A few weeks after Horace sailed for Italy, Antony’s court departed for the orient. Antony’s entourage moved through the very provinces that had opposed him only six months earlier, though it was impossible to imagine it by the way people turned out to receive him. One would have thought Bacchus himself had come back to life. Kings and nobles vied for his affection and bandied about the term ‘divine’ so often that Antony began to believe it. Standing close to him after these great shows of affection, I heard his drinking companions laughing at the oriental’s fondness for sycophancy. Antony laughed too, but a month into it one of these rude fellows made a mockery of the elaborate adorations Antony had lately received with a vague reference to one of their debauches in Rome. It was one of those occasions when Antony had ended up vomiting over something or someone of high repute. Antony laughed cheerfully at the memory, but when the fellow had departed he instructed his freedman that he wished never again to see the man.
Antony had come to Asia for money, but of course Cassius had robbed the land of its wealth. No matter: kings found something to give, even if they had to steal it from their neighbours. They wanted Antony happy, for no man, not even Pompey Magnus, excited more terror in the orient than Mark Antony in the wake of Philippi. There were chests full of money instead of the wagonloads of former times. When Antony took his gifts he did not fail to grumble at the miserly offerings. To compensate for their lack of fortune the potentates of Asia recruited fresh dolls from the mountains to play the bride of Bacchus for a single evening. For a season I believe Antony slept only with virgins, sometimes two or three at a go and sometimes only the solitary princess of a local monarch. Wives were offered when there were no suitable virgins available, even sons in a pinch. Theatre, banquets, lectures on the arts, and then a long night of drinking and debauchery. Dionysus himself could not have played the role with more gusto.
My duties were to arrange my men to best advantage and to worry even when there was obviously no danger. Antony let me go about my business as I pleased, but he was watching and judging my abilities. Of course he did not worry over my good opinion of him: he had not concerned himself with the opinion of his fellow senators; why bother with his lowly prefect of the Guard? I am sure, however, he assumed I was impressed by his magnificence. To be honest I found the man too pleased with himself to feel much admiration. I could not help recalling the manner of the divine Julius Caesar, who was sober and abstemious, lest he must begin a march at midnight. A lover of women, yes, but not as the satyr loves them. I could imagine Caesar had been interested in their conversation and quite charming in his seductions. With Antony it was the scream of a torn hymen, then the girl abruptly shoved from his bed.
No, it took me quite a long time to discover the virtues of Mark Antony.
Antony received a number of ambassadors from Jerusalem. These men were quick to note the crimes of Phasael and Herod in their roles as procurators of Judaea and Galilee, respectively. They knew the amount of money given to Cassius and complained about the brutal efficiency of Herod, whose mercenary army had fought in defence of Cassius and Brutus. When he had collected all the information he could, Antony told these visitors he fully intended for Phasael and Herod to answer for their actions; he also assured them he would rid both provinces of Roman procurators. This pleased the ambassadors greatly and they returned to Jerusalem in the certain belief that they would have no more dealings with the hated sons of Antipater.
Phasael and Herod, like all the rest of the potentates of the East, had spent all they possessed in support of Cassius; nevertheless, they dug about their palaces for a few talents of gold. They also dished out the usual platitudes concerning Antony’s magnificence, only falling short of calling him a god, as all the rest were so happy to do. Antony apparently did not mind. He knew Jews are loath to call any man a god.
Curiously, neither Phasael nor Herod noticed me. I was one of those faceless creatures in an officer’s uniform who attends important men. Then too I stood purposely in the shadows that day because Antony had promised me I would have my chance to confront them. I intended to step forward as an accuser, and I looked forward to watching those two begin with their pathetic excuses.
Antony took their presents as if not much pleased by the paltry offerings, though in comparison to what others had given they were wonderful: finely wrought silver for the banquet hall, a beautiful shield, and silk from the land beyond India. It was more than enough to make a common man wealthy, though insufficient to delight a man of Antony’s fortune. Antony set these gifts aside indifferently and said to the brothers, ‘My concern is that I counted you both as friends, yet you served Cassius as if he were the one who rode with you into Egypt so many years ago as a comrade-in-arms.’
Herod was the first to speak. ‘We helped secure Rome’s eastern frontier, Imperator. Not one of our soldiers stood against you at Philippi.’
‘By that faithful service you allowed Cassius to bring his entire army against me at Philippi.’
‘If I may say so,’ Phasael remarked, ‘we were obliged to serve Cassius six days a week. On the Sabbath, however, it was Mark Antony for whom we prayed.’
‘Well, your prayers were answered. But what I want to know is what happened with Dolabella’s man, Quintus Dellius? Do you know the fellow I’m talking about?’ Phasael shook his head, though I believed he recognised the name. ‘Oh, surely you remember Dellius. He came into Judaea from Egypt with four of Caesar’s legions.’
‘Oh, yes, Dellius! Of course,’ Phasael answered. ‘What of him?’
‘I am told you imprisoned him.’
‘It is a lie. We did no such thing.’
‘Dellius, are you a liar?’
I stepped happily out of the shadows intending to level my accusations at these two deceivers. ‘I am not, Imperator.’
‘Were you imprisoned by Phasael?’
‘I was indeed. In Samaria. I lay in chains in a dungeon for nearly a year of my life.’
‘If you will allow me to question your man?’ This from Phasael, who for all his confidence seemed a bit pale at that moment. Antony nodded his permission, and Phasael said to me, ‘Did I escort you to Samaria, Excellency?’
‘Not personally.’
‘Did my men escort you?’
‘You sent me.’
‘I sent you? Did you travel under my passport or is it more accurate to say that I merely suggested you travel to Samaria?’
‘You had no authority to send me, but you…’
‘No authority. Yes, I told you I had no authority to act. I suggested you might be able to keep the peace in the region. I said that could be accomplished if you went to Samaria?’
‘Well, yes, but…’
‘And while it proved inconvenient for you to remain in chains for so long, it did keep the peace, did it not?’
Antony laughed, but I saw no humour in the joke and pressed my prosecution. ‘You told Cassius I was going to Samaria. You betrayed me!’
‘I betrayed no confidence. I informed you I would contact Cassius and explain your intentions to serve him.’
‘You deceived me with your offer of friendship.’
‘I told you what I planned to do, Excellency. You deceived yourself, if you imagined Cassius would not order your immediate arrest. Tell me, in Samaria, were my soldiers there to receive you and keep you imprisoned?’
‘Your slaves were there to lead me into a trap.’
‘They were not my slaves. The men at the palace in Samaria were acting on orders from a local magistrate. He had surrendered to the Roman prefect who arrested you. The fellow acted to save himself, not to satisfy me. I had no involvement with anything that happened to you in Samaria. I believe I informed you of this matter before you left, so that you might know I could not protect you. Is it so or do I only imagine it?’
He waited for me to answer, but I could not respond. First to be tied up in chains, now to be tied up in a game of sophistry!
‘Please, Excellency. Tell me your complaint, if I have wronged you in any manner.’
When I still could not answer him, Antony laughed again, as if he had witnessed a great comedy, which I suppose he had. ‘My friends, I have promised a delegation from Jerusalem that I mean to rid Judaea and Galilee of her Roman procurators. I must tell you their pleasure at the news disturbs me. I think they are already up to mischief and want only an incompetent to rule their land so they may start a revolt. But not to worry – my secretary has all their names and will give them to you after our meeting. I believe they hate you because you will not betray Rome; that is high praise for you by my calculations. Dellius here is a perfect example of your treatment of Romans. You might have resisted him with arms or arrested him and placed him in your own prison, but you took care to have no part in harming any Roman. What Romans do to Romans is their business. Rome must not lose such friends. So I am dissolving your positions in Galilee and Judaea as procurators. You will no longer monitor the civilian government but will now act as the absolute rulers of those two provinces, having the power of life and death over anyone, excepting only a Roman citizen. I should like the two of you to recommend two more men to rule in the same fashion over the provinces of Idumaea and Samaria. Four provinces, four rulers. Tetrarchs, if you will. We shall also dissolve the title of Ethnarch of the Jews. Hyrcanus may continue to serve as the High Priest of the Temple but only at the pleasure of the Tetrarch of Judaea. From this time forward that office will have no civil authority over the Jewish people.’
So the sons of Antipater prospered, and I was left looking the fool. I expected consolation from Antony in the aftermath of that meeting, but he had no interest in my feelings. A few weeks after their interview with Antony, however, Phasael and Herod sent me two beautifully crafted gladii of the Spanish style. I carry them still. The pommel of each was formed of ivory and trimmed with steel, the guards were of ivory as well, though likewise trimmed with steel, for these were fighting weapons and not merely for show. The handles were made of a composite of hardwood and inlaid ivory with silver and gold braiding securing the grips. The sheaths were identical, each of Corinthian bronze – a glittering alloy of copper, gold, silver and tin – decorated with precious stones; the scabbards could be clipped tightly together, allowing me to hang both swords together under my right arm.
I could not guess the value of such a gift, nor even consider selling such a prize had I needed the money, but this I can say: after that day I knew why Antipater and his sons were the eternal favourites of Rome.
Antony settled finally in the harbour town of Tarsus. Tarsus used to be a haven for pirates. It had been lately dressed up a bit. It was not the grandest city Antony might have chosen, but its location was advantageous. Situated between Syria and Asia Minor, it was secured by the sea before it and an impressive mountain range at its back. Antony had begun quarrelling with the Parthians over some principalities east of Syria. He had legions already positioned in Syria with an experienced commander taking the fight into the kingdom of Armenia. He did not expect the Parthians to answer with an invasion into Roman territory, but, in the worst case, if that did occur, Tarsus was well guarded by its mountain range and unlikely to be swiftly overrun.
Antony’s interest in Parthia was the same interest all Roman commanders possessed. This was a land of fabled wealth not yet plundered by the Roman sword. The last westerner – which is to say the only westerner – to drive successfully through that great expanse was Alexander of Macedonia, three centuries ago when a Persian monarch ruled the land. To match the accomplishments of Alexander excited the ambition of every great general, Antony no less than Julius Caesar before him. There was also a political excuse. Two decades earlier Rome had lost several legionary standards to the Parthian king, this on an ill-fated campaign into Parthia. The legionaries carrying these standards were long ago dead or utterly lost to lives of abject slavery, but Roman pride would not let their sacred eagles remain hostages forever. The eagles would be returned to Rome or there would never be peace between the two empires. Antony’s personal animosity with the Parthians came from the fact that the Parthians had supplied Cassius Longinus with a great many auxiliary troops, including Parthia’s famed mounted archers. The Parthians had been under no compulsion to provide men to Cassius. Since they had done so willingly, Antony thought retribution was due.
In retrospect it seems foolish that Antony looked to the east for a fight when all that stood between him and total authority of Rome’s vast empire was a sickly coward in Rome. From Antony’s perspective, however, Caesar was not really a problem. He expected the young man to simmer slowly in Rome’s great cauldron of political and military troubles. No sensible individual gave the lad more than a year or two to live after Philippi. First, his health was precarious, though I had already detected a pattern: Caesar really only grew sick when he was travelling in the direction of a great battle. Second, there was no money in Italy. His legions were filled with aging veterans who were anxious for retirement. The trouble was there was no land to give them unless Caesar first confiscated it from others. Finally, and most critically, young Sextus Pompey, the last living son of Pompey Magnus, owned a fleet of ships and several legions loyal to him. He had lately come out of Spain and seized Sicily, Sardinia, and Corsica as his own. His army might cross to the Italian mainland at any moment, but for the time being Pompey contented himself with a blockade of the western coast of Italy.
I realise that in my discussion of the political state of the empire I have entirely neglected the existence of Lepidus, but that is for good reason. The third member of the Triumvirate and our Pontifex Maximus had lost Sicily and Sardinia without a fight. Rather than building an army and making some attempt at winning back what he had so ignobly lost, Lepidus contented himself with plundering western Africa of its wealth and playing no greater role in Rome’s destiny than a provincial governor would have done in other times.
Antony hoped, in the best of circumstances, that his provocations against Parthia might bring about a moral victory at very little cost. The return of the legionary standards to Rome without a long and gruelling campaign would crown Antony with new praise for his wise diplomacy and surely turn public opinion against young Caesar, who hadn’t accomplished very much, for all the glory his name evoked.
Failing a negotiated truce, Antony assumed he would have to fight, but for an extended campaign he needed a great deal more money than he possessed. To get it he turned his attention to Egypt. Egypt alone had not lost its wealth to Cassius, and though Cleopatra habitually pled great poverty Antony knew, from his visit to that country in his youth, that he might carry gold out of Egypt by the ton.
Cleopatra liked to claim she had personally led a fleet of ships to Rome in the hope of supporting Caesar and Antony in the run-up to Philippi. This fleet, according to her ambassadors, had been nearly destroyed by storms. Eventually, even though she had wanted to press on, Cleopatra, the leader of that great armada, had been forced to return to Egypt.
The trouble with Cleopatra’s tale was that she could offer no proof for any of it. And in fact nobody had even heard the story until after Philippi. Despite Cleopatra’s claim of support for the Triumvirs, she had not bothered sending any gifts to Antony, either before or after Philippi. Divine Antony, Bacchus incarnate, thought he deserved better from a girl who owed her very existence to Roman swords.
Antony therefore decided to summon Cleopatra to Tarsus. He meant for her to answer for her insolence and bring gold by the talent, if not the ton. If she refused him or delayed her journey Antony knew he would have no recourse but to send his legions against her. That would do nothing to enhance his reputation and might, in the worst case, risk sending the queen into the arms of the Parthian king. It would be better, he thought, to sweeten his invitation with temptation, Cleopatra’s half-sister, Arsinoë. This sister was living in exile at the famed Temple of Artemis in the city of Ephesus. So long as Arsinoë remained alive, Cleopatra’s enemies might use the exiled princess to incite another Egyptian civil war. Rather than keep the girl as a threat to the queen, Antony decided he might gain greater advantage by giving Cleopatra what she wanted: the girl’s death. But only if Cleopatra came to Tarsus as a supplicant to Bacchus.
I expected Antony to send a legate or senior magistrate to Egypt for the summoning of Cleopatra; instead he thought I would make the perfect ambassador. I can see his thinking at this remove; I had nearly burned the queen’s museum. What better message than a summons from the Tuscan barbarian Quintus Dellius? At the time I could only imagine Cleopatra would make me her prisoner if she did not murder me outright. When I protested to Antony that the queen hated me, he scoffed as if dealing with a child.
‘You flatter yourself, Dellius. Cleopatra gains nothing but my enmity by harming you.’
‘There is always a quiet death by poison.’
‘You are my man, Dellius. If the queen forgets it, she is a fool.’
I sailed in the company of a single century of my men, though I had requested two cohorts. I had in addition to these several officers from my Guard. We went in military dress, though no one expected trouble – at least none from the queen. At the port of Alexandria I presented a passport bearing Antony’s signature. I expected delays, perhaps even the news that Cleopatra was travelling and unavailable. To my surprise, she invited me to visit her court on the very day I arrived. Perhaps she feared for her books and thought better than to play games with the likes of Quintus Dellius! More likely she was anxious to know how Antony intended to deal with her.
Whatever her reason, I made my way into the palace with a full escort. The queen received me without remarking our previous encounter. She wore a black wig and dark makeup, Egyptian to the bone, but she could not disguise those pale blue Macedonian eyes. This was the skinny blonde actress I had met: the impertinent slave tossing scrolls into a cauldron and calling me Dominus. Cleopatra’s son, Caesarion, the purported offspring of her liaison with Julius Caesar, sat on a second throne. As the Egyptians require a husband and wife to rule them, Caesarion was also his mother’s husband. Such customs satisfy the Egyptians’ exotic taste, but of course marriages of parent and child leave Romans in a state of physical revulsion. Caesarion was still some years from puberty, so the marriage was, presumably, symbolic. But with that woman who can say? As for his authority, the boy took his orders from his mother, like everyone else.
A great many counsellors and attendants surrounded the two thrones, but I found Nicolas, my former slave, close to Caesarion’s throne. As it happened, soon after Cleopatra had persuaded Nicolas to leave me, she had appointed him Caesarion’s tutor. Nicolas was only a few years older than the boy, but with his command of several languages he proved the perfect teacher. I had no hope of reclaiming my property at that moment, and I did not wish to give Cleopatra the satisfaction of listening to my complaints; so I said nothing about my ownership of the boy.
I announced in the bluntest manner possible that the Imperator Mark Antony required Cleopatra’s presence in Tarsus at once. No flattering titles for the queen, not even Antony’s salutation and warm regards. I spoke to the queen as one addresses men who have dropped their swords.
Her answer was in Greek. Practiced in that language by that point I hoped to understand her, but it was so nuanced with ambiguity I needed my secretary to repeat it to me in Latin. The gist of Cleopatra’s remark was that she would come in late autumn but if not then, surely sometime the following spring or summer. This was about what I expected, and I answered her promptly. ‘Princess Arsinoë will be delighted to learn of your delay.’
This piqued the queen’s curiosity, and she said to me in Latin, ‘And why should my sister rejoice that I cannot immediately travel to Tarsus?’
‘Once you arrive at Tarsus, Antony intends to ask you to decide her fate. As long as you remain in Alexandria the princess may still hope for life and perhaps even a throne.’
Cleopatra’s blue eyes cut to one of her eunuch counsellors. He stepped forward at once, announcing in a high-pitched Latin so mellifluous it was nearly impossible to comprehend, ‘Her majesty may be able to arrange a journey somewhat sooner than the autumn, though of course there is much to do before she can depart.’
Having accomplished my obligations, I turned without farewell and made for the harbour without seeming to be hasty. There I gave orders to set off at once. We were gone by late afternoon and rowed through two nights without stopping until we came to the Judaean harbour of Ashkelon.
A decade after I discovered Nicolas at the court of Cleopatra he joined King Herod’s court as counsellor to the king and tutor of his children. By the time I learned that Nicolas was living in Jerusalem a great many more years had passed. Herod was pleased with the man’s service, and my claims of ownership, though still justified, were by then quite ancient. I also lacked sufficient proof that he was my property. Not a soul still living knew Nicolas had ever been my slave, and of course I had no written evidence of it. I could have appealed to Herod’s belief in my integrity and so have won my property back, but I had enjoyed a great many gifts from Herod and judged that if I insisted he return my slave I risked the loss of his friendship, for Nicolas was one of his favourites. I was not financially harmed, I had paid nothing for him, and I had endured several years in Egypt in the presence of the fellow without ever complaining to Antony that he was my property. So I let it go. At the time, I congratulated myself on my self-restraint, but two decades afterwards I paid dearly for failing to return the scoundrel to slavery.
Nicolas and I were in Rome arguing before Caesar about the fate of Herod’s kingdom – this in the wake of Herod’s death. Nicolas supported Archelaus, Herod’s eldest surviving son, as a successor to the king. I proposed the elevation of Herod’s grandson, Herod Agrippa, the legitimate heir to the throne, though he was then just five years old. There were a great many technical issues to cover in my arguments, including Nicolas’s sabotage of Herod’s government and the likelihood, in my humble opinion, that Herod’s death was in fact an assassination perpetrated by none other than Nicolas and Prince Archelaus. While I was still building the logic of my case and not yet ready to point my finger directly at him, Nicolas apparently guessed my intentions. To neutralise my charges against him, he struck first, declaring he was astonished that a man of my unsavoury character stood in the same room as Caesar.
This unspecified slander against me excited Caesar’s interest, for beneath all his dignity Caesar was a hopeless gossip. Pretending to defend one of his ‘most noble equites’ Caesar asked Nicolas to explain himself or face serious consequences. Nicolas had already written a gushing biography of our revered princeps. To put it plainly, he had no worries about stirring Caesar’s wrath. Still, he proceeded diffidently, as if concerned that he may have overstepped. ‘I only meant to say that it was Quintus Dellius and no other who instructed Cleopatra on how to seduce Mark Antony before the two villains met at Tarsus. I say this as one who witnessed Dellius’s visit to the queen in Alexandria, when he advised her to come in all her splendour to meet Antony, explaining to her in great detail about Antony’s tastes in lovemaking.’
This was an obvious attempt to put the blame of all that followed from that disastrous love affair squarely on my shoulders. By that time, strange as it may sound, no one remembered the true nature of Cleopatra; by some accounts she was an unpleasant mix of a sphinx and that murderous creature of the orient, Medea; by other accounts, Cleopatra was only a quarrelsome girl who got swept up in Antony’s intrigues. It has never been the Roman way to give women too much responsibility, either in accomplishment or disaster. And of course Nicolas and I were the only ones in Caesar’s court that day who knew the truth; so Nicolas’s remarks had the authority of an eyewitness. In his version of the event, I became Cleopatra’s favourite for my cunning advice and remained in that high station until she discovered that I often arranged a suitable bed mate for Antony whenever he did not sleep with the queen. Further, on those occasions when my selection did not entirely please Antony, I happily fulfilled the role of his lover myself.
I made several protests as these lies were being put into the public record, but Caesar would not allow me to stop the fellow. Nicolas was not passing along idle rumour but stating what he had seen. When Nicolas had finished I stood to defend myself against these scurrilous charges, only to be told by a very pleased Caesar that we were quite off topic and had better attend to the fate of Judaea. I complained that I had been ruined by this harangue and was entitled to answer the charges. At this, Nicolas quipped, ‘Perhaps Dellius has some innocent explanation for being so often with Antony in his bed.’
Caesar and his court laughed at this; not one of them doubted that Antony had used me as his girl. I was sixty years of age at that time but still a good hand with a sword. Had I been armed with my gladii, Nicolas would surely have lost his head at a stroke. As it was, I punched him several hard blows before Caesar’s praetorian guard wrestled me to submission. Even as they pulled me away Caesar scolded me: ‘Come, come, Dellius. We were all young once. There’s no reason to be angry because someone has a long memory.’
To his inner circle that evening Caesar quipped, ‘I suppose it is time I admit our friend Quintus Dellius was not the Horse Changer I have always imagined, riding one horse and then another according to the political winds, but the horse so many rode!’ Great fun on the Palatine.
Instructing Cleopatra how to seduce Mark Antony! Yes, and in my spare time I teach crows to caw and cobras how to curl up inside baskets.
When Cleopatra arrived in Tarsus in her royal barge Antony was on business in the city, adjudicating the claims of a couple of landowners, as I recall. All very dull stuff, but of course the city had turned out to watch the imperator. When word came that Cleopatra’s magnificent vessel had docked, the entire city fled the agora and raced to the harbour. Plaintiff and defendant remained before Antony as well as Antony’s Guard; otherwise the Forum was empty. Antony instructed the men to continue their arguments. He was not about to compromise his dignity by running down with the rest of the mob to have a look at the queen’s great ship. The two litigants, however, begged permission to be allowed to settle. They were too eager to see Cleopatra to worry about boundary lines.
So Antony alone snubbed the queen, though I doubt she noticed it. He had me deliver an invitation to her for dinner that night. This gave me the chance for a look at her ship: it was festooned with flowers, trimmed in gold, and propelled by silver-tipped oars. Its size required six hundred oarsmen. At dock the vessel was magnificent; at sea, I expect it sailed as gracefully as a rudderless raft. When I delivered Antony’s invitation, Cleopatra claimed she could not leave her ship. She was utterly exhausted by her long journey. She did, however, suggest that Antony might come to her that evening, if he cared to indulge in her ship’s meagre offerings.
I suppose Antony was actually curious to see the barge, which now everyone in the city but Antony had seen; so he accepted the invitation despite his better judgment. I believe he had become inured to eastern sycophancy and found the queen’s impertinence refreshing. At any rate, he boarded the ship and feasted his way through twenty courses of meagre offerings. Meats, sauces, fish of every variety, exotic fruit from Africa and the orient, and even, I am told, vegetables from Italian farmlands. All delivered by nubile black maidens clad only in diamonds and pearls. These girls were happy to tease the imperator at every service but left the queen to finish her guest off, with her hand and coconut milk, as I learned from the guards I had posted onboard. Antony staggered from the queen’s barge at noon next day. The whole city, gathered at the docks for the occasion, roared with applause, just as fellows will do when a groom leaves his new bride on the morning after their wedding.
Next evening, Antony invited Cleopatra for dinner at his residence. This was supposed to be a banquet to equal the queen’s sumptuous fare, but he had no servants to match her staff. Midway through what he had hoped would be the finest cuisine the queen had ever enjoyed, Antony turned to me with orders to execute the chef. I took this as a joke, but the chef learned of the remark and spent several days in hiding.
Having no hope of impressing the queen either with his dignity or his borrowed staff and palace, Antony surrendered. He ordered me to sail to Ephesus and arrange the execution of Arsinoë on the steps of the Temple of Artemis, for all to see. She was strangled with a piece of knotted silk, this a gift from Cleopatra. I oversaw the affair but let another take the poor girl’s life. This murder broke any number of laws and religious sanctions and exposed me, once again, to the outrage of Artemis, had the goddess actually existed. In the meantime, Antony and Cleopatra sailed away blissfully to Alexandria in the queen’s golden barge.