Rome, the Tiber Island, 14 March, first guard shift, seven p.m.
At the island Caesar was welcomed by eight drum beats and the honour guard presented arms. Lepidus’s quartermaster received him and accompanied him to the room in which the other guests were waiting, chatting among themselves. Lepidus greeted Caesar with a cup of wine and took him to the dining room, which had been prepared for the thirty or so guests. Caesar was relieved that there weren’t too many of them; that meant he should be able to get away early.
The dinner turned out to be quite pleasant. There was no eccentric or extravagant behaviour on the part of his fellow diners and the conversation actually strayed to interesting topics, philosophy, mainly. Did the gods exist and were they the same all over the world? Were they different aspects of a single god or distinct beings, expressing the various aspects of nature? Was there another world where good actions were rewarded and bad ones punished, as some held, or was the human mind destined to simply go out, like the light of a lantern — with no revelation, no glimpse of eternal truth, only a cruel descent into infinite darkness and silence?
Little by little, the conversation turned to an even more disturbing topic: death itself. Each of the guests found something light and even elegant to say about such a serious subject.
Lepidus turned to Caesar at a certain point and asked, ‘What do you think would be the best way to die?’
Caesar glimpsed an expression in his eyes that he couldn’t interpret. He turned to the other dinner guests, who were awaiting his answer in silence. Then he looked back at Lepidus and said, ‘The best death? Rapid. And sudden.’
18
The Via Cassia, ten miles from Ocriculum, 15 March, start of the third guard shift, midnight
The Via Cassia, lashed by the storm, was quite deserted, but Rufus continued his mad gallop under the pouring rain. He was soaked through and his hair was plastered to his forehead. His horse’s laboured breathing, the obsessive pounding of his hoofs on the ground, the lightning bolts themselves, all charged him with a mounting excitement and a flood of powerful energy. All of a sudden he felt the rhythm change and the animal’s breath turned short and wheezing. He tugged at the reins and drew to a stop.
A flash of lightning illuminated the milestone that indicated the distance from Rome. Rufus jumped to the ground and stood there for a while under the angry sky, stroking the horse’s steaming muzzle. He was frothing at the mouth and Rufus was moved at the thought of how much strain he had withstood. He decided to release him and to finish his journey with his other mount.
‘Farewell, my friend. Good luck,’ he said, then he mounted the second horse and dug in his heels, diving into the wall of water pouring down from on high.
The freed animal gave a loud whinny and kicked once at the sky, then stopped, head hung low in the middle of the storm.
Rome, the residence of the Pontifex Maximus, 15 March, third guard shift, one a.m.
Caesar was returning home, accompanied by Antony. He seemed despondent and withdrawn.
‘Did something upset you, Caesar?’ asked Antony.
‘No, but I don’t feel well. I’m tired and I haven’t been sleeping well. My mind is troubled and my responsibilities weigh on me as never before. I worry I won’t be able to fulfil the task I’ve set for myself and fear my dignity may be at stake.’
‘I’ve felt the same way at times. Since I’ve been consul I’ve found myself in the situation you’re describing more than once. I’ve made mistakes that later I couldn’t believe. . Maybe we’re not meant for politics. Our place is on the battlefield. Once you’re back at the head of your legions you’ll find strength and faith in yourself. And so will I.’
‘That may be,’ replied Caesar. ‘But the fact is this is how I’m feeling now and I don’t think things will get much better as long as I’m here in Rome. And this prolonged absence of Silius doesn’t help matters.’
‘I didn’t know that Silius was absent. What happened?’
‘Last night, after all of you had gone, he asked if he could leave the house and he led me to believe he was seeing a lady friend. A perfectly natural request. The problem is that he hasn’t come back and I don’t know what to think.’
‘Oh, he’ll be back soon. I wouldn’t worry about him, Caesar. He’s a man who can take care of himself. Anyway, we’re here for you. We’re at your side and you know you can always count on us. I’ll see you in the Senate tomorrow.’
Caesar looked at him and for a moment the scene at the Lupercalia festival flashed so vividly before his eyes that it seemed real, and he thought he saw a crown in Antony’s hands, stretching towards his head. They’d already spoken about the matter, on the same day it happened. Caesar had been furious, but Antony merely apologized, claiming he hadn’t realized what was going on.
Caesar said nothing and went in.
Antistius was waiting for him with his potion. Calpurnia had had a bath prepared for him, thinking it would relax him before he went to sleep.
Thunder rumbled over the city.
Calpurnia sat next to the tub, the lamp light casting a golden glow on her cheeks. She was tender at such moments, a gentle companion. Caesar touched her hand.
‘Have you noticed that Antistius has a boy here with him tonight?’ she asked.
‘A boy? That’s curious. Do you know who he is?’
‘No. He said that he’d taken him in because his master was beating him.’
‘If Antistius has allowed him to stay he must have good reason to do so. Surely he’ll contact the man and tell him not to treat the boy so harshly.’
Calpurnia shrugged. ‘Maybe. To me it seems strange. I think he should be interrogated.’
Caesar abruptly changed the topic. ‘Do you know Spurinna the augur?’
His wife seemed surprised. ‘I know who he is, but I’ve never spoken to him.’
Calpurnia bit her tongue. The man had a reputation for strangeness and was part of the circle of another woman, her rival. She would have preferred to end the discussion there, but she could tell that Caesar wanted to talk.
‘They say he’s a seer. I know people who have consulted him. Why do you ask?’
Caesar hesitated, holding back. ‘The other day,’ he said finally, ‘I saw him.’
The scene reappeared sharp and clear before his eyes. It had to be his disease that was having this terrible effect on him, these sudden, violent apparitions from the past. The event filled his head and his own voice seemed to be coming from far away, as if another person was describing what he was seeing at that instant.
‘He is really frightening-looking. Deep, dark circles around his eyes, that emaciated face with such hollow cheeks-’
Then he heard nothing. All he could see was Spurinna’s lips, moving without making any sound.
He shook his head, as if to cast off the vision, but all at once he heard Calpurnia’s voice, speaking in an anguished tone: ‘The Ides of March are today.’
Caesar replied without emotion, ‘Yes, they are.’
Neither of them said any more. The only sound to be heard was the water burbling from the marble mouth of a satyr into the bathtub.
Calpurnia broke the unbearable silence. ‘Seers and oracles are always very ambiguous. It’s their nature. That
