Page 97 of Cleopatra

“Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more.” Indeed, it was him. But as in most things, your plays diverge from the truth. Brutus loved no one but himself.

He was a small fellow whose face could only have belonged to a born noble. The nose was upturned, the lips puckered with rectitude, even his eyes were half-lidded, as though he were loath to use them.

“Pharaoh, consul, a pleasure.”

“Is it?” I said lightly, and Antonius tried to suppress a snort.

Remember that child who ran across the walls of the city with bare feet and no care in the world? Antonius drew her out of me.

Brutus, seemingly unaware of my jibe, continued, “The gladiators fought well today.”

“Your bets were fruitful, then?” I asked.

“Indeed, you seem quite giddy with delight, you must have made significant sums,” added Antonius.

Brutus looked between Antonius and me, somewhat abashed. “I do not gamble.”

A sly thought occurred to me and I said, “Indeed? That is not what I heard.”

He looked startled. “What is it you’ve heard?”

“Do not press a woman, let alone a pharaoh, Brutus,” Antonius chastised him.

Brutus bobbed his head. “Of course—my apologies.”

Antonius and I shared a mirthful glance.

“It is quite all right,” I said, then I whispered conspiratorially, “I heard one of the other senators say you were seen in the Temple of Dionysus exchanging coins before the first fight.”

Brutus spluttered. “Who? Who dares lie?”

I waved my hand above my head. “They were…tall.”

“And Roman,” Antonius added helpfully.

“Yes, and Roman,” I said.

Antonius said, “With hair, I do believe?”

“Certainly not bald,” I agreed.

Brutus had gone red with indignation. He made his apologies and excused himself to seek the source of the rumour.

Antonius and I laughed until tears pricked our eyes.

We saw each other more frequently after that. At Caesar’s estate, in the Forum, or at the temple, he seemed a permanent fixture by Caesar’s side, and thus mine. His good nature made him hard to dislike and I soon found myself enjoying his company.

“Did you enjoy the theatre?” he asked one night as we walked through the city after an evening’s entertainment. Caesar did not enjoy travelling by litter and so I indulged him his eccentricities and walked through the city.

I did not often travel by foot, having found it hard to forget the hakawati’s attempt on my life. The ivory blade still adorned my neck.

“I prefer Sophocles’ Antigone to Ajax, though this rendition was well presented.”

Antonius smiled. “I have not seen Antigone, so cannot comment, but I liked the lyre.”

“The lyre was beautifully played,” I agreed.

Our interests were so different I often wondered how we had much to talk on. But talk we did, of all things vast and small.