Rufio bites his beard, too angry to speak. Caesar sits on comfortably as if he were at breakfast, and the cat were clamoring for a piece of Finnan-haddie.
CLEOPATRA. Why do you let them talk to you like that, Caesar? Are you afraid?
CAESAR. Why, my dear, what they say is quite true.
CLEOPATRA. But if you go away, I shall not be Queen.
CAESAR. I shall not go away until you are Queen.
POTHINUS. Achillas: if you are not a fool, you will take that girl whilst she is under your hand.
RUFIO (daring them). Why not take Caesar as well, Achillas?
POTHINUS (retorting the defiance with interest). Well said, Rufio. Why not?
RUFIO. Try, Achillas. (Calling) Guard there.
The loggia immediately fills with Caesar’s soldiers, who stand, sword in hand, at the top of the steps, waiting the word to charge from their centurion, who carries a cudgel. For a moment the Egyptians face them proudly: then they retire sullenly to their former places.