Enter Caesar and all his train, marching

ALL      A way there, a way for Caesar!

DOLABELLA   [to Caesar] O, sir, you are too sure an augurer.

That you did fear is done.

CAESAR                      Bravest at the last,

She levelled at our purposes, and, being royal,

Took her own way. The manner of their deaths?

I do not see them bleed.

DOLABELLA [to Guardsman] Who was last with them?

FIRST GUARD A simple countryman that brought her figs.

This was his basket.

CAESAR Poisoned, then.       (5.2.322-329)

The people keep coming, Caesar and all his train, marching—everyone else who isn’t already on stage, perhaps. Is Antony himself there under a helmet? not impossibly; if not, he’s likely the only one left backstage—even Octavia’s boy actor could well be onstage in another role—although some productions introduce her as a character in this last scene, accompanying her brother. The movement, and that it’s most likely all men, makes a stark contrast with Cleopatra and her women, still and silent. A way there, a way for Caesar! Noise, bustle, intrusion. Make way! Dolabella has to break the news—which Caesar has been expecting anyway: O, sir, you are too sure an augurer. You’re too good; that which you foretold and dreaded has indeed happened. That you fear is done. Caesar is magnanimous, and perhaps moved, too: bravest at the last, she levelled at our purposes, and, being royal, took her own way. It’s notable that he still won’t name Cleopatra; her name is virtually taboo with him. But it’s a compliment, and not a grudging one: she showed courage at the end, then (and also, what style! what class!); she knew what I intended to do with her and she took her own way out, as befitted her status as a queen.

Enough emotion and reflection: more information required, briefly and to the point. The manner of their deaths? How did they die? (He has no words for Charmian and Iras, no comment on their loving loyalty.) I do not see them bleed—as would be the case if they’d stabbed themselves, is the implication. Dolabella takes over, in the manner of a detective’s sidekick: who was last with them? who’s been in here? (express orders were given, who’s fault is this that someone got past the guards?) The first guard has to put his hand up, but in terms that suggest a forgivable mistake, an oversight, rather than negligence and dereliction of duty: it was just a simple countryman that brought her figs. Look: this was his basket. (He offers proof with some anxiety: there’s the evidence, I’m not making this up; even more, no, it wasn’t me, I didn’t supply them with the means of death, I wasn’t bribed, I’m honest and so are my men.) Poisoned, then, concludes Caesar, not concerned with the details or the guard’s implicit excuses.