She sailed to him in a gilded barge with purple sails, beneath a canopy made of cloth of gold. Antony, apparently the only person in Tarsus who had not received knowledge of Cleopatra’s arrival, was left alone just as he was readying himself to address a crowd. He was bewildered by the sudden exodus of merchants and customers, but as he departed the marketplace, he caught the scent of eastern perfumes on the air and found himself drawn toward the water.

Squinting into the sun, he finally detected a glittering presence, costumed as Venus, attended by servants dressed as cupids and nymphs. He sent a messenger to invite the queen to dinner. With her typical disregard for hierarchy, she instructed Antony to dine as her guest instead.

They sat together after the feast, on the deck of her barge, the lamps above them sparkling like constellations. Her voice was low and musical, and she spoke to her various servants, and to the people of Tarsus as well, each in their own tongue. She flattered him with the comment that she’d been following his military career for years. Most seductively of all, she laughed, throwing her head back in pure delight, joking with him and teasing him, as though neither of them were persons of consequence, as though they were two children who’d met in the marketplace and were playing a game of riddles.

Antony’s then wife, Fulvia, had no sense of humor. He had never heard her laugh.

The evening ended in Cleopatra’s bedchamber. He had no shame; any man in his senses would have done the same.

As he made his way to the queen’s rooms, already stiff with anticipation, Antony gloated, thinking himself tremendously clever. He would gain power over Cleopatra, and she would gain tenderness toward him, both of which would smooth their business dealings. He fumbled into her bedroom, peering into the dark, but she wasn’t there. He was running his hands over her pillows to be sure, when she leapt on him, a knife in her hands. He was so startled, he didn’t make a sound as he fell to the floor.

“Rome wants to use me,” she said. “Is that true?”

“Not Rome,” he said, grinning. “A Roman. And only for my own purposes.”

“Surrender,” she said in his ear, kneeling atop him. He inhaled her scent, felt the soft skin of her thighs against his chest. Naked and shameless.

“Surrender to me,” she repeated, and he nearly laughed. Did she not realize how small she was? He could span her waist with one hand. Did she not know she was a woman?

His smile faded as he felt her lashing ropes around his wrists and tying him to the bed. He could not tell if she was playing with him or warring against him. The knife was sharp, that was certain. It pressed against his jugular.

“I surrender,” Antony agreed, already plotting his next move. He would flip her onto her back and disarm her, and then there would be a conversation. What did she think she was doing? He was a general. He’d summoned her.