The Ides of March Read online

  ‘Straw burns, coins endure,’ replied Rufus, and tossed a shiny Caius Marius penny into the air. It glittered like gold.

  ‘Heads you get the short cut,’ said Vibius.

  Rufus clapped his hand down over the coin in his left palm, then looked.

  ‘Horses!’ he said, showing Vibius the quadriga that adorned the back of the coin. ‘You win. I’ll take the Via Flaminia Minor.’

  The two friends looked each other straight in the eye for a moment, as they drew their horses close and gave each other a big punch on the right shoulder.

  ‘Watch out for cow shit!’ exclaimed Vibius, reciting his favourite charm against the evil eye.

  ‘Same to you, you cut-throat!’ shot back Rufus.

  ‘See you when this is all over,’ Vibius promised.

  ‘If worse comes to worst,’ snickered Rufus, ‘there’s always Pullus. His mother must have been a goat. He’ll reach us wherever we get stuck.’

  He touched his heels to the horse’s flanks and set off along a barely visible trail that descended the mountainside, leading to the valley and the footbridge that crossed the Reno, which was glinting like a sword under the moon.

  Vibius went straight up the slope instead and headed towards the ridge, where he would find the short cut through the mountains that led towards Arezzo.

  6

  Romae, a.d. VII Id. Mart., hora sexta

  Rome, 9 March, eleven a.m.

  Titus Pomponius Atticus to his Marcus Tullius, hail!

  I received your letter the other day and have meditated at length on what you’ve told me. The thoughts which trouble you in this crucial moment are many and of a complex nature. Nonetheless I feel that you cannot shun the role that the best men of this city have ascribed to you. You must not let it worry you that your merits in the course of past events have gone unacknowledged in Brutus’s writings, which I myself have read recently. What he says is dictated by the love he feels for his wife, a woman who is as wise as she is charming, but above all the daughter of so great a father, whom she held in such high esteem. Whoever loves his homeland and is grateful to those who defend it certainly knows what a debt of gratitude is owed to you and knows that you are a model to be held up to the new generations that will one day succeed us.

  If I can, I will pay you a visit shortly after you have received this letter, entrusted to the messenger you know so well.

  Take care of yourself.

  MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO placed his friend’s letter, which he’d received the day before, in a drawer with others and sighed. He hoped the promised visit would take place soon. He’d never felt such a great need to speak to Titus Pomponius in private, to have the comfort of his opinion, his advice. He knew that his friend had long ago decided to keep out of the civil conflict and in the end he couldn’t blame him. The confusion had been enormous, decisions difficult and consequences almost always unpredictable, and the situation had certainly not improved with Caesar assuming full powers.

  The conqueror of Gaul had seized upon completely marginal events as a pretext for invading the metropolitan territory of the republic at the head of an army, committing an act that violated every law, tradition and sacred boundary of Rome. At first Cicero had seen Caesar’s assumption of power as the lesser evil and had even gone so far as to declare, in one of the last sessions of the Senate, that if Caesar were in danger the senators themselves would be the first to defend his life. But now he understood that discontent was rife and he realized that the defence of civil liberties could not be subordinated to the desire – no matter how legitimate and understandable – for peace and tranquillity that most of Rome’s citizens yearned for.

  Just then his secretary walked in. Tiro had been his right hand for many years and now, at the age of fifty-nine, he enjoyed Cicero’s complete and unconditional trust. Nearly bald, he walked with a limp because of arthritis in his right hip and appeared older than he was.

  ‘Master,’ he began.

  ‘You’ve been a free man for a long time now, Tiro, you mustn’t call me master. I’ve always asked you not to.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know how else to address you. The habits of a lifetime become part of us,’ the secretary replied calmly.

  Cicero shook his head with the hint of a smile. ‘What is it, Tiro?’

  ‘Visitors, sir. A litter is approaching from down the road. If my eyes don’t deceive me, I would say it is Titus Pomponius.’

  ‘At last! Quickly, go to meet him and bring him here to my study. Have the triclinia prepared. He’s sure to stay for lunch.’

  Tiro bowed and went towards the atrium and the front door. But as soon as he glanced out at the road, an expression of disappointment crossed his face. The litter, which was only about fifty paces away, had just turned on to a little road on the left and disappeared from sight. How could he tell his master that the friend he’d been anxiously awaiting had changed his mind? He paused a few minutes in the shade of an old laurel tree that stood next to the gate to reflect on what had happened, then he turned to go and tell Cicero the curious news that as Titus Pomponius’s litter was nearing the gate, it vanished all at once, as if its occupant had had second thoughts.

  As he was going in, one of the servants came rushing over, saying, ‘Tiro, there’s someone knocking at the back door! What shall I do?’

  Tiro immediately realized what had happened.

  ‘Open it right away,’ he said. ‘I’ll be there with you.’

  In a few steps the servant reached the back door and opened it without asking any questions. Tiro, who was right behind him, recognized Atticus and had him come in.

  ‘Forgive me, Titus Pomponius, you know how foolish the servants can be. I knew it must be you. Follow me, please. My master is most anxious to see you.’

  He opened the door to Cicero’s study, let the man in and left them.

  ‘I’ve been waiting eagerly for this visit. Has Tiro made your servants comfortable?’

  ‘There’s no need, my friend,’ replied Atticus. ‘By now they are accompanying my empty litter to my nephew’s house. I came in on foot, from the rear courtyard. I prefer for people not to know where I’m going, even if everyone is aware of our friendship. Well, what’s happening, then? Your last letter clearly led me to believe that there were more things unsaid than said.’

  Cicero, who had embraced him when he walked in, now sat next to him. ‘Will you stay for lunch? I’ve had something prepared.’

  ‘No. I’m sorry. I won’t be able to stay, but I’ve come because I understood you needed to talk to me.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right. Listen. Some time ago I received a letter from Cassius Longinus.’

  Atticus frowned.

  ‘An unusual letter that apparently didn’t make much sense. Its true meaning was hidden.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘The letter was completely banal, speaking of the most obvious things. A useless letter, that is, unless I was meant to read it in another way.’

  ‘That may be the case.’

  ‘You know that Tiro, my secretary, has developed a system of stenography that he uses to transcribe my speeches when I speak in public. He’s quite the expert at cryptography, so I had him interpret the text of the letter as though it were written in some sort of code.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Titus, my friend, you know I’ve never wanted to involve you in situations that could put you in any difficulty. I know what you think and I respect your choices, so I will tell you nothing that would disturb you. What I will say is that there’s something big in the air. I can feel it, even though I don’t know exactly what it might be.’

  ‘I can easily imagine what you’re about to say. Tiro found another meaning in that letter?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What?’

  Cicero fell silent and looked deep into his friend’s eyes. There he saw a serene spirit, touched with a certain worry and coloured by the affection that his own words confirmed.

&
nbsp; ‘I came here in secret because I wanted you to be able to speak with me unreservedly. I’m not afraid and you know how important your friendship is for me. Speak freely. No one is listening and no one knows I’m here.’

  ‘If Tiro’s interpretation is correct, and I think it is, something important is in the offing. An event that will change the destiny of the republic. Someone has decided to keep me in the dark about it, but I’ll be expected to step in later, if I’ve understood correctly.’

  ‘You are the person who thwarted Catiline’s subversive plot, even though Brutus gives his father-in-law, Cato, credit for doing so in that piece he wrote. And I’m sure Caesar wasn’t happy about that. Anyone who exalts Cato offends him. Cato has already become the martyr of republican freedom, the man who preferred suicide to accepting tyranny. Am I close to the earth-shattering event you’re referring to?’

  ‘You are very close.’

  ‘But neither you nor I have the courage to talk about it.’

  Cicero bowed his head without answering and Atticus respected his silence at first. But then he began speaking again.

  ‘If I understand correctly, you’re asking yourself whether it is best for you to accept the unspoken proposal to remain outside this event and then take the reins when everything is over, or whether it might not be better to steer events yourself, as you did when Catiline attempted to overthrow the government.’

  ‘That’s exactly it,’ replied Cicero. ‘The thought has been tormenting me.’

  Atticus drew closer, moving his chair nearer to his friend’s, and looked intently into his face.

  ‘Let’s make something clear. Even if we don’t want to name this event, you and I are thinking of the very same thing: the only thing that could truly mark the start of a new epoch. What troubles you is that those in charge are neither capable nor experienced enough to ensure that their “solution” won’t provoke an even greater disaster. In the shadow of a great oak, only stunted saplings can grow. Am I right?’

  ‘I fear that you are. There may nonetheless be men among them who have not displayed outstanding capabilities yet, but who may well surprise us. And that would represent an even more serious problem.’

  Atticus sighed. ‘When Alexander died, all of his friends became great kings. And what did they do? They dismembered his empire so each of them could have a little piece, after they’d finished tearing each other to shreds.’

  ‘I understand what you’re getting at and that’s exactly why I’m worried. Brutus . . .’

  ‘Yes . . . Brutus. You’ll have heard the phrase going around about him. Something that Caesar himself came up with.’

  Upon hearing that name, Cicero gave a slight but perceptible start.

  Atticus continued, ‘Yes, Caesar himself apparently said, “Brutus does not know what he wants, but he wants it badly.” ’

  Atticus gave a bitter smile, then shook his head. ‘Stay out of this, my friend. Thank the gods that no one has approached you with a concrete proposal. I . . .’

  ‘What?’ prompted Cicero anxiously.

  ‘I’ve been told . . . well, nothing specific, mind you, but the information I’ve been given seems plausible. I’ll try to dig a little deeper and find out whether someone has an institutional role in mind for you should this . . . event take place. I can’t do much more than that. I’m no politician, my friend, all I can do is try to understand. But if I can help you I will. Don’t make any move on your own. If I should learn where the danger is coming from or when the event may occur, I’ll let you know. I may not be able to communicate with you in person. Most probably you’ll receive a message with my seal. Inside you’ll find our usual password, in code. On that day, do not set foot outside your house, for any reason.’

  Atticus rose to his feet and Cicero with him. The two men exchanged a firm embrace. They were united by their anxiety in such a critical moment, by their long friendship, by their faith in the same philosophical creed and by their nostalgia for the lost traditions and values of their homeland, which had been trampled by an avidity for power and money, by partisan hatred, by resentment and by revenge.

  Atticus had always remained on the sidelines, had long decided to detach himself from that decline. He had a fatalistic bent and was calmly convinced that the chaotic component of history – always predominant – had taken the whiphand. The fragile forces of humankind had no hope of prevailing.

  Cicero still believed in the role of politics, but he had neither the courage nor the strength to transform his beliefs into action. He was tormented by his impotence and lived in the memory of the triumphs of his glorious consulate, when he had boldly attacked Catiline in the Senate, unmasked him and forced him to flee.

  He personally accompanied his faithful friend to the rear courtyard door. Atticus stopped on the threshold before going out on to the street and pulled the hood of his cloak over his head.

  ‘Just one more thing,’ he said.

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Are you the one behind the writings that have appeared on all the walls of Rome inciting Brutus to live up to his name?’

  ‘No,’ replied Cicero.

  ‘That’s good to hear,’ said Atticus, and he left.

  Romae, in Campo Martis, a.d. VII Id. Mart., hora octava

  Rome, Campus Martius, 9 March, one p.m.

  ANTISTIUS caught up with Silius under the portico of the theatre dedicated to Pompey, which had been finished a decade earlier. Adjacent to the theatre was the Curia, where the Senate was meeting temporarily until works in the Forum were completed. The two men sat at a table in front of an inn. The doctor ordered two cups of hot wine with honey and spices.

  ‘Has Caesar really received a message from Publius Sextius?’ asked Antistius.

  ‘Yes, but it was written seven days ago.’

  ‘Do you know what it says?’

  ‘It refers to the information Caesar was expecting, regarding his expedition against the Parthians. All good news. We can count on support from Anatolia and Syria, and even Armenia, and we have a complete listing of all our forces deployed from the Danube to the Euphrates. The commander has decided to call a meeting of the general staff in order to examine the feasibility of the invasion plan.’

  ‘So that’s why he was awaiting the message so impatiently.’

  ‘I see no other reason and he did not mention anything else himself. He seems quite determined. He means to put his plans into action.’

  Antistius shook his head repeatedly. ‘I don’t understand. He’s not well, his work here is not finished, Spain and Syria have not been entirely pacified and yet he wants to take off on an adventure with an uncertain outcome that will keep him away from Rome for years and may cost him his life. An adventure from which there may be no return.’

  Silius sipped at his wine.

  ‘Has he had any more seizures?’ asked Antistius.

  ‘No, not that I know of. I hope he never has another.’

  ‘No one can say. Where is he now?’

  ‘With her.’

  Antistius lowered his head without speaking.

  Silius put a hand on his shoulder. ‘That Greek teacher . . . Artemidorus, wasn’t it? Have you managed to contact him?’

  ‘I’ll be seeing him soon. I sent him word that he needed a check-up.’

  ‘Keep me informed if you learn anything new. It’s very important.’

  ‘You’ll be the first to know. Don’t worry. In any case, don’t leave Rome. I may need you.’

  ‘I won’t go beyond the city limits unless he orders me to do so in person.’

  ‘Take care of yourself.’

  ‘You too.’

  The two men parted. Antistius went back to his island, while Silius remained seated, sipping his spiced wine. A stiff wind began blowing from the north and he gathered his cloak around him to ward off the chill.

  Romae, in hortis Caesaris, a.d. VII Id. Mart., hora nona

  Rome, Caesar’s gardens, 9 March, two p.m.

 
‘YOU’RE THE most powerful man on earth. If you don’t do something it’s because you don’t want to do it, not because anyone or anything is standing in your way!’

  The queen had raised her voice and the flush on her cheeks was visible even under the make-up smoothing her skin. Her features were too exotic for her face to be perfect, but they only added to her undeniable allure, which many felt showed the influence of her mother’s native blood. Her figure was absolutely sublime, its perfection untouched by her first pregnancy.

  Caesar got up abruptly from the couch she’d been reclining on when she’d received him.

  ‘I’ve done what I thought was right. You should show some appreciation for the decisions I’ve made regarding both you and the child. I’ve recognized him as my son and I gave you permission to give him my name.’

  ‘How good of you! He is your son, Caesar, what else could you have done?’

  ‘I could have done anything. You said so yourself. But I recognized him, not only by allowing him to take my name but by placing a golden statue of you—’

  ‘Gold-plated,’ the queen corrected him haughtily.

  ‘In any case, a statue of you in the Temple of Venus Genetrix. Do you realize what that means? That temple is the sanctuary of my family. It means that by having borne Caesar’s child, you have become part of my family and that he, your son, is of divine lineage.’

  Cleopatra seemed to calm down. She rose from the couch, drew close and took his hand.

  ‘Listen to me. Your wife is sterile and Ptolemy Caesar is your only son. I am the last heir of Alexander the Great and you are the new Alexander. In truth, you are greater than he ever was! You have conquered the West and you are about to conquer the East. No one is your equal anywhere in the world, was or will be. You will be considered a god, Caesar, and that means that two divine dynasties will be united in your son! I’ve heard, by the way, that in the Senate there’s been a proposal to make polygamy legal – that is, a man will be permitted to take more than one wife in order to guarantee a bloodline. Is that so?’