“Go!” he said.  “Go to Caesar, and prosper!  I did love thee once.  Why, then, among so many traitors, should I single thee out for death?”

The man rose and looked upon him sorrowfully.  Then, shame overwhelming him, with a great cry he tore open his shirt of mail, plunged his sword into his own heart and fell down dead.  Antony stood and gazed at him, but he said never a word.  Meanwhile the ranks of Caesar’s legions drew near, and so soon as they crossed spears the legions of Antony turned and fled.  Then the soldiers of Caesar stood still mocking them; but scarce a man was slain, for they pursued not.

“Fly, Lord Antony! fly!” cried Eros, his servant, who alone with me stayed by him.  “Fly ere thou art dragged a prisoner to Caesar!”

So he turned and fled, groaning heavily.  I went with him, and as we rode through the Canopic gate, where many folk stood wondering, Antony spoke to me: 

“Go, thou, Olympus; go to the Queen and say:  ’Antony sends greeting to Cleopatra, who hath betrayed him!  To Cleopatra he sends greeting and farewell!’”

And so I went to the tomb, but Antony fled to the palace.  When I came to the tomb I knocked upon the door, and Charmion looked forth from the window.

“Open,” I cried, and she opened.

“What news, Harmachis?” she whispered.

“Charmion,” I said, “the end is at hand.  Antony is fled!”

“It is well,” she answered; “I am aweary.”

And there on her golden bed sat Cleopatra.

“Speak, man!” she cried.

“Antony has fled, his forces are fled, Caesar draws near.  To Cleopatra the great Antony sends greeting and farewell.  Greeting to Cleopatra who betrayed him, and farewell.”

“It is a lie!” she screamed; “I betrayed him not!  Thou, Olympus, go swiftly to Antony and answer thus:  ’To Antony, Cleopatra, who hath not betrayed him, sends greeting and farewell.  Cleopatra is no more.’”

And so I went, following out my purpose.  In the Alabaster Hall I found Antony pacing to and fro, tossing his hands toward heaven, and with him Eros, for of all his servants Eros alone remained by this fallen man.

“Lord Antony,” I said, “Egypt bids thee farewell.  Egypt is dead by her own hand.”

“Dead! dead!” he whispered, “and is Egypt dead? and is that form of glory now food for worms?  Oh, what a woman was this!  E’en now my heart goes out towards her.  And shall she outdo me at the last, I who have been so great; shall I become so small that a woman can overtop my courage and pass where I fear to follow?  Eros, thou hast loved me from a boy—­mindest thou how I found thee starving in the desert, and made thee rich, giving thee place and wealth?  Come, now pay me back.  Draw that sword thou wearest and make an end of the woes of Antony.”

“Oh, Sire,” cried the Greek, “I cannot!  How can I take away the life of godlike Antony?”

“Answer me not, Eros; but in the last extreme of fate this I charge thee.  Do thou my bidding, or begone and leave me quite alone!  No more will I see thy face, thou unfaithful servant!”