Antony and Cleopatra

I’ll be straight with you. Do not doubt it.

But why, why, why?

You opposed my taking part in the war. You said it wasn’t proper.

Well, is it? Is it?

Isn’t this war against me? Why shouldn’t I be there in person?

Well, I could answer that if we went to war on male and female horses alike—the male horses would be totally distracted and useless. The mares would be ridden by their riders and the male horses.

What do you mean?

Antony will necessarily be distracted by your presence. You will affect his heart and his head. You’ll take up time he can’t afford to lose. He’s already criticized for frivolous behavior. In Rome they say that your eunuch Photinus and your maids run the war.

Let Rome fall! May the tongues of our critics rot! I have responsibilities in this war, and as the absolute ruler of my kingdom I will carry out my duties as if I were a man. Don’t argue against it. I won’t stay behind.

No, I’ve had my say. Here comes the Emperor.

Isn’t it strange, Canidius, that he could cross the Ionian Sea so quickly from Tarentum and Brundusium and take Toryne?—Have you heard about this, sweet?

No one admires speed more than the lazy.

That’s a good reprimand, suitable for reminding even the best of men to guard against negligence. Canidius, we’ll fight him at sea.

Of course we’ll fight him by sea. What else?

Why do you want to do that, my lord?

Because he’s daring us to do it.

So you’ve dared him to single combat.

Yes, and you dared Caesar to fight the battle at Pharsalia, where he fought against Pompey. But Caesar ignores offers that don’t give him an advantage, and so should you.

Your ships are not well crewed. Your sailors are mule drivers, harvesters—men who were drafted quickly and have little training. Caesar’s fleet is manned by mariners who already have experience battling Pompey. His ships are maneuverable. Yours are slow and awkward. Refusing to fight him at sea won’t disgrace you. You’ve prepared for a land war.

I will fight by sea. By sea.

Most worthy sir, if you do that you throw away all the advantages you have on land. You will have to divide your army, which mostly consists of battle-hardened foot soldiers. You will be unable to use your legendary battle knowledge. You’ll be abandoning proven methods that promise victory, and instead you’ll put yourself at the mercy of haphazard chance.

I’ll fight at sea.

I have sixty ships. Caesar doesn’t have any that are better.

We’ll burn our surplus ships and fully man the rest. We’ll sail from Actium and beat Caesar as he approaches. Even if we fail at that, we can still fight him on land.

What’s your business?

The news is true, my lord. Caesar has been seen. He has captured Toryne.

Can Caesar be there in person? No, that’s impossible. It’s strange enough that his army should be there. Canidius, take our nineteen legions and twelve thousand horse soldiers. You must hold them on land. We’ll go to our ship. Come away, Cleopatra.

What’s the news, brave soldier?

Oh, don’t fight by sea, noble Emperor! Don’t trust rotten planks. Don’t you trust my sword and these wounds? Let the Egyptians and Phoenicians go swimming. We are used to winning by standing on the earth and fighting toe to toe.

Well, well, let’s go.

By Hercules, I think I’m right.

Soldier, you are. But Antony’s decisions aren’t coming from his extensive experience. Our leader is being led. We are following a woman.

On land you keep the legions and cavalry together, don’t you?

Marcus Octavius, Marcus Justeius, Publicola, and Caelius will go by sea, but we’ll keep the bulk on land. Caesar’s speed defies belief.

While he was still in Rome, he deployed his forces in so many different disguises that all our spies were fooled.

Who’s his lieutenant, do you know?

A man named Taurus, they say.

I know the man well.

The Emperor is calling for Canidius.

The present time is like a woman in labor, each minute giving birth to some piece of news.