Allan Massie: Caesar

Caesar, usually alert to this sort of conversation, seemed abstracted, and I felt ashamed of what I was saying. After all, I thought, men like Caesar and myself knew the urgency of a reality to which I supposed that Plato had been a stranger. So I said:

"And yet, in the end, this is all frippery when set beside the knowledge of reality which the experience of battle gives you. That is why we Romans are superior to the Greeks of today. We act; they talk."

Now, I wonder: will men still read and debate Plato when Caesar and Decimus Brutus are no more than tinkling names, or perhaps even forgotten?

The conversation turned towards the subject of death.

Someone asked Caesar what manner of death he would choose for himself.

"A sudden one."

Then he signed a number of official letters which a slave brought to the table.

I walked home with Trebonius and Metellus Cimber. They were excited by Caesar's reply to that last question. "It is as if he had some foreboding."

"Well," Cimber said, "there have been a number of strange happenings. Did you hear that some have seen men of fire struggling against each other in the heavens? I'm also told that a soothsayer — some say Spurinna, others Artemidorus — has warned Caesar to beware the Ides of March."

"Yes," I said, "and the same man — it was Spurinna by the way — warned him with equal zeal to beware the last Kalends of December."

A flash of lightning dazzled us. The ensuing thunder seemed to shake the roof of the Capitol. We took refuge from the sudden teeming rain in a doorway. The storm was brief. Later, of course, many reported that they had seen strange and wonderful things that night: a lioness was said to have whelped in the streets, ghosts to have walked, the rain turned to blood. It was all nonsense, provoked by excitement and the brief experience of an intense but ordinary thunderstorm. Nothing perverts reason like superstition and the credulity it engenders.

The storm abated, as abruptly as it had broken forth. We resumed our journey, till our ways diverged, when we embraced, bidding each other good sleep and a brave heart for the morn.

But I was reluctant to retire. I feared that sleep would elude me. I ached for Longina. I recalled as I splashed over the cobbles that night before we crossed the Rubicon. There had been exhilaration then.

I found myself in the vicinity of Markie's house. A servant answered my knock, led me to Porcia. "Is all well?" "Save the night."

"Marcus is studying and has asked not to be disturbed. He is working on his translation of the Pbaedo. It composes his mind. He is resolute."

"Good. Tell him I called. Tell him all is well, all prepared. Caesar is free of suspicion."

Later in my wanderings I encountered Casca. He had been dining with Antony, and had left him drunk.

"Don't feel like sleep, old boy. Let's go to a tavern."

I let him lead the way to a mean hovel under the rock of the Quirinal. There were some old soldiers there, on leave, playing dice. They laughed about the chances of the Parthian campaign.

"All I want," one said, "is a farm of my own, with a young wife and bairns. It's been promised me often enough. Now, they say, after Parthia. My father went against Parthia with fat old Crassus. He never came back."

"They say there are still Romans held in captivity there."

"Well, they're as far from a retirement farm as if they were fucking dead."

Then they recognised us and the veteran apologised for his words.

"We all get a bit down sometimes," he said, "thinking of the future. I've been in thirty-seven battles. It seems enough, that's all."

"But you don't need to apologise," Casca said. "Every man's entitled to his say. That's one of the glories of living in a Free State."

They joined in his laughter, and he ordered more wine for them.

The boy serving it caught his attention. Casca clasped the back of the boy's thigh, running his hand up below the tunic. "Well, you're a pretty piece," he said.

The boy dipped his curly head and giggled. Casca made a sign to the landlord, and retired with the boy behind a curtain.

"Well, the General's in good form," the veteran said, leaning across to me.

"Casca is always Casca," I said.

"Aye, that's a comfort."

I went out into the streets. A whore accosted me. I had her up against a wall, paid her more than she demanded, and felt no relief.

I was still awake when the dawn brought light to my chamber.

I rose, bathed, had myself shaved, and dressed in a new toga. My dagger was concealed within its folds, in a sheath attached to a belt.

It was a grey morning. A wind shook the branches of the trees and unleashed bursts of rain as I made my way, with firm step, to the Theatre of Pompey where the Senate was to meet. There were more rumours, I heard, that Caesar would be offered, or would claim, the crown. So much the better; they lent authority to our enterprise. Business was already under way; those of my colleagues who held the office of praetor hearing cases and giving judgment. I admired the resolution of their manner. Even my cousin Markie proved himself worthy. When a certain person appealed from his judgment to that of Caesar, Markie said: "Caesar neither does, nor shall, hinder me from acting and judging in accordance with the law." His voice sounded a little petulant, but his sentiments won a cheer, and he smiled. (There were those, by the way, who habitually described his smile as "sweet", one of his admirers even going so far as to compare it to sunshine after rain. I always thought it smug myself. Nevertheless I was glad to see Markie smile that morning, because I had feared that his nerve might fail, as I had so often known it do.)

Cassius embraced me. His elder son had that morning put on the toga virilis for the first time.

"It could not have happened on a more propitious day," Cassius said. "It is, after all, for our children and their children that we act this morning."

He moved around our band of friends, smiling and offering encouragement. Casca clapped me on the back.

"And what happened to you last night, old boy?"

"Much the same as happe ned to you, but with a being of a different gender, and more briefly, and probably with less pleasure."

"You couldn't have had more. I must say, I feel unaccountably well. Perhaps I am still a little drunk. Look at Antony — he is still reeling. He can't take wine as he used to, you know, for I matched him cup for cup."

Antony certainly seemed crapulous. Indeed he retired behind a pillar and vomited, then summoned one slave to clean up the mess, and another to fetch him a jug of wine. He caught my eye and winked.

Cassius said to me: "I have told Trebonius to attach himself to Antony when Caesar arrives, and to hold him in conversation." "Trebonius?"

"Yes, he has sufficient resolution for that part, if no other."

"I've just had a nasty moment," Casca said. "Do you see that old fool over there, can't remember his name, he's a connection of the Dolabellas. Well, he came up to me and said, 'Allow me to congratulate you. You've kept your secret well, but Marcus Brutus has let it slip.' Well, I was just wondering, old fruit, whether it mightn't be prudent to let the blabbermouth — both of them perhaps — have one in the guts, when he went on, 'All the same I'd like to know how you became so rich all of a sudden as to be able to stand for election as aedile. It'll involve you in enormous expense, you know.'"

"What did you reply?"

"Oh, I said, 'Ask my creditors, old boy.'"

That was not the only alarm, for Popilius Laena, a notorious gossip, accosted Cassius and myself and wished us luck.

"I am with you in heart and spirit," he said, "only be quick, for I fear your secret is out."