by Allan Massie
I have had no word from Longina. I do not even know whether our son lives.
It does not matter how a man ends. What matters is how he has lived, and I have lived honourably.
I have charged Artixes with the safekeeping of this memoir. I do not think he will fail me, though he cannot understand the importance I attach to it.
This morning he ushered in a messenger whom I recognised as one of Lepidus' men. I experienced a surge of hope, which was grotesque: how could a thing like Lepidus offer hope?
His master, he said, had come together with Antony and Octavius. They were convening on an island in the river near Bologna. There they would arrange matters of State. There would be no clemency. All were agreed that Caesar's policy had been mistaken. Instead they would draw up a list of proscribed persons.
So I received my death warrant. I asked Artixes for wine. "I take it," I said, "that your father has received the same message."
He nodded, unable to speak.
"Tell him," I said, "that I understand and accept my fate." He looked at me with horror and admiration.
Fa rewell to my few fait hful attendants. I have given th e most trusted a letter for Longina, assuring her of my love, and thanking her…
E ven as I wrote it I wondered if she had not already found a l over. Yet I feel her lips on mine.
Artixes brought me a case containing my own jewelled dagger. He brought also a message from his father. I have till dawn. This is more honourable conduct than I had expected from a barbarian. But then I know he has been impressed by the dignity with which I have borne my misfortunes. There is something in the barbarian soul which responds nobly to nobility.
Death is the extinction of a candle; nothing more.
I do not believe the poets who promise… but it is not good to brood on these matters. It serves nothing.
I also wrote again to Octavius, for my mind was full of him:
Do you recall that dinner at Cicero's where we first met? (Incidentally, I wager that Cicero is included, at Antony's insistence, on your list of those proscribed and that you have washed your hands of his fate; am I right?) On that occasion you said: "A man is but a man; he should not see himself as a tragic figure." I agree.
And do you recall how we talked of the danger that the pursuit of self-interest portended for the Republic?
Think of that now that you are about to be assailed by the temptations which lured Caesar to his death. Recall your friend and lover whose only crime was to care more for the Republic than for himself or Caesar. Reflect that other Brutuses will arise, if virtue and the love of liberty have not been extinguished in Rome.
You will destroy Antony. You will be wiser than Caesar and not assume the appearance of absolute power.
Yet you will possess it.
Will its exercise corrupt and obliterate the boy I loved?
I beg you to care for my wife Longina. As the da ughter of Gaius Cassius and the spouse of Decimus Brutus she suffers from connections that may do her harm. Pray see to it that neither she nor our son is afflicted on my account.
It is hard to end, hard to finish all, confess ing failure. Yet, Crassus, Pompey, Caesar, the great men of my youth and manhood, all met inglorious death.
Beware the jealous gods, Octavius…
Remember me, while the flesh is on you. In time you too will be spilt on air.
The grey morning is touched with rosy fingers. At the door of my hut, I have breathed free air, soft for the mountains. Cocks crow in the valley.
What were Clodia's words?
"The cold grey clutch of death…" Something like that. "We cannot play gods," she said. When we slew Caesar we dared all that a man is fit for.
The dagger with which I stabbed him is to hand. There is no more to be said.
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