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Imagine being Caesar in that scene and having to be all like "damn, Cleopatra, you fuckin' fine, all sexy with your tight body and horrific androgynous monster face. I would totally have sex with you, both my official persona and the real me." when all he really wants to do is fuck another 16 year old boy in his cubiculum. Like seriously imagine having to be Caesar and not only sit in that chair while Cleopatra flaunts her disgusting body in front of you, the favorable lighting barely concealing her hook nose and leathery Egyptian skin, and just sit there, carpet after carpet, hour after hour, while she perfected that dance. Not only having to tolerate her monstrous fucking visage but her haughty attitude as everyone in Alexandria tells her she's STILL GOT IT and DAMN, CLEOPATRA LOOKS LIKE *THAT*?? because they're not the ones who have to sit there and watch her mannish fucking gremlin face contort into types of grimaces you didn't even know existed before that day. You've been fucking nothing but a healthy diet of boy toys and centurions and later alleged rape victims for your ENTIRE CAREER coming straight out of the boonies in Gallia. You've never even seen anything this fucking disgusting before, and now you swear you can taste the sweat that's breaking out on her dimpled stomach as she sucks it in to writhe it suggestively at you, smugly assured that you are enjoying the opportunity to get paid to sit there and revel in her "statuesque (for that is what she calls herself)" beauty, the beauty she worked so hard for with personal slaves in the previous months. And then the senate calls for another military intervention, and you know you could kill every single person in this room before the palace guards could put you down, but you sit there and endure, because you're fucking Caesar. You're not going to lose your future imperium magnum over this. Just bear it. Hide your face and bear it.