by Allan Massie
"Well," Cassius said, "that warns us that delay is dangerous. Cato, will you accompany me to Brutus? It is time to twist his arm in order to release the obstruction that holds his noble spirit from action."
Even now, I do not know how Cassius truly regarded Brutus. The note of irony was rarely absent from his voice when he spoke of him; and yet no one could have set higher store by his adherence to our party. Perhaps the truth is that Cassius both admired and despised him, valued and resented him, distrusted his capacity and yet felt the need of his reputation for virtue. Perhaps even Cassius shared the doubts that disturbed me as to the morality of our plan, and, feeling such uncertainty, thought it could be banished only if Brutus, whose virtue none could reproach, collaborated with us. I do not know. I know only that his insistence that we must recruit Brutus was the chief cause of our failure, as I shall prove, given time to do so.
Casca and I left Cassius' house together. Our spirits were low. Heavy clouds, threatening snow, had blown up from the northeast. We both felt we had committed ourselves to an uncertain enterprise. Our trust in Cassius had diminished. And yet. . .
"Have you considered, Mouse, that we could still blow the whole bloody thing? Tell Caesar what is planned, and so . . . Yes, of course you have, and we won't, will we?"
"No, we won't. Whatever the risk, we've both been brought to this point. That charade this morning . . . did you see how at the third offering his hands clung to the crown?"
"I saw."
"There's a Greek word." "There would be." "Megalomania." "Well, bugger that."
"If you say so."
"No, I've just spotted something I fancy. See you later, old bean. Be good."
And Casca left me in pursuit of a curly headed epicene with a dancer's gait. I saw him take the boy by the elbow, and the pair disappeared up a narrow alley.
The snow came, lay in the city for two days, silencing the noise of wagons. Then the weather turned wet and windy, staying like that for the rest of February. Cassius reported that Markie was still wrestling with his conscience, but that both he and young Cato were confident that Porcia, reason, and the public interest would prevail. He told me that Brutus was like a general compelled to yield one position after another: "Finally, he will be trapped in the citadel from which he will find only one escape."
Without seeking authority from Cassius, I sounded out Mark Antony. He admitted that he was perturbed by Caesar's state of mind.
"That bitch the Queen has him in a vice. He's no longer capable of thinking straight."
I was convinced that he understood my purpose; yet he affected not to. Nevertheless, he laid his finger along his nose; and it seemed to me that this gesture indicated that though he would have no hand in the business, he would not seek to obstruct it.
"Caesar's not immortal," he said as he left. "And he's a lot older than we are. This Parthian campaign will probably finish him off - his health's not what it was, you know. And then things will revert to normal - whatever that can be said to be."
Trebonius pressed Cassius to include Cicero in our plans. He received some support from Metellus Cimber, but the rest of us were opposed.
"We shall need Cicero," I said, "after the deed. Can anyone doubt that he will approve it? But till that moment is reached he is more likely to be a hindrance than a help in our enterprise."
My opinion carried weight, and Trebonius desisted from his attempt to persuade us.
Diadems appeared again on Caesar's statues. This time two noble tribunes, men of exemplary Republican virtue, Flavius and Marullus, tore them off with their own hands and cast them on the ground. This action received the approbation of the mob, though some said later that the tribunes themselves had seen to it that their defiance would be witnessed only by those whom they knew to be favourable, and whom indeed they had with them by design. Caesar was incensed by what he termed their insolence. Exercising the authority which he possessed as Perpetual Dictator, he deposed the tribunes, and then, when they were private citizens and no longer protected by their office, had them cast into prison. Of all his tyrannical acts, this made the greatest impression on those who were wavering, eager for the restoration of the Republic, yet held back by fear of Caesar. For they saw that if he could treat the most honourable office of the tribunate with such cavalier authority, he had become capable of anything.
Casca laughed: "It's rich to remember, ain't it, that the ostensible cause of the civil war was the treatment meted out by the Senate to the tribunes who supported Caesar."
"Yes," I said, "and the theme of his memoirs of the war was to insist on 'with what great zeal I sought peace'. What does he seek now?"
That question hung over all our deliberations, and the answers we suspected fortified many minds.
"Your cousin inches towards a resolution," young Cato said. "This business of the tribunes has made a deep impression on him."
The Kalends of March ushered in spring. There was a lightness in the air calling one to action. The sky was soft and blue and the air fragrant. My soul was filled with eagerness. I rose early in the morning, leaving Longina beautiful in happy sleep, and sought out Cassius. I apologised for the early hour.
"Not at all. I always rise at first light. I study philosophy for an hour, then practise fencing or do gymnastics. When you reach my age, it is necessary to keep both mind and body in training. Otherwise deterioration is rapid. Well, things go merrily, don't they?"
His insouciance annoyed me. It belied his reputation. Cassius was seen, by most, as saturnine, sour, pessimistic.
"We are almost there," he said. "I dined with Marcus Brutus last night. He is on the point of committing himself. Then we must move quickly."
"Before he changes his mind, you mean, or loses his nerve?"
"If you choose to put it like that. But, as I've said before, you underestimate him. He is scrupulous, and that is to his credit. The Senate is scheduled to meet on the Ides of March, ironically in Pompey's theatre."
(This was on account of a fire in the Senate House, necessitating repairs.)
"I have marked that as an appropriate day."
"Very well," I said. "I'm agreed. I shall send Longina to the country."
"Is that necessary? Might it give rise to suspicion?"
"Her pregnancy will serve as excuse."
"You look troubled."
"Then my looks betray my state of mind."
What disturbed me, as I explained to him at length, was that no preparations had been made for anything beyond the deed itself. We seemed to be working on an assumption that everything would fall comfortably into place. I didn't believe that. There would be danger. We might have need of troops to maintain order. It couldn't be assumed that all Caesar's partisans would submit to our will. Antony's position had to be considered. I suggested that the Ninth Legion, which was devoted to me, should be put on the alert; I was ready to give orders that it should leave its winter quarters at Bologna, and march towards Rome.
"Can such an order be given without awakening Caesar's suspicions? Can such a move take place without confirming them? Besides, afterwards, the consuls, Antony and Dolabella, will be legally in command of the armies."
"Legality will have to be set aside. Perhaps Antony should be set aside also. Dolabella is of no account. He'll run around like a headless chicken."
"Well," Cassius said, "your proposal is risky. It will need to be pondered on, and more widely discussed. I have convened a meeting this day week. By then, I am certain Marcus will be ready to commit himself."
Longina protested when I told her she must leave Rome. Her lips formed in a delicious pout. Her eyes brimmed with tears. She met my guarded explanation of necessity with a tilt of the head and further questions. Then defiance. She would not be persuaded, would not obey. If I loved her, I would not ask this of her. Her lovely breasts heaved. I took her in my arms and tried to kiss her mood away. But she disengaged herself, and said:
"I've warned you against my father. I haven't ask
ed what you are plotting together, because I haven't needed to. Are you afraid that I will betray you?"
"No," I said.
"Then I still don't understand."
"I am afraid," I said, "yes . . . Since you know what we are best not to talk about, let me confess my fear. I'm afraid, horribly afraid, that everything will go wrong. I'm afraid of failure, but, where you are concerned, for our failure would not place you in danger, I am still more afraid of success. My friends are blind to the devotion That Man inspires in the people. They therefore take no thought of the possible consequences of our success. Violence, rioting, revenge - that's what I fear. And I want you safe from that. I need you safe from that, if I am to play my part as a man of virtue."
"Very well," she said, "but do you need to play this part? I've been thinking about that."
She took a green apple from a dish and bit into it. The juice ran like a tiny rivulet from the corner of her mouth.
"Lord, I have such a lust for apples. Old wives say that means our child will be a daughter."
"It will be a boy, and in any case, only the first."
"If you were to stand aside, then when it was over, you would be in a strong position, wouldn't you? Especially if my father and the rest are as ill-prepared as you suggest."
The idea had occurred to me. Of course it had. Temptation never fails to offer itself: Caesar dead, and myself innocent of his blood, and in a position to mediate between the two parties. Visions of authority beckoned as insistently as an eager whore.
"I am in too deep for that," I said.
It was true. If I stepped back now, I would earn only contempt from those who held to their word. In extremities there is no place for the man who seeks the palm without the dust. It was months too late for the course Longina suggested.
"You could be sick."
"They would only believe my resolution had failed. Do you suppose a man of your father's penetration would be deceived by a pretence of sickness?"
"Don't you understand," she cried, "I am afraid for you, you fool, because I love you. I am afraid for myself and for my son."
She broke down in tears. I knelt to comfort her. Her arm stole round my neck. I scarcely felt the knife enter my back just below the left shoulder.
As it happened I had turned myself in order to kiss her mouth which was itself averted from me, so that the dagger did not penetrate, and I received only a glancing wound. But the knife came away red, and I felt the warm rush of blood, and Longina held the knife aloft and gazed on it as the drops fell to the marble. We drew apart. She held the dagger, point downwards, between us.
"What have I done?"
"What have you tried to do?" I think I smiled; I hope I did. "I have never been stabbed for love before. You goose."
I took the dagger from her trembling hand. She made no resistance. I ran my finger along the blade, and touched her lips with my blood.
"You goose," I said again.
"I might have killed you."
"With this toy? Unlikely. Anyway, it's no more than a scratch, I think. Deep wounds bleed slower."
"Come, let me bathe it and clean it. What was I doing?" "There's no need for tears."
Her shame and horror — also unnecessary, in my opinion, for her motive only made me love her more - served my purpose. She abandoned her opposition to my plans for her safety. She was humble and submissive. When I saw her like that, I reproached myself, and came closer than at any other moment to yielding to what she wanted. Our plan seemed feeble, irrelevant to the things that really matter in life. What did I care tor public virtue or the seedy old, worm-eaten Republic in comparison with the revelation just vouchsafed me?
"After all," I said to myself, "there is nothing, not even the thrill of battle, to compare with the satisfaction to be had from a woman who truly loves you."
But love dies when respect dies, and that depends on the loved one's self-respect. Otherwise it becomes that debilitating emotion: pity.
A paradox: Longina's love made her fear the course on which I had embarked. I feared her love would die, with my self-respect, if I abandoned it.
I accompanied her two mornings later out of the city by the Appian Way. The sun shone, the light sparkled and the dark pines were touched with gold. Then at the fourth milestone we stopped, embraced, tongue searching tongue, as if by that we expressed not only desire, but unity of word, deed, spirit.
I laid my hand on her belly.
"I felt her move last night," Longina said.
"Him."
"You will have it your way, but you may be disappointed." "Nothing you do, nothing you produce, can disappoint me." "I'm not so sure about that."
"Remember," I said, "what I do is for our children, that they may grow up free, and not slaves. It's not for myself. How could it be, when I blossom in Caesar's sunlight? But the course he is embarked on promises only darkness for Rome and her children, for our children and theirs. I wish you could believe that."
"I believe you believe it. That's enough, even though it remains rhetoric for me. So Mouse-husband, the gods go with you."
"And with you."
She laughed as she had not laughed for a long time, a deep full-throated laugh that was one of her glories.
"As if we either of us believed in these gods, to whom we commend each other."
"Oh Longina . . ."
I had mounted my horse. I leaned across the side of the carriage to kiss her a last time. I lingered on her lips, drawing honey and comfort from them. Then the horse shied and we were separated.
I linger on that moment of memory now.
I watched the carriage move away from me, slowly. Once she turned and waved to me, and then looked away and bowed her head, and I knew that tears blinded her eyes. I brushed my sleeve across my own. The carriage passed between tombs that flanked the road. It grew smaller till it was only a speck on the horizon, and then it was no more, and I turned my horse's head, and rode back to the city and Destiny.
So, laughing at the gods, weeping on account of necessity, Longina departed from me. I have never seen her since, except in dreams, waking or sleeping. As I write this, she returns to me; and yet I am mocked by the distance between us.
Chapter 20
We convened, as arranged, in Cassius' house, midway between the Kalends and the Ides.
I cannot now recall the precise date, but I recall, as if they were ranged before me now, the faces of my friends and colleagues. There were some I had reason to distrust: Quintus Ligarius and Galba were driven by personal resentment. They believed Caesar had insulted them. Cinna was a mean man, not to be trusted in a crisis. Trebonius, though a friend, I knew to be both rash and irresolute, a dangerous combination of qualities . . .
Many who were not present were cognisant of our intention, had been sounded out, had offered verbal support, would be with us if we succeeded. The dozen who were gathered that evening were the chiefs of what I suppose historians will call the conspiracy. I would reject the term: it has criminal connotations to my way of thinking. We were not criminals: we were executioners of just necessity.
Of all those present young Cato appeared the most nervous. Eager only a few days previously, urging on the deed with an enthusiasm his father could never have equalled, he now seemed pale, weary, filled with apprehension. He confided in me that he had been unable to sleep for several nights. He was oppressed by fear of failure - and of the revenge Caesar would certainly take.
"If we are brave and resolute, we shall not fail."
I spoke with more confidence than I felt myself. That too was necessary. Doubt is infectious, soon transformed into panic. I remembered how Catiline and his friends had lost their nerve, when confronted by Cicero. (My father, as consul-designate, had been the first to demand the death penalty: to their consternation.) Well, we were no Catilines, no discredited and indebted riff-raff. We were among the chief men of Rome, most of us with great achievements, feats of arms, a record of good judgment, to our names. But then,
Caesar was more than Cicero, or my poor father.
Casca gave me courage, supported my equanimity. His good sense had fortified me often; Casca was always sanguine. When, on our way to the meeting, I mentioned the possibility of failure to him - in terms quite different from those I would employ to Cato, he scoffed at my fears.
"Caesar is but a man, mere mortal man. He bleeds as readily as you or I."
It was, however, the aftermath I feared most.
Markie had nerved himself to be with us. His long parade of doubt was at an end. For myself, I believe that his decision to join us was determined as much by fear of the contempt with which Porcia would regard his failure to do so, as from the sense of duty about which he endlessly prated. If so, that might be something to put to the credit of Cato's family, if it were not for the malign influence Markie had on our enterprise.
Cassius called us to order. He spoke briefly. His bearing was martial, his tone firm. He outlined the cogent reasons which had brought us together. He deplored the decadence of public spirit which had reduced the Republic to its sad condition.
"If Caesar's system of government were to be confirmed, then all that we know and love in Rome would wither, all that our fathers fought and died for would be no more, as, little by little, step by remorseless step, Rome will sink from view under the weight of an Oriental despotism. Our ancestors - the immediate ancestors of some here present - won the right to call no man 'King', no man 'Lord and Master'. We are called to act if we are not to be despised and hated by our descendants as the generation which, through apathy or cowardice, lost that right, and so condemned the Roman nobility to perpetual ignominy and subservience . . .
"If any man would dispute what I say, I shall not argue with him, but ask him to leave us now."
No one moved, though young Cato trembled and looked as if he might be sick at any moment.
