ACHILLAS (_suddenly asserting himself_). And now under _my_ command. _I_ am the Roman general here, Caesar. CAESAR (_tickled by the humor of the situation_). And also the Egyptian general, eh? POTHINUS (_triumphantly_). That is so, Caesar. CAESAR (_to Achillas_). So you can make war on the Egyptians in the name of Rome, and on the Romans--on _me_, if necessary--in the name of Egypt? ACHILLAS. That is so, Caesar. CAESAR. And which side are you on at present, if I may presume to ask, general? ACHILLAS. On the side of the right and of the gods. CAESAR. Hm! How many men have you? ACHILLAS. That will appear when I take the field. RUFIO (_truculently_). Are your men Romans? If not, it matters not how many there are, provided you are no stronger than 500 to ten. POTHINUS. It is useless to try to bluff us, Rufio. Caesar has been defeated before and may be defeated again. A few weeks ago Caesar was flying for his life before Pompey: a few months hence he may be flying for his life before Cato and Juba of Numidia, the African King. ACHILLAS (_following up Pothinus's speech menacingly_). What can you do with 4,000 men? THEODOTUS (_following up Achillas's speech with a raucous squeak_). And without money? Away with you. ALL THE COURTIERS (_shouting fiercely and crowding towards Caesar_). Away with you. Egypt for the Egyptians! Begone. _Rufio bites his beard, too angry to speak. Caesar sits on comfortably as if he were at breakfast, and the cat were clamoring for a piece of Finnan-haddie._ CLEOPATRA. Why do you let them talk to you like that, Caesar? Are you afraid? CAESAR. Why, my dear, what they say is quite true. CLEOPATRA. But if you go away, I shall not be Queen. CAESAR. I shall not go away until you are Queen. POTHINUS. Achillas: if you are not a fool, you will take that girl whilst she is under your hand. RUFIO (_daring them_). Why not take Caesar as well, Achillas? POTHINUS (_retorting the defiance with interest_). Well said, Rufio. Why not? RUFIO. Try, Achillas. (_Calling_) Guard there. _The loggia immediately fills with Caesar's soldiers, who stand, sword in hand, at the top of the steps, waiting the word to charge from their centurion, who carries a cudgel. For a moment the Egyptians face them proudly: then they retire sullenly to their former places._ BRITANNUS. You are Caesar's prisoners, all of you. CAESAR (_benevolently_). Oh no, no, no. By no means. Caesar's guests, gentlemen. CLEOPATRA. Won't you cut their heads off? CAESAR. What! Cut off your brother's head? CLEOPATRA. Why not? He would cut off mine, if he got the chance. Wouldn't you, Ptolemy? PTOLEMY (_pale and obstinate_). I would. I will, too, when I grow up.