The Ides of March

by Valerio Massimo Manfredi

  ‘Around. I was hiding. I saw what happened afterwards. Those idiots thought that if they went around shouting, “Freedom!” the people would run to their sides and applaud them as tyrant-killers. Instead, they came close to being murdered themselves when they started ranting against Caesar. They had to turn tail and run back to the Capitol, and as far as I know they’re still there, with the crowd outside calling for their blood. In any case, I’ve understood something important: they don’t know what to do. They don’t have a clue. None of them even started to think of what would happen afterwards. It’s incredible but it’s true.’

  ‘Fine,’ was Lepidus’s response. ‘The Ninth is camped just outside the city, in full combat order and in a state of alert. All it takes is one order from me and they’ll descend on Rome. We’ll rout them out one by one and—’

  Antony raised his hand. ‘We need none of that, Marcus Aemilius Lepidus. It would be a grave mistake to use the army. The people would be terrified and the Senate even more so. We’d find ourselves directly in a state of civil war, which is exactly what he strove to end once and for all. We’ll negotiate.’

  ‘Negotiate? Are you mad?’

  ‘I’m perfectly lucid and I’m telling you it’s the only sensible way to proceed. The people are completely disoriented and the Senate is panicking. The situation is on the verge of mayhem. We have to take the time to turn things around, in our favour, to fight the spread of terror, blood, despair. We must make Rome understand that Caesar’s legacy is still alive and will be perpetuated. Sending the army into the city would signal that the institutions are no longer capable of governing the state, and that would be a very bad message indeed. I say that tomorrow you have dinner with Brutus and I with Cassius.’

  Lepidus listened incredulously as Antony explained exactly what he would ask from Brutus and what he could concede. He continued in a resolute tone, ‘We have to put them at ease, make them believe that we respect their ideals of liberty. More, that we share their ideals. Only when we are sure that the city is on our side will we go ahead with the counter-attack.’

  Lepidus thought over Antony’s words in silence as his officers – six military tribunes in full battledress – looked on. At last, he said, ‘How am I to greet my guest, then? “Hail, Brutus, how did it go in the Senate this morning? Lively session, I hear. Do you want to wash your hands?”’

  ‘This is no joke. If we make it known that the heads of the two opposing political factions are at dinner together, negotiating for the good of the people and the state, the situation will return to normal. Caesar’s legislation will be passed by the Senate – his allocations for the veterans and all the rest. And when the moment comes, we will make our moves. Don’t worry. Our time will come. You tell Brutus that we can share their point of view, at least in part, but that Caesar was our friend and that we have duties that must be performed, duties towards the army and the people. I’ll take care of the rest. Tomorrow I’ll be back and we can start planning our strategy.’

  Lepidus nodded. ‘You are the consul. Your authority stands. We’ll do as you say, but if it were up to me—’

  ‘Fine.’ Antony cut his words short. ‘Send a maniple of legionaries immediately to garrison the Domus Publica. No one who is not a member of the family will be allowed access to Caesar’s body before the funeral. Now, give me some decent clothes and a mounted escort, of at least ten men.’

  Lepidus had him accompanied to the officers’ quarters and provided him with what he needed.

  Antony left with his escort and headed for the other side of the Tiber, where Caesar’s private villa was located.

  He found it abandoned. Even the servants had fled. He crossed the atrium, then the peristyle and entered the servants’ quarters. He stopped in front of an iron door locked from the outside. He took a key from the hook above the door and opened it. Silius Salvidienus stepped out, looking uncertain and suspicious.

  ‘Caesar is dead,’ said Antony. ‘Nothing else matters any more.’

  ‘What?’ asked Silius incredulously, his eyes wide.

  ‘He was murdered, this morning at Pompey’s Curia. A plot hatched by Brutus and Cassius. They thought up a pretext to keep me outside. There was nothing I could do.’

  Silius dropped his head without managing to say a word. His eyes filled with tears.

  ‘I loved him too,’ said Antony, ‘regardless of what you may think. Those who killed him will pay, I guarantee that. Go to him now. The time has come to say farewell.’

  Silius gave him a bewildered look, his eyes glistening, and made his way slowly towards the door.

  Antony left a couple of men from his escort to guard the villa and returned with the rest of the entourage to the other side of the Tiber, bound for home.

  Romae, in Colle Capitolio, Id. Mart, hora duodecima

  Rome, the Capitoline Hill, 15 March, five p.m.

  CAIUS CASCA, on guard with several other armed men on the north side of the Capitol, could not believe his eyes when he saw the surviving consul, Mark Antony, walking up the Sacred Way with his sons, preceded by the flag of truce.

  Casca ran back uphill to find his brother Publius.

  ‘Antony is willing to negotiate. He’s at the end of the street and he has his sons with him.’

  ‘What’s happening?’ asked Brutus as he saw them speaking.

  ‘Antony is willing to negotiate and has his sons with him,’ repeated Caius Casca. ‘Strange, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘Go and see what he wants.’

  The two brothers exited on to the north landing and began to make their way down, preceded by a flag of truce as well and by two armed men. They soon found themselves face to face with Antony. He was the first to speak.

  ‘Each one of us imagined that we were right to do what we did, but we must acknowledge that Rome is now in a state of utter confusion. The city could easily slide back into civil war, a disaster that must be avoided at any cost. The full powers of the republic must be restored, but in order for this to happen, we all have to return to the Senate, call a regular session and discuss how these matters can be dealt with.

  ‘I hereby propose that the Senate be convened to discuss the future order of the state. We have an entire legion camped outside the walls. We could use military force to decide the issue, but we prefer a rapid return to normality and an end to bloodshed. This very evening, I am expecting Cassius to join me for dinner at my house, and Brutus has been invited by Marcus Aemilius Lepidus. As a token and pledge of my good will, I will leave my sons with you.’

  Publius turned to his brother. ‘Go and report to the others. I’ll wait for you here.’

  Caius Casca nodded and returned to the top of the hill. Every now and then he turned to take in the two little groups halfway up the ramp who faced each other without moving, in total silence. The two boys sat on a little wall to the side and chatted with one another.

  Cassius, Marcus and Decimus Brutus, Trebonius and the others accepted the conditions and Caius ran back down to where his brother was waiting to report that the proposal was acceptable. Antony bade his young sons farewell, embracing them and instructing them to behave well in his absence. He then mounted a horse and rode off.

  Romae, in Domo Publico., Id. Mart., prima vigilia

  Rome, the residence of the Pontifex Maximus, 15 March, first guard shift, seven p.m.

  SILIUS ENTERED with a hesitant step, as if he were crossing into the other world. The door jambs were veiled in black. Cries and laments rose from inside. He walked through the atrium and reached the audience chamber, where Caesar was lying in state. Antistius had had his body washed and laid out, and his features had been composed by the undertakers to convey the solemnity of death.

  Calpurnia, dressed in black, was weeping softly in a corner. Her eyes were swollen and her cheeks were pallid. She too had been defeated by a death that she had felt coming, that she had practically announced – unheeded, like Cassandra, by gods and men.

  Antistius looke
d up but said nothing, because the stony expression on Silius’s face allowed no words. He walked away and went to sit on a bench leaning against the wall, his head low. Every attempt to stop this from happening, he thought, had been thwarted. He turned over the small, bloodied parchment scroll he held in his hands. It was Artemidorus’s warning, along with the complete list of the conspirators: the message that had never been opened, that had not saved Caesar’s life, due to a cruel trick of fate. Had Caesar found an instant to read it, the destiny of the world would have changed.

  On the bench beside Antistius was a tablet with his notes, along with another message, the one that Artemidorus’s young friend had carried. In vain. On the tablet the doctor had diligently noted, as was his habit, a description of every wound. Caesar had suffered many of them, but the cuts that had penetrated his flesh, those that had drained him of the last drop of blood, were twenty-three in number.

  Only one of which was mortal.

  A wound to his heart.

  Who had it been? Who had cleaved the heart of Caius Julius Caesar?

  Thoughts flitted through his mind continuously. Elusive, indefinable, useless thoughts. ‘If only I had realized . . . if only I had told . . .’

  At least he was used to seeing Caesar dead, to considering him gone. But not Silius. Silius was seeing him for the first time in that state. The composure of his features lent a total absurdity to his silence and immobility. He, Silius Salvidienus, could neither accept nor believe that Caesar’s arm might not rise, that his eye might not open, bright with that imperious expression. He could not believe that Caesar’s face, so intact, so recognizable, could not suffice to call his limbs back to life.

  In the end, he surrendered to the extreme, inescapable violence of death, this death, and then the tears fell from his dull, dazed eyes and scalded his ashen face.

  He remained on his feet, still and silent, for a long time in front of the bier, then, with a distressed expression, he stiffened into a military salute, his voice ringing metallic from behind clenched teeth: ‘Front-line centurion Silius Salvidienus, second century, third maniple, Tenth Legion. Hail and farewell, commander!’

  He turned then and walked out.

  He wished he had a horse on which to gallop far away, to another world, over endless plains; to be carried off by the wind like a leaf dried up by the long winter. He stopped, instead, after a few steps, incapable of going on. He sat down on the Domus stair that opened up on to the Sacred Way. Not much later, he saw two people leaving the House of the Vestals on his right. People he knew well: Mark Antony and Calpurnius Piso, Caesar’s father-in-law. What were they doing at this time of day, in such a situation, at the House of the Vestals?

  They stood in front of the entrance and appeared to be waiting for someone. A servant soon came up with an ass-drawn cart holding a box. They set off again all together and he lost sight of them in the darkness.

  Silius realized that Antistius had come out of the Domus as well and had witnessed the scene.

  Antistius said, ‘They went to get Caesar’s will, without a doubt. The Vestalis Maxima herself is responsible for holding his will and testament, and can release it only to the executor, Piso.’

  ‘What about Antony, then? What does Antony have to do with Caesar’s will?’

  Antistius reflected a few moments before answering. ‘It’s not inheriting his worldly goods he’s interested in. It’s his political inheritance. Brutus and Cassius were deceived. Caesar demonstrated that it is possible for a single man to rule the world. No one had ever wielded such unlimited power. Others will want what he had. Many will try to take his place. The republic, in any case, is dead.’

  Romae, in aedibus M. Antonii, Id. Mart, secunda vigilia

  Rome, the home of Mark Antony, 15 March, second guard shift, after nine p.m.

  ANTONY RECEIVED Cassius as promised, while his sons were being held hostage on the Capitol. At the same moment Brutus was dining on the Tiber Island, at the headquarters of Marcus Aemilius Lepidus. Everything had been planned, down to the last detail.

  Cassius, the victor, was even paler than usual. His gaunt face spoke of nothing but sleepless nights and dark thoughts.

  The two men reclined on dining couches facing each other. Only two tables separated the triclinia, set with a simple meal: bread, eggs, cheese and beans. Antony had chosen a dense, blood-red wine and he mixed it personally in front of his guest, lingering deliberately at the task, taking care not to spill a single drop.

  Antony began to speak: ‘Caesar dared too greatly and was punished. I . . . understand the significance of your gesture. You did not mean to strike the friend, the benefactor, the man whose magnanimity spared your lives, but the tyrant, the man who broke the law, who reduced the republic to an insubstantial ghost. I understand you, then, and recognize that you are men of honour.’

  Cassius gave a deep nod and a fleeting, enigmatic smile crossed his lips.

  Antony continued, ‘But I am incapable of separating the friend from the tyrant. I’m a simple man and you must try to understand me. For me, Caesar was first and foremost a friend. Actually, now that he’s dead, lying cold and white as marble on his bier, only a friend.’

  ‘Each man is what he is,’ replied Cassius coldly. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Tomorrow the Senate will meet at the Temple of Tellus. Pompey’s Curia is still . . . a bit of a mess.’

  ‘Go on,’ insisted Cassius, fighting his irritation.

  ‘Order must be restored. Everything must return to normal. I will propose an amnesty for all of you and you will be given governmental appointments in the provinces. If the Senate wishes to honour you they may do so. What do you say?’

  ‘These seem like reasonable proposals,’ replied Cassius.

  ‘I want only one thing for myself.’

  Cassius stared at him suspiciously.

  ‘Allow me to celebrate his funeral. Allow me to bury him with honour. He made mistakes, it’s true, but he expanded the dominion of the Roman people enormously. He extended the confines of Rome to the shores of the Ocean and he was the Pontifex Maximus. What’s more . . . he loved Brutus. Now he’s dead. Fine. His punishment was commensurate with his error. Let us deliver him to his final rest.’

  Cassius bit his lower lip and remained silent for a considerable length of time. Antony gazed at him serenely with a questioning expression.

  ‘It’s not in my power to grant your request.’

  ‘I know, but you can convince the others. I’m sure you’ll succeed. I have done my duty and I’ve given proof of my good faith. Now you do your part. I won’t ask for anything else.’

  Cassius stood, nodded in leaving and walked out of the room. The food was still on the table. He hadn’t touched a thing.

  Portus Ostiae, Id. Mart., adfinem secundae vigiliae

  The port of Ostia, 15 March, end of the second guard shift, midnight

  ANTONY ARRIVED at the port accompanied by a couple of gladiators, who remained at a distance.

  A plank was lowered from the ship and he began to walk up it. The still water in the basin gave off a putrid stench and made Antony feel nauseous. The ship was about to set sail, the Queen on board, about to make her escape. The whole world was breaking up.

  Cleopatra suddenly emerged from the aft cabin.

  Regal even in this situation, she stood haughty, garbed in a pleated, transparent linen gown, her forehead crossed by a fine gold-leaf diadem, her arms bare, her lips red, her eyes lengthened with shadow nearly all the way to her temples.

  ‘Thank you for coming to bid me farewell,’ she said. She spoke softly, but in the silence of the night her voice rang out clearly nonetheless.

  They were alone. There was no one else to be seen on the deck. And yet the ship was ready to set sail.

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘At home,’ replied Antony. ‘Watched over by his friends.’

  ‘Friends? Caesar had no friends.’

  ‘We were taken by surprise. No one coul
d have imagined it would happen that day, in that way.’

  ‘But you were prudent, as I had asked.’ The Queen s voice was calm but ironic, like that of any powerful person satisfied at having corrupted a man, or brought him to his knees. ‘What will happen now?’

  ‘They are in trouble already. They have no plan, no design. They are dreamers and fools. I am the surviving consul. I’ve convened the Senate for tomorrow and I’ve urged them all to show up. Before his ashes are placed in the urn, they’ll be reduced to impotence. There will be a new Caesar, my queen.’

  ‘When that happens, come to me, Antony, and you will have everything you’ve always desired.’

  Light as a dream, Cleopatra turned and vanished.

  Antony went back to the shore.

  The ship pulled away from the harbour and was soon swallowed up by the night. All that could be seen, for a short time, was the sail being raised at the helm, fluttering in the dark air like a ghost.

  21

  Romae, in templo Telluris, a.d. XVII Kakndas Apriles, hora secunda

  Rome, the Temple of Tellus, 16 March, seven a.m.

  THE ATMOSPHERE at the beginning of the session, which was presided over by Mark Antony, consul in office, was tense and decidedly cold. There were plenty of drawn faces and hostile looks. Caesar’s supporters were still shaken, indignant and seething with resentment. The conspirators and their friends could not mask a certain arrogance. Cicero was among the first to take the floor. He had been absent the day of the plot but someone, in the confusion of the attack, had called out his name.

  He was proud of having put down Catiline’s conspiracy in the past, so although he was not technically one of these conspirators he didn’t want to miss out on the opportunity of playing a leading role this time as well.

  He spoke as the consummate orator he was. He who not so long ago had proposed that the senators shield Caesar with their very bodies should he be threatened, and had even had his proposal approved with a senatus consultum, was now singing the praises of those who had stabbed him to death with their daggers. He celebrated the courage of the tyrant-killers who had restored the liberty of the republic and the dignity of its highest assembly.