Cleopatra

In case you were directed right to this story and did not see the name of the folder - this is one of my past lives. Some parts are somewhat beyond belief but this is an accurate account of what I 'saw'. Also it is not meant to be historically correct according to history books.

Cleopatra
Beauty Is Only Skin Deep

In the lower areas and corridors of Cleopatra’s palace there were enough servants to populate a small city. We were born there; we grew there, we worked and died there. Some of us rarely, if ever saw the outside world. Rumours ran rampant so we knew the likes and dislikes of Cleopatra like we knew each other.

I was one of those who were never allowed to enter the areas where Cleopatra might see me. The reason for this was simple: I was beautiful. If Cleopatra laid eyes on me, it would surely be the last day of my life. She was known for her jealousy and anyone she considered a threat was immediately killed or worse, taken into the desert and left there.

Cleopatra was not so much beautiful herself but her manner and her tone of voice were hypnotising. She spoke many languages and her accent was so soft and gentle that people, especially men loved her and were enthralled when they heard her speak. Whatever her wish or command might be it was swiftly carried out by those who worshiped her.

She had many spies in her inner circle and so it was, one day in my thirteenth year that Cleopatra heard of a beautiful slave girl who worked in her kitchens. She demanded that I appear before her. I had no choice. Quickly I dirtied my clothes and messed my hair to try to appear less attractive. My large brown eyes and long curled lashes which normally brought to light my beauty were now red and swollen from crying. Surely Cleopatra would not see any beauty in this dishevelled creature. But she did. Her screams filled the chamber and I was immediately sentenced to be taken into the desert and abandoned there.

Two strong hands lifted me by the arms, roughly escorted me out of the palace and dumped me onto the floor of a one-horse chariot. A huge soldier, dressed in full military armour and helmet jumped aboard, cracked his whip and the horse took off at a gallop. I hardly had time to think about my family and friends in the bowels of the palace. Of course, word would spread quickly that I had been taken away but there was nothing they or anyone could do to help me.

I had never been out in the blazing Egyptian sun and within minutes my unprotected delicate skin was burning. The palace quickly faded in the distance and there was nothing around us but the burning sun and sand with rising heat waves as far as I could see from my position on the floor of the chariot. Still I was unprepared for what happened next. The horse stopped and the soldier unceremoniously kicked me out of the chariot. I begged him to help me but he only shouted as he drove off that it was either my life or his and he had no intention of giving up his life for a slave.

I stood in the blistering sand and immediately the heat penetrated my sandals and scorched my feet. In every direction I looked, there was nothing but sand dunes and heat waves. I noticed some birds in the sky a far distance to my left so I started walking towards the only living thing I could see. I don’t know how far I walked and when I could no longer walk because my feet were burned beyond usefulness, I crawled. The heat parched my throat and burned my skin. Eventually I could do nothing but lay in the blazing sand.

I noticed some large black birds circling above me. Soon more of these ugly birds came but I was beyond noticing or caring. I did not know they had come for me.

Alexander, a young shepherd boy, about fourteen years old noticed the black birds circling in the distance. He had lived on the edge of the desert all his life so when he saw the vultures in the distance he knew there may be meat for him to take home to his mother. Every day as he watched his animals he also gathered sticks and thistles for their fire but a piece of meat for their dinner would be a pleasant surprise.

He knew that the animal was not yet dead because the vultures were still in the air, waiting for death to occur. As soon as it was safe, the birds would swoop in for their meal and when they were finished there would be nothing left, not a scrap for him and his mother so he hurried as fast as he could with the stiff right leg he had since birth.

When he neared the meat he was astonished to find that it was not an animal but a girl. She was barely alive and he could see that she had no water with her.

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I felt a shadow fall over my face and thought the large black birds had landed beside me but then I felt wonderful cool water flow over my face.

Alexander poured a few drops of water from his water skin over my face, washing the sand and grit from my eyes and parched lips and letting a few drops enter my mouth. I stirred a bit to indicate that I wanted more water but I could not make a sound. Alexander gave me just a bit more but I was unable to thank him. My vocal cords were burned and I would never speak again.

Gently Alexander lifted me; I was so small he had hardly any trouble carrying me and the sack of sticks he had gathered. He knew his mother could help me as she had helped him so many years ago.

As he walked, he remembered the stories his mother, Alexandria, had told him of the time when he was born.

Alexandria and her family had lived in the village of El Arim. One day, as so often happened, a troop of guards from the palace had stormed into their village. They looted, smashed and burned buildings. They beat and killed the men and boys. They raped and killed the women and children whom they could catch. Hardly anyone could avoid the torture. No one in Alexandria’s family had survived the onslaught except her. She was raped many times and left for dead but she was able to fake death until the soldiers left.

She was now pregnant. When her son was born, she called him Alexander, after herself because they only had each other. No one could understand the loneliness and agony she suffered after she had lost her family. The villagers told her that she must let the child die. He was a bad omen and would bring bad luck to the village. But Alexandria’s love for her child had grown during the pregnancy and when she saw her new son, she knew she could never let him die. She loved him with all the love a mother had to give.

The villagers were adamant. One night when Alexandria and her son slept, the villagers torched her home. The baby cried out when the flames licked his tiny body. Alexandria was able to save herself and her son but not much else. Now there was nothing left for her to do but leave the village. They would never be safe there. She walked all the next day and at nightfall she came to an abandoned shepherd’s cottage at the edge of the desert.

Here she found the plants she needed to heal her baby’s burns. She found white willow for his pain and Comfrey for his burns. With tender care over time she was able to heal the child except for the scars on the right leg and the damage the smoke had done to his vocal cords. He was never able to cry or speak again.

There was a well nearby where she would go during the night to fetch water. She did not dare show herself in the daytime. Illegitimate children were unwelcome and mothers without a husband to support her were shunned. She found small game and birds to sustain herself and her beloved son. In time rumours spread that she lived alone and had no means to support herself. Gradually men came to visit and she entertained them. Sometimes they would pay her in coin and sometimes they would give her a sheep or goat. She knew the plants needed to make tea to keep her from becoming pregnant again. And so they lived. In time they had a small herd of goats and sheep and Alexander became a strong young lad caring for the animals.

Now he carried this delicate young girl to his mother to mend and care for as she had cared for him. It took many months but Alexandria used the same plants, roots and bark to heal the once beautiful young slave.

Of course, they did not know my name so they decided to call me Maria. I was delighted because that was in fact my real name but I would never be able to convey this to my new friends. Like Alexander my vocal cords were parched beyond repair. My legs and feet were too damaged to restore. I was left with useless stumps; my left hand was also lost to the burning sand and sun.

Somehow, I managed to move about the cottage by any means I could. Alexander was able to find sturdy tree branches and made short crutches with which I was able to scoot around on my buttocks.

In time Alexander and I learned to love each other with a love so deep and enduring that few could understand. In our quiet world no words were needed to express our love for each other. And so we lived for the next ten years. When Alexandria entertained gentlemen friends, Alexander would retreat to the shed with his animals and I would sit on the floor in a dark corner of the cottage.

Alexandria died in her early thirties and left the two of us on our own. We managed quite well. Every morning when Alexander opened his eyes, there was hot tea and porridge waiting for his breakfast. He tended his small herd and carried the water we needed for the house and the animals from the well during the night. I took care of him as best I could and we lived in love for another five years or so. We died within a few months of each other. I died first from an infection after I opened an old wound from my burns and he died of a broken heart soon after.

I often wondered if Cleopatra knew that I had survived the desert heat and had found a love such as dreams were made of. Although she had many lovers and many worshiped her, it was told in the villages that she never did find peace. She died at the age of thirty nine and as the custom was at the time; her beautiful face was smashed in with a rock to allow her spirit to soar free.

Beauty may not last but our love lasted a lifetime.

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Fast forward to the present.

This story was told to me by Alexander himself when he visited me in his spirit form.
The soldier in the story who dumped me in the desert was my husband in this life-time (now deceased). He was reluctant to carry out the order but he knew his life was on the line.
Alexandria is my friend (Terri) in this life-time. She is a psychic and channels the spiritual entity Alexander. They are twin flames and cannot be separated because they share the same soul.

Word count: 1,957