Caesar

excuse to quit the field. It would have been in character. On the other hand, Porcia would have flayed him with her tongue if he abandoned the enterprise, and I doubt if she would have thought it proper for him to do so even for her sake: so deeply did that woman hate Caesar, her hatred could overcome even her egotism. I was, of course, the last man to be able to persuade Markie; so I turned the matter over to Cassius. I did so even though I had thought we would manage the affair better without my cousin. I had good reason. We had neglected, as a result of his insistence, to take the precautions which I thought necessary. I was not confident of success, but I was determined that, if we should fail, Markie should not escape the consequences of the decisions he had urged on us.

Cassius began to argue with him, but made little headway. If only Caesar would arrive… but he didn't. Someone whispered that he was not coming to the Senate that day.

'But that's nonsense,' I said. 'I happen to know that his old uncle, Julius Cotta, is going to make public his discovery of the prophecy in the Sibylline Books that the Romans will only conquer Parthia under the leadership of a king. You can't tell me that Caesar will miss seeing his enemies' faces when that particular piece of news is imparted.'

'Calpurnia, it seems, has had a dream; and therefore Caesar will not come.'

'Pish and tush,' I said. 'I never knew the day when Caesar's actions were controlled by a woman's fears.'

Nevertheless I was doubtful, for I knew only too well these moods of lassitude which could suddenly overtake him.

Markie pulled away from Cassius.

'I must go,' he cried. 'Nothing is more important to me than my wife.'

Fortunately, the action provoked by this sentiment — so unworthy of a Roman nobleman — was abruptly checked, for, as he broke away, he bumped into a second freedman sent, puffing and panting, from his house in search of him.

This man babbled that Porcia had recovered. She had only fainted. She insisted that her husband should not turn away from the work in hand.

Was it dismay that made Markie look so sullen?

It was confirmed: Caesar would not come.

'So the matter must be put off to another day,' Markie said.

'We cannot afford delay,' I said.

'Not for an hour.' Cassius was brisk. 'Mouse, you must at once to Caesar, persuade him to come. You alone can do it. If Caesar does not attend today, then I'm afraid we are all lost. A secret which is known to Popilius Laena is no secret. It's a miracle that Caesar himself has not yet learned of it.'

'Perhaps he has,' I said. 'Perhaps that is why he isn't here. Well, I'll make the attempt. If Caesar knows our plans, I have nothing more to lose.'

There was relief in action. I was glad to be free of the highly charged atmosphere of the Senate. Nothing in the streets suggested anything of that febrile excitement which can run through a crowd when it feels that events of great moment are about to unfold. The stallholders yelled their wares as usual. The taverns were filling up as usual. The people went about their business as usual. I passed a gang of gladiators being escorted to the practice arena; they looked surly, as usual. I hurried round the base of the Capitol and entered the Forum. Perhaps there was less activity than was normal, but then that was often so on days when the Senate met. I passed along the Via Sacra towards the Regia, the house opposite the temple of the Vestal Virgins where Caesar had recently taken up his residence, as he was entitled to do in his office as Pontifex Maximus.

'Here's Decimus Brutus,' Calpurnia's voice was harsh and almost hysterical. There were tear-marks on her cheeks.

'Caesar, Calpurnia,' I said. 'I am giving myself the honour of escorting Caesar to the Senate.'

'Thank you, Mouse, but I'm afraid it's an honour which you must do without today. I cannot come. No, that is untrue, and it would be still less true to say 'I dare not come.' So simply take the message that I shall not.'

'Say he is sick,' Calpurnia said.

'No, I am not sick, and I would not burden you with a lie, Mouse. Say only: I shall not come.'

'Can you give me some reason? The Senate will be offended if I return with such a blunt message. They will say that Caesar… well, never mind what they will say. You know it as well as I do.'

'I do not choose to come. That is sufficient reason for the Senate, who have no right to question my actions. Still, Mouse, I owe it to you to be more explicit. Calpurnia has had a dream which disturbs her; therefore, for her sake, I choose to stay at home.'

'You never knew such a dream,' Calpurnia said, her voice rising to a shout. 'I saw his statue,' she hurried on, 'and it was running with blood. And then the people, stinking plebs, came and bathed their hands in it, and some of them smeared their faces with his blood; and so I am afraid, and have begged Caesar to remain at home. For that's not all. There were ghosts seen in the streets last night, shrieking and lamenting, and others saw bloodstained men fight in the skies. And then there was that business of the sacrifice. You heard about that, Mouse. When they killed the ox it was found to have no heart. These are all dreadful portents, which it would be impious to ignore.'

I sat down, and acted the part of a man thinking deeply.

'I was in the streets last night and saw no ghosts. I have just come from the Senate. The mood there is certainly excited. Your old uncle, Julius Cotta, is going about saying that he is about to reveal something of great moment which he has discovered in his researches in the Sibylline Books, and when anyone asks him what it is, he lays his finger along his nose and says, 'Wait till Caesar comes and all shall be revealed.' More important still, there is a proposal to be put to vote you a crown and the title of King, to be worn beyond Italy, in all parts of the Empire save at home. Even the staunchest Republicans are not averse to this, or so it seems, and there is a rumour that Cicero intends to come to the Senate, entering as you might imagine with the utmost drama when he has been assured that you are there, in order to support the motion. Now you know Cicero better than any of us, and you know what a blow it would be to his vanity if I brought the message that Caesar does not choose to attend the Senate today. I'm afraid that the proposal would be shelved and would probably not be resuscitated. As you have often said yourself, the great art of war and politics is to seize the moment. The moment has arrived, but if Caesar does not choose to come, why, then the moment will pass.

'And then,' I said, seeing that my words were having some effect, 'Calpurnia's dream… perhaps I, not having dreamed it and not having experienced the fear it caused her, can offer a better interpretation. This business of the statue spouting blood and the Romans smearing their faces with it. It seems to me probable that they were indeed drinking Caesar's blood, but that this signifies that Rome has sucked, as we know it has, reviving blood from you. It is a dream signifying regeneration, nothing dreadful.

'Finally,' I said, 'you know you can trust me to be silent as to the reason why you do not choose to come. But you know also how men speculate and you know how fleet of foot is rumour. So I've no doubt the reason will emerge or will be guessed, or even that some cynic will happen on it by chance, and cry out, 'Well, let's adjourn this meeting till, by chance, we hit on a day when Caesar's wife is not troubled by bad dreams, or has had a good night's sleep.' And then a fellow of similar fancy will cry out that Caesar has little chance of beating the Parthians if he is kept at home by his wife's terrors.

'I'm sorry,' I said, 'if my frank language gives offence, but you know, Caesar, that I have always spoken my mind in council, and you know that I am a simple plain blunt soldier, and you will forgive me my lack of tact and of nice rhetorical skills, because you know my anxiety proceeds from the… love… I bear you.'

And so I convinced him, and, leaving Calpurnia to her terrors (more justified than she could have guessed, poor bitch), we proceeded from his house.

As we came into the Forum, a lean, mad-looking Greek with long dirty grey hair approached him yelling something which I did not understand. It was Greek certainly, but in his excitement, the words escaped me. Caesar smiled to see him:

'So, Spurinna, you see the Ides of March have come, and I am well.'

'Aye, Caesar, but the day has far to go.' This time I could understand him; he spoke in Latin, made curious by a lisp.

He thrust a rolled-up parchment at Caesar. 'Read this, I beg you.'

I said: 'I have something for you to cast your eye over also: a suit from Trebonius.'

'Read mine first,' the old man said, 'it concerns you closely.'

'Then I fear it must take second place,' Caesar said, and handed it to me.