Read Online The Memoirs of Cleopatra by Margaret George - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Margaret George
Tags: Fiction, Historical
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meantime I must keep faith. And tackle all fears, everything that would cripple or compromise me. Fear of the water, for an Alexandrian princess, is a grave handicap.”
“So you banished it.” He seemed very impressed.
“Not without hesitation,” I admitted. No one must ever know how much.
It was good to have friends who lived a safe and uneventful life, because in our children’s palace quarters it was anything but that. The four of us were guarded and watched constantly, and doubtless everything suspicious we said or did was reported back to Their False Majesties. I, as the eldest, had the most freedom, but was also the one likely to incur the most criticism. Arsinoe, true to her fretful and spoiled nature, constantly tested the guards and caused trouble in little ways—ways that seemed designed merely to get attention for herself, since they served no other purpose. It struck me as very stupid, for the best way to behave around enemies is unobtrusively.
The two little boys, Ptolemies both, were too young to merit much watching, as they played in their adjoining rooms. There was no treason in them, no plots, just balls and wooden toys.
Age began to work against me, calling attention to my impending adulthood—and potential as a political tool—as nature began to reshape my body. All my life I had been slight, with arms and legs that had little meat on them, and what there was, I ran off with all my activity. My face, too, was long and thin, my features fine as children’s always are. But at about the time Father left for Rome, subtle changes started in me. First I stopped growing taller, and as if in response to that, the food that would have gone into added height now filled out my arms and legs, and plumped out my cheeks. I stopped being sticklike and became softer all over. At the same time, my muscles became stronger, so that I could finally wrench things out of sockets that had been too difficult for me, move furniture that I could not before, and throw balls farther.
And my face! My nose, as if it had a will of its own, began to lengthen, and my little lips expanded, until I had a large mouth. The lips were still nicely shaped, curved and fitted together pleasingly, but they were so…wide. The face looking back at me from polished silver mirrors was rapidly becoming an adult’s. An adult face, which might harbor adult thoughts. Treasonous thoughts?
The changes took me by surprise; I had never watched anyone’s looks alter as they matured. I suppose I had always pictured a miniature version of an adult when I thought of someone’s childhood. Our unpleasant tutor, Theodotos, would have kept the same looks, in my mind, but shrunk down tiny. Now I would see what I was truly going to look like; I had to watch myself being reconstructed day by day. I was most anxious for the answer, because I had got used to myself one way and now would have to see myself another.
Of course I wanted to be beautiful, because everyone wants to be. Failing that, I wanted to be at least pleasant to look at. But what if it was worse? What if I turned out to be ugly? It seemed so unfair to have started out one way, in one category, and then, at twelve or so, be reassigned to another.
I had overheard a merchant once, talking about his wife’s expected child. Someone asked him what he hoped for, and I had assumed he would say that the child be healthy, or that it be clever. Instead—I shall never forget it!—he said, “If it is a girl, I just pray she won’t be ugly.” I always wondered if it was a girl, and if she was ugly.
So I peered anxiously in mirrors (when I knew no one would catch me), trying to divine the future in my face.
My breasts and waist started changing, too. At first it was just a hint that things were different, but after Father had been away for a year, the changes were unmistakable. I wished my breasts would stop growing, for that was the most telltale sign of all. I had to wear looser and looser
“So you banished it.” He seemed very impressed.
“Not without hesitation,” I admitted. No one must ever know how much.
It was good to have friends who lived a safe and uneventful life, because in our children’s palace quarters it was anything but that. The four of us were guarded and watched constantly, and doubtless everything suspicious we said or did was reported back to Their False Majesties. I, as the eldest, had the most freedom, but was also the one likely to incur the most criticism. Arsinoe, true to her fretful and spoiled nature, constantly tested the guards and caused trouble in little ways—ways that seemed designed merely to get attention for herself, since they served no other purpose. It struck me as very stupid, for the best way to behave around enemies is unobtrusively.
The two little boys, Ptolemies both, were too young to merit much watching, as they played in their adjoining rooms. There was no treason in them, no plots, just balls and wooden toys.
Age began to work against me, calling attention to my impending adulthood—and potential as a political tool—as nature began to reshape my body. All my life I had been slight, with arms and legs that had little meat on them, and what there was, I ran off with all my activity. My face, too, was long and thin, my features fine as children’s always are. But at about the time Father left for Rome, subtle changes started in me. First I stopped growing taller, and as if in response to that, the food that would have gone into added height now filled out my arms and legs, and plumped out my cheeks. I stopped being sticklike and became softer all over. At the same time, my muscles became stronger, so that I could finally wrench things out of sockets that had been too difficult for me, move furniture that I could not before, and throw balls farther.
And my face! My nose, as if it had a will of its own, began to lengthen, and my little lips expanded, until I had a large mouth. The lips were still nicely shaped, curved and fitted together pleasingly, but they were so…wide. The face looking back at me from polished silver mirrors was rapidly becoming an adult’s. An adult face, which might harbor adult thoughts. Treasonous thoughts?
The changes took me by surprise; I had never watched anyone’s looks alter as they matured. I suppose I had always pictured a miniature version of an adult when I thought of someone’s childhood. Our unpleasant tutor, Theodotos, would have kept the same looks, in my mind, but shrunk down tiny. Now I would see what I was truly going to look like; I had to watch myself being reconstructed day by day. I was most anxious for the answer, because I had got used to myself one way and now would have to see myself another.
Of course I wanted to be beautiful, because everyone wants to be. Failing that, I wanted to be at least pleasant to look at. But what if it was worse? What if I turned out to be ugly? It seemed so unfair to have started out one way, in one category, and then, at twelve or so, be reassigned to another.
I had overheard a merchant once, talking about his wife’s expected child. Someone asked him what he hoped for, and I had assumed he would say that the child be healthy, or that it be clever. Instead—I shall never forget it!—he said, “If it is a girl, I just pray she won’t be ugly.” I always wondered if it was a girl, and if she was ugly.
So I peered anxiously in mirrors (when I knew no one would catch me), trying to divine the future in my face.
My breasts and waist started changing, too. At first it was just a hint that things were different, but after Father had been away for a year, the changes were unmistakable. I wished my breasts would stop growing, for that was the most telltale sign of all. I had to wear looser and looser
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