PTOLEMY (_hastily_). Yes: I remember the rest of it. (_He resumes his monotone_). Therefore the gods sent a stranger, one Mark Antony, a Roman captain of horsemen, across the sands of the desert and he set my father again upon the throne. And my father took Berenice my sister and struck her head off. And now that my father is dead yet another of his daughters, my sister Cleopatra, would snatch the kingdom from me and reign in my place. But the gods would not suffer (_Pothinus coughs admonitorily_)--the gods--the gods would not suffer---- POTHINUS (_prompting_).--will not maintain---- PTOLEMY. Oh yes--will not maintain such iniquity, they will give her head to the axe even as her sister's. But with the help of the witch Ftatateeta she hath cast a spell on the Roman Julius Caesar to make him uphold her false pretence to rule in Egypt. Take notice then that I will not suffer--that I will not suffer--(_pettishly, to Pothinus_) What is it that I will not suffer? POTHINUS (_suddenly exploding with all the force and emphasis of political passion_). The King will not suffer a foreigner to take from him the throne of our Egypt. (_A shout of applause._) Tell the King, Achillas, how many soldiers and horsemen follow the Roman? THEODOTUS. Let the King's general speak! ACHILLAS. But two Roman legions, O King. Three thousand soldiers and scarce a thousand horsemen. _The court breaks into derisive laughter; and a great chattering begins, amid which Rufio, a Roman officer, appears in the loggia. He is a burly, black-bearded man of middle age, very blunt, prompt and rough, with small clear eyes, and plump nose and cheeks, which, however, like the rest of his flesh, are in ironhard condition._ RUFIO (_from the steps_). Peace, ho! (_The laughter and chatter cease abruptly._) Caesar approaches. THEODOTUS (_with much presence of mind_). The King permits the Roman commander to enter! _Caesar, plainly dressed, but wearing an oak wreath to conceal his baldness, enters from, the loggia, attended by Britannus, his secretary, a Briton, about forty, tall, solemn, and already slightly bald, with a heavy, drooping, hazel-colored moustache trained so as to lose its ends in a pair of trim whiskers. He is carefully dressed in blue, with portfolio, inkhorn, and reed pen at his girdle. His serious air and sense of the importance of the business in hand is in marked contrast to the kindly interest of Caesar, who looks at the scene, which is new to him, with the frank curiosity of a child, and then turns to the King's chair: Britannus and Rufio posting themselves near the steps at the other side._ CAESAR (_looking at Pothinus and Ptolemy_). Which is the King? the man or the boy? POTHINUS. I am Pothinus, the guardian of my lord the King.