PART III
CHAPTER 6
WHEN HE SIGHTED EGYPT, Pompey was sure that its rulers would help him—after all, Ptolemy XIII had responded to his request for aid earlier in his struggle against Caesar by sending him men, ships and corn. As a consequence, Pompey’s grateful supporters in the Senate had decreed that he should be the young king’s guardian as a mark of particular favor to the Egyptian monarch and his supporters. Why should Ptolemy refuse to aid him now? Pompey had his trireme anchored on the bobbing swell within sight of the camp at Mount Casius where Ptolemy’s army was preparing to give battle to Cleopatra’s forces. From here Pompey dispatched a messenger and confidently awaited an answer.
Pompey’s arrival, however, caused consternation to Ptolemy’s regency council of Pothinus the eunuch, Achillas the military commander, and Theodotus the king’s tutor. According to Plutarch, the last sealed Pompey’s fate, arguing that “if they took him in they would have Caesar as their enemy and Pompey as their master, and if they sent him packing they would incur Pompey’s anger for expelling him and Caesar’s for not holding on to him.” The solution, Theodotus insisted, was to kill Pompey. That way Caesar would be grateful and Pompey would no longer be a threat. “And then it is said, he added with a smile, ‘Dead men don’t bite.’ ”
And so on September 28, 48, the Egyptians summoned Pompey to his death. The treacherous task was entrusted to Achillas, who with a former Roman officer called Septimius who had once served under Pompey, a centurion named Salvius and a few henchmen sailed out toward Pompey’s vessel. Pompey’s companions, anxiously scanning the shore, sensed something was wrong. Why were there no preparations for the magnificent reception that should greet a great Roman general? All they could see, as Plutarch put it, was “a few men sailing towards them in a single fishing-boat.” They warned Pompey to put out to sea at once.
While Pompey hesitated, the fishing boat drew nearer. Septimius got unsteadily to his feet and hailed Pompey in Latin as “imperator,” “commander.” Achillas added his voice, greeting Pompey in Greek and inviting him to board the fishing boat because, he said, the numerous shoals and sandbanks would prevent Pompey’s trireme from coming closer in to shore. Pompey’s young wife, Cornelia, was already in tears, “weeping in anticipation of his death” as her husband bade her and Sextus good-bye and with two centurions, a freedman called Philippus and a slave clambered down into the fishing boat, whose rowers at once began making for the shore.
The silence was disturbing. Looking closely at the men into whose hands he had entrusted his life, Pompey recognized Septimius as an old comrade in arms but the man simply nodded in brief and curt acknowledgment. Cornelia, watching anxiously from the ship, saw the fishing boat at last reach the shore. Pompey was trying to stand up in the rocking boat, clutching at the hand of his freedman for support, when Septimius ran him through from behind with his sword. Salvius and Achillas also drew their daggers. Pompey collapsed into the bottom of the vessel, where, dragging his toga over his head as the blows fell, he died, according to Plutarch, “with nothing more than a gasp, without saying or doing anything to betray his dignity.” It was the day after his fifty-eighth birthday.
While the distraught Cornelia struggled to take in what she had just witnessed, others on the trireme, seeing that ships from Ptolemy’s fleet were preparing to sail out and intercept them, hastily weighed anchor and made for the open sea, where a strong wind aided their flight. On shore, Pompey’s assassins hacked his head roughly from his body, which they stripped and left “exposed as a ghastly spectacle for anyone to see who wanted to.” Philippus remained loyally by the mutilated corpse until, eventually, the crowd of sightseers who had swarmed eagerly around the body grew bored and drifted off. Then he rinsed off the clotting blood with seawater, dressed Pompey’s body in one of his own togas and searched the shore for timber to build a funeral pyre for his erstwhile master.
Four days later, on October 2, 48, Caesar sailed into the harbor of Alexandria with four thousand troops and thirty-five warships. If Ptolemy and his council anticipated Caesar’s thanks, they were disappointed. Whatever his personal feelings at being rid of his rival—and he must have been relieved—the manner of it shocked him. When Theodotus proudly handed him Pompey’s pickled head and heavy gold signet ring with its device of a lion brandishing a sword, Caesar recoiled “as if from a polluted murderer.”*
The governing clique around the king watched in growing dismay as the Roman they had assumed would gratefully confirm Ptolemy on the Egyptian throne and consign Cleopatra to exile showed no sign of being so accommodating. Caesar made clear from the start that Pompey’s murderers could take nothing for granted, coming ashore with the full dignity of a Roman consul, his lictors bearing the fasces before him as the symbols of his authority. His justification for appearing in official regalia was that the will entrusted to Rome by Cleopatra’s father had appointed Cleopatra and Ptolemy as co-rulers of Egypt. With brother and sister on the cusp of war, the will was plainly not being honored, giving him the legal right to intervene.
While Caesar’s magisterial attitude was a stroke of good luck for Cleopatra, waiting anxiously beyond Egypt’s borders, it galled Alexandria’s excitable population. All they saw was an arrogant Roman strutting ashore as if Egypt were already a Roman province. Soldiers and citizens alike began rioting and in the days that followed mobs killed several of Caesar’s men strolling unwisely around the city. Caesar began to realize that his own position was precarious. The seasonal north winds gusting boisterously in across the Mediterranean and flecking the seas with foam made it difficult simply to sail away. On the other hand, he had relatively few men to defend him in this volatile, populous, alien city.
Alexandria had once far outshone Caesar’s Rome. Arrian, Alexander’s ancient biographer, recorded that on his way down the Nile from Memphis, where he was crowned pharaoh, Alexander reached a point to the west of the delta and between Lake Mareotis and the sea when “it seemed to him that the site was the very best on which to found a city and it would prosper . . . A longing for the task seized him and he personally established the main points of the city.” Legend says that when marking out the foundations, Alexander and his men swiftly ran out of chalk. Instead, they trickled out barley meal from the workmen’s food supplies as marker lines. Suddenly “birds infinite in numbers” appeared and devoured the meal. “Even Alexander was greatly disturbed at the omen. However, the seers exhorted him to be of good cheer since the city to be founded here would have most abundant and helpful resources and be a nursing mother for men of every nation.”
By the time of Caesar’s visit it certainly seemed the seers were correct. Alexandria was still the ancient world’s second-largest city after Rome with a population of around half a million, about a sixth of Egypt’s total. Rectangular in shape, it was about three miles long and planned on a grid system. One visitor described how “the city is as a whole intersected by streets practicable for horse-riding and chariot-driving and by two that are very wide, around a hundred feet across.” Another recalled how “entering by the Gate of the Sun, I was instantly struck by the splendid beauty. I tried to cast my eyes down every street but my gaze was still unsatisfied . . . In one quarter . . . the splendor of the town was cut into squares for there was a row of columns crossed by another as long at right angles.” The streets, many of which were shaded by green awnings, were angled to catch the cooling breezes blowing off the Mediterranean. Ancient obelisks and sphinxes brought downstream from Heliopolis, Memphis and other cities of the pharaohs stood in public spaces and dotted the colonnaded streets, giving an exotic and ancient air to the new foundation.
The city’s temples, shrines and public buildings were brilliantly colored. From the time of the pharaohs it had become a tradition to leave not a single inch undecorated. Artists had long been pounding lapis lazuli for its rich deep blue, malachite for its subtle green, ochre for its earth colors and charcoal for its dense black. They applied the results to turn carved pillars into palm trees and breathe life into the carved reliefs of kings and queens, gods and goddesses and their spectacular imagined worlds depicted on walls and ceilings.
Alexandria had two main harbors, a western one and a great or eastern harbor. The western harbor was known as the “Harbor of Good Fortune” and had an inner dock built around the entrance to a canal leading to Lake Mareotis and then onward to the Canopic branch of the Nile. The eastern harbor was, according to visitors, divided into subsidiary harbors and numerous quays and was so deep that even the largest ships could berth. The geographer Strabo, writing just after Cleopatra’s death, called Alexandria “the greatest emporium in the inhabited world.” Among the warehouses full of grain, Egypt’s major export, was a great customs house. It also served as a place of noisy trade where the produce of the saffron crocus from Cyrenaica and spices such as cinnamon and pepper, transhipped from Africa, India and beyond, were bought and sold, as were rolls of linen, bags of Egyptian soda—used across the Mediterranean for laundering clothes—and carefully packed crates of engraved Egyptian drinking glasses appreciated by Rome’s rich for their fragility.
Heaps of gold-skinned dates from Thebes were considered especially juicy by connoisseurs, while Egyptian gum arabic, made from the acacia thorn, was particularly useful as a fixative for the face paints beloved of Roman matrons. The latter were also interested in the by-product of a more dangerous cargo—crocodiles. The reptiles had first been shipped to Rome in 58 when five were exhibited in a specially built pool with a hippo at one of the regular Roman Games. Subsequently more and more had arrived to be butchered in contests with gladiators. Roman women thought that the creatures’ dung would remove facial blemishes and redden their cheeks. Another export for which the demand of Rome’s increasing empire was inexhaustible was papyrus to record triumphs, laws and tax takes.
Separating the eastern and western harbors was a causeway nearly three quarters of a mile long pierced by two arches that gave access from one harbor to the other while breaking the force of the prevailing western current and thus providing added protection to the great harbor. At the end of the breakwater was a flat natural island with stout seawalls called Pharos. At its eastern extremity was built the seventh wonder of the ancient world—the lighthouse of Alexandria. Completed in about 283, the Pharos, as it became known, stood for seventeen centuries until after a series of earthquakes it was finally demolished.* Coins, drawings and recent underwater archaeology suggest that the lighthouse was probably nearly four hundred feet high—the height of a thirty-five-story building—and surrounded at its lower base by large pink granite sphinxes and tall statues of royal Ptolemaic couples dressed as pharaohs to remind those sailing past that they were entering not only a Macedonian city but the capital of the sovereigns of Egypt.
The lighthouse had three tiers and was approached by a long ramp with vaulted arcades. The first tier was rectangular with windows on all sides giving light to service rooms. The second tier was octagonal and the third cylindrical. Here a series of mirrors, perhaps of burnished brass, would have reflected the sunlight out across the Mediterranean during the day and at night or during overcast days the light of a fire of resinous wood. The rays are said to have been visible for more than thirty miles. The lighthouse was built mostly of the polished white limestone quarried locally. It was reinforced at its base with large blocks of granite, some weighing more than thirty tons; in recent years, underwater investigations suggest that some of these foundation blocks were actually recycled from old obelisks and sphinxes cut to size.* The architect who built the Pharos, Sostrates of Cnidus, reputedly employed a novel ruse to mark the work as his own for posterity. He engraved into the stone of the Pharos an inscription stating that he was the constructor, then plastered this over and engraved into the plaster the name of the ruling Ptolemy, knowing full well that over time the plaster would wear away and his own name would be revealed for all to see.
The royal palace complex also lay along the harbor and contained a private, artificial royal harbor. Each of the Ptolemies had built a palace of their own, leaving those of their predecessors intact. The area had thus expanded over time so that, according to Strabo, the palaces occupied “a quarter or even a third” of the space within the walls that confined the city. Strabo described how “on sailing into the harbor one comes on the left to the royal palaces which have groves and numerous buildings painted in various colours.” The palaces too are now sunk below the sea following a series of earthquakes and tidal waves in the fourth and fifth centuries AD. Archaeology has revealed that they and their surrounding gardens were studded with ancient sphinxes and large statues of the gods as well as shrines and works of art. Among the latter were a highly elaborate fountain described in a surviving inscription as made of many kinds of stone, both Greek and Egyptian, and portraying Queen Arsinoe III and sundry nymphs, and a remarkable coiled statue of the city’s guardian serpent, the Agathos Daemon, which had reputedly appeared at the time of Alexander’s foundation of the city.
Within the palace area also stood the Museon with its covered colonnaded alleys where scholars could pace, think and converse, sheltered from the sun before eating for free in the neighboring refectory. The celebrated library, which by Cleopatra’s time contained around seven hundred thousand scrolls, was probably nearby.*
Strabo described how the royal palaces contained the monument known as the Sema, an edifice containing the tombs of the Ptolemies and of Alexander. After Ptolemy I had hijacked the body of Alexander he had interred it in a golden sarcophagus. The latter had been stolen by a later usurping Ptolemy and subsequently replaced with a sarcophagus made of alabaster where Alexander’s mummified body remained at the time of Caesar’s visit. From the few surviving fragments of descriptions the Sema was a pyramid-like structure with vaults beneath containing the bodies.†
Elsewhere in the city were the Great Theater, the huge colonnaded and porticoed six hundred-foot-long Gymnasium that stood in the center of the city to the south of the royal palaces, and an artificial hill “in the shape of a fir cone” built specifically to give a panoramic view of the great metropolis to residents and visitors alike who climbed up the pathway spiraling around it. Outside the city walls was the racetrack or hippodrome.*
The Alexandrians, as all the Egyptians, were highly skilled in waterworks of every kind. The network of canals around Alexandria was sophisticated and led eventually via the Nile and the Bitter Lakes through another narrow canal to a small port on the Red Sea known as Cleopatris, near the modern city of Suez, so that cargoes could traverse the country from the Red Sea to the Mediterranean by water. Alexandrians had also built an intricate system of interconnecting cisterns and aqueducts to supply fresh water since neither the lake nor canal water was fit to drink. Many of the cisterns were underground and their roofs were often supported by several series of thick stone columns.†
Caesar would have heard many languages on the spice-scented quays and in the bustling streets of Alexandria. The Macedonian Greek of the ruling classes vied with other dialects from the Greek islands and mainland and from Syracuse and other Greek settlements around the Mediterranean. The native populations, who congregated to the west of the city, spoke Egyptian; as their Macedonian rulers required, they were a minority in their capital despite increasing immigration from elsewhere in search of work and advancement as Alexandria grew. Roman legates, traders and military advisers conversed in Latin, while Persians, Syrians and Gallic and German mercenaries each used their own tongues.
Much Hebrew was also spoken. Alexandria had a large Jewish population—larger than any other city of the time with the exception of Jerusalem. Of the five “quarters” into which the city was divided, each designated by a letter of the Greek alphabet, the whole of one area (Delta), near the royal palace, and much of another (Beta), were occupied by Jews, and synagogues were scattered throughout the city. During the early days of the Museon, seventy Jewish scholars had been summoned by the Ptolemies to translate the Pentarch into Greek.*
Numerous Jewish people had fled to Alexandria after persecution by the Seleucids. They occupied a wide variety of positions, some in government, some as traders and some as soldiers in the polyglot Egyptian forces. Strabo described how the Jews had a great deal of autonomy: “A large part of the city of Alexandria has been set aside for them. They are presided over by an Ethnarch who governs the race, presides over the law courts and supervises contracts and ordinances just as if he was the supreme magistrate of an independent community.”
The newly arrived Caesar installed himself in the luxurious palace complex of the Ptolemies with its airy pavilions and fragrant gardens, quickly announcing his intention to arbitrate between the royal siblings. He ordered Ptolemy to report to him in the royal palace. The young king hurried to Alexandria but left his armies intact on the eastern border—a fact Caesar noted. With him came his treasurer, the eunuch Pothinus, who, loathing and fearing Romans, immediately began to obstruct Caesar’s plans, among them exacting from the Egyptians the huge sums of money Caesar insisted he was owed. His claim went back to the lavish borrowings of Cleopatra’s father, in particular from the Roman banker Rabirius. After his ignominious flight from Egypt, Rabirius had complained that the king had failed to repay him and Caesar, with an eye to the main chance, had acquired the debt. On Auletes’ death, he had agreed to reduce what was owed by around half but now he insisted on being paid the remainder. Despite its political confusion, Egypt was still the world’s richest country.
With more energy than common sense, Pothinus made plain that the Romans were not welcome. According to Plutarch, “his words and behavior towards Caesar were often rude and offensive.” The grain he sent to feed Caesar’s men was old and musty and he “told them to put up with it without complaining, since it was other people’s food they were eating.” He stirred up the already smarting population by ensuring that Ptolemy’s food was served up in crude wooden or chipped pottery dishes, implying that the rapacious Caesar and his men had grabbed all the household’s silver and gold platters for themselves.
As tensions within the palace grew, Cleopatra made her entrance. It is unclear whether Caesar had, as Plutarch suggests, ordered her to Alexandria like her brother or whether, guessing that her physical charms and personal charisma would be her best advocates, she had herself decided to plead her case in person. She would certainly have known of Caesar’s susceptibility to women, either by report or, if she had indeed accompanied her father to Rome, by what she had heard and observed there. Caesar, as appropriate for a supposed descendent of Venus, was a man of vigorous sexual appetites. A contemporary dismissed him as every man’s woman and every woman’s man and indeed, his youthful escapades notwithstanding, he was highly attracted to good-looking women. According to Suetonius, as his troops marched in triumph through the streets of Rome they celebrated his womanizing by singing such verses as:
Home we bring our bald whoremonger;
Romans lock your wives away!
All the bags of gold you lent him
Went his Gallic tarts to pay.
Noting that “his affairs with women are commonly described as numerous and extravagant,” Suetonius detailed Caesar’s bedding of a succession of wellborn Roman women. The woman Caesar apparently loved most was Servilia: “In his first consulship he bought her a pearl worth 60,000 gold pieces. He gave her many presents during the Civil War, as well as knocking down certain valuable estates to her at a public auction for a song. When surprise was expressed at the low price, Cicero made a neat remark: ‘It was even cheaper than you think, because a third (tertia) had been discounted.’ Servilia, you see, was also suspected at the time of having prostituted her daughter Tertia to Caesar.” People also whispered that Caesar was the father of Servilia’s son, Marcus Brutus. If true, there was a sad irony to it since Brutus would one day be among his assassins.
Whatever her ultimate intentions, for Cleopatra the task of reaching Caesar was infinitely more difficult and dangerous than for her brother. Ptolemy’s forces stood between her and Alexandria, while his navy was blockading the city’s harbor. If captured, she would have been killed out of hand and her body quietly disposed of. Cleopatra’s solution was to stake everything on one stunningly audacious and theatrical stunt.
She slipped aboard a ship bound for Alexandria and, as it neared the city, transferred into a smaller craft with, as her sole companion, a loyal Greek merchant from Sicily named Apollodorus. In the purpling dusk their tiny vessel slunk into the harbor, where Apollodorus moored in the shadows and prepared to go ashore. He was a carrying a long cylindrical bag of the type used to transport bedclothes or carpets, secured with a leather strap. Somehow he managed to enter the royal palace, find his way to Caesar and deposit his burden at the Roman’s feet. Cleopatra extricated herself from the bag, uncoiling in fetching deshabille before the astonished and soon to be enamored Roman.
Their first encounter has fascinated generations. To the Roman poet Lucan, Cleopatra was a corrupt and calculating enchantress: “confiding in her beauty, Cleopatra approaches him, sad without any tears, arrayed for simulated grief as far as is consistent with beauty, as though tearing her dishevelled hair . . . her features aid her entreaties and her unchaste face pleads for her.” Her beauty was as fatal and ruinous to those who beheld it as Helen of Troy’s and “the hardy breast of Caesar caught the flame . . . in the midst of frenzy and the midst of fury, and in a palace haunted by the shade of Pompey.” Lucan blamed Cleopatra, not Caesar, for what happened next: “a night of infamy she passes, the arbitrator being thus corrupted.”
Lucan was right in one sense—Cleopatra’s sex appeal and power over men is beyond question—but she was probably not conventionally beautiful. Coins, albeit eroded with age, give the best idea of how she actually looked. Those minted in Alexandria and Ascalon early in her reign show a striking young woman with large eyes, full mouth, hooked nose and strong chin. Her abundant hair is drawn back from her face in the braids of the traditional Ptolemaic “melon coiffure”—so called because of the resemblance of the divided braids to the stripes on a melon rind—and finishing in a bun on the nape of her neck. Later coins depict a woman with high cheekbones, strong jaw and even more pronounced nose, whose face looks hawkishly powerful and far removed from the wide-browed, straight-nosed, placid-featured ideal of Roman beauty.
Some coins depict Cleopatra with so-called Venus rings—circles of fat on the neck. Obesity was certainly a characteristic of Cleopatra’s dynasty and representations of her ancestors show many were well fleshed. A model of Cleopatra in her late twenties, produced for this book by an expert in archaeological reconstruction using surviving coin images, statues and carvings of her, shows a voluptuously fleshy-faced woman with a broad forehead, hawkish nose, somewhat mannish cast of features, and more than a hint of a double chin, and offers an intriguing alternative vision of a woman more often thought of as lithe and gamine than as Rubenesque.*
Cleopatra had qualities rarer and more compelling than mere prettiness. Plutarch wrote that “according to my sources, her beauty was not of itself absolutely without parallel, not the kind to astonish those who saw her; but her presence exerted an inevitable fascination, and her physical attractions, combined with the persuasive charm of her conversation and the aura she sometimes projected around herself in company did have a certain ability to stimulate others. The sound of her voice was also charming.”
Clearly, Cleopatra’s erotic appeal was enhanced by an independent, self-reliant spirit and an agile, able mind. Her first language was Greek and this was probably the language in which she addressed Caesar—as an educated Roman, he would have been familiar with the lingua franca of the eastern Mediterranean. Yet Plutarch praised her extraordinary facility “which enabled her to turn her tongue, like a many stringed instrument, to any language she wanted, with the result that it was extremely rare for her to require an interpreter in her meetings with foreigners; usually she could answer their questions herself, whether they were Ethiopians, Troglodytae, Hebrews, Arabs, Syrians, Medes or Parthians. Unlike the previous rulers of her dynasty, she had also troubled to learn Egyptian.” In the Roman world intellectual and artistic accomplishments were much appreciated in a woman and thought to add to her attractions. Sallust wrote admiringly of a woman who possessed “intellectual strengths which are by no means laughable: the skill of writing verses, cracking jokes, speaking either modestly or tenderly or saucily—in a word, she had much wit and charm.” He could have been writing of Cleopatra as well.
One of Shakespeare’s characters observes that there was something of the gypsy about Cleopatra. In more recent times others have suggested that she had black African blood but there is no evidence of this other than in a symbolic sense of being an outsider in a male- and Roman-dominated world. She was, however, almost certainly dark-haired and olive-skinned. Though some of her early Macedonian forebears had been blond, they came of mixed stock. Also, intermarriage with the Seleucid dynasty had added Persian blood to the Ptolemaic dynasty, while Cleopatra’s paternal grandmother, a concubine whose name is unknown, was quite probably Syrian. Some historians believe that Cleopatra’s paternal grandmother was, in fact, Egyptian and base their claim that Cleopatra might have been black upon this. There is a precedent—an earlier Ptolemaic king took an Egyptian mistress. However, even if Cleopatra’s grandmother was Egyptian it does not follow that she was a black African.
Whatever her complexion, Cleopatra would have known how to make the best of herself. The Ptolemaic queens had long been celebrated for their expertise with perfumes and unguents. An early work on cosmetics has been attributed to Cleopatra and even if she was not its author, she could have been. She certainly would have paid careful attention to her appearance on this first meeting with Caesar, perhaps darkening her eyebrows and eyelids with antimony, adding a translucent luster to her skin with finely ground powders and reddening her lips with the juice of ripe mulberries. Rich musky perfumes would have added to the overall effect. Cleopatra must have seemed the embodiment of the eroticism and exoticism of the East and of glamour beyond royalty—after all, here at Caesar’s feet was not only a proud young queen, kin to Alexander the Great, but a living goddess—the representation of Isis on earth.
Cleopatra’s bold and imaginative act also appealed to Caesar on another level. He knew all about taking calculated all-or-nothing risks and admired courage in others. In a way, Cleopatra’s carpetbag stratagem had been her Rubicon, her opportunity to let the dice fly high. Had it failed she, like him, could have lost everything. Instead she had gambled and won. As Plutarch put it, “This ruse is said to have opened Caesar’s eyes to the side of Cleopatra that was far from innocent and to have made him fall for her.”
And fall for her he did. The young Egyptian queen and the seasoned Roman general became lovers, probably that very night, as Lucan claims, Cleopatra surrendering her virginity in a calculated act to secure her future. There seems no reason to doubt that she was still a virgin. Nothing suggests she had ever taken lovers and had the young Cleopatra been sexually promiscuous, Roman propagandists would have gratefully and gleefully reported it. At this stage in their relationship Caesar’s primary attraction for Cleopatra must have been his ability to help and protect her. Though fit and athletic, he was, at fifty-two, middle-aged. He had also, as his soldiers so raucously sang, lost most of his hair and he resorted to the usual fruitless methods of disguising it. Suetonius reported: “His baldness was a disfigurement which his enemies harped upon, much to his exasperation; but he used to comb the thin strands of hair forward from his poll and of all the honors voted him by the Senate and People, none pleased him so much as the privilege of wearing a laurel wreath on all occasions—he constantly took advantage of it.”
As a vain man, Caesar may also have resorted to techniques like those described in the book on cosmetics attributed to Cleopatra, which contained detailed advice for dealing with “falling-off eyelashes or for people going bald all over,” enthusing “it is wonderful” before detailing a bizarre lotion: “Of domestic mice burnt, 1 part; of vine-rag burnt, 1 part; of horse’s teeth burnt, 1 part; of bear’s grease, 1; of deer’s marrow, 1; of reed bark, 1. To be pounded when dry, and mixed with lots of honey; then the bear’s grease and marrow to be mixed (when melted), the medicine to be put in a brass flask, and the bald part rubbed with it till it sprouts.”
Caesar was no doubt a deft lover. Romans had a profound appreciation of good sex as a gift from the gods, a blessing from Venus herself. They believed that both man and woman should derive pleasure from the act, hence Ovid’s advice to male lovers:
Believe me, the pleasure of love is not to be rushed, but gradually elicited by well-tempered delay. When you have found the place where a woman loves to be fondled, don’t you be ashamed to touch it any more than she is. You will see her eyes gleaming with a tremulous brightness like the glitter of the sun reflected in clear water. Then she will moan and murmur lovingly, sigh sweetly, and find words that suit her pleasure. But be sure that you don’t sail too fast and leave your mistress behind, nor let her complete her course before you. Race to the goal together. Then pleasure is complete, when man and woman lie vanquished side by side. This tempo you must keep when you dally freely, and fear does not rush a secret affair. When delay is dangerous, then it is useful to speed ahead with full power, spurring your horse as she comes.*
Cleopatra’s ruse had been successful. However, she was not yet safe. Neither, somewhat to his surprise, was her lover.
*Dante was so appalled at Ptolemy’s behavior toward Pompey that he placed him in the same circle of hell as Cain and Judas.
*The site is now occupied by Fort Qait Bey. A huge, big-breasted granite figure of a Ptolemaic queen that once stood outside the Pharos was recently removed from the harbor, its once sharp carving smoothed and blunted by the sea.
*The waters around the lighthouse were clearly tricky, even with its presence. Archaeologists have found several shipwrecks nearby.
*Seven hundred thousand scrolls equate to roughly 128,000 books. In contrast, it is estimated that fifteen hundred years later, just before the invention of moveable type, there were only seventy thousand books in the whole of Europe.
†In Christian times St. Mark became another famous Alexandrian corpse when he too was buried in a special tomb, where he remained until, in 828 AD, Venetian merchants famously smuggled him out, insisting to Islamic officials that his body was a shipment of pickled pork, to be buried in the Venetian cathedral that bears his name.
*The Greeks and Hellenes originally built gymnasia as places of exercise to prepare citizens for the rigors of military service. However, by Cleopatra’s time the function had broadened—though exercise remained important, gymnasia were also educational and intellectual centers. In Germany today high schools are still called Gymnasien.
†Their existence is revealed today only when some of the columns break, causing the streets above to subside.
*This translation is known as the Septuagint. It is still regarded as one of the most accurate translations of the Hebrew Bible.
*For details of the process used to build up the model see the appendix.
*Curiously though, in contrast to the Greeks, the Romans did not admire the female genitalia. Greek poems eulogized depilated female genitalia that seemed to shine like pearl or alabaster between a woman’s soft thighs. By contrast, erotic Roman poets dwelt lovingly on the buttocks, thighs and anuses of youths but wrote with shuddering distaste of the female sexual organs. The attraction of a Roman woman lay in her smooth, unblemished skin, flowing silken hair, small breasts, long legs and rich, sensuous clothing.