A bothered but unheated Cleopatra sputters through her workaday world of conquest, imperial politics, and top drawer affairs in the diction of a Good Government chairperson: ""Julio. . . Wait a bit. I think we can pull it off next time."" And so the Queen tells her tales from an inspirational visit to the tomb of Alexander (the author views her as fair and Greek), through the rapid ascension to the throne, the coming of Caesar and subsequent visit to Rome, the death of Julius by Brutus, here his natural son (Rofheart climbs out on more historical limbs than a tomcat), the affair with Marc Antonio (a talky business with a minimum of deep breathing) and at last ignominious defest. ""You cannot expect,"" says Cleopatra of Octavius Caesar, ""a hero's heart in the mind and body of an accountant."" So much for the honorable CPA's of ancient Egypt, although Octavius who ""wears his smallness well"" has more pep than Julio and Marc-io. Dull.