Charlton Heston has been dead for more than a year now, and the “sword and sandal” genre of popular historical epics that was his claim to fame pre-deceased him by decades. Yet it seems that the culture is ready, once again, to spare a glance toward the sandy plains and dunes of the Egyptian deserts in search of a legend — and that legend is the long-last tomb of Cleopatra VII Philopator.

Last week, archaeologists from Egypt and the Dominican Republic began a radar survey of three tombs from the temple of Taposiris Magna, with the hope of unearthing the resting place of the losers of the Battle of Actium, the queen and her Roman lover, Marcus Antonius.

Although there may be two titans of history to be unearthed from those ruins, press reports on the excavations have focused almost exclusively on the subject of Cleopatra. Stacy Schiff, in an otherwise thoughtful and academically astute essay on the subject in Wednesday’s New York Times, dismissed Antony as “a bit player in someone else’s story.” Another report, in the South Africa-based Daily Dispatch, described Antony — conquering general, two-time consul and triumvir — in its lede as a “Roman tribune,” which though true is the rough equivalent of saying that President Obama is known for his work as a Harvard Law Review editor.

This is hardly surprising. On a very obvious (and literal) level, Cleopatra is simply sexier. The brilliant Cleopatra was first the lover of Gaius Julius Caesar and then Antony when both were the most powerful and important figures in the world, and possessed a high degree of political acumen and fluency in nine languages. Her trials in attempting to balance femininity and influence represent a timeless, eminently relatable conundrum.

Furthermore, there’s a significantly higher degree of triviality and contentiousness that has attached itself to Cleopatra’s reputation. Generations have long argued about whether or not she was ugly (after all these years, the most likely estimation seems to be Plutarch’s view that she was neither stunningly beautiful nor shrewdish, but posessed many natural charms). More recently, certain academics have tried to raise the question of how “African” she was, though chances are she was almost wholly Macedonian (if she was of mixed race, the other heritage was likely western Asian, not African).

If Antony is remembered at all in contemporary popular culture, then it’s as the lesser partner of Cleopatra — her pawn as she strived to get ahead in a man’s world. Many scholarly evaluations of his life are hardly any more charitable. In his writings on the Hellenic world, the acclaimed British scholar Peter Green portrays Antony as a stupefying burden for a queen “who deserved a better fate than suicide with that louche lump of a self-indulgent Roman, with his bull-neck, Herculean vulgarities and fits of mindless introspection.”

This view sells short one of the more interesting career-arcs in world history and overestimates Cleopatra’s status. By the 30s B.C., Egypt was very much a vassal kingdom and Cleopatra a vassal monarch, in much greater need of Rome’s favor than Rome was of hers. As a result of the arrangements after the Battle of Philippi — which left the Roman Empire divided between Caesar’s heir, Octavius Caesar, who governed in the West, and Antony in the East — Rome, for Cleopatra, meant Mark Antony.

On face value, Antony comes off as one of those individuals who are more fascinating for their flaws than for their virtues. Left in charge of Italy by Caesar as he put down various challenges to his supremacy abroad, Antony made a complete mess of things while living the life of a playboy, having his chariots drawn by lions and engaging in all manner of drunken excesses. As an administrator he was poor; under his temporary guardianship of Italy, he allowed the political situation to spiral out of control, as he had to use violence to put down various elements within Rome that had begun violently agitating for a general cancellation of debts.

But there was more to Antony than an endless search for greater material comfort. Antony had a genuine sense of justice and when motivated was capable of good works. Plutarch writes: “Toward the Greeks, then, Antony conducted himself without rudeness or offence, at least in the beginning, nay, he indulged his fondness for amusement by listening to literary discussions. … In his judicial decisions also he was reasonable.” And in the confusion after Caesar’s assassination, when Antony was declared a pubic enemy at Cicero’s behest, Plutarch contrasts Antony favorably with those “whom some difficulty has laid low, that they perceive plainly what virtue is, but all have not the strength amid reverses to imitate what they admire and shun what they hate. ... Antony, however, was at this time an amazing example to his soldiers, after such a life of luxury and extravagance as he had led drinking foul water contentedly and eating wild fruits and roots. Bark was also eaten, we are told, and animals never tasted before were food for them as they crossed the Alps.”

Despite his missteps Antony never permanently lost the favor of Caesar, and he inspired the loyalty of a host of worthy individuals. And before he was permanently allied with Cleopatra there was Fulvia — Antony’s third wife and the former spouse of the deceased demagogic-yet-brilliant tribunes of the plebs Publius Clodius Pulcher and Gaius Scribonius Curio — who in 41 B.C. herself took up arms and led legions against Octavian in Italy (with tragic results). It’s curious that the modern audience isn’t any more accepting than the ancients of a man who actively sought out the company of strong-minded female counterparts.

Antony’s minimization is representative of the remarkable continuity and stability of historical interpretation. Octavian, who finally was rid of Antony and Cleopatra after the Battle of Actium in 31 B.C., saw fit to emphasize Antony’s subordination to Cleopatra so as to frame the struggle as a foreign war against external enemies, instead of as yet another civil war in which more Roman blood was shed. After Antony’s’ defeat, the future Augustus did everything he could to obliterate the popular and historical memory of his former opponent, destroying his statues and forbidding any of Antony’s unborn descendents to bear the praenomen “Marcus.”

But while the political motivations underlying Octavian’s actions remain understandable, the sublimation of Antony’s historical reputation as an off-shoot of Cleopatra’s fame is less easy to countenance. To focus on Antony only as his life intersects with that of Cleopatra not only misses the point, but also effectively buries the legacy of a truly great, complex man, whose life would have enormous implications for the trajectory of world history. So while reports from Egypt about the contents (or lack thereof) of the excavated tombs will undoubtedly fixate on whatever may be left of Queen Cleopatra, hopefully what remnants there are to be found of Mark Antony will receive more than a passing mention.

Editorials Editor Asher Smith is a College sophomore from Great Neck, N.Y.