POMPEY         We’ll feast each other ere we part, and let’s

Draw lots who shall begin.

ANTONY                                 That will I, Pompey.

POMPEY         No, Antony, take the lot.

But, first or last, your fine Egyptian cookery

Shall have the fame. I have heard that Julius Caesar

Grew fat with feasting there.

ANTONY                                 You have heard much.

POMPEY         I have fair meanings, sir.

ANTONY                                 And fair words to them.

POMPEY         Then so much have I heard,

And I have heard Apollodorus carried—

ENOBARBUS              No more o’ that, he did so.

POMPEY         What, I pray you?

ENOBARBUS  A certain queen to Caesar in a mattress.    (2.6.60-72)

 

The tension’s defused (for a moment); there’s an agreement, at least in principle, and it’s time for these newly-negotiated relationships to be explored and consolidated in a more informal setting, although it remains to be seen whether all the parties will approach that in the same spirit. Pompey is mandating a spirit of generosity and hospitality—we’ll feast each other ere we part—an opportunity to show off, perhaps, a different form of brinksmanship—and let’s draw lots who shall begin. He wants it to be left to chance as to who will be the first host, which Antony tries to circumvent—that will I, Pompey, he says, pulling rank in some ways—but Pompey’s adamant, no, Antony, take the lot. Leave it to chance. But, first or last, your fine Egyptian cookery shall have the fame. Pompey’s on slightly dodgy ground here, mentioning Egypt, and by cookery he means dish, really; he wants to hear about Cleopatra, of course, and about Egyptian Appetites And Their Sating. He keeps digging, too: I have heard that Julius Caesar grew fat with feasting there; one of the things he’s alluding to is that Julius Caesar was Cleopatra’s lover before Antony was, and that he did indeed have an excellent and self-indulgent time in Egypt.

Pompey is firmly in don’t mention the war territory here, his limited political nous very much on display. You have heard much, says Antony, trying to close it down, moving right along, but Pompey either doesn’t take the hint or doesn’t realise that there is one: oh yes, nudge, wink, I have fair meanings, sir, I’m about to talk about Cleopatra even more explicitly, the delicious and exotic dish herself. Fair meanings indeed. Antony tries again: and fair words to them, yes, alright, you’re being moderately witty, but cut it out, read the room. Pompey cannot read the room, but barrels on: then so much have I heard, and wait for this, is this really true, I have heard Apollodorus carried—no more o’ that, he did so. Enorbarbus, perhaps in response to an explicit, silent plea from Antony, intervenes, albeit with the nuclear option, yes, confirmed, no need to say any more about it, it happened, moving right along. Pompey still can’t read the room—or else, he’s enjoying this high-stakes game of rattling Antony and Caesar, who have after all just become brothers-in-law with Antony’s marriage to Octavia—what, I pray you? he asks Enobarbus. Go on, say it, what happened? Go on, go on. Enobarbus’s gamble has back-fired, and rather than deflecting attention from Cleopatra, and so from Antony’s (ongoing) relationship with her, he has to be explicit. A certain queen to Caesar in a mattress. At least he doesn’t name her, but the damage is done, the mental image riotous, ridiculous, Cleopatra trussed up in a sleeping mat—all too believably—to be smuggled in to Caesar, the most seductive swiss roll ever.