we are unable to understand the reasons for whatever has happened.’
They had reached the base of the ramp, where the Sacred Way turned right towards the Temple of Saturn and the basilica. Caesar went to sit under the Ficus Ruminalis, which was just coming into leaf. Tradition had it that Romulus and Remus had been nursed by the she-wolf under this very fig tree. Caesar often chose to sit there quietly and listen to what passers-by were saying, without letting himself be recognized.
‘What did you go into the temple for?’ Caesar asked suddenly. ‘To pray?’
‘To read an inscription,’ Silius replied. ‘An inscription in front of a golden crown. I’d always heard about it and I was curious to see it for myself. It’s the one everyone’s been talking about, isn’t it, commander?’
A few drops of rain thudded down and the smell of wet dust filled the air. Caesar didn’t move; he knew the shower would soon end. Others ran for shelter under the portico of the basilica.
‘Yes, that’s the one that people couldn’t stop talking about.’
‘You had sent me on a mission to Capua that day, and when I got back I was never really able to piece together what had actually happened. I heard at least half a dozen different versions.’
‘Which just goes to show that recovering the historical truth of an event is impossible. Not only is the power of each individual’s memory different, but the very thing that draws the attention of one man will completely escape that of another. Even if we concede that an individual is acting in good faith, he will remember only what made an impression on him, not what actually happened before his eyes. So, then, which version did you believe?’
‘That you were attending the Lupercalia festival. Antony offered you the king’s crown twice and twice you refused it. You arranged for it to be gifted to Jupiter, the only king of the Romans.’
‘False,’ replied Caesar.
Silius looked up in surprise. ‘Do you mean to say you accepted it?’
‘No. But that’s not the way it happened. If Antony had truly offered me the king’s crown, do you think he would have done so without obtaining my permission first, or without me asking him to do so?’
‘It’s possible that you asked him in order to have the opportunity of turning it down in front of a great number of people. To allay suspicions in a public way.’
‘That’s an intelligent explanation. You could dedicate yourself to politics, make a career of it, if you were a member of the senatorial or equestrian order.’
‘That’s not my intention, commander. I have the privilege of living next to you every day and that’s enough for me.’
‘Nonetheless, your hypothesis does not hit the mark. What happened was entirely unanticipated and the way events played out was governed, at least partly, by chance. I was seated at the tribune on the parade ground, the Campus Martius, watching the Lupercal priests running around with their strips of newly skinned goat hide and flicking them at women of fertile age. Antony was among them, running around half-naked. .’
‘Hmm. I can’t imagine people were happy to see that.’
‘You’re right! You should have seen the faces of those who were around me. They were utterly scandalized. Cicero, most of all Cicero. You know, I can’t blame him. Antony is my fellow consul and — from time immemorial — no one has ever seen a consul, in office, running around half-naked with a goatskin whip in his hand. In any case, it wasn’t Antony who made the first move. It was Licinius, a friend of Cassius Longinus. Cassius himself was also there, along with Publius Casca.’
‘Don’t like any of them much,’ mused Silius.
Caesar seemed not to have heard and said, ‘Well, Licinius approached me and put the crown at my feet. The crowd in front of me started clapping wildly and calling for Lepidus, who was right there beside me, to place it on my head. But those who were further away — as soon as they realized what was happening — were in uproar. Believe me, it wasn’t applause or enthusiasm. They were yelling out in protest and outrage. Lepidus hesitated.’
Silius didn’t comment. Instead, he seemed to be watching a small group of acrobats who were entertaining passers-by and begging for coins.
Caesar continued, ‘I didn’t make a move. At this point Cassius approaches and puts the crown on my knees. The same reaction from the crowd — part applause and part booing. It’s clear that those who were clapping had been asked, and paid, to do so. I realized that the whole scene had been staged and I was determined to find out who was behind it. I looked into the faces of those around me, so I could commit them all to memory, but most of them were my friends — officers, veterans of my military campaigns, people I’d aided and assisted in every way.’
‘I wouldn’t count too much on their friendship if I were you,’ Silius remarked.
‘The crown Cassius had set on my lap started to slip and then fell to the ground. I won’t deny that I did nothing to stop it from slipping. And that was the crucial moment. I knew that the man who stooped to pick it up and offer it to me once again would be the man who was most bent on my ruin.’
Silius admired Caesar’s acumen and was struck by what an extraordinary man Caesar was. The spectre of the disease had faded entirely. Or at least no traces of the episode lingered. Caesar always became animated when he was talking about a critical moment in his life. The more difficult, or deceitful, or dangerous the game was, the more it excited him.
‘And?’ Silius prompted.
‘That was when the unforeseeable happened. Antony ran up at just that moment — panting, overheated, drenched in sweat. He saw the crown fall to the ground and he stopped. He picked it up, climbed the steps of the tribune and put it on my head. Can you believe it? He’d spoiled the whole thing! I was so furious I ripped it off my head and flung it away. But I knew I had to say something. An event of such significance could not end like that without a word from me. And so I got up, raised my hand to ask for silence and, when I had it, I said, “The Romans have no king but Jupiter and it is to him that I dedicate this crown.” Then applause thundered through the parade ground, waves of applause as my words reached those who were furthest away. But I was looking carefully at the faces of the people nearest me to see which of them looked disappointed or irritated by my gesture.’
‘Well? Who reacted?’
‘No one. I saw nothing of the sort. But I’m sure someone there was cursing fate, exactly as I was. Antony set off at a run again without even having realized what he’d done, I believe, and so the ceremony was ended. That’s the story behind the inscription you saw at the temple.’
Caesar rose to his feet then and began walking again towards the Domus. Silius was careful never to leave his side, well aware that he was Caesar’s only bodyguard. He was very worried by the fact that Caesar had dismissed his Hispanic guard and could not fathom why he’d decided to make such a move. Caesar’s explanation did not convince him, so he tried to imagine what might be behind such a decision. Perhaps the incident at the Lupercalia festival had influenced him: only kings — or tyrants — were accompanied by a personal guard. Perhaps, by making such a grand gesture, Caesar thought he could allay any suspicions about his ambitions. At least that explanation made sense. Silius hated to think that he’d given up on his bodyguard because of his illness. After all, Caesar was a nobleman, a man of power accustomed to risking it all, both in politics and on the battlefield. He would perceive suicide as a natural option if he felt that all was lost. But if he’d really rather die than show signs of weakness in public, he would surely use his own dagger.
There was another possibility. Caesar’s intelligence was matched only by his cynicism, so perhaps he’d dismissed his official guard and established a second, invisible force who could watch over him while passing unnoticed.
There was a further unanswered question on Silius’s mind: what was Publius Sextius — the centurion known as ‘the Cane’ — up to? Caesar himself had sent the officer north, to Cisalpine Gaul. But as Silius faithfully fulfilled his given task of maintaining contact with Publius Sextius, who was currently in Modena, and passing on any news to Caesar, he remained puzzled about the true nature of the man’s mission. All he knew was that any dispatch from the north was of top priority. The messages were in code, obviously, and could be read only by the high commander himself.
Publius Sextius the war hero. The most valiant soldier of the republic. When Caesar had celebrated his Quadruple Triumph in Rome, Publius Sextius had paraded bare-chested to show off his decorations: the ghastly scars that criss-crossed his chest.
He was the senior centurion of the Twelfth Legion and had survived incredible ordeals. During the campaign in Gaul, in the battle against the Nervii tribe, he had fought on unflaggingly despite numerous wounds, barking out orders, inciting his legion to regroup and launch a counter-attack. The day finished in victory. After the battle, he
