The Memoirs of Cleopatra
Chapter 67 : Epaphroditus looked perplexed. "Your Majesty, that would take many days. Has the m

Epaphroditus looked perplexed. "Your Majesty, that would take many days. Has the most n.o.ble lord Antony the time?"

"I have the time, if it is something I should see," Antony said quickly.

"Just a short tour of the receiving stations in Alexandria, then," I a.s.sured Epaphroditus.

"Very well." He cleared his throat. "I came into this office only a few years ago, but I find it is even more extensive than I had imagined. In one way it is simple: the Queen owns everything. She owns the entire country--all the land, all the produce of the land, all that labor produces. There is no private property--it is all the Queen's." He waited for a response from Antony. When none was forthcoming, he went on, "It was the way of the Pharaohs, and when the Ptolemies came, the system continued. Of course the Queen does not literally own everything, but everything comes under her jurisdiction. A river of grain, almost as mighty as the Nile itself, flows from the entire country into the royal granary of Alexandria. There are royal receiving granaries for other produce, too:--the beans, gourds, onions, olives, dates, figs, almonds. The yearly tax on wheat, paid in kind, is twenty million bushels a year."

Antony stared at him. "What?" he said.

"Twenty million bushels a year is received here, laid at the feet--figuratively, of course--of Queen Cleopatra."

"Ye G.o.ds!" said Antony. It sunk in what this meant--Rome was always having to import wheat, and lately s.e.xtus had disrupted the supply route, so that food riots had broken out in Rome. "Twenty million bushels a year ..." He shook his head.

"We will visit the granary," I a.s.sured him. I wanted him to see that mountain of food.

"But there is also the royal monopoly on wool," said Epaphroditus. "We have been quite successful in breeding sheep from Arabia and Miletus, and produce so much wool that we export it. Of course the wool mills come under our control."

"Oh, did I tell you I have my own wool mill?" I said innocently to Antony. "It sports my royal seal, and the rugs are in great demand. People somehow connect me with rugs--I suppose because of Caesar." I laughed. "So everyone wants to own one."

"She has made a tidy bundle from it," said Epaphroditus. "But the profits go to help the needy."

"Yes, and I have an idea of diverting some to Canopus this year," I told him. Something had to be done about their state of despair.

"And the oil," I prompted Epaphroditus.

"Oh yes, the oil. It is the great royal monopoly, and each year we tell the farmers exactly how much land should be planted for the required yield. Then the oil is pressed in state factories by the peasants, and sent here. Let me show you." He gestured to us to follow him to the adjoining warehouse. We pa.s.sed row after row of wine amphorae until we entered the oil warehouse, where the shapes quickly changed--these amphorae were squat and round. They stretched on and on, lined up like an army, a silent army.

"Here are the containers of sesame oil, the highest quality," Epaphroditus was saying. There must have been a thousand of them. "And here the croton oil"--another thousand. "And the linseed oil"--another ma.s.s of them. "And safflower, and colocynth."

"All yours?" said Antony faintly.

"All mine," I said. "Or rather, the profits of them are. I certainly cannot use it all myself--even to feed the Incomparables."

"These are distributed through merchants at a fixed price. We regulate foreign oils by levying a fifty-percent import tax," said Epaphroditus.

"And if that is not enough, we also impose a two-percent harbor tax, and if the goods go up the Nile, another twelve percent. That a.s.sures us that no one will bring in any foreign oil--except a very rich man, for his own use, and in limited amounts," I told him.

"You seem to have thought of everything," said Antony.

"We have had generations to do so," I said. "Epaphroditus, do you think we should also include the papyrus warehouse on the tour? It is a royal monopoly as well."

"Ah, what is more Egyptian than papyrus? Of course." Epaphroditus smiled.

"Perhaps, before we depart, we should allow him to see a little of our tax books," I said. "As for the cattle, the royal prerogative gives us many large herds, and we have leather factories. We also have a quarter share in all fisheries and honey."

Antony was shaking his head. "Is anything exempt?" he asked.

"No, not really. We have our own merchant fleet on the Nile. We also have control of the mines, the quarries, the saltworks, and the natron pits," I a.s.sured him. "No one can fish or keep bees or brew beer without a license from us. And we receive one-sixth of the produce of vineyards, taken in kind. To keep our wines compet.i.tive, we charge a one-third import duty on fine Greek wines."

"But I notice you drink them," said Antony. "There always seems to be Greek wine flowing."

"Well, of course," I said. "We use the profits from everything else to indulge our taste for Greek wine. We don't like to be deprived."

"Of course not." He walked up and down the corridors of amphorae, looking at them attentively.

"Now let's take a look at the wine," said Epaphroditus, returning to the first warehouse. He gestured to one wall. "These are our best, wine from the Delta. Of course, it can't compare with that of Lesbos or Chios, but"--he walked on, toward another grouping--"this is Mareotic, it's quite good, white and sweet. They use a special seal on the amphorae." We kept walking past the jars, Antony seeming dazed. "Here's Taeniotic--usually pale yellow, with an oily quality. It has to be mixed with pure water."

"What is most impressive of all this you can't see. It is our organization," I told Antony. "After all, any ruler can decree that he is owed taxes--but collecting them is another matter. As well you know."

"Ah yes," he sighed. "I have had my troubles there." In fact, his primary mission in coming east was to collect taxes to pay for the last-fought war. "If you have the secret--"

"The secret lies in taking a census on a regular basis," I said. "We try to conduct one every year, or, at the worst, every other year."

"Ye G.o.ds!" Antony repeated. "How can you manage that?"

"For one thing, we are not always at war. Peace is needed for such close administration."

"A good point," Antony said. "And so it is a good thing that the civil wars of Rome are over."

That was not the point I wished to make. "If indeed they are," I said. Time enough for that discussion later, and in private. "Come, I think it is time we toured the granaries."

Outside, our chariot was waiting, and Epaphroditus ordered his brought around. He led the way, wheeling around and skirting the wharves, making for the part of the city bordering the ca.n.a.l-fed inner harbor. Most of the produce of the land arrived through Lake Mareotis and the Nile ca.n.a.l, and the s.h.i.+ps unloaded there, transferring their cargo onto the ca.n.a.l that ran through the city. The granaries lay there, our own version of a line of pyramids.

He pulled up his horses in front of the largest one, built of limestone and fastened with heavy iron doors. It was locked and bolted from the inside, and two guards stood by, heavily armed. They gave the signal for the master of the granary to open it for us. After the sound of the bolt sliding out, the doors swung open slowly.

A golden haze lay in the air inside, and the sunlight--coming from high windows--broke into shafts and turned into a cloud. It hit the dust from the wheat, which, even after winnowing, hung in the air and gave a dry, sweet smell to the place.

There was a pathway down the center of the building, but on both sides were thick plank half-walls holding back the grain--what looked like an ocean of wheat stretching back and back to the periphery. I pictured the wood straining and breaking, and a wave of grain gus.h.i.+ng out and drowning us.

Antony kept turning his head, looking on both sides, but he said little.

"There are similar granaries for barley and millet," I said. "And figs, dates, and almonds have their own warehouses. Would you like to visit them?"

"No," said Antony. "I am sure they are all the same, only the color and smell inside is different."

"Oh, but you must see my favorite--the spice warehouse!" I insisted. "When I was little, I used to make my father take me there. The smells were like airborne jewels." I saw he was getting restless, so I begged, "Please. If ever you want to know what delights me--"

"I would make it my task to learn everything that delights you," he said.

Epaphroditus looked down at his shoes, embarra.s.sed. "Well, then . .." He led the way out of the granary, and soon we were entering the square stone building that served as the repository for the precious imported spices. There was. a ten-man guard set over the doors and around the ventilation vents, for spices were tempting to thieves, being so light and so expensive. Three sets of locks had to be undone before we could enter.

Inside, the mingled smells were overpowering. High above, I could see the latticed air vents, but they let out only the excess heat. It was dim, for the light had to come a long way to reach the floor. It took a few moments for our eyes to adjust, and all the while we were a.s.saulted with the smells. It was as if our noses had ambushed our eyes and left us dependent on smell alone to orient ourselves. I breathed deeply, plunging into the aromatic cloud.

"These are the spices that come from the east from the caravan routes," said Epaphroditus. "We just double the prices we have paid before distributing them to the rest of the world. Of course, not everything comes to Alexandria--some of the caravans go on to the Black Sea and others to Damascus--but we have most of the market. That is because we are a seaport and can export easily, which Damascus can't."

"You seem to have world trade by the throat," said Antony. "Poor Rome does not even have a harbor; we have to use Puteoli, but that's almost a hundred miles away."

"There are many advantages to being based in Alexandria," I said pointedly. I hoped he was paying attention. "Now let's do what I always loved doing--walking past the stores and guessing what they are by smell. Lead us, Epaphroditus." As part of the game, I covered my eyes with one hand and gave the other to Epaphroditus, and led Antony.

"Now this is easy," I said, at the first stop. "It's cardamom. Am I right?"

"Indeed you are," said Epaphroditus. "Here are the wooden boxes holding them, but nothing can imprison the pungent smell." Reaching almost to the ceiling were stacks of boxes, worth huge amounts of money.

We shuffled down the aisles of the rest of the warehouse, pa.s.sing cinnamon--which was easy to identify--and ca.s.sia and pepper, which were not. There were also sacks of saffron stacked in one corner.

"Whole sacks!" said Antony. "I had never imagined such quant.i.ty."

"Yes, it takes almost two hundred flowers to produce a pinch of it," I said.

"No wonder it's guarded so heavily," said Antony.

There were bags, sacks, and jars of lesser spices--c.u.min, turmeric, aniseed, coriander--in the far corner of the building. By that time our noses had become so numbed we could smell nothing.

"All the baths of Rome would not be able to wash these flavors and smells off my skin," said Antony. "I feel they have penetrated down to my bones." Laughing, he flapped his tunic about, like a crane spreading its wings.

When we stepped outside, the air seemed weirdly thin, characterless. "What about the papyrus?" I asked Antony.

"Yes, that would be interesting," he said. And so we went there, touring the warehouse where natron lay in regular piles to absorb any moisture that might cause mold or mildew on the precious scrolls--scrolls that were lying on miles of shelving, ready for distribution.

"Blank scrolls," he said. "I wonder what nonsense will fill them up?"

"They are like newborn babies," I said, plucking one off the shelf. This was the very highest grade. "It depends into whose hands they fall what they will grow into. This one here--it might be used for figures, or poetry of the highest order, or perhaps only household records."

"They wouldn't buy this high-grade papyrus for lowly household records," said Epaphroditus. 'They would take grade three or four." There were seven gradations, with the worst used only for school exercises. "We stack those over here." He led us to them. They looked darker, yellower, and thicker.

"I think you should deliver one of our tax records to my chambers in the palace," I told Epaphroditus. "One should do." I turned to Antony. "Unless you want to review them all?"

"No, I've no need. I am not the--what was the word for the finance minister?"

"Dioiketes," I said. "Come, then. Let us depart." I took one of the blank rolls for Caesarion to practice on--one of the best, of course. I said. "Come, then. Let us depart." I took one of the blank rolls for Caesarion to practice on--one of the best, of course.

As we left, I turned to Epaphroditus. "I almost forgot!" I said. "The gold mines on the border of Nubia. Of course all that comes to me. Antony, would you like to see the gold?"

Surprisingly, he shook his head. "No. I know what it looks like."

"But have you ever seen it not in bracelets, or ornaments, or coins, but in heaps? In huge piles?" I persisted.

"No," he said. "But I do not need to."

He was a most unusual man, I thought. Perhaps this would be harder than I thought.

The afternoon shadows were slanting across the palace grounds by the time we returned. I was not through with him yet, for I still had to show him what I hoped would be the convincing finale to this whole demonstration. I could tell his interest was flagging; prolonged concentration was not his strong point. He was obviously longing to soak in a bath and indulge himself in a feast of some sort, probably with the Incomparables. But there would be no Incomparables tonight; I wanted Antony entirely to myself, for one of the most important pleas I would ever make.

I took his hand and suggested we stroll on the green lawn surrounding the various palace buildings. "I want to show you a special building I am having constructed," I said, leading him toward it.

"Oh, no more buildings!" he groaned, pulling back.

"Please!" I said. "This one is different!"

"Why?" He did not even look curious.

"Because it's my tomb. My mausoleum. It is connected to the temple of Isis, the one overlooking the sea--"

"How morbid! You are only twenty-nine, and building your tomb!" He looked horrified.

"This is Egypt, remember? Tombs are fas.h.i.+onable." I had started building it upon my return to Egypt, when after Caesar's death, I knew too well my own mortality.

I led him on, pulling him along over the cool green gra.s.s, starting to sprout early wildflowers. We reached the magnificent marble building, with its high steps and its polished entrance of red porphyry, flanked by sphinxes. It was only half finished, though, and had no second story or roof as yet.

"It will have special doors that can never be reopened," I said. "They will slide down a groove in the frame and, once set in place, will be immovable."

"Why are you showing me this?" he said with distaste.

"Because I wanted you to see where I will be sealed for eternity, along with my personal treasure--unless it is spent elsewhere. That is for you to decide. Either it is used for a good purpose, or it will abide here, locked away, forever."

"I have nothing to do with it."

"Yes, you do," I a.s.sured him. "Yes, you do."

It was night, a cool, moonless night. We had eaten a long, languorous meal with all his favorite foods, in privacy. There had been the special grilled fish of Alexandria, with its sauce of stoned damsons, lovage, wine mixed with honey, and vinegar, which he loved. There were plump grapes, kept moist all winter by soaking in rainwater in sealed jars, eggs cooked over embers of applewood, honey custard, and of course enough Chian wine to fill a small swimming pool. We were served in the portion of my apartments that I used for private dinners, with inlaid crescents of tortoisesh.e.l.l on its walls. He was stretched out on one of the dining couches, looking supremely content. Now. Now was the time.

I got up from my couch and went over to his, sitting beside him and twining my hand in his. I touched his hair with my other hand, more for myself than for him, for I loved the feel of his thick hair. "I have something to show you," I told him, keeping my voice low, although there was no one else to hear.

"Oh, not more things," he protested. "I've seen enough for one day."

But I slipped off the couch and brought over an inlaid box, which was fastened with a bronze lock. Opening it, I flung off the top and let him see the mound of jewels inside--pearls, emeralds, coral.

"Put your hand in it," I said, taking it and plunging it in. The smooth stones slipped around his fingers, and as he withdrew them, some gems bounced onto the floor. I did not pick them up.

"I have many more like this," I told him. "And there are storerooms of rare woods, ivory, silver, and gold. They will go with me into my tomb."

"Unless?" he said. "For you are not parading this out if you have truly decided, once and for all, to hide it away."

"Unless I can put all these resources to a better purpose," I said.

"Like what?" He sounded only vaguely curious.

"Let me buy us the world instead."

He laughed. "I told you already, I don't want the world. And if I did, you couldn't buy it."

"I can buy armies, and armies can buy a world." I let that statement lie there for him to ponder. "Just think, no more constraints. No haggling with Octavian about this legion or that, or who gets such-and-such s.h.i.+p. It can all be yours."

"And your price? For I am sure you do not offer this gratis."

Now he was beginning to sound like a merchant, although he seemed strangely ungreedy to grasp what I was dangling before him.