Flourish. Enter Pompey and Menas at one door, with drum and trumpet; at another, Caesar, Lepidus, Antony, Enobarbus, Maecenas, Agrippa, with soldiers marching

POMPEY         Your hostages I have, so have you mine,

And we shall talk before we fight.

CAESAR                                  Most meet

That first we come to words, and therefore have we

Our written purposes before us sent,

Which if thou hast considered, let us know

If ’twill tie up thy discontented sword

And carry back to Sicily much tall youth

That else must perish here. (2.6.1-8)

The previous scene ended with Cleopatra and her women, Iras and Charmian leading away the distraught Egyptian queen—and the opening of this scene is almost comically hyper military, hyper masculine by comparison. (Another reason for Mardian and Alexas to have exited before the end of the previous scene: it heightens the contrast.) The soundscape is different, a trumpet flourish or fanfare, and more drums and trumpets on stage, rather than the softer domestic music of Egypt (to be sung by a eunuch, at that). This is Rome united under its triumvirs, Octavius, Lepidus and Antony, against the upstart Pompey and his pirate ally Menas; in particular, it’s Antony reincorporated, at least visually, into the Roman body politic, leading the troops, shoulder to shoulder with Lepidus and Caesar. It’s a conference, but the expectation is that it’s the prelude to a near-inevitable battle, and Pompey begins by pointing out that this is the case: your hostages I have, so have you mine, and we shall talk before we fight. The stakes are high, and this is about brinksmanship. Who will blink first? Caesar is smoother than Pompey, and more inclined to talk; his sentences are longer, much longer, and he forces attentiveness from Pompey and from the audience. The how of his speaking is as much of a power move as is the what. He disarms Pompey’s opening move a little by simply agreeing with him—yes, most meet that first we come to words, absolutely, entirely appropriate, the proper thing to do—and then pushes further to take the upper hand, just: and therefore have we our written purposes before us sent. That’s why you’ve had our terms in writing, in advance, what we’re proposing to avoid a battle; you didn’t think that we’d leave it to a last-minute improvised negotiation, did you? Have you had a chance to look at our proposals, consider the offer we’re making? Let us know if ’twill tie up thy discontented sword, be enough to calm you down, make you get off your high horse (almost as if Pompey’s picking playground fights, bearing grudges, acting out of personal discontent rather than any particularly just cause) and carry back to Sicily much tall youth that else must perish here. Because you know, you’ll lose if it comes to a fight. (Caesar has many more on his side, as the staging must show: Pompey has just Menas and, the stage direction suggests, the drum and trumpet, while Caesar has the men. Caesar, Antony and Lepidus have the manpower, but Pompey mostly has sound-effects.) And the tall youth are, strictly speaking, valiant and brave, but tall can’t avoid suggesting stature, so there’s a brief mental image of lanky young men being cut down, mown down by the might of the Roman military machine. Go on, Pompey, do the right thing and let those callow young men who’ve flocked, unthinking, to your flag, go home, says Caesar. It’s up to you, you can spare them.