CLEOPATRA Your Caesar’s father oft,
When he hath mused of taking kingdoms in,
Bestowed his lips on that unworthy place,
As it rained kisses.
Enter Antony and Enobarbus
ANTONY Favours, by Jove that thunders!
What art thou, fellow?
THIDIAS One that but performs
The bidding of the fullest man, and worthiest
To have command obeyed.
ENOBARBUS You will be whipped. (3.13.81-87)
Cleopatra’s enjoying the moment, this attentive, understanding man flattering her, kissing her hand, but she’s not going to miss an opportunity to pull rank, to remind him who she is: your Caesar’s father oft (oh I know everyone, I’ve been at the centre of things for years: Julius Caesar was Octavius Caesar’s adoptive father, and Cleopatra’s lover, father of Caesarion) when he hath mused of taking kingdoms in, when he was just idly—as victorious generals do—thinking and chatting about what to conquer next—he used to do exactly what you’re doing. (Julius Caesar’s lips were where yours are now, young man, think about that.) He too bestowed his lips on that unworthy place, my little hand (and her deictic that creates a zoom, all eyes on the hand, the wrist, the veins, the skin, as she gestures, reaches; a jewel glitters) as it rained kisses—as if his kisses were a shower, hurried, multiple, a deluge of little caresses. Cleopatra does sensuality like no one else.
Oooops. Enter Antony and Enobarbus, and as ever, Antony’s eyes (now that the business with the ambassador is done) go straight to Cleopatra, and he doesn’t like what he sees. Favours, by Jove that thunders! The remembered rain of kisses has turned to a storm: what’s going on, why are you being so nice to this man, treating him with such familiarity and intimacy? What art thou, fellow? A contrast to Cleopatra’s most kind messenger, and what is thy name? who the hell are you and what’s going on? asks Antony, and, even more, who do you serve, what’s your status? Fellow, here, is decidedly pejorative, and the implication of it all is, how dare you take such liberties? Thidias knows that he’s in trouble and reverts to smoothness, although he also stands his ground: one that but performs the bidding of the fullest man, and worthiest to have command obeyed. I’m just doing my job, just following orders, the orders of the man of the moment, the victor, to whom—and this is aimed at Antony—all allegiance is owed, whose orders must be followed. (Caesar is left implicit; it’s part of Thidias’s assertiveness—you should know damn well who I mean—but it might also be apparent from his costume that he’s come from Caesar.)
Unfortunately Thidias hasn’t got the memo about messengers in this play—that they almost always get shot, metaphorically or literally—or else he thinks that he’s safe, in the circumstances. He’s not. You will be whipped, says Enobarbus, perhaps as a warning, or perhaps simply with resignation, matter-of-fact.