Disclaimer: Marcus Antonius (Antony), Cleopatra VII, and co. belong to themselves, and history. Their characters here belong to the wonderful Mr. William Shakespeare. I don't own any of them. Please Review!
Cleopatra, taking the simple woven basket from the hands of the foolish, but faithful old man, gave him her hand to kiss. The withered old farmer gratefully took the perfumed hand, studded with rings like dragon's eyes, and brought it to his lips. She bade him farewell, and tossed him a bracelet of pearls certainly worth more than his entire village. It is fitting I be generous to the instrument of my salvation, she thought.
As he bowed himself out, wishing her "joy o' the worm", she turned and slowly ascended the dark green marble steps of her tomb. She lay down on the marble dais, which was covered with leopard and tiger skins. The perfume of many flowers reached her nostrils, and the furs felt wonderful on her skin.
Her long dark fingers brushed the dark fruit, and she slowly chose one, and brought it to her lips. She tasted the sweet flesh of the fig, savoring it as what might be the last meal she ate. Where the round fruit had been, she could glimpse a patch of dark brown scales. There was her savior. There was her hope.
Letting the fig fall to the ground, she reached slowly into the basket, and gently grasped the worm's dry body. She slowly pulled it out, and brought her other hand to hold it farther up its long, twisting body. The snake softly twisted and writhed in her hands, finally entwining itself around her arm. It seemed to rest its head on her wrist, eying the gold and emerald version of itself entwined there as well.
Cleopatra gently stroked the worm, letting her fingernails brush the overlapping scales. She loved these snakes. They were the symbol of her monarchy, the emblem of her power and majesty. She had grown up revering their silent power, their swift motion, their deadly beauty. And now, these two would be the ones to save her from a fate worse than death.
Is it worse than death? Will not Caesar be merciful to the fallen empress of so rich a prize as Egypt? Nay. I have flouted his power too often; I am too much a threat to his sovereignty here. I will be taken captive, brought bound to Rome, and there made a mockery and public spectacle for the rest of my days. Pulled in chains behind Octavius' chariot? The target of the jeers and rotten fruit of the Romans? Can I, will I submit to this fate? Nay. Let me die now, in Egypt, beneath my beloved native sun, wrapped not in dirty rags in a Roman cell, but with the silks and gold of an Empress, in a marble tomb, by the shores of the Nile.
But, am I to be a coward? Flee from danger and scorn? And even if I was to let myself die, who is to say that the Gods will welcome to their bosom those who come without being called? But can I say I have been anything other than called? My husband is dead. My armies defeated. My country conquered. My only future is that of a miserable prisoner, scorned and hated in Rome. And on my arm, this kindly gentleman, so well dressed in his brown scales, who courteously offers to escort me to my beloved Antony. Indeed, all would seem to cry "Die, Cleopatra! Thy life is at its end! Be reconciled! Thou must submit!"
But, as I say, who can tell me that I will be welcomed to paradise by the gods? Who can tell me, certainly, that I will embrace mine Antony once more, when my soul takes leave of my body? Have I done anything to merit paradise? Whose life have I made better, whose lot made happier? Thou, Iras? Nay. But for me, thou wouldst be happy in thy Syrian home, wife a good man, making him happy, raising a fine family. And my beloved Charmian? Nay. Thou couldst be a happy and fine woman in thy beloved Nubia, where often I did promise to send thee, but never did, for fear of losing thy company. Instead, my beloved women, thou both are condemned to die here with thy queen, or else be miserable in Caesar's mercy. The people of Egypt have been conquered and overrun by my folly. Antony, who might have yet been happy and friends with Caesar, is now dead by his own blade, at my feet. Who is left? Cleopatra? Art thou happier, for having been Cleopatra. Yea, and nay. Thou hast been lover to kings, ruled a rich and mighty land, drunk vinegar with pearls dissolved therein worth bags of gold and jewels. And yet, still thou art condemned to die or be enslaved. What can thy beloved crown and riches buy thee now? Can they purchase peace, safety, escape for thee? Nay. Die or submit, that is the choice.
But, what of the choice? To live is certain misery; to die, uncertain mystery. If I live, and submit, will not my beloved Iras and Charmian do so as well. Yes, not for all Egypt's wealth would either desert me. And then will they not feel the bite of the lash, the blow of the rod, as they are unjustly enslaved by the Roman dogs? I will not let that happen. I fear not for myself, but for them. As unburdened souls, they will lightly ascended to heaven, while my leaden wings cause me to plummet to Tartarus' depths. But I am prepared. Better die a Queen than live a slave.
She replaced the asp in the basket, and called to Iras and Charmian to dress her in her finest crown and robe. The Syrian girl brought her the long silken robe. It was purest white, dyed with purple and red, the colors of royalty. It was strung with thin chains of gold, and hemmed with gold cloth. Charmian, as was her right as the Queen's first lady, brought the crown and jewels. The crown, a tall white crown set with a silver asp, sat neatly on her head. A long, heavy necklace of lapis lazuli and gold hung from her neck, and her forearms dripped with all manner of pearls, rubies, emeralds, sapphires, and precious metals. Two pearls worth millions of sesterces each hung from each earlobe.
She kissed each lady in turn. Iras fell once her lips had but brushed Cleopatra's cheek. Cleopatra walked regally to her dais, lay down once more, and slowly fingered one of the priceless pearls in her ears.
Idyll jewel. Worthless trash. For all thy value, canst thou ransom a queen? Can thou, fine crown? Or thou, beauteous robe? Will any of you save me, most miserable of queens from the horrors that await. Thou art worthless, foolish trash!
She reached back into the basket, and took out the asp that she had left there. She raised the brown snake, and held the hooded head high. The snake opened its mouth, revealing gleaming white fangs.
Come, beloved friend. Come thou, and pierce my breast. Sink thy beautiful daggers into my flesh, and conduct me to my Antony. He is waiting, dear friend. Let us not tarry. Or, if thou canst not bring me to him, then quickly, bring me to the dark and fiery pits of Hell, where Cleopatra can show the devils themselves how a queen dies.
She pressed the snake to her chest, letting out only a small cry when the fangs broke the skin. This cry quickly became a sigh, as she felt no pain, only great relief. Looking at the basket, she saw another snake, lying amongst the figs. She reached down and pulled the reptile from the fruit.
Another friend. Art thou come to help thy brother in his blessed work, and the more quickly bring me whither I am bound, be it up or down? Then to work, kind friend.
She pressed this snake to her wrist, which it wrapped around as yet another bracelet among the many shining bands of silver and gold.
She bid Charmian a final farewell, and lay her head on the pillow. As her eyes fluttered for the last time, she thought she saw Antony's face in the shining marble floor.