The Memoirs of Cleopatra by Margaret George Read Free Book Online Page B

more prevalent in some families than in others. Only the most promising boys were selected—for what was the point in making that sacrifice if the boy did not have much hope of attaining worldly success? Therefore, when one said “eunuch,” one was also implying “talented, clever, and diligent.”
    Most eunuchs in Alexandria were Greek, or Egyptians who had become quite Greek in their thinking. There were also Cappadocians, Phrygians, Bithynians, and such, likewise Grecophiles. In Egypt there was no forced castration, or any castration of slaves. It was entirely voluntary, which made it a little less guilt-laden for those of us who employed the eunuchs.
    Usually the operation was done at a fairly early age. Not in infancy, of course, because it was best to wait until the child had proved healthy. Sometimes, in special circumstances, it was done later, even after a boy had started turning into a man, and then the eunuch was different from the usual kind. His voice would be deeper and he might be easily mistaken for any other man.
    I thought little about eunuchs, taking them for granted. It was only after I went to Rome that I discovered what it was like to live in a world without them.
     
    I discovered Mardian not long after I embraced Alexander as my comfort. Whenever I went to the tomb, I hoped to have it to myself. But for several days in a row, a bulky little boy was always there when I went. He would be kneeling before the sarcophagus, motionless—he must have had knees of iron—his head bent reverently. Or he would be bending over the coffin, a mooning sort of look on his round face. Truth to tell, he annoyed me. I wished he would go away. I could have ordered him removed, but I hoped he would go away without having to be asked. Day after day he was there. My patience wore away. I began to think he was deliberately interfering with my time with Alexander. When at night I closed my eyes and tried to think of Alexander, this boy’s head would always be sticking up somewhere in the picture. It was not noble or inspiring.
    The next day, as I descended into the crypt, I prayed he would not be there. And for a moment I thought he was not. Then I saw—again!—that round form hunched over, guarding the coffin. It was too much.
    “Leave!” I cried, running over to him. “Or come some other time! Come in the early morning!” I could never get away in the early morning; that was one of the busiest times in the children’s quarters. He could have Alexander all to himself then.
    He stood up. “I can’t,” he said with quiet dignity. He was taller than I was. I had no idea he was a eunuch. It does not become apparent until later.
    “Why not?” I demanded.
    “This is my only free time.”
    “Do you know who I am?” I said. Could he not recognize an order from a princess?
    “Yes,” he answered, again with that strange dignity. “You are Cleopatra the younger. If you were Roman you would be called Cleopatra Minor, which would be wrong. You are no slight personage.”
    “And who are you?”
    “My name is Mardian,” he said. “I live in the Royal Quarters, Princess. I am studying, hoping to be of use someday to the King.”
    “Oh…you are a eunuch ,” I said, suddenly understanding.
    “Yes,” he said, without flinching.
    “Why do you come here, day after day?” I could ask him that, whereas he could not ask me.
    “Because I wish to be like Alexander.”
    I burst out laughing at his answer, then felt bad when I saw his face. He had not expected that blow from me. “There is no one like Alexander.” I tried to cover it up. “Anyone who attempts it would seem laughable to others. Think of all the pitiful kings who have called themselves Alexander, tried to emulate him, had themselves carved in his poses with his flaring hair, his turned neck. No, we can never be Alexander.” I was talking too fast, trying to apologize without actually saying the words.
    “So you, too, wish to be Alexander? You said