There is no reason to suppose that Cleopatra had betrayed her husband, or that she was in any way a party to the desertions which had just taken place. The sudden collapse of their resistance, while yet it was but mid-morning, must have come to her as a staggering shock; and Antony’s accusations were doubtless felt to be only in keeping with the erratic behaviour which had characterised his last years. On the previous day Antony had offered a large sum of money to every one of Octavian’s legionaries who should desert; and it is more than likely that Octavian had made a similar offer to the Egyptian sailors and soldiers. Only a year previously these sailors had fraternised with the Romans of the Antonian party in the Gulf of Ambracia, and the latter, having deserted to Octavian after the battle of Actium, were now present in large numbers amongst the opposing fleet. The Egyptians were thus called upon to fight with their friends whose hospitality they had often accepted, and whose fighting qualities, now that they were combined with Octavian’s victorious forces, they had every reason to appreciate. Their desertion, therefore, needed no suggestion on the part of Cleopatra: it was almost inevitable.
Antony, however, was far too distracted and overwrought to guard his tongue, and he seems to have paced his apartments in the Palace in a condition bordering upon madness, cursing Cleopatra and her country, and calling down imprecations upon all who had deserted him. Presently those of his staff who had followed the Queen to her mausoleum brought him the news that she had killed herself, for so they had interpreted her message; and instantly Antony’s fury seems to have left him, the shock having caused a collapse of his energy. At first he was probably dazed by the tidings; but when their full significance had penetrated to his bewildered brain there was no place left for anger or suspicion. “Now Antony,” he cried, “why delay longer? Fate has taken away the only thing for which you could say you still wanted to live.” And with these words he rushed into his bedchamber, eagerly tearing off his armour, and calling upon his slave Eros to assist him. Then, as he bared the upper part of his body, he was heard to talk aloud to the Queen, whom he believed to be dead. “Cleopatra,” he said, “I am not sad to be parted from you now, for I shall soon be with you; but it troubles me that so great a general should have been found to have slower courage than a woman.” Not long previously he had made Eros solemnly promise to kill him when he should order him to do so; and now, turning to him, he gave him that order, reminding him of his oath. Eros drew his sword, as though he intended to do as he was bid, but suddenly turning round, he drove the blade into his own breast, and fell dying upon the floor. Thereupon Antony bent down over him and cried to him as he lost consciousness, “Well done, Eros! Well done!” Then, picking up the sword, he added, “You have shown your master how to do what you had not the heart to do yourself;” and so saying, he drove the sword upwards into his breast from below the ribs, and fell back upon his bed.