Caesar i-3

by Allan Massie

  His party in this momentous year took on an unusual significance, for Cassius had pruned his guest-list of all those who were known to be the most devoted to Caesar, even though, as a precaution, he felt it necessary to invite the dictator himself.

  Perhaps my presence reassured Caesar that he was not among enemies for he was in genial form throughout his fairly brief stay at Cassius' house. Some say it was the presence of my cousin Marcus Brutus which calmed the agitation he revealed when he first looked round the room, but this is not so: he was on bad terms with Markie on account of rumours that my cousin was ambitious to replace him in the dictatorship.

  "Surely Brutus can wait till the breath is out of this frail body," he said.

  Besides, any of those present — and alas, some are no longer among us — could confirm that it was to me that the dictator directed most of his conversation that evening. Cassius had asked me to make sure that Caesar was happily engaged, and of course I was delighted to obl ige. My father-in-law knew very well that the dictator neither liked nor trusted him; and so, after a brief and ceremonious greeting, he was pleased to see me take him off his hands, as it were.

  Caesar departed early, saying that, however festive the occasion, he had work to do.

  "Work with the Queen of Egypt," young Cinna sniggered, as soon as the dictator was out of earshot.

  After we had eaten and drunk — the sucking-pig was especially delicious, I recall, because, Cassius assured me, the sows on his farms near Tivoli were fed a milk diet which ensured that their own supply of milk was both plentiful and rich — Cassius dismissed the slaves, having first ascertained that they had left an ample supply of wine, both white and red. It was one of his maxims that, in honour of Janus, it was proper to drink alternate glasses.

  There were some twenty of us left, reclining on couches and all at our apparent ease. Yet, when the slaves departed, a tremor ran round the room, as if we all sensed the imminency of something of great moment. I may say that my father-in-law had given me no warning of his intentions, which is proof of the confidence in my virtue which he had learned to feel.

  We were a varied party. Let me stress that from the start. Cassius himself and Markie had been Pompeians; they had fought (or, in the case of Markie, found safer occupation) at Pharsalus. Quintus Ligarius was a Pompeian, pardoned (as I have related) as a result of Ci cero's eloquence. Decimus Turul lius and Quintus Cassius (from Parma), more obscure figures, had also fought in Pompey's army. There was the young Cato, less gloomy and uncouth than his father, more intelligent too, as devoted to the Republic, but with a truer appreciation of what was possible; a young man indeed of some charm with his chestnut hair and melancholy expression. He was of course now Markie's brother-in-law, though I had observed with some amusement earlier that he had removed himself from my cousin's conversation, and not only, I was certain, because of Markie's unfortunate habit of occasionally spitting in his interlocutor's face; this was due to a childhood infirmity which he had never overcome, rather than to bad manners. Probably Cato knew this; so he had, I imagined, removed himself simply because he was bored. I couldn't blame him for that. Another Pompeian was Lucius Cornelius Cinna, married to the Great One's daughter.

  But I had old colleagues of my own there: Casca, of course, Lucius Tillius Cimber and Caius Trebonius, men with whom I had fought side by side. There were others whose position was more dubious, and whom I would be disinclined to trust: Ser Sulpicius Galba, well-born, skilled in the military art, but of a sour and truculent disposition. I knew he hated Caesar because Caesar had refused his request to be nominated as consul for any of the immediately succeeding years. More disreputable was Lucius Minucius Basilus, whom Caesar had denied the governorship of a province on the grounds that he was unfit for the responsibility; instead the dictator had offered him money. Basilus claimed to have been insulted, but he took the money all the same.

  I knew from my father-in-law's manner that this was not a purely social gathering. Though he had been polite and courteous throughout the reception and the meal, I was aware that his nerves were drawn taut as a bowstring.

  "Balbus told me an odd thing the other day," my neighbour, the younger Cinna, said. "You know, Balbus the banker."

  "Of course I know Balbus. What was this story?"

  "Well, it seems that some of the veterans who had been discharged and granted farms in the region of Capua were breaking up some ancient tombs to obtain stone with which to build their new farmhouses. Now it seems that one of these tombs belonged to Capys, founder of the city, and on it they discovered an inscription which read: 'Disturb the bones of Capys and a man of Trojan stock will be murdered by his friends and kinsfolk and later avenged at great cost to Italy.' What do you make of that, eh?"

  "Not a lot," I replied. "After all, I suppose all we Romans may lay claim to being of Trojan stock, in some remote manner, and there are Romans murdered by their friends and kinsmen any day of the week."

  "No, but," he said, "naturally I'm not superstitious, but it makes you think, doesn't it?"

  "Does it?" said Casca. "Well, that's quite an achievement, my dear. On the other hand, once you start heeding old wives' tales of that sort, you'll never come to the end of it. Why, only yesterday my fat old mother told me a story which she'd had on the best authority — her manicurist's, I suppose — that a herd of horses which our Lord and Master dedicated to the River Rubicon, on account, you know, of its significance in his career, crossed the stream — a miserable ditch as you would know if you had been with us — and began to eat the grass on the other side. As soon as they did so, my ma was told, they evinced a great repugnance, and some of them actually started to be sick."

  "Good heavens, that's extraordinary."

  "Isn't it? It would be more extraordinary still, my dear, if Caesar had ever dedicated a herd of horses to that beastly little stream. But can you imagine him taking the trouble to do so?"

  "It would be still more extraordinary," I said, "if any such horses, even if they existed, had been sick. But horses can't, you know. That's why colic can kill them so easily. If you get a disturbed stomach you vomit. So does a dog. But a horse can't. End of story."

  "Well," young Cinna said, "I admit I don't know anything about horses, can't stand the brutes, bite at one end and kick at the other as they say. It's not that I'm frightened of them, it's just that they have an unfortunate effect on me. So I didn't know that. But, don't you see, that makes the story more extraordinary still. It's against nature, and when something happens that's against nature, that's really significant."

  "Oh dear," I said.

  That was the sort of story, and that the sort of conversation, common in Rome that winter. Credulity ran riot.

  Our talk was interrupted by Cassius banging the handle of a knife on the table to attract our attention.

  Then he said:

  "I don't intend to make a speech, my friends. As some of you know, I detest after-dinner speeches. That's why Cicero isn't here." (An obedient titter ran round the table.) "But I have a few things I want to say to you. They are not entirely safe things to say. If you listen to me, we could change our lives, and restore liberty to Rome. So I'm asking two things of you, before we start. First, I would ask anyone who isn't prepared to take the responsibility of action to leave us now…"

  Nobody moved.

  "Good, I've judged you well. Second, I would ask you all to swear, on the honour and reputation of your ancestors, and in the name of whichever gods you reverence, that everything said here tonight from this moment will remain confidential, that you will speak of it to nobody who is not now with us, unless you have my permission, and that you will not discuss it beyond this circle or in other company. Will you swear? Will you swear such an oath?"

  Again nobody moved, nobody spoke.

  I was the first to rise to my feet and swear a formal oath in the terms requested. One after another, some slowly as if with fear, each man rose and followed suit, most of them employing the very words
which first Cassius, and then I myself, had uttered. At last only my cousin Markie was left seated.

  "Marcus Junius Brutus, heir to one of the noblest names in Roman history, will you swear…"

  Markie crumbled bread.

  "This disturbs me," he said. "I have indeed been much disturbed of late. I am vexed with perplexities, ideas which I feel it proper to keep to myself. Many of you will know that I love honour more than I fear death. But now, I suspect that you are about to urge a course upon us to which I cannot honourably reconcile myself."

  "Come, Brutus," Cassius said, "there is no man in Rome held in higher respect than yourself. I have heard people say that they wished the noble Brutus had eyes to see what is plain to others. I'm afraid you are too bound up in your own perplexities. I can't force you to swear, but I can urge you, even beg you. We would not wish to be deprived of your counsel."

  "Well, naturally" — the bread was now in crumbs — "I'm honoured that you should think so well of me. But suppose I hear something said in this room tonight which honour would urge me to reveal, and suppose I have bound myself by an oath to remain silent, then that will make my perplexities worse. Cassius, you know I love and respect you, but I cannot deviate from my sense of what is right…"

  ("Little prig," whispered Casca, "fucking little cowardly prig-")

  "So, with respect, Cassius, I cannot bring myself to offer the promise you demand. Therefore, I think I should take my leave.

  Which I do, wishing you all well, and sound judgment in whatever you choose to deliberate."

  He folded his napkin and got to his feet. He went round the table and embraced Cassius, and so departed from us. It has always been said that he left with dignity. My memory is that he scuttled from the room like a frightened rabbit.

  The young Cato looked for a moment as if he would follow his brother-in-law, glanced across the table, caught my eye, and remained where he stood. Only one young man, whose name I did not know (it was Favonius, I later discovered) chose to follow Markie.

  When they had gone, Cassius resumed his couch and motioned to us to do likewise. Then he began to speak.

  "I am sorry that Marcus Brutus, whom I admire as I am sure you all do, has felt unable to remain with us. He is a man I honour and respect. Perhaps, you will say, he is over-scrupulous.

  "There was another man with us earlier today of whom that cannot be said. You all know that I speak of Caesar. Men have said many things against Caesar but I doubt if anyone has ever accused him of being over-scrupulous…

  "I would ask you to think of Caesar and of the relationship in which we now stand to him, in which Rome now stands to him.

  "I can't tell what you and others think of the life we lead, but speaking for myself, I would as willingly cease to breathe as continue to live in… awe… of a man no different from myself.

  "I was born in liberty, as was Caesar. I was born his equal. We are men like each other, heated by the same sun in summer, shivering in the same cold winter blast.

  "Equals, did I say? I remember once when we were young Caesar challenged me to swim across the Tiber. The river ran high, but I plunged in regardless. Then I heard a cry behind me, and looking over my shoulder, saw that Caesar was in difficulties. And so, just as Aeneas, our noble ancestor, carried Anchises from the flames of burning Troy, so I bore Caesar from the turbulent water, brought him to the bank, and safety. You may imagine I have often dwelled on that moment since.

  "And others have performed similar feats. My son-in-law, Decimus Junius Brutus Albinus, here today, why…" he turned his gaze directly on me, "… why, did you not rescue Caesar from the storm of battle at Munda?" "Yes, I can make that claim."

  "And now," Cassius said, dropping his voice to a whisper, as actors do when they wish to silence the murmurings in the theatre, "and now, this Caesar is a god, and Cassius or Decimus Brutus, or Metellus Cimber who has done great things in battle, or Casca, or young Cato sprung from the noblest stock of Rome, or any of you here — any, in the Senate, camp or temple, must bow and bend and scrape, and flush with pleasure, if Caesar should condescend to nod his head at us.

  "Is that a way to live, an honourable way?

  "I remember too that Labienus, the noble, honourable Labienus, told me once of an occasion when Caesar fell sick in Gaul, and lay on his pallet bed and called for water. It was pathetic, like a little girl.

  "Some of us have seen him suffer fits, have seen him shake, have seen this god tremble, all control departed from his limbs.

  "This god… this man like us…

  "And now he is the eighth wonder of the world. Why, he bestrides the world as the great Colossus you have seen at Rhodes, and we others, little men, men become petty inconsiderable things, must walk about peering between his legs, as if we searched for a dishonourable grave.

  "Caesar talks of Destiny. There is no word more often on his lips. The stars, the stars, as if it was decreed by Fate that we should be subordinate, subservient, subdued.

  "But I say…" and again he broke off, again he rapped the table with the hilt of his knife, again he paused, holding us, while each man both longed and feared to hurry on the conclusion to which he was inexorably driving. "I say, the fault does not lie in the stars. It lies rather in ourselves.

  "What meat has Caesar fed on that he has grown so great?

  "If our ancestors, the men who broke Hannibal, laid Carthage waste, pursued the great King Mithridates to his doom, conquered Spain and Africa and Asia, if these men whom we revere, could see us now? If they could observe our fallen State? If they could see how abject we now seem? If they could see how Caesar, a man of our own stock, a gambler, debtor, lecher, one who has broken the historic links that held the State together, if they could see how he lords us, dominates us, holds us as his… subjects? If they saw all this, would they laugh or weep, or weeping laugh and laughing weep?

  "This is the question that I put to you tonight: are you not ashamed, as I feel shame, that we have come to this abject condition? Or are you ready to bow down and worship Caesar, call him God, even King, regard him as a creature of a wholly different order from ourselves, his fellow nobility of Rome?"

  Then he was silent, very pale, sipped wine, looked hard at each of us in turn. One by one eyes fell away, unable to hold his gaze, and there was silence. It was broken by the one man who had not met his gaze, had not done so for the excellent reason that his eyes were closed as he lay on his couch, in apparent indifference: Casca, of course.

  "Words, words, words, Cassius, Cassius, Cassius, you have out-Ciceroed Cicero. There was no need indeed to ask the old man here tonight, for he couldn't have given a better exhibition of rhetoric than you have treated us to…"

  "Do you think I mean nothing but words?"

  "Can't say for sure, old thing, can't say." Casca hauled himself half upright, slapped his belly. "I am fat, fat, fat. That was a good dinner you have given us, Cassius. Caesar thinks only lean men are dangerous, and I am fat."

  Metellus Cimber interrupted:

  "Enough of this comedy. You have given us much to think of, Cassius. If it is any satisfaction to you, you have brought the blush of shame to my cheek."

  "And to mine."

  "And mine."

  "And mine… alas."

  "Well, Casca?" Cassius said.

  "Put away shame a long time ago, old dear. Give me comfort, wine and a bit of slap and tickle — kill my creditors or let them live as long as you keep them off — and what more could Casca seek from life? I am fat, you see. Words, words, words. Well, I'll reply in words — the proof of the pudding's in the eating — how's that for a proverb? Your cook has a light hand with the pastry, Cassius. Congratulate him from me on those lobster patties…"

  Again Metellus Cimber broke the silence:

  "What you have said, Cassius, can only be a beginning. I would wish Marcus Brutus had stayed. That's a man whose opinion I value. But you have given us all much to think of. Therefore I invite all here tonight to dine with me i
n seven days' time. Meanwhile we shall ponder these matters, consult our hearts, consciences, interests, whatever; and observe the oath of silence which we swore. Casca, you will find my cook, an Armenian, has a light hand with pastry too, and a deft imagination when it comes to the filling. So, shall we conclude here, and resume our discussion as I have invited?"

  We all assented, but, as we made to leave, Cassius beckoned to me, and laid a restraining hand on young Cato's shoulder. When the three of us were alone, he said:

  "An interesting response, better than I had dared hope for. But if we could have another word before you follow our friends, I should be grateful."

  So we resumed our couches. Cassius poured more wine.

  "Mouse," he said, "you know Caesar better than any of us."

  "I owe him much."

  "He is as greatly in debt to you."

  "Well, I won't deny that."

  "You knew what I was driving at… and yet you stayed."

  I spat out an olive stone.

  "There are loyalties and there is loyalty."

  "What do you mean?" Cato said.

  "One owes something to one's friends and benefactors, one owes more to oneself, one owes most to Rome." "Precisely my thought," Cassius said.

  "Oh, you made that clear. I do no more than echo what you said. For months I have been seeking an alternative. I see none."

  "If Caesar takes the name of King," Cato said, "the people themselves will quit us of responsibility. They will tear him apart."

  "They might," I said. "In any case, he will not assume the title, not yet, not here, not in Rome. If he sets off for Parthia, then, yes, somewhere in the East he will permit himself, with a deprecating smile, to be called King. Perhaps there he will share a throne with the Queen of Egypt. It would be a long campaign, two or three years. In that time the people may grow accustomed to the title. Who knows? But he may never use the name in