Romae, in aedibus Bruti, a.d. III Id. Mart., prima vigilia
Rome, the home of Brutus, 13 March, first guard shift, seven p.m.
ARTEMIDORUS reasoned that, whatever happened, he would not be able to spend the rest of his life in the library and that it was time to move to the kitchen for the evening meal, where he joined several guests, none of whom was particularly important. Once in a while he was invited to join the master of the house at his table, but only on special occasions, when his erudition might contribute to enlivening the conversation.
He passed in front of the hulking guard acknowledging him with a slight nod of the head, which the guard did not return, and reached the kitchen safely. Even here the atmosphere seemed rather tense, although he couldn’t have said why. He imagined that the openly worried demeanour of the master of the house had become contagious, influencing other members of the family as well.
After dinner he bade the others a good evening and retired to his quarters, exhausted after a day so full of work and emotions. But it wasn’t over yet.
A short time later he heard knocking at the back door and a number of people entered, one or two at a time, in the space of less than an hour. Cassius was the last man to join the others; his sharp voice was unmistakable in the silence of the evening.
The young slave who had brought him the scroll came up to his room with a tray full of freshly baked cakes. This was clearly a pretext, for as soon as he had placed the tray on a little table, he turned to Artemidorus and said in a whisper, ‘The master has been asking me strange questions.’
‘What kind of questions?’ asked Artemidorus, with a feeling of dread.
‘About you. He said that if I had anything interesting to tell him, he would be most grateful.’
‘And what did you say?’
‘Nothing,’ said the boy softly. ‘I said I had nothing to tell him. I have to go now.’
‘No, wait. What will you do if he insists? If he puts pressure on you, threatens you . . .’
‘You don’t understand. I have to go. A lot of people have just arrived. No one will notice me. I’ll be back later,’ he murmured, then, without waiting for an answer, he went back downstairs.
Meetings were usually held in Brutus’s study and this one was no exception. There was a broom closet next door which was accessible from the pantry, such a tight space that only a single person could enter. The boy slipped in and put his ear to the wall.
ABOUT FIFTEEN MEN had gathered in Brutus’s study, including Tillius Cimber, Pontius Aquila, Cassius Parmensis, Petronius, Rubrius Ruga, Publius and Caius Servilius Casca and Cassius Longinus, as well as others among the main supporters of the conspiracy. Quintus Ligarius had sent word that he wasn’t feeling well but was awaiting instructions. Caesar’s closest friends, like Decimus Brutus, and members of his general staff, like Caius Trebonius, were missing, since they were attending the meeting Caesar had called for that same evening.
Cassius Longinus spoke first, describing the stages of the attack, which would take place during the senatorial session on the Ides of March.
Since work was still being done on the Curia in the Forum, the Senate would be meeting at Pompey’s Curia in the Campus Martius. Their first task would be to isolate Caesar from the rest of the senators and from any friends who might attempt to interfere, Antony, above all.
‘I still feel that the best option would be to kill him,’ he said impassively. ‘But I know that Brutus does not agree with me.’
Brutus, having been singled out like this, spoke up at once. ‘We’ve already discussed this and I’ve said what I think. We are killing Caesar to save the republic and that gives us the right to do so, but if we kill Antony, we are simply committing a crime. A murder.’
‘Murder’ was the first word the slave heard as he slipped into the broom closet and it made him shiver.
Cassius found Brutus’s idealism unsettling, but tried to make him see reason: ‘When safeguarding the state means taking up arms, it is evident that the violence will have to extend to those who protect the tyrant. It’s the price that must be paid to recover the freedom of the Senate and the people of Rome. Antony cannot be held innocent. He has never strayed from Caesar’s side and has reaped all possible benefits.’
‘So have we reaped all possible benefits,’ replied Brutus wryly.
A moment of heavy silence followed, during which Cassius realized that involving Brutus in the conspiracy had been rash. His fanaticism was a double-edged sword. It was becoming more and more difficult to control him.
‘And it must be said that Antony has never sought to endanger the legitimacy of the state,’ Brutus continued, ‘or its institutions.’
‘That can’t be assumed,’ protested Cassius. ‘If he has designs on the state, he certainly wouldn’t come running to tell us about them.’
‘There’s more,’ Brutus said. ‘All of you know that Caius Trebonius asked Antony to join with him and the others in Gaul, after they’d learned of the unhappy outcome of the Battle of Munda. He refused, but he kept that request secret. He was respectful of the choices of others and did not report anyone. Many of you owe him your lives. Trebonius will take care of Antony. He knows what to do.’
‘I hope we shall not regret this. The responsibility you assume in taking this decision is enormous,’ was Cassius’s response.
Brutus dropped his head without saying a word.
‘Now let me continue,’ Cassius said. ‘There have been various signs that lead us to believe that someone is aware of our plan, or is getting dangerously close to the truth.’
The men looked at each other in dismay.
Cassius went on in his flat voice, ‘For this reason it is vital that we are ready to face any turn of events. We mean to prepare an ambush, but we may be falling into a trap instead.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Petronius. ‘Speak clearly.’
‘We are men of moral strength and of noble lineage. We hold important military and political offices. We have enjoyed important privileges and, when necessary, have run great risks to defend our ideas. We are ready. What I am about to propose may seem terrible, but I feel it represents an honourable, necessary pact.’
‘Speak,’ said Brutus.
The others nodded.
‘If our plan is uncovered while we are inside the Senate hall, there will be no way out for us.’
‘No,’ agreed Pontius Aquila. ‘There will be no escape.’
‘Well, then?’ demanded Rubrius Ruga.
‘Well, then, each one of us will have a dagger and I propose that we use them to kill each other rather than fall into the hands of the tyrant, rather than humiliate ourselves at his feet, rather than accept his loathsome pardon. We have done so once and the burning brand still stings, still marks us as if we were runaway slaves. My proposal is that each one of us should choose a companion, a friend, with whom to exchange this pact of blood. One will kill the other. We will all fall together and our lifeless bodies will be the symbol of our supreme sacrifice, made in the name of freedom.’
The murmuring that had met his proposal died down all at once and a profound silence fell over the room. The slave boy hiding in the closet held his breath so as not to be heard. If he so much as bumped into anything he would immediately be discovered and his life would not be worth living.
Cassius looked around, staring each of the conspirators directly in the eyes. He concluded, ‘If any of you don’t feel you can go ahead with this, you are free to leave. As long as you do so in time. No one will blame you and you will have nothing to fear from the rest of us. I’m certain none of us would ever betray another. I’m asking you to perform an act of heroism, but no one is obliged to make such an arduous choice. I’ll say this again: if there is anyone who’s not up to it, leave now.’
No one moved. Some because they believed that what Cassius proposed would be a fitting end for those who failed in an undertaking of this sort. Others because they feared what would happen if t
hey were taken prisoner; death would be a liberation rather than suffering such pain. Others still because they thought it would never come to that, so sure were they that their plan would succeed. Even they preferred the risk of a disagreeable death to the shame of abandoning their companions and being branded as cowards.
After waiting long enough to allow anyone who so wished to desert the cause, and seeing that no one had decided to leave, Cassius took the initiative and walked towards Brutus.
He stopped directly in front of him and held out his dagger. ‘I choose you, Marcus Junius Brutus, to aid me in my journey to the hereafter.’
Brutus reciprocated by handing Cassius his own dagger. ‘I hope that fortune will assist us in our enterprise, but if fate decrees otherwise, I will do what is asked of me. I am sure that Cassius Longinus will be an excellent travelling companion.’
Fascinated and swayed by such a powerful example, the other conspirators, one after another, exchanged daggers with the man each considered his best and most trusted friend.
‘None of us have ever made a similar pact,’ Cassius said then, ‘but I saw it done one day at Pharsalus after we lost the battle. I saw father and son kill each other and their deaths were instantaneous. They fell to the ground in the same moment, one alongside the other.
‘This is how we’ll proceed: one of the two will signal by nodding his head, and the blades will penetrate in the same instant. The friends who are absent this evening will choose a partner with whom to share an honourable death as well. I’ll tell them myself.
‘Now let us return to our homes,’ he said finally. ‘We shall sleep soundly knowing that we fight for a just cause.’
He regarded each of his companions again, a haggard look in his cold, grey eyes, then left them.
15
Romae, in Domo Publica, a.d. III Id. Mart., prima vigilia
Rome, the residence of the Pontifex Maximus, 13 March, first guard shift, seven p.m.
CAESAR WAS getting ready to meet with his officers. He was wearing a simple knee-length fatigue tunic, like the one he used during his military campaigns, cinched at the waist by a leather belt with an iron buckle. A servant was just lacing up his boots. He gave him a quick look to make sure his clothing was in order, then asked, ‘Anything else, master?’
‘See if you can do something to my hair,’ replied Caesar, looking at himself in the mirror.
The servant combed it slightly forward to partially hide the early stages of baldness.
There was a knock at the door and Silius Salvidienus appeared.
‘Are they here?’ asked Caesar.
‘Yes, they’re all downstairs. Calpurnia is offering them drinks. Aemilius Lepidus, Decimus Brutus, Mark Antony, Caius Trebonius and the others. They appear to be in a jolly mood.’
‘Have places been assigned at the table?’
‘As you’ve requested. Decimus Brutus at your right, Mark Antony at your left.’
Caesar seemed to ponder this for a few moments.
‘Is something wrong, commander?’
‘If Labienus were here, he would be sitting at my right.’
‘Labienus is dead, commander, and you paid him the respects due to a faithful friend and a valiant enemy.’
‘Fine, then. We can go downstairs.’
Caesar could see in Silius’s face that he had something more to say, so he dismissed the servant.
‘What is it?’ he asked warily.
‘It’s not pleasant, I’m afraid. It’s going to irritate you.’
‘Well, let’s have it, then.’
‘There’s someone who is passing around an interpretation of the Sibylline Books which claims that only a king can defeat and subjugate the Parthians.’
Caesar shook his head and sat down, crossing his arms. He sighed. ‘So that’s how far it’s gone. This I would never have expected.’
‘It’s a serious matter, commander. Another bit of slander meant to alert the people to your presumed intention of establishing a monarchy in Rome and in the empire. Whoever it is is trying to isolate you and thus weaken you. A king would be loathed by the people and the Senate alike. Remember the Lupercalia festival. You told me yourself that most of the crowd were scandalized when you were offered the royal crown.’
‘Do you know the source of this falsehood?’
‘No.’
‘Which means it will be attributed directly to me. I am the Pontifex Maximus and thus the custodian of the Sibylline Books, from where this oracle is said to come.’
‘Commander, the intention of harming you is explicit. You must defend yourself.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘That your enemies are preparing something. Rumour has it that in one of the coming senatorial sessions a proposal will be put forward to proclaim you king.’
Caesar said nothing but his eyes were like those of a lion being stalked by hunters. From downstairs came the voices of the high commanders of his army, those men who were preparing to conquer the rest of the world.
Silius sensed that it was time to make his move. ‘May I ask you a question?’
‘Let’s hear it,’ said Caesar.
‘Has anyone, in these last few days, attempted to put you on your guard against something?’
Caesar gave an involuntary shudder and Silius felt that he was about to share an important confidence that would allow him to ask more questions.
‘I don’t mean an explicit declaration,’ he added. ‘A veiled allusion, perhaps? Doesn’t anything come to mind, commander?’
Caesar could see the raving expression of Spurinna, the augur, hissing at him, ‘Beware the Ides of March!’ but he turned calmly to Silius and said, ‘We have to go downstairs. They’re waiting for us.’
He took a scroll from the table entitled The Anabasis of Cyrus and started down the stairs.
Silius followed him and, before entering the meeting hall, stopped to listen to the enthusiastic welcome Caesar was receiving: military salutes, shouts of greeting, barracks banter. Then Caesar’s voice, sharp as a sword: ‘Commanders of the legions of Rome, magistrates, masters of the cavalry and auxiliaries!’
‘Caesar!’ they all replied in unison.
It felt as though the lion had leapt into the circle of hunters.
THE MEETING went on until late, a good two hours. Caesar began with the Anabasis. He summarized Xenophon’s account of the expedition of the ten thousand Greek soldiers who, four centuries earlier, had made it nearly all the way to Babylon without striking a blow, but immediately pointed out that things had changed considerably since then, and that Crassus’s army had been wiped out just ten years earlier by the Parthians at Carrhae. This was the main objective of the mission: to avenge the massacre of Carrhae. Rome had been humiliated, the triumvir defeated, thousands of her most valiant soldiers killed, her Eagles lost. But this would be only the beginning. The Parthians constituted a perennial threat, so the problem must be solved once and for all.
He went on to describe the tactical and strategic aspects of the expedition. He took, from a case already sitting on the table, the map that Publius Sextius had provided him with. A copy of the ancient Road of the King, it included all the other roads and caravan routes that crossed the vast territory of the Parthian empire, stretching all the way to Armenia, to Sarmatia, Media and Bactriana. He laid the map on the table and the members of the war council were awed by a masterpiece of geographical expertise the likes of which they had never seen.
Each one of them, leaning forward with his elbows on the table, eagerly regarded this vision of the eastern part of the world. Each one made his comments, with those who already knew something of the Orient tracing their fingers over the rivers, lakes, seas and mountains they recognized.
Then it was Caesar’s turn. His officers followed the tip of his index finger as he drew out the lines of march and the attack routes on the parchment sheet painted in natural colours: brown for the mountains, bright green for the rivers, lakes and seas, light green f
or the plains, ochre for the deserts. The place names in Persian had been carefully transcribed in Latin in an even hand.
His plan was to attack on two different fronts, from Syria and from Armenia, converging his forces in a pincer on the capital, Ctesiphon.
The problems to consider, Caesar said, were the enemy cavalry and the double-curved bows the Parthians used, which could strike from a considerable distance. He pointed out that even if Crassus had won at Carrhae and had pushed on into enemy territory, his chances of succeeding would have been slight. Lost in the immensity of the Syrian and Mesopotamian deserts, deprived of his own cavalry, the army would have been easy prey for the continuous onslaughts of squads of enemy archers on horseback. Their tactics were to attack, strike and retreat, without ever engaging the infantry in hand-to-hand battle. This had been reported by a man who had miraculously survived the massacre, hidden under a pile of bodies.
As Caesar proceeded with his explanations, Silius noticed that some of those present were looking more at him than at the map. They were watching his expression rather than listening to his words. Why? What were they trying to read in their commander’s face?
His strength, decided Silius; they were trying to gauge how much strength remained in that wrinkled brow, those eyes, that jaw, in his fisted hands leaning on the table.
Antony seemed the most attentive to Caesar’s strategic plan, even interrupting him to ask for clarification. He seemed to be truly eager to leave on this Parthian expedition and play the role of subordinate commander in the vast theatre of operations. The others weren’t showing real interest, as if they didn’t believe it would happen. Decimus Brutus, for instance, was constantly talking under his breath to Caius Trebonius, making comments Silius would have liked to hear.
Perhaps Antony wanted to prove to Caesar – who had been treating him rather coldly since the Lupercalia incident, and who had seated him on his left at the table – that he was still his best officer, the only one among them capable of conducting wide-ranging, important operations. To let Caesar know he had been wrong to shut him out.
The Ides of March Page 17