Cleopatra VII, reputedly one of the most beautiful women ever to have lived, was the eleventh and last Ptolemy ruler of Egypt. A cunning politician who had co-ruled with her brothers Ptolemy XIII and XIV until the friction grew to the point where she was deposed and exiled.
She returned to Egypt and reclaimed the throne with the aid of Julius Caesar, with whom she had a son. After the death of Caesar, she manipulated his successors, Octavian and Marc Antony. When the tensions between the two Romans erupted into civil war, she threw in with Antony – who lost the war. Finally, in August 30 BCE, as Octavian invaded Egypt and Antony’s troops defected to the winning side, she and Antony each committed suicide – legend has it that Cleopatra provoked an asp (a poisonous snake native to Egypt) into fatally biting her.
She was the widowed queen of Egypt and mother of the heir by birth of Julius Caesar; he was the man who had exposed and shamed the conspirators that killed Big Julie. She was the last of the last: the last descendent of Ptolemy I, of the thirty-third and final dynasty to rule Egypt independently. They were, legend tells us, besotted with each other at first sight.
Never mind that Mark Antony was married to the sister of his fellow Triumvir, Octavius. Never mind that his dallying in Egypt made it possible for Octavius to raise an army against him in Rome, and lead it to a decisive naval victory over Antony’s forces at Actium in 31 BCE. Never mind that Cleopatra, queen of Egypt, was herself the mother of one of those who stood between Antony and the imperial throne.
Because the heart wants what the heart wants, and for a decade, the hearts of Antony and Cleopatra got what they wanted.