ANTONY         [to Ambassador] To him again. Tell him he wears the rose

Of youth upon him, from which the world should note

Something particular. His coin, ships, legions,

May be a coward’s, whose ministers would prevail

Under the service of a child as soon

As i’th’ command of Caesar. I dare him therefore

To lay his gay caparisons apart

And answer me declined, sword against sword,

Ourselves alone. I’ll write it. Follow me.

[Exeunt Antony and Ambassador]    (3.13.19-27)

For the moment at least, Antony ignores Cleopatra (there might be a gesture: wait a moment, even a smile)—but it’s not clear on the page. This is Antony in business mode, decisive, assertive, strategic, and telling his ambassador—the schoolmaster—exactly what to say in response to Caesar, word by word. Go to him again, he instructs, and tell him he wears the rose of youth upon him, from which the world should note something particular. It’s a carefully-judged approach, complimenting Caesar for having done so well for a youngster, and that, because of this success, all eyes are on him, expecting him to do something noteworthy, perhaps unexpected. But roses fade, and have thorns; that’s also there, in the subtext. Careful, lad, Antony is in part saying, this is your big chance, perhaps your biggest chance; how are you going to proceed? are you going to think big? (It doesn’t matter whether what Antony’s saying is reasonable or not; by any objective standard, Caesar holds pretty much all the cards. But Antony’s language is calculated to introduce doubt, to make Caesar waver, consider other options. In some things at least, Antony is no fool.) After all—and here Antony needles a bit more, a calculated insult of sorts—his coin, ships, legions, may be a coward’s, whose ministers would prevail under the service of a child as soon as i’th’ command of Caesar. With his complete domination of the battlefield, in terms of money, ships, troops, and the officers under him—of course he was going to win. An army commanded by a child would win with that kind of advantage, it’s nothing to do with Caesar personally, says nothing of his leadership or his personal qualities. He might be a coward underneath it all, hiding behind all that hardware! I dare him therefore to lay his gay caparisons apart (Caesar, fancy uniform, lots of medals, latest gadgets, not a lot of battlefield experience) and answer me declined, sword against sword, ourselves alone. I dare him, I challenge him, to meet me in single combat, laying aside all of those advantages—to meet me as an equal, man to man. Last roll of the dice stuff, but a gamble worth taking, because Antony knows exactly how to niggle away at Caesar, how to exploit his vulnerabilities and insecurities; he’s a better politician than he’s usually been given credit for, in this play at least. And this will buy some time. I’ll write it, he promises the ambassador, presumably both the formal challenge and, perhaps, the details of what he’s just said; the schoolmaster would be justifiably appalled at having to deliver such arrogant defiance extempore. Let’s do it. Follow me.