Rome, the home of Cicero, 15 March, seven a.m.
Cicero had already had breakfast and had dressed for the day, which was starting out chilly, in his woollen winter tunic. He was reading and taking notes on a waxed tablet. Another invention of Tiro’s. Two layers of wax were spread, the one underneath being dark and the one on top a natural white colour. The stylus scratched away the top layer and what he had written appeared dark on the white surface, as if he were using ink on parchment.
The discreet knock at the door was surely him.
Cicero answered, ‘Come in.’
Tiro entered, holding a letter. ‘It’s from Titus Pomponius,’ he said. ‘His servant brought it a few moments ago. It’s urgent.’
Cicero opened it.
Cicero folded the letter. ‘Malva and Rosemary’ was the code that indicated an encrypted message. The serious nature of the letter was evident in the extremely ordinary content, which contrasted with the urgency declared by the messenger.
So the time had come; today was the day chosen for the enactment of their plan. The Ides of March!
‘I’ve had your litter prepared, master,’ said Tiro. ‘The session today is at Pompey’s Curia.’
Cicero stood and placed the letter on the shelf behind him.
‘I don’t feel very well,’ he said without turning. ‘It’s best I do not leave the house today.’
Rome, the residence of the Pontifex Maximus, 15 March, seven a.m.
The storm of the night before had filled the city with debris: dry, broken branches, some with dead leaves still attached, were scattered everywhere, along with tiles which had fallen from the rooftops and been smashed to pieces and shutters torn from their hinges and carried off by the wind, now lying abandoned against the walls or on the pavements. Little clumps of unmelted hail remained in the corners of gardens and porticoes. The air was cold and crisp now.
The weather had cleared as the sun rose, so that now only a few ragged clouds skipped over the intense blue sky. In the distance, towards the east, the mountain tops were white with snow.
Caesar had eaten and was preparing to go out. He was standing in the middle of the
Calpurnia stood aside with a worried expression. As soon as the servants had left she continued what she had been saying before they arrived.
‘I had terrible dreams, awful premonitions. First, there was your statue exploding into pieces, but then I dreamt that I was holding you in my arms. You were wounded, dying. . Caesar, don’t go, I beg of you. Don’t leave the house.’
‘Listen to me, Calpurnia. You are a learned, intelligent woman. You can’t believe in dreams. They are nothing more than the consequences of our daytime anxieties, our fears or our desires. Dreams show us what we’ve already lived, not what we’re going to experience. Do you know why you dreamt those things? Because you’ve been listening to too many rumours and because I myself had the foolish idea of telling you about Spurinna and his ranting. That’s why.’
Calpurnia looked at him wide-eyed as the tears began to form. Her mind was full of nightmares and Caesar’s words could not dissipate them.
‘What do you think I should do, then? Send a messenger to tell the Senate I can’t participate in the session that I myself convened because my wife has had a bad dream?’
‘You’re ill,’ insisted Calpurnia. ‘You have a temperature and you didn’t sleep enough. You don’t look well.’
‘I won’t hear of it. What would they think of me? I want them to approve the allocation of a sizeable amount of money for my veterans and I don’t show up because I’m complaining of ill-health?’
Calpurnia was twisting her hands, then trying to dry the tears that were now coursing down her cheeks.
‘What can I do to keep you from leaving this house? Do I have to remind you what you owe me? That I never said a word or changed my behaviour in any way when I knew, when everyone knew, that you were betraying me? Must I remind you that I have always cared for you with devotion, even when the Queen of Egypt bore your child, even now that — I’m certain of this — she continues to send you ardent messages of love?’
Caesar wheeled around to look at her, anger rising in his face, but Calpurnia did not stop her tirade.
‘Go ahead. Curse me, swear at me, disparage me. But do one thing for me, one thing alone! Do not leave these sacred walls on such an ill-omened day. I’ve never asked you to do anything before and I never will again. I will let you go dry-eyed when the moment comes. Just do this one thing for your legitimate wife. I ask you for nothing else.’
She couldn’t help but burst into tears.
Caesar stood watching her in silence, dumbfounded. In the end he gave in.
‘So be it. I’ll try to find a pretext that won’t make me seem ridiculous. But now, please, leave me alone.’
Calpurnia left in tears and Caesar called his doctor.
‘I’m here, Caesar,’ Antistius replied, rushing in.
‘Send a courier to the Senate. Have him announce that I won’t be able to attend the session. You invent a plausible excuse.’
‘You’re not well, Caesar. Isn’t that enough?’
‘No. But it won’t be a problem for you to think of something more serious.’
‘Naturally. And I won’t have to make anything up.’
‘Go then. I can’t have the senators waiting for me.’
Antistius threw a cloak over his shoulders and set off for the Campus Martius. As he was crossing the Forum he saw Cassius Longinus, Tillius Cimber, Publius Servilius Casca and a few others he did not know on the north side of the square.
They were walking purposefully, in groups. Cassius had a young lad with him, no doubt his son, who that day would publicly assume the
A cold northerly wind was blowing but the sky was quite clear and the sun was shining on the city. As they got closer to Pompey’s Curia, where the session was scheduled to be held, Antistius saw the litters of several noble senators whom he had come to recognize. Others, the traditionalists, were briskly making their way on foot, while others still, wearied by age, were using a cane or leaning on their sons’ arms.
He saw Licinius Celer, Aurelius Cotta, Publius Cornelius Dolabella, and recognized an elderly senator who was a friend of Cicero’s, Popilius Lenate, then Caius Trebonius and others. He quickened his step so he would get to the Senate before everyone else did. When he arrived at his destination, he looked around and realized that nearly all the senators were present. He couldn’t see Cicero anywhere, but he saw Decimus Brutus and, a little further on, Marcus Junius Brutus, who was looking surly.
He approached the table of the chancellor, the senator in charge of drawing up the minutes of the session, and communicated his message.
‘Caesar won’t be able to come today. He is indisposed and feverish and did not rest all night. I beg you to
