The Memoirs of Cleopatra Read Online Free PDF Page A

could wade and gather seashells. And within the palace grounds themselves, there was the small Temple of Isis overlooking the open sea, where the wind blew through its columns and whispered around the statue of Isis in her sanctuary.
    Within the grounds, the gardeners brought forth a profusion of blooming flowers—red poppies, blue cornflowers, scarlet roses—which showed dazzlingly against the stark white of the buildings. Everywhere there were pools filled with blue and white lotus, so that the mingled perfume of all these flowers made its own peculiar and indescribable blend. We could call it Scent of the Ptolemies . If it could be bottled, it would fetch a high price in the bazaars, for it was both heady and refreshing at the same time: the fresh sea air kept the flower-perfume from growing too cloying.
    Having been built over a long period of time, the palace buildings varied a great deal. The grandest of them had floors of onyx or alabaster, with walls of ebony. Inside was a feast of richness like a merchant’s display: couches ornamented with jasper and carnelian, tables of carved ivory, footstools of citrus wood. Hangings of Tyrian purple, adorned with gold, hid the ebony walls—richness blotting out richness. The silks of the far east, by way of India, found their way to be draped over our chairs. And in the polished floors were reflected the slaves, who were selected for their physical beauty.
    I should have had no need to go beyond these bounds, but when you are brought up around such things, they seem routine. What aroused my curiosity were the dwellings and people outside. We always want what is forbidden, off limits, exotic. To the young Princess Cleopatra, the ordinary was most alluring. Now I would act as a guide to these sites for the Romans, when the truth was, they were also new to me.
     
    An alarmingly large number of Romans had elected to take the tour. It required a company of chariots and most of the horses from the royal stables. Meleagros and Olympos arrived early, clearly nervous; and Father, shamefacedly, made his appearance as well. Meleagros had enlisted some of his Museion colleagues, and the Macedonian Household Guards would guide us—while acting as discreet bodyguards.
    I was grateful for Olympos’s company; he seemed to know everything about the city, and prompted me as we went along. Of course he had the run of it, being a free Greek citizen, but nonroyal. And he had made the most of his opportunities to explore.
    I was beside Pompey in the large ceremonial chariot. Olympos was at my side, and Father clung to the rail, looking a little green. Behind us were all the rest; the captain of the guard drove.
    As we left the palace grounds and clattered out into the wide streets, cheers went up. I was relieved to hear that they sounded friendly; in Alexandria, one never knew. Our crowds were volatile, and could quickly turn on you. These people were smiling, seemingly happy to have a glimpse of their rulers. But the sight of so many Romans might turn sour on them at any moment.
    Father and I waved at them, and I was gratified when they cried out to us and threw flowers. Then I heard them calling Father by his nickname, Auletes, “the flute-player.” But they said it affectionately.
    We turned down the broad marble street that led to Alexander’s tomb. On both sides it was bordered with wide colonnades, making the street as beautiful as a temple. Where this north-south street crossed the long east-west street, the Canopic Way, stood Alexander’s tomb. Our first stop.
    Everyone who came to the city did obeisance at Alexander’s tomb; it was a sacred site. It was he who had laid out the plan for the city itself, and named it after himself, and thereby conferred some of his magic on it.
    Now even the loud, joking Romans fell silent as they approached it. The Invincible himself, lying in his crystal sarcophagus…who could not be awed by the sight?
    I had been here only once before, and I