‘I know,’ replied Caesar, ‘and I’m comforted by that. And yet I do not know what awaits me.’
He stood and began to walk down the podium steps. A stiff breeze had picked up from the west, whipping his clothes around his body.
‘Come,’ he told Silius. ‘Let’s go home.’
Rome, the home of Marcus Junius Brutus, 9 March, five p.m.
The soft burbling of the hydraulic clock was the only sound to be heard in the big silent house. It was an object of extraordinary refinement that had been crafted by a clockmaker from Alexandria. The hours of the day were represented in a mosaic of minute tesserae on a field of blue depicting young maidens dressed in white with golden highlights in their hair for the daytime hours, in black with silver highlights for the night.
Voices could suddenly be heard from outside, then the clanking of a gate as it slammed shut, followed immediately by quick steps. A door opened and a hissing wind invaded the house, reaching its innermost rooms. A dry leaf was carried along to the end of the corridor, where it stopped.
The woman who walked out of her bedroom upstairs was strikingly beautiful. Barefoot, she wore a light gown. She closed the door behind her without making a sound and moved down the hall to the back stairs, where the noise was coming from. She leaned over the balustrade to see what was happening below. A servant had opened the back door and was letting in a group of six or seven men, who entered one or two at a time. Each man took a quick look at the road behind him before crossing the threshold.
The servant accompanied them down the corridor towards the study of the master of the house, who was expecting them. Someone was at the door, waiting to receive them. After they had gone in the servant closed the door behind them and walked away.
The woman pulled back from the balustrade and returned to her room. She locked herself in, then went to the middle of the floor and knelt down. Using a stylus, she prised free one of the bricks. Underneath was a little wooden wedge with a cord tied at its centre. She pulled the cord and a glimmer of light shone through from the room below. She bent closer and put her eye to the crack so she could see what was going on in the study of Marcus Junius Brutus.
The first to speak was Pontius Aquila. He was tense, refusing to take a seat despite his host’s invitation.
‘Tell me, Brutus,’ he said. ‘What have you decided?’
The master of the house sat down with an apparent show of calm. ‘We’ll wait for Cicero’s answer,’ he said.
‘To hell with Cicero!’ burst out Tillius Cimber. ‘All he does is talk. What do we need him for? We don’t need any more volunteers. How many men does it take to kill just one?’
Publius Casca broke in, ‘Hadn’t we already decided to keep him out of this? Everyone knows he hasn’t got the guts.’
Brutus tried to regain control of the situation. ‘Calm down. Haste is a notoriously poor counsellor. I want to be sure that Cicero is on our side before we make a move. I’m not asking him to take up a dagger. The fact is that Cicero enjoys great prestige in the Senate. If our plan is to be successful we have to make arrangements for what will happen afterwards. Cicero will be fundamental in managing what comes next.’
‘The earth is starting to burn beneath our feet,’ shot back Casca. ‘We have to act now.’
‘Casca’s right,’ said Pontius Aquila. ‘I’ve heard that Caesar is setting his hounds on our tracks. All that it takes is one man letting his tongue slip, or one wayward look, to betray our plan. If he catches on and loses his temper, it’s all over for us. Time is against us.’
‘What exactly have you heard?’ demanded Brutus.
‘Caesar has sent his most faithful men on investigative missions to the outlying territories, so that we’ll feel safe here in the capital. It’s the old noose trick: pull it a little tighter each day until he strangles us. I’m telling you, we have to act now.’
Their voices were muffled and difficult to hear on the floor above, just a confused muttering with a few shrill notes here and there. The woman tried to adjust her position to find the best point from which to both hear and see.
Marcus Brutus’s voice again, scornful: ‘We’re his most faithful men, aren’t we?’
Casca had no desire for banter. ‘Listen, if you don’t feel up to this, say so now,’ he said.
The woman in the room upstairs started, as if she’d been hit by an unseen object.
‘I’ve always spoken the truth,’ replied Brutus. ‘So how dare you insinuate-’
‘Enough!’ shouted Casca. ‘This whole situation has become intolerable. There are already too many of us. The more there are, the greater the chance that someone will lose control, get panicky.’ He turned to Aquila. ‘What do you mean by “outlying territories”?’
‘What I’ve heard,’ answered the other, ‘is that Publius Sextius, the centurion who saved Caesar’s life in Gaul, has been in Modena since the end of last month and he’s going around asking strange questions. Modena, just by chance, happens to be where one of the best informers on the market is based. A man who has no qualms about selling information to just about anybody, without a thought to principle or political alliances. As long as he’s well paid.
‘Anyway,’ continued Aquila, ‘he’s what I mean by faithful. Publius Sextius is incorruptible. He’s not a man, he’s a rock. If Caesar has decided to use him, it means he doesn’t trust any of us. And Publius Sextius may not be the only one.’
A leaden silence fell over the room. Pontius Aquila’s words had reminded each one of them that there were men for whom loyalty to one’s principles and one’s friends was a natural, unfailing quality. Men who were incapable of compromise, men who remained true to their convictions.
None of them meeting here in Brutus’s home, on the other hand, had refused the favours, the help, the forgiveness of the man they were preparing to murder. And this couldn’t help but give rise to an intense, grudging sense of unease — more in some than in others — and deep shame that was becoming more and more unbearable with every day that passed. Certainly, each of them could find noble reasons for the act they were preparing to carry out: stamping out tyranny, restoring faith — that word again! — in the republic. But in reality one true reason stood above all others, like a prickly weed above the prettily mowed lawn: their resentment at owing it all to him — their lives, their salvation, their possessions — after they’d lost everything, after they’d realized that they had been playing at the wrong table.
‘I think it would be better to move soon. Even tomorrow. I’m ready,’ said Aquila.
‘So am I. The sooner the better,’ added Casca, increasingly restless.
Brutus looked into their faces, one by one. ‘I need to know if you are speaking on your own behalf or in the name of the others as well.’
‘Let’s say that most of us are in agreement,’ replied Aquila.
‘But I’m not,’ retorted Brutus. ‘Every last one of us has to agree. When a decision is made, it’s necessary to stick to that decision, no matter what it costs. If there are risks, we will run those risks together.’
‘What’s more,’ added Cimber, ‘we can’t predict how Antony and Lepidus will react. They might become dangerous.’
Just then Brutus noticed that a scattering of fine sawdust had settled to the floor near his feet and he instinctively raised his eyes to the ceiling, just in time to see a fleeting shadow.
The sound of footsteps was heard along the corridor, coming from the back door that led out on to the street. Cassius Longinus soon joined them, his emaciated, pale face appearing at the entrance to Brutus’s study. Right behind him was Quintus Ligarius, along with Decimus Brutus and Caius Trebonius, two of Caesar’s greatest generals.
‘Cassius!’ exclaimed Cimber. ‘I was wondering where you’d got to.’
Cassius appeared no less agitated than Casca. ‘As you know,’ he began, a little breathlessly, ‘Lepidus landed yesterday morning on the Tiber Island and has every intention of staying put. The commander’s standard has been hoisted on the praetorium. That can mean only one thing: Caesar suspects something. We have to act sooner than we planned.’
‘We were just saying the same thing,’ said Casca, nodding approvingly at Pontius Aquila.
