The Ides of March

‘None of us have ever made a similar pact,’ Cassius said then, ‘but I saw it done one day at Pharsalus after we lost the battle. I saw father and son kill each other and their deaths were instantaneous. They fell to the ground in the same moment, one alongside the other.

‘This is how we’ll proceed: one of the two will signal by nodding his head, and the blades will penetrate in the same instant. The friends who are absent this evening will choose a partner with whom to share an honourable death as well. I’ll tell them myself.

‘Now let us return to our homes,’ he said finally. ‘We shall sleep soundly knowing that we fight for a just cause.’

He regarded each of his companions again, a haggard look in his cold, grey eyes, then left them.

15

Romae, in Domo Publica, a.d. III Id. Mart., prima vigilia

Rome, the residence of the Pontifex Maximus, 13 March, first guard shift, seven p.m.

Caesar was getting ready to meet with his officers. He was wearing a simple knee-length fatigue tunic, like the one he used during his military campaigns, cinched at the waist by a leather belt with an iron buckle. A servant was just lacing up his boots. He gave him a quick look to make sure his clothing was in order, then asked, ‘Anything else, master?’

‘See if you can do something to my hair,’ replied Caesar, looking at himself in the mirror.

The servant combed it slightly forward to partially hide the early stages of baldness.

There was a knock at the door and Silius Salvidienus appeared.

‘Are they here?’ asked Caesar.

‘Yes, they’re all downstairs. Calpurnia is offering them drinks. Aemilius Lepidus, Decimus Brutus, Mark Antony, Caius Trebonius and the others. They appear to be in a jolly mood.’

‘Have places been assigned at the table?’

‘As you’ve requested. Decimus Brutus at your right, Mark Antony at your left.’

Caesar seemed to ponder this for a few moments.

‘Is something wrong, commander?’

‘If Labienus were here, he would be sitting at my right.’

‘Labienus is dead, commander, and you paid him the respects due to a faithful friend and a valiant enemy.’

‘Fine, then. We can go downstairs.’

Caesar could see in Silius’s face that he had something more to say, so he dismissed the servant.

‘What is it?’ he asked warily.

‘It’s not pleasant, I’m afraid. It’s going to irritate you.’

‘Well, let’s have it, then.’

‘There’s someone who is passing around an interpretation of the Sibylline Books which claims that only a king can defeat and subjugate the Parthians.’

Caesar shook his head and sat down, crossing his arms. He sighed. ‘So that’s how far it’s gone. This I would never have expected.’

‘It’s a serious matter, commander. Another bit of slander meant to alert the people to your presumed intention of establishing a monarchy in Rome and in the empire. Whoever it is is trying to isolate you and thus weaken you. A king would be loathed by the people and the Senate alike. Remember the Lupercalia festival. You told me yourself that most of the crowd were scandalized when you were offered the royal crown.’

‘Do you know the source of this falsehood?’

‘No.’

‘Which means it will be attributed directly to me. I am the Pontifex Maximus and thus the custodian of the Sibylline Books, from where this oracle is said to come.’

‘Commander, the intention of harming you is explicit. You must defend yourself.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘That your enemies are preparing something. Rumour has it that in one of the coming senatorial sessions a proposal will be put forward to proclaim you king.’

Caesar said nothing but his eyes were like those of a lion being stalked by hunters. From downstairs came the voices of the high commanders of his army, those men who were preparing to conquer the rest of the world.

Silius sensed that it was time to make his move. ‘May I ask you a question?’

‘Let’s hear it,’ said Caesar.

‘Has anyone, in these last few days, attempted to put you on your guard against something?’

Caesar gave an involuntary shudder and Silius felt that he was about to share an important confidence that would allow him to ask more questions.

‘I don’t mean an explicit declaration,’ he added. ‘A veiled allusion, perhaps? Doesn’t anything come to mind, commander?’

Caesar could see the raving expression of Spurinna, the augur, hissing at him, ‘Beware the Ides of March!’ but he turned calmly to Silius and said, ‘We have to go downstairs. They’re waiting for us.’

He took a scroll from the table entitled The Anabasis of Cyrus and started down the stairs.

Silius followed him and, before entering the meeting hall, stopped to listen to the enthusiastic welcome Caesar was receiving: military salutes, shouts of greeting, barracks banter. Then Caesar’s voice, sharp as a sword: ‘Commanders of the legions of Rome, magistrates, masters of the cavalry and auxiliaries!’

‘Caesar!’ they all replied in unison.

It felt as though the lion had leapt into the circle of hunters.

The meeting went on until late, a good two hours. Caesar began with the Anabasis. He summarized Xenophon’s account of the expedition of the ten thousand Greek soldiers who, four centuries earlier, had made it nearly all the way to Babylon without striking a blow, but immediately pointed out that things had changed considerably since then, and that Crassus’s army had been wiped out just ten years earlier by the Parthians at Carrhae. This was the main objective of the mission: to avenge the massacre of Carrhae. Rome had been humiliated, the triumvir defeated, thousands of her most valiant soldiers killed, her Eagles lost. But this would be only the beginning. The Parthians constituted a perennial threat, so the problem must be solved once and for all.

He went on to describe the tactical and strategic aspects of the expedition. He took, from a case already sitting on the table, the map that Publius Sextius had provided him with. A copy of the ancient Road of the King, it included all the other roads and caravan routes that crossed the vast territory of the Parthian empire, stretching all the way to Armenia, to Sarmatia, Media and Bactriana. He laid the map on the table and the members of the war council were awed by a masterpiece of geographical expertise the likes of which they had never seen.

Each one of them, leaning forward with his elbows on the table, eagerly regarded this vision of the eastern part of the world. Each one made his comments, with those who already knew something of the Orient tracing their fingers over the rivers, lakes, seas and mountains they recognized.

Then it was Caesar’s turn. His officers followed the tip of his index finger as he drew out the lines of march and the attack routes on the parchment sheet painted in natural colours: brown for the mountains, bright green for the rivers, lakes and seas, light green for the plains, ochre for the deserts. The place names in Persian had been carefully transcribed in Latin in an even hand.

His plan was to attack on two different fronts, from Syria and from Armenia, converging his forces in a pincer on the capital, Ctesiphon.

The problems to consider, Caesar said, were the enemy cavalry and the double-curved bows the Parthians used, which could strike from a considerable distance. He pointed out that even if Crassus had won at Carrhae and