Page 98 of Cleopatra

“Fulvia would have loved tonight, but she has been unwell.”

Fulvia was his wife. I had met her occasionally at feasts and at the temple, but I did not go out of my way to engage with her. She seemed pleasant enough and was, I was told, extremely learned, but neither of us had the motivation to seek out the other. We were too alike—more so than I knew at the time.[*]

“Shall I visit her with my medicines tomorrow?” I asked.

Antonius dipped his head. “That would be gracious.”

Many years later I asked Antonius if he had loved Fulvia and a darkness crossed his features.

“No, but I loved her late husband and I had promised him that I would protect her should he die.” Gaius Scribonius Curio had been his name. “He was to me what Charmion is to you.”

I understood then how deep his grief must have been to lose such a part of himself. And I understood, too, how impossible it would be to dissolve his marriage to her.

I never went to Fulvia’s bedside; her malady slipped my mind the following day. I wonder, if I had, would she feature more in my tale? Just like Calpurnia’s, her absence here is born only of my ignorance, for I knew so little of her.

I understand the irony. For I know how it feels to have your life reduced to actions and assumptions.

As we crossed the main market square, crowds began to gather. Cries of “Rex!” rang out as Caesar passed. A young girl slipped past the legs of the guards surrounding us and made it to Caesar, a laurel wreath in her hand. Caesar dropped to one knee and bent his head, letting the girl bestow on him the leaf crown.

Oh, my heart, if only you had seen what fate lay ahead of you. Your reputation had built you a throne that the senate was never going to let you sit upon. But in that moment, I saw nothing but a sweet exchange between a child and a king.

There was a clap of thunder above us, and in the next breath, rain began to fall from the sky in great sheets. The procession stopped and servants dashed around to erect an awning.

“Praise Isis, the rains have come,” I said, the sweetness of the rainwater touching my tongue as I spoke. I tipped my head back to enjoy the feeling of the water striking my skin.

“Cleopatra, come under the shelter,” Charmion called. She tried to pull me towards her, but I resisted.

“Let me savour it a moment.” The rain was such a precious thing; even though we weren’t in Egypt, I wanted to enjoy it.

It was not long before I was drenched, my hair and garments laden with rainwater.

Caesar called to me from beneath the awning, his expression heavy with disapproval, though Antonius watched me in wonder.

“Mama!” Caesarion ran to me, laughing, and I picked him up and twirled him around in the puddles.

There was a splash next to me and I turned to find Antonius standing in a puddle of his own. He tilted his head to the storm-darkened sky, then looked at me. I raised a questioning brow to him.

“I wanted to feel what you felt,” he replied.

When the rain shower passed, Caesar came to me, wrapping his arms around me to bring me warmth.

“I will wet your clothes,” I protested.

“It is a small price to pay to be close to you,” he said, giving me one of his rare smiles.

Antonius’s love came to be like the sun: passionate and intense. Caesar’s was always like the rain, exhilarating and pure.

And as if I were a flower in bloom, both sustained me.

—

I knew the day that Caesar would die. It was not intuition, but my brother’s gift that warned me.

I had heard some of what was occurring in the senate through Caesar. To his enemies he had shown too much mercy—Brutus and Cassius had long since been pardoned for their part in the Battle of Pharsalus, and were left to sow dissent.

Their whispers had increased in volume, creating a divide between those who thought Caesar had too much power and those who believed he did not have enough.

I was used to court hearsay; I knew its melody intimately. I knew, too, how easily it could become a war song.