this deed, and prayed as I had never prayed
before; and oh, wonder! no answer came. Nay, how was this? What, then,
had loosed the link between us that, for the first time, the Goddess
deigned no reply to her son and chosen servant? Could it be that I
had sinned in heart against her? What had Charmion said--that I loved
Cleopatra? Was this sickness love? Nay! a thousand times nay!--it was
but the revolt of Nature against an act of treachery and blood. The
Goddess did but try my strength, or perchance she also turned her holy
countenance from murder?

I rose filled with terror and despair, and went about my task like a man
without a soul. I conned the fatal lists and noted all the plans--ay, in
my brain I gathered up the very words of that proclamation of my Royalty
which, on the morrow, I should issue to the startled world.

"Citizens of Alexandria and dwellers in the land of Egypt," it began,
"Cleopatra the Macedonian hath, by the command of the Gods, suffered
justice for her crimes----"

All these and other things I did, but I did them as a man without a
soul--as a man moved by a force from without and not from within. And so
the minutes wore away. In the third hour of the afternoon I went as by
appointment fixed to the house where my uncle Sepa lodged, that same
house to which I had been brought some three months gone when I entered
Alexandria for the first time. And here I found the leaders of the
revolt in the city assembled in secret conclave to the number of
seven. When I had entered, and the doors were barred, they prostrated
themselves, and cried, "Hail, Pharaoh!" but I bade them rise, saying
that I was not yet Pharaoh, for the chicken was still in the egg.

"Yea, Prince," said my uncle, "but his beak shows through. Not in
vain hath Egypt brooded all these years, if thou fail not with that
dagger-stroke of thine to-night; and how canst thou fail? Nothing can
now stop our course to victory!"

"It is on the knees of the Gods," I answered.

"Nay," he said, "the Gods have placed the issue in the hands of a
mortal--in thy hands, Harmachis!--and there it is safe. See: here are
the last lists. Thirty-one thousand men who bear arms are sworn to rise
when the tidings come to them. Within five days every citadel in Egypt
will be in our hands, and then what have we to fear? From Rome but
little, for her hands are full; and, besides, we will make alliance with
the Triumvirate, and, if need be, buy them off. For of money there is
plenty in the land, and if more be wanted thou, Harmachis, knowest where
it is stored against the need of Khem, and outside the Roman's reach
of arm. Who is there to harm us? There is none. Perchance, in this
turbulent city, there may be struggle, and a counter-plot to bring
Arsinoe to Egypt and set her on the throne. Therefore Alexandria must
be severely dealt with--ay, even to destruction, if need be. As for
Arsinoe, those go forth to-morrow on the news of the Queen's death who
shall slay her secretly."