“I fear,” she gasped—“how know I that it will slay outright? I have seen so many die by poison and scarce one has died outright. And some—ah, I cannot think on them!”
“Fear not,” I said, “I am a master of my craft. Or, if thou dost fear, cast this poison forth and live. In Rome thou mayst still find happiness; ay, in Rome, where thou shalt walk in Caesar’s triumph, while the laughter of the hard-eyed Latin women shall chime down the music of thy golden chains.”
“Nay, I will die, Olympus. Oh, if one would but show the path.”
Then Iras loosed her hand and stepped forward. “Give me the draught, Physician,” she said. “I go to make ready for my Queen.”
“It is well,” I answered; “on thy own head be it!” and I poured from the phial into a little golden goblet.
She raised it, curtsied low to Cleopatra, then, coming forward, kissed her on the brow, and Charmion she also kissed. This done, tarrying not and making no prayer, for Iras was a Greek, she drank, and, putting her hand to her head, instantly fell down and died.
“Thou seest,” I said, breaking in upon the silence, “it is swift.”
“Ay, Olympus; thine is a master drug! Come now, I thirst; fill me the bowl, lest Iras weary in waiting at the gates!”
So I poured afresh into the goblet; but this time, making pretence to rinse the cup, I mixed a little water with the bane, for I was not minded that she should die before she knew me.
Then did the royal Cleopatra, taking the goblet in her hand, turn her lovely eyes to heaven and cry aloud:
“O ye Gods of Egypt! who have deserted me, to you no longer will I pray, for your ears are shut unto my crying and your eyes blind to my griefs! Therefore, I make entreaty of that last friend whom the Gods, departing, leave to helpless man. Sweep hither, Death, whose winnowing wings enshadow all the world, and give me ear! Draw nigh, thou King of Kings! who, with an equal hand, bringest the fortunate head of one pillow with the slave, and by thy spiritual breath dost waft the bubble of our life far from this hell of earth! Hide me where winds blow not and waters cease to roll; where wars are done and Caesar’s legions cannot march! Take me to a new dominion, and crown me Queen of Peace! Thou art my Lord, O Death, and in thy kiss I have conceived. I am in labour of a Soul: see—it stands newborn upon the edge of Time! Now—now—go, Life! Come, Sleep! Come, Antony!”
And, with one glance to heaven, she drank, and cast the goblet to the ground.
Then at last came the moment of my pent-up vengeance, and of the vengeance of Egypt’s outraged Gods, and of the falling of the curse of Menkau-ra.
“What’s this?” she cried; “I grow cold, but I die not! Thou dark physician, thou hast betrayed me!”
“Peace, Cleopatra! Presently shalt thou die and know the fury of the Gods! The curse of Menkau-ra hath fallen! It is finished! Look upon me, woman! Look upon this marred face, this twisted form, this living mass of sorrow! Look! look! Who am I?”
She stared upon me wildly.
“Oh! oh!” she shrieked, throwing up her arms; “at last I know thee! By the Gods, thou art Harmachis!—Harmachis risen from the dead!”
“Ay, Harmachis risen from the dead to drag thee down to death and agony eternal! See, thou Cleopatra; I have ruined thee as thou didst ruin me! I, working in the dark, and helped of the angry Gods, have been thy secret spring of woe! I filled thy heart with fear at Actium; I held the Egyptians from thy aid; I sapped the strength of Antony; I showed the portent of the Gods unto thy captains! By my hand at length thou diest, for I am the instrument of Vengeance! Ruin I pay thee back for ruin, Treachery for treachery, Death for death! Come hither, Charmion, partner of my plots, who betrayed me, but, repenting, art the sharer of my triumph, come watch this fallen wanton die!”
Cleopatra heard, and sank back upon the golden bed, groaning “And thou, too, Charmion!”
A moment so she sat, then her Imperial spirit burnt up glorious before she died.
She staggered from the bed, and, with arms outstretched, she cursed me.
“Oh! for one hour of life!” she cried—“one short hour, that therein I might make thee die in such fashion as thou canst not dream, thou and that false paramour of thine, who betrayed both me and thee! And thou didst love me! Ah, there I have thee still! See, thou subtle, plotting priest”—and with both hands she rent back the royal robes from her bosom—“see, on this fair breast once night by night thy head was pillowed, and thou didst sleep wrapped in these same arms. Now, put away their memory if thou canst! I read it in thine eyes—that mayst thou not! No torture which I bear can, in its sum, draw nigh to the rage of that deep soul of thine, rent with longings never, never to be reached! Harmachis, thou slave of slaves, from thy triumph-depths I snatch a deeper triumph, and conquered yet I conquer! I spit upon thee—I defy thee—and, dying, doom thee to the torment of thy deathless love! O Antony! I come, my Antony!—I come to thy own dear arms! Soon I shall find thee, and, wrapped in a love undying and divine, together we will float through all the depths of space, and, lips to lips and eyes to eyes, drink of desires grown more sweet with every draught! Or if I find thee not, then I shall sink in peace down the poppied ways of Sleep: and for me the breast of Night, whereon I shall be softly cradled, will yet seem thy bosom, Antony! Oh, I die!—come, Antony—and give me peace!”
Even in my fury I had quailed beneath her
