ROMAN SOLDIERS (_in the courtyard below_). Hail, Caesar! Hail, hail!
_Cleopatra listens. The bucina sounds again, followed by several trumpets._
CLEOPATRA (_wringing her hands and calling_). Ftatateeta. Ftatateeta. It is dark; and I am alone. Come to me. (_Silence._) Ftatateeta. (_Louder._) Ftatateeta. (_Silence. In a panic she snatches the cord and pulls the curtains apart._)
_Ftatateeta is lying dead on the altar of Ra, with her throat cut. Her blood deluges the white stone._
_High noon. Festival and military pageant on the esplanade before the palace. In the east harbor Caesar's galley, so gorgeously decorated that it seems to be rigged with flowers, is along-side the quay, close to the steps Apollodorus descended when he embarked with the carpet. A Roman guard is posted there in charge of a gangway, whence a red floorcloth is laid down the middle of the esplanade, turning off to the north opposite the central gate in the palace front, which shuts in the esplanade on the south side. The broad steps of the gate, crowded with Cleopatra's ladies, all in their gayest attire, are like a flower garden. The façade is lined by her guard, officered by the same gallants to whom Bel Affris announced the coming of Caesar six months before in the old palace on the Syrian border. The north side is lined by Roman soldiers, with the townsfolk on tiptoe behind them, peering over their heads at the cleared esplanade, in which the officers stroll about, chatting. Among these are Belzanor and the Persian; also the Centurion, vinewood cudgel in hand, battle worn, thick-booted, and much outshone, both socially and decoratively, by the Egyptian officers._
_Apollodorus makes his way through the townsfolk and calls to the officers from behind the Roman line._
CENTURION. Pass Apollodorus the Sicilian there! (_The soldiers let him through._)
APOLLODORUS. Not yet. He is still in the market place. I could not stand any more of the roaring of the soldiers! After half an hour of the enthusiasm of an army, one feels the need of a little sea air.
PERSIAN. Tell us the news. Hath he slain the priests?
APOLLODORUS. Not he. They met him in the market place with ashes on their heads and their gods in their hands. They placed the gods at his feet. The only one that was worth looking at was Apis: a miracle of gold and ivory work. By my advice he offered the chief priest two talents for it.