Valerio Manfredi - The Ides of March

Romae, ad Pontem Sublicium, Id. Mart, hora tertia

Rome, the Sublicius Bridge, 15 March, eight a.m.

The boat drew up at the dock on the far side of the bridge and the boatman descended below deck.

‘We’re here, commander!’ he exclaimed. ‘You’ve had a good rest.’

Publius Sextius opened his eyes and covered them at once with his hand to protect them from the glaring light of the sun. He slowly made his way to the deck as the boatman finished mooring the vessel and lowered the gangplank. The centurion untied the horse and led him carefully to dry land.

‘Wait here,’ he told the man. ‘I’ll send someone to pay you. I need the horse.’

‘Don’t worry,’ replied the boatman. ‘I can recognize a man of his word at first glance. Ill wait.’

Publius Sextius mounted his horse and headed towards Caesar’s gardens.

Romae, in Curia Pompeii, Id. Mart., hora quarta

Rome, Pompey’s Curia, 15 March, nine a.m.

Caesar stepped down from the litter shortly before it arrived at the Senate, preferring to arrive on foot as he always had. But there was yet another crowd of people awaiting him at the entrance to the Curia. Antony, who had been standing on the stairway, spotted Caesar and went towards him to guide him in. Decimus Brutus never left his side, determined to protect him from the pressing throng. One man reached out to grab him by his tunic, a second tried to hand him an appeal, another a petition. Others merely wanted to touch him because he was everything they would have liked to be.

Caesar stopped suddenly in his tracks because he had spied, among the crowd, a face he knew well.

The soothsayer.

He called out, ‘Spurinna!’

The man turned and the throng parted, somehow aware that nothing could come between their locked eyes.

‘Spurinna,’ said Caesar then with an ironic smile. ‘Well? The Ides of March have come and nothing has happened.’

The seer stared at him intensely as if to say, ‘Don’t you understand?’

He spoke aloud. ‘Yes, Caesar, but they are not yet gone.’ Then he turned and disappeared among the crowd.

Artemidorus ran up at that moment, panting, feeling as if his heart would burst. He calculated the spot that Caesar would reach within a few steps and was there waiting for him, having pushed and shoved his way to the front of the mob. As soon as Caesar was close enough, he thrust the scroll into his hand, saying, ‘Read this now!’ He ran off as quickly as he could, frightened by his own boldness.

At this point Caesar was practically being carried along by the ebb and flow of the populace towards the entrance to the Curia. He tried several times to open the scroll, but the press of the petitioners prevented him from doing so. Some of the senators came forth and created a kind of corridor through which Caesar could calmly make his entrance. Antony had kept up with Caesar all this time and Decimus Brutus looked over and made eye contact with him. Caius Trebonius had just stepped up and he took Antony aside, apparently to tell him something important.

Caesar passed the two men, so closely they could have touched him, and entered.

Romae, in aedibus Bruti, Id. Mart., hora quarta

Rome, the home of Brutus, 15 March, nine a.m.

Porcia was consumed by anxiety. She tortured herself by continuing to calculate the timing of the act that she knew must be commencing, counting the steps of her husband and the others as they took their places and readied themselves for what was to be. She couldn’t bear the mounting agony of the wait. When one of the maids returned from the Forum, where she’d gone to do the shopping, Porcia demanded news of Brutus. Not receiving an answer that satisfied her in any way, she summoned a servant and ordered him to run to the Curia to see what was happening. When he didn’t return, she sent another.

Time seemed to stand still; no, to stretch out endlessly. She was sure that the lack of news meant that the plan had come to nothing, the enterprise had failed, Brutus and his friends had been captured and would be subjected to public scorn and derision.

In fact, the servants had not returned because they hadn’t even yet arrived.

The tension had become intolerable. She paced back and forth, up and down the atrium, twisting her hands. She felt terribly light-headed and her heart was racing. She thought she would go to her room, to stretch out on her bed for a moment, but her heartbeat had become so irregular that she couldn’t catch her breath. Her lovely lips turned pale, her face became ashen, her legs folded beneath her and she collapsed to the floor.

Her maidservants ran over, screaming in fright. They did all they could to revive her, but nothing worked. Their shrieks alerted the neighbours, who found Porcia in that state, pale and still, showing no signs of life. The word spread that she had died and someone took it upon themselves to run to the Curia and tell Brutus what had happened.

Porcia regained consciousness soon after and was helped to her feet. But none of those present was aware that the news of her death was already travelling towards the Curia, where Brutus was ready, dagger in hand, to strike.

Romae, in hortis Caesaris, Id. Mart., hora quarta

Rome, Caesar’s gardens, 15 March, nine a.m.

Publius Sextius stopped his horse in front of the entrance to the villa and showed his tituhis to the doorkeeper.

‘Announce me to the Queen. I am centurion Publius Sextius. She’s expecting me. Then send someone to pay the boatman waiting at the docks at the Sublicius Bridge.’

The doorkeeper had recognized him and motioned for him to follow. He led him inside the villa towards Cleopatra’s apartment, where the Queen received him at once.

‘You’re wounded!’ she said as he swayed on his feet before her, deathly pale. ‘I’ll have my doctors take care of you.’

‘No,’ replied Publius Sextius. ‘Not now. There’s no time. My lady, you must listen to me. I have completed the task you assigned me and I have good reason to believe that there is a conspiracy under way to murder Caesar. The fact that someone has been trying at every turn to prevent me from reaching the city — even by attempting to take my life — makes me think that the act is imminent. Please, allow me to go to him and warn him in person.’

Cleopatra seemed to hesitate. ‘Are you certain?’

‘No, my lady. I’m not certain, but I believe it’s very probable. Where is he now? He needs me.’

‘He’s meeting with the Senate,’ replied Cleopatra.

‘Take every precaution you can for your own safety. I must go. I’ll explain what I’ve learned later.’

‘Wait,’ said the Queen, but Publius Sextius had already gone.

She called her child’s tutor at once.

‘Prepare the prince,’ she ordered. ‘And have my ship readied for departure. We must be ready to leave at any time.’

The tutor, a dark-skinned eunuch, set off immediately to do as he had been told.

Romae, in Curia Pompeii, Id. Mart., hora quinta

Rome, Pompey’s Curia, 15 March, ten a.m.

Marcus Junius Brutus was trying to quell the pounding of his heart as he sought a glance of reassurance from Cassius. The other conspirators were in no better state. Every movement, any unexpected word, made them jump.

Publius Servilius Casca started when one of the senators took him by the arm, and felt even worse when the man grasped his hand and murmured, ‘You know? Brutus has told me about your little secret. .’

Casca felt that all was lost. He was on the verge of losing control and he began to stutter, ‘No, that’s not possible. He can’t-’

But the man gave a little chuckle and went on, ‘I know you’re planning to stand for aedile. Not an easy affair, is it, to raise the kind of money you’ll need for your electoral campaign. But Brutus told me how you’re going to do it.’