The Ides of March

fresh clothing from a chest.

Calpurnia walked in just then. A slanting sunbeam lit up her dark eyes. She was thirty-three but still had the fresh grace of a country girl.

‘What are you doing? Why is no one helping you?’

‘I don’t need help, Calpurnia. I’m used to dressing myself.’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘I’m worried. Normal for a statesman, wouldn’t you say?’

Calpurnia looked into his eyes. ‘Are you going out?’

‘Yes, but I’m not going far. I’ll be back for dinner.’

Caesar felt touched by a wave of affection for the woman he had married for reasons of state. She was meant to give him a child and she wanted to do so. He could feel her humble melancholy and it weighed on his heart. Calpurnia had been an excellent wife, above any and all suspicions, as Caesar’s wife should be, and he had grown quite fond of her. Perhaps he even loved her.

‘Who’s going with you?’

‘Silius. Silius will come with me. Tell him to wait for me in the atrium.’

Calpurnia walked off with a sigh.

Caesar finished dressing, adjusted his toga on his shoulder as he was accustomed to wearing it, then walked down the stairs.

‘Where are we going, commander?’ asked Silius.

‘To the Temple of Diana in the Campus Martius. But you stay here at the Domus. Everyone will assume that I’m here as well. If Calpurnia sees you and asks you what you’re doing here, tell her that I changed my mind. It’s a nice walk. It’ll do me good after the massage.’

‘Does this walk have something to do with the message I brought you?’

‘Yes.’

Caesar said nothing else and Silius asked no further questions.

He walked to the temple, immersed in thought. He reached the sanctuary, entered the silent, empty building through a side door and went to sit on a bench set against the perimeter wall to the left of the statue of the goddess. It wasn’t long before the silhouette of a female figure with her head veiled appeared in the entrance. The woman walked straight to the image of Diana: a lovely Greek marble statue that portrayed the goddess in a short tunic, carrying a bow and quiver. The woman placed a few grains of incense in the perfume brazier.

Caesar emerged from the shadows and stood behind a column.

‘Servilia. .’

The woman uncovered her head. She was still stunning, even though she was nearly fifty. Her hips swelled below her high-waisted gown and its low neckline revealed firm, full breasts. Only her face revealed the signs of all the emotions of a troubled life.

‘Who but me?’ she replied. ‘It’s been so long. . I wanted to see you.’

‘Is there something you have to tell me?’

They drew nearer until their faces were so close that their breath mingled.

Servilia hesitated before answering. ‘I wanted to say goodbye, because I didn’t know if I’d see you again. Rumour has it that you’ve drawn up your forces for your expedition to the East. I didn’t know whether I’d see you before you left. You have so many responsibilities. . so many duties, pressing upon you. . so your old friend just wanted to see you, to say farewell.’

Caesar took her hand and stood that way for long moments, as if unwilling to let go. Then he raised his eyes to hers.

‘I’ve stayed away for a long time before and you never felt the need to say goodbye. Why now?’

‘I don’t know. This huge enterprise that you’re taking on, it may keep you away from Rome for many years. Who knows? I’m no longer a young girl. I might not be here when you come back.’

‘Servilia. . why say such a thing? It’s much more likely that something will happen to me than to you. I try to look to the future with serenity, but I’m tormented by such frightful visions. . I feel cold. . and I’m afraid sometimes.’

Servilia drew so close that he could feel her nipples touching his chest.

‘I would like so much to warm you, as I used to do, when you loved me, when you couldn’t stand to be without me, when I was. . your obsession. I’m worried to hear that you’re afraid of leaving for the war. You’ve never felt that way before.’

‘I’m not afraid of leaving. . I’m afraid of not leaving.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Don’t you, truly?’

Servilia dropped her gaze and fell silent. Caesar’s fingers brushed the big black pearl set between her breasts. A fabulously precious gift that he had given her, worn proudly whenever she was in public, like a soldier flaunting his decorations. He had sent it to her the day he married Calpurnia, to let her know that his passion for her was as strong as ever.

‘I want to go, to leave this city. Rome is against me. She is my enemy.’

Servilia’s eyes were bright with the promise of tears.

‘The greater your power, the more you are envied. The greater your courage, the more you are hated. It’s inevitable. You’ve always won through, Caesar. You’ll win through this time as well.’

She brushed his lips with a kiss and walked towards the door.

‘Wait. .’ The word seemed to escape his lips.

Servilia turned.

‘Is there nothing else you want to tell me?’ asked Caesar.

‘Yes, that I love you. As I always have and as I always will. Good luck, Caesar.’

As she walked away, he leaned his head against a column and let out a deep sigh.

Servilia crossed the threshold into the bright sunlight, tinted golden in the doorway. Her figure was about to dissolve in the rosy glow of the setting sun but she stopped, without turning.

‘Heed the warnings of the gods. Do not ignore them. That’s all I can tell you. Farewell.’

She vanished.

Caesar stood pondering over those words, which sounded so mysterious on Servilia’s lips. She knew how little stock he placed in the gods and in their warnings. What was she trying to tell him?

He left the temple as he had come in, through the side door, and walked towards the Tiber. Servilia had disappeared completely. He couldn’t catch sight of her anywhere. A couple of beggars asked for alms without recognizing him. A dog chased after him for a little while, wagging its tail, then stopped, panting, weak from hunger.

Further up the road on the right, near the banks of the Tiber, stood a sacellum, an old shrine displaying the image of an Etruscan demon, worn with age. As if by magic, as Caesar was approaching a man cloaked in grey emerged from behind the little shrine. He was neither young nor old, his hair was straggly and matted, his sandals unstitched. Jangling metallic discs hung from the cane he held tight in his hand. Caesar recognized him. He was an Etruscan augur, from an ancient, noble family, the Spurinna line. He led a lowly life, scraping by thanks to the offerings of the faithful and those who came to him to learn what the future would bring. Caesar had often seen him attending the ceremonies at which he officiated, when the augur had sometimes been allowed to examine the entrails of the animals killed in sacrifice and to interpret the will of the gods.

He meant to approach him and to greet him, but the man stopped short. He stared at Caesar, his eyes rolling, and hissed, ‘Beware the Ides of March!’

Caesar blurted out, ‘What on earth. .’ but he never finished his question, for Titus Spurinna had already vanished, like a ghost.

Upset by the soothsayer’s words, Caesar wandered the city streets for some time, seeking to understand their meaning, while Silius, troubled by his long absence, was at the Domus Publica, preparing a search party. If anything had happened to Caesar he could never forgive himself.

When he was close to the Tiber Island, Caesar was startled by the blast of a bugle that called him back to the real world: the signal that the first shift was mounting guard at Ninth Legion headquarters. He quickened his pace and soon met up with Silius at the Temple of Saturn, just as his adjutant was about to unleash a thousand