y.

POTHINUS. Better me, or even you, than a woman with a Roman heart; and
that is what Cleopatra is now become. Whilst I live, she shall never
rule. So guide yourself accordingly. (He goes out.)

It is by this time drawing on to dinner time. The table is laid on the
roof of the palace; and thither Rufio is now climbing, ushered by a
majestic palace official, wand of office in hand, and followed by a
slave carrying an inlaid stool. After many stairs they emerge at last
into a massive colonnade on the roof. Light curtains are drawn between
the columns on the north and east to soften the westering sun. The
official leads Rufio to one of these shaded sections. A cord for pulling
the curtains apart hangs down between the pillars.

THE OFFICIAL (bowing). The Roman commander will await Caesar here.

The slave sets down the stool near the southernmost column, and slips
out through the curtains.

RUFIO (sitting down, a little blown). Pouf! That was a climb. How high
have we come?

THE OFFICIAL. We are on the palace roof, O Beloved of Victory!

RUFIO. Good! the Beloved of Victory has no more stairs to get up.

A second official enters from the opposite end, walking backwards.

THE SECOND OFFICIAL. Caesar approaches.

Caesar, fresh from the bath, clad in a new tunic of purple silk, comes
in, beaming and festive, followed by two slaves carrying a light couch,
which is hardly more than an elaborately designed bench. They place it
near the northmost of the two curtained columns. When this is done they
slip out through the curtains; and the two officials, formally bowing,
follow them. Rufio rises to receive Caesar.

CAESAR (coming over to him). Why, Rufio! (Surveying his dress with an
air of admiring astonishment) A new baldrick! A new golden pommel
to your sword! And you have had your hair cut! But not your beard--?
Impossible! (He sniffs at Rufio's beard.) Yes, perfumed, by Jupiter
Olympus!

RUFIO (growling). Well: is it to please myself?

CAESAR (affectionately). No, my son Rufio, but to please me--to
celebrate my birthday.

RUFIO (contemptuously). Your birthday! You always have a birthday
when there is a pretty girl to be flattered or an ambassador to be
conciliated. We had seven of them in ten months last year.

CAESAR (contritely). It is true, Rufio! I shall never break myself of
these petty deceits.

RUFIO. Who is to dine with us--besides Cleopatra?

CAESAR. Apollodorus the Sicilian.

RUFIO. That popinja