The Ides of March

Salvidienus’s strange behaviour. A thousand thoughts came to his mind. It just wasn’t like him to disappear in that way without sending a message of any sort. His parting words the night before had made Caesar think that he’d be gone for a few hours, perhaps the night. No longer than that.

Might he have been surprised by the husband of this lady he was seeing in a compromising situation? That didn’t seem like him. Besides, everyone knew who he was. Who would have dared hurt a hair of his head?

He turned his thoughts to Antony, who had sent him a message that he would come by presently to collect him and take him to dinner at Marcus Aemilius Lepidus’s on the island. At least going out would distract him from his thoughts. The fact that he hadn’t heard from Publius Sextius in days, and now the disappearance of Silius Salvidienus, troubled him. It was as if someone had decided to deprive him of his most trusted men, the only ones he knew he could count on.

When a servant came to announce that Mark Antony was waiting in the atrium, Caesar rose to his feet.

They walked side by side, proceeding at a good pace and chatting about this and that, and about the next day’s senatorial session.

At a certain point, as they were walking down the Vicus Jugarius in the direction of the Temple of Portunus, Caesar said, ‘We have a challenging session awaiting us tomorrow, so let’s not make this a late evening. Lepidus’s dinners are always lavish affairs. At least there are no mosquitoes at this time of year. That’s something, anyway.’

Antony smiled. ‘You just make a sign and I’ll find an excuse for us to go,’ he replied.

Mansio ad Tiberim, pridie Id. Mart., hora duodecima

The Tiber station, 14 March, five p.m.

Centurion Publius Sextius reached the mansio after travelling east for about three miles. He entered through the main gate and slipped off his horse with some difficulty. He felt rather unsteady on his feet, but it lasted only a moment and then he rallied. As he was nearing Rome, the stations were more heavily guarded and staffed by army officers as well.

Publius approached a guard and showed him his titulus. ‘Call your commander. I’m on an official mission and I have to take the ferry, but I don’t have a penny to my name. And I need something to eat. I’m about to collapse.’

‘Take a look in that cupboard there. The innkeeper is still sleeping off last night’s drink. I don’t think he’ll be cooking anything soon.’

As Publius Sextius was rummaging among chunks of dry bread and some cheese rinds, the guard walked off to report to the officer in charge of the post.

‘There’s a centurion from the Twelfth in there who’s in a big hurry and needs change for the ferry. Sounds like he’s the one we’re waiting for, doesn’t it?’

‘Yes, it’s him for sure. Tell him I’ll receive him. Have him come here.’

The guard found Publius Sextius nibbling at a piece of bread with some cheese, swallowing the hard crusts with a little water.

‘The officer in charge will see you at once, centurion. Follow me.’

The man’s expression, stance and tone of voice made a simple invitation sound more like an order, and Publius smelt a trap.

‘The commander wants to see you right now,’ repeated the guard. ‘It’s important.’

Publius was certain that there was someone in the other room ready to arrest him, if not kill him. He turned to the trough where the horses were feeding, spotted one with a bit, bridle and harness, jumped on to his back and spurred him on.

The guard shouted, ‘Hey, what do you think you’re doing?’ Then, turning to his comrades, he cried, ‘Close the gate, fast!’

Alerted by the shouting, the officer rushed to the door of the command post. He too started yelling: ‘No! Don’t let him go! Stop him!’

The two servants nearest the gate tried to close it, but it was evident they wouldn’t be fast enough.

The officer called again, ‘Wait, I have to talk to you!’

Publius Sextius didn’t even hear him. The pounding of the horse’s hoofs on the pavement was much louder than any voice could be.

An archer on the guard tower that loomed over the entry gate took the man galloping off down the road for a horse thief, so he swiftly nocked his arrow and took aim. When the commanding officer saw this, he shouted out, but the arrow was already in flight and it struck deep into Publius’s shoulder. The centurion looked as though he would fall, but he somehow straightened himself and rode off.

The mansio officer cursed his over-eager subordinate. He had wounded one of Julius Caesar’s men in person! He immediately sent out a squad to intercept him and bring him back so he could be treated. But Publius Sextius took advantage of the darkening sky and took off down a side path. He entered the forest and hid in a dense thicket of yews, brambles and pines, trying to keep his horse as still and silent as possible. He could hear his pursuers galloping by in the rain but the sound soon faded into the distance.

The pain was intense.

The arrow had torn clean through the muscle. He took out his dagger and sawed away at the shaft until he cut it through and could snap off the tip end. Then he drew his sword, laid the flat of his blade against the jagged shaft, clenched his teeth and, using a big stone, knocked against the blade until he had pushed the arrow shaft through his flesh. He pulled it free, bandaged his shoulder tightly with a piece of his cloak and grimly resumed his journey, trying to make his way towards the river.

He walked on cautiously, listening out for the sound of anyone following. He emerged into the open at last and found himself in a grassy clearing that ended at the riverbank. There was an inlet not far away, to his right. A rope ferry was rocking on the water, along with several other moored boats, one of which would be big enough to carry him and his horse. He approached the boatman.

‘Friend,’ he said, ‘I need you to take me to Rome right away, but I don’t have a penny to pay you with. I’m a centurion of the Twelfth and I swear to you, on my word, that upon our arrival you’ll be paid double what you usually charge for a crossing. If I’m lying you can keep my horse. What do you say?’

The boatman unhooked the lantern from the head of the boat and held it up to his face. ‘I say that it looks like you’ve been to Hades and back and that someone had better take care of you or you’re a goner.’

‘Take me to Rome, my friend, and you won’t be sorry.’

‘A centurion from the Twelfth, you say? I’d take you for nothing if I didn’t have a family to support. . Get in and let’s go.’

Publius Sextius didn’t wait to be asked twice. He walked his horse up the gangplank and settled him on board, securing his harness to the mast and the railing. The boatman pulled in the plank, loosened the moorings and set off, following the current. Publius Sextius staggered down to the hold, dead tired and feverish. He stretched out on a pile of fishing nets, pulled his cloak over his head and fell into a deep sleep.

The commanding officer at the mansio saw his men come back empty-handed and flew into a rage. ‘Do you realize what you’ve done? That was one of Julius Caesar’s most trusted men. Not only did you nearly kill him, you couldn’t even catch up with him! A man who hasn’t slept in days with an arrow in his shoulder! So now what do we do? Can you tell me what we do now?’

His men stood there mute and confused.

‘It’s dark out there, commander. . It’s not easy to find someone in the forest.’

‘You idiots! He said he needed money for the ferry. That’s where you should be looking for him. Find him, or otherwise we’re all up to our necks in trouble. Do you understand that? If you see him, talk to him from a distance. Make sure he knows that there was a mistake, that we have an important message to give him. Now move, damn you!’

They sped off, bound for the riverbank, but they still found no trace of the man they were searching for. All they could do was return to the station and report their failure. Black clouds were masking the moon and thunder boomed over distant seas.