Cleopatra lay stretched out on the heaped Arabian pony skins, like a sensuous throbbing cat.
As her handmaidens oiled her shimmering body she glowed in anticipation of seeing Antony, her lover.
The flickering pallid flame from the rush lights threw her tawny magnificence into bold relief against the wine-dark hides of the tent. Antony entered the scented dimness and, throwing aside his armour, he took her into his arms in a heated embrace - his masculine musk making heady her senses.
She whispered, 'Antony, my dear heart, let's not go out tonight - let's have a musical evening at home:
'How mean you, angel?' said Antony.
'Well; she said, 'I've booked a lute player. She clapped her hands and a slave from Gaul was thrown onto the floor. He was drunk - definitely a Gaul stoned. Two naked Nubian eunuchs then wheeled a brass gong across his body.
And Cleopatra sang, I'm rolling a gong on the chest of a slave