The Ides of March (20 page)

Brutus nodded. ‘You’re right. We mustn’t run any further risks.’

‘Any further risks? Why, has something else happened?’ asked Quintus Ligarius in alarm.

‘No, not that I know of,’ lied Brutus.

‘Thank goodness for that. With every passing hour, things are becoming more dangerous for us. I’ll leave you, then. I’ll wait for your signal when the time comes.’

‘I’m seeing Cassius Longinus this afternoon. It seems he has important news. We may need to see each other again soon.’

‘You know where to find me,’ replied Ligarius as he left.

As soon as he had gone, Brutus called in the head servant, a man named Canidius who had always been loyal to his father-in-law and was just as devoted now to his wife, Porcia. Brutus asked him to sit down and said that he had reason to be suspicious of Artemidorus and that the Greek mustn’t be allowed to leave the house for several days. He would inform them when this restriction on the man’s liberty was no longer necessary.

‘How far must I go in enforcing this?’ asked Canidius.

‘You must physically prevent him from leaving the house, if words do not suffice. But don’t irritate him any more than necessary. Do not humiliate him and, above all, don’t arouse his suspicions.’

‘What reasons shall I give for restricting his freedom?’

Brutus reflected for a few moments. ‘Perhaps you won’t need to. Artemidorus goes out very little as a rule. I’ll assign him an urgent task that will keep him busy for as long as necessary. If he insists on going out, tell him that it’s a temporary measure of discretion that the family is adopting for a limited amount of time. Or simply have him followed if he does leave the house.’

Canidius nodded and withdrew without asking further questions.

A
RTEMIDORUS
, in the meantime, was strolling along the peristyle of the indoor garden with an air of nonchalance until he found himself at the spot in which he’d made the hole in the wall that separated the latrine from the garden. He plugged it up with a little plaster mixed with water from the fountain. He wasn’t worried, but he did want to finish up the little investigation he was carrying out for his doctor, Antistius. He was convinced that there were still just a few names missing. One of the young slave boys who went to bed with him in exchange for a few coins had a friend who had lived since her birth in the home of Tillius Cimber, another person who had frequently visited the house at odd hours, and he was hopeful that his list would soon be complete.

When he was summoned by Brutus a couple of hours later, he felt a bit uneasy. Brutus was a man who respected schedules and it wasn’t lesson time.

Brutus told him that he was expecting visitors from Greece, a philosopher with his disciple, in a few days’ time. The Greek library was in disarray and must be put in absolutely perfect order before the guests arrived. He wanted to make a good impression and so he expected Artemidorus to personally – with a certain emphasis on the word – take care of the matter.

Artemidorus agreed to do so immediately. In truth, it didn’t seem to him that the Greek library needed much tidying up. He’d consulted a text by Aratus of Soli just the day before and everything had looked more or less in place. At the worst, it might take him a couple of hours to sort through the scrolls. He walked to the west side of the house where the library was located, but even before he crossed the threshold he stopped dead in his tracks. It looked as though an entire horde of barbarians had ransacked the place, or that someone had been searching for something hidden among the scrolls that were lying here and there in utter confusion, either piled up in huge mounds or scattered all over without reason or logic.

The sight of that disaster left him perplexed at first, but then a certain doubt wormed its way into his mind and fear replaced surprise. He set to work grudgingly, brooding over any number of the thoughts that were crowding his head, none of them reassuring.

Romae, in aedibus M. T. Ciceronis, a.d. IV Id. Mart., hora nona

Rome, the home of Marcus Tullius Cicero, 12 March, two p.m.

A
MESSENGER
had appeared at the door, announcing that Caius Cassius Longinus was in the vicinity and asked to be received. Tiro told him to wait a moment and reported the request to his master.

‘Did he say what he wanted?’ asked Cicero, interrupting his work.

‘No,’ replied Tiro. ‘I had the impression he was asking to see you alone. Perhaps the matter is confidential.’

Cicero seemed almost irritated by the request. He was beginning to realize what a poor grip on reality the conspirators had. Along with a critical lack of organization and even of a coherent plan. This convinced him even further of the necessity of staying out of the plot, which risked being compromised at any time. But he couldn’t refuse such an immediate request. He sighed. Perhaps it would give him the opportunity to offer some much-needed advice.

He replied, ‘Tell him that he can come in and that I will receive him, but he must enter through the back door.’

Cassius. Always pale, gaunt, gloomy. His cold grey stare seemed to know no emotion. In reality, his character was no more stable than that of Brutus, his decision-making capacity rarely equal to the situations he faced. But he was a courageous man and a very good soldier, as he had proved in battle, during Crassus’s unfortunate campaign in the East.

Cicero always tried to bring to mind everything he knew about a man when he was meeting him for an important reason, even if he’d seen that person shortly beforehand. Cicero knew well what went into a conspiracy. It was he, and not Cato, as Brutus had written, who had put down Catiline’s attempt to overthrow the state twenty years earlier. Then it had been almost an even struggle between those intent on destroying the state and those intent on saving it, and it had ended at Pistoia, on the field of battle. But now the power was entirely in the hands of a single man. The plotters had a great advantage: being close to the intended victim. Some of them were even his most intimate friends.

When he finally arrived, Cassius entered and was accompanied to Cicero’s study by Tiro. He was even paler than usual and the tension that was clawing at him was evident in his leaden complexion and a distinct tremor of his hands.

Cicero walked towards him and offered him a chair.

‘The time has come,’ said Cassius as he sat down, but Cicero interrupted him.

‘It’s better I do not know. No one, besides those taking part in the enterprise, must know. Apart from that, what did you want to tell me?’

‘That we’re ready and all the details have been decided. There’s only one thing we’re divided on and that’s Antony. Some of us – quite a few, actually – believe that he’s loyal to our cause and can be counted on, but I have my doubts about that. I think we have reason to fear him. He never leaves Caesar’s side. And I’m afraid he knows something.’

Cicero pondered his words for a few moments, fingering the stylus he’d been using until his guest walked in.

‘What he knows is not of great significance, since he hasn’t made a move yet, and I don’t imagine he will soon. Antony has his own plans and, remember this, he is anything but what he seems to be. He is extremely dangerous. If you don’t remove him, this endeavour will end in failure. Mark my words . . .’ He paused, letting his silence make an impact before concluding, like a judge reading a sentence, ‘. . . Antony must die!’

Cassius lowered his eyes and sighed. ‘We know. I myself and others among us are convinced of the wisdom of your words, but Brutus won’t hear reason. Listen to me, Marcus Tullius. You are the only person who can convince him. Allow me to arrange a meeting between you on neutral ground. There’s an old abandoned building at the docks near the Tiber . . .’

Cicero stopped him with a gesture of his hand.

‘I cannot. I’m sorry. I must not be involved, because my presence will be important afterwards. As far as Brutus is concerned, I hope, and I believe, that he will come to his senses in the end. You yourself are convinced and that should suffice to induce him to reconsider.’

Cassius understood. It was quite clear that they would not be able to count on Cicero until after the event. And it was for precisely this reason that a further precaution had to be taken, just in case something happened – something irreparable – before the fatal moment.

14

Romae, in insula Tiberis, a.d. III Id. Mart., hora decima

Rome, the Tiber Island, 13 March, three p.m.

M
ARCUS AEMILIUS LEPIDUS
crossed the bridge on his horse and dismounted as soon as he reached the other side. The lictors were waiting for him, fasces in hand, to escort him to headquarters. These were honours due the
magister equitum
, whose authority was second only to that of the dictator, appointed during a state of emergency. In reality, both were extraordinary offices, with powers that superseded those of the regular consuls, who acted as the executive arm of the republic.

Antistius watched him from the window of his office. Lepidus was slender and agile, despite his years. He wore his hair combed forward to cover part of his forehead. This was more a habit than a hairstyle and had developed over long years of wearing a helmet during the military campaigns in which he had served alongside Caesar and won his esteem. His features were spare, almost hawk-like: a thin face, sunken cheeks, an aquiline nose. In a certain sense, although he was quite different from Caesar, the two men had something in common physically, almost as if their long familiarity with the high command were contagious, somehow influencing their cast of features. He wore armour, with his red cloak belted over his embossed bronze breastplate. He briskly reviewed the honour guard, then entered headquarters. His duties as commander-in-chief awaited him, as well as his political commitments and the other business of the day.

Antistius closed the window and returned to his work. He had been going over the day’s appointments for just a few minutes when a visitor was announced: Silius Salvidienus was asking to see him. He got up and went to greet him at the threshold.

‘Come in,’ he said, and invited him to take a seat.

He served his guest a cup of cool wine and took a diuretic potion for himself.

‘How is Caesar?’

‘He had a seizure last night but it didn’t last long and so I didn’t call for you. I’ve become quite the medical expert myself after assisting him for so long. Once the seizure had passed, he settled down and fell asleep.’

‘You should have called me in any case. You mustn’t take risks. This condition is treacherous. It’s best that I spend the night at the Domus myself from now on. Any other news?’

‘He’s called for a meeting of his general staff this evening.’

‘That’s why Lepidus is back. He’ll be there as well, I imagine.’

‘Obviously. Lepidus is Caesar’s right-hand man.’

‘Of course. And Antony is quite resentful of that, if I’m to believe the rumours I hear. Who else?’

‘Antony, naturally. He’s still a fine soldier. Caius Trebonius, certainly. He was governor of Asia and has an excellent knowledge of logistics in the area. Decimus Brutus, who’s had experience of commanding both infantry and cavalry and has always proved to be up to the challenge, even when commanding the fleet. He’s still young, versatile and altogether reliable as an officer. Caesar holds him in high regard, and is quite fond of him as well. He contributed decisively to victory in Gaul, more than once. The commander never forgets such things and knows how to return a favour, but it’s more than that. It’s more than just recognizing a man’s valour. Caesar believes deeply in friendship and in gratitude.’

‘I know. He’s already made him praetor and next year he’ll be the governor of Cisalpine Gaul.’

‘As far as I know, tonight there will be a preliminary meeting to assess the advisability of a campaign against the Parthians. Caesar is in possession of a map that Publius Sextius sent him some time ago which will serve to formulate a plan of invasion. But I’ve come to speak with you now for another reason. I was wondering whether you’d heard anything from your informer in Brutus’s house.’

‘No, unfortunately not,’ replied Antistius. ‘I’m hoping he’ll show up soon. If he has detailed intelligence we can approach Caesar directly. Even in the absence of hard proof, he may be persuaded to act with prudence.’

‘If we have names, the proof may come of itself. A number of unusual coincidences might be proof enough on their own.’

‘There’s Servilia as well. She may have succeeded in getting a warning through to him.’

‘I hope so. I have reason to believe that she found a way to see him. You know that Caesar’s no longer using his Hispanic guard?’

‘What? That’s impossible.’

‘It’s true. He told me he dismissed them because he doesn’t want to be seen as a tyrant. Only tyrants need bodyguards.’

‘Where’s the sense in that? Does he want to die? All it takes is one fanatic – one lunatic – who would like to go down in the annals of history and he’s gone.’

‘You know what? I think it’s a wager he’s made with himself. He wants to prove that his clemency and the generosity he’s shown, to friends and enemies alike, are sufficient to put him beyond risk. That he can walk the streets of Rome just like anyone else, without having to check his back all the time. He wants to believe that the people of Rome themselves are his garrison – his bodyguard. Along with the Senate, who have sworn to defend him with their own lives.’

‘He can’t be so naive.’

‘It’s not naivety. It’s his faith in himself and in the people. He’s the greatest man alive, Antistius. And only a great man can defy death so boldly.’ He didn’t wait for an answer, but walked to the door.

‘We’ll stay in touch regarding all of this,’ said Antistius. ‘Let me know tomorrow who participated in the meeting Caesar has called for this evening and who, among those summoned, found an excuse not to attend.’

Silius nodded and left without another word.

Romae, in aedibus Bruti, a.d. III Id. Mart., hora duodecima