Octavius did not even condescend to make any reply.
Several matters, however, were distracting his mind. Traitors and spies were not lacking in Alexandria and they reported that the Queen was experimenting with poisons and that, before her death, she had determined to set fire to her vast treasures. Now Octavius coveted these riches. The person of Cleopatra herself, which he regarded as the most brilliant trophy of his triumph, was scarcely more precious in his eyes. How was he to save these two treasures? Like the scheming man that he was, he consoled himself with the idea that all women, however arrogant when in power, are rarely so in adversity, and that undoubtedly terror, and the hope of gaining something from the present conditions, would make his beautiful enemy gracious. The main thing was to deceive her.
Consequently it was with her, and with her only, that he consented to enter into negotiations. He sent an ambassador to the Bruchium to represent him as inflexible; while, at the same time, Thyreus, a secret agent, slily, like all who do dirty work, intimated to the Queen that a reconcilation was by no means impossible. Fascinated by her charms, as all the great Roman leaders had been, Octavius wanted her to know that far from treating her cruelly he only asked the honour of serving her!
It is seldom that a woman fails to believe such flattery. Cleopatra, whose life had been a succession of conquests, to whom all the world had burned incense, was easily persuaded that she had a new worshipper. In spite of her experience of the world she might have been deceived by this mirage if one brutal condition had not accompanied the proposition. The demand was nothing less than the betrayal of Antony.
What Octavius really wanted was to get him out of the way. His great, humiliated rival annoyed him. A Roman general could not be chained to his chariot as Artabazes or Vercingetorix. Besides, with even a broken sword, his high-spirited enemy, defeated though he was, could dispute every inch of ground with him, and retard the final victory; and the Dictator was anxious to end his combat definitely and return to enjoy his triumph in Italy.
Unhappy Cleopatra! "How he must despise me to suggest such a bargain!" she groaned. Although her feeling for Antony was not what it once was; although the fugitive from Actium and the hermit of the Timonium had shown a weakness which was fatal to her woman's passion, yet she was indignant at the idea of such baseness. Too cunning not to take advantage of any possible chance of gain for herself, however, she took part in the exchange of trickery and, without refusing the proffered negotiations, asked time to consider them.
Spies, as has been said, infested the halls of the Bruchium, and one of them, the same, probably, who had brought word to Octavius, notified Antony that Octavius desired his death and that Cleopatra had promised to give him up to Thyreus.
At this news Antony had one of his outbursts of fury which swept over him like a hurricane. Betrayed! Sold by the woman for whom he had sacrificed everything! He thought of revenge. Should he slay her? He would rather put a dagger through his own heart. Should he kill himself? No, for his rival was waiting for her. Jealousy devoured him. Like his mighty ancestor, Hercules, he wore the shirt of Nessus and its poison tortured him. To love and to see in his beloved his bitterest enemy! His suspicions reached such a point that he would touch no dish until Cleopatra had tasted it, for fear of her poisoning him.
Justly indignant at such outrageous distrust, Cleopatra decided to inflict a lesson on the ingrate. It was toward the end of the supper. They were reclining side by side on the purple couch. She had amiably gratified the demands of the new order which required her to be served first. For a final libation she half emptied a cup of clear wine. A rose was in her hair. She drew it out, dipped it in the wine and, turning to Antony, said:
"Will you drink to our love in this cup?"