Death of Caesar : The Story of History's Most Famous Assassination (9781451668827)

by Strauss, Barry

  It was here that Caesar sat on February 15 on the occasion of the Lupercalia. He was dressed in a triumphing general’s purple toga as well as the high boots and long-sleeved tunic of a king of old. He wore a gold wreath and sat on a gilded chair. A large crowd had gathered.

  After his run, Mark Antony climbed up to the Speaker’s Platform and placed a diadem on Caesar’s head, saying, “The People give this to you through me.” A few applauded but most people responded with silence. Lepidus, newly appointed Master of the Horse, was there. His response was a groan and gloomy look. Caesar removed the diadem and Antony tried again, only to get the same response. Finally Caesar ordered it to be taken to the Capitoline Temple with the words “Jupiter alone of the Romans is King.” This received an enthusiastic response.

  To commemorate the event, Caesar had an entry made in the fasti, the official calendar of the Roman state, writing that “the Consul Mark Antony had offered the Kingship, by the People’s command, to the Dictator in Perpetuity Gaius Caesar but Caesar had refused.”

  The sources buzz with speculation about who was behind the event and why. Some make Antony the prime mover and say that he surprised Caesar, either to flatter him or maybe even to embarrass him. Later on it was claimed that Antony was just trying to bring Caesar to his senses and to get him to give up any thoughts of kingship. Others give Caesar’s enemies a central role. In this version, two opponents of Caesar came up to the Speaker’s Platform and tried to get Caesar to accept the diadem. We’ll never know the real story of the Lupercalia, but it is clear enough that Caesar had fences to mend with a public that feared his ambition.

  Caesar still had many supporters. His loyal colleague Aulus Hirtius, for example, later insisted that Caesar was a vir clarissimus—a man of extraordinary brilliance—who made the Republic stronger. He and others called Caesar a great man. It was only the nobles and those “with claims to power” who found Caesar “unbearable,” claimed one ancient supporter. Most people “gloried in his many great victories” and “admired someone who they thought was more than just a man.” Yet, in the winter of 44 B.C., precisely what ordinary Romans thought was debatable. Caesar brought the urban plebs land and peace by ending the violent feuds of the nobles, while also enriching their lives with feasts and spectacles. Yet the urban plebs resented Caesar’s attacks on the People’s Tribunes and his undermining of elections. They probably had little regard for the new senators from Gaul. To some, it seemed that Caesar was losing the people.

  At the time, many believed that Caesar’s rejection of the crown at the Lupercalia was a way of trying to see if there was support for him to become king. They believed that he wanted to be king and they despised him for it.

  Hatred is one of a ruler’s greatest dangers, especially hatred from the common people. Hatred stirs conspiracies, while hatred by the people makes conspirators think they can get away with their plans. Caesar was about to test that principle.

  In three months, Caesar had disrespected the Senate, dispensed with People’s Tribunes, and flirted with monarchy. By February, the conspiracy that would bring Caesar down was being born. In fact, it might already have been alive.

  Part Two

  BLOOD

  on the

  STONES

  5

  THE BIRTH OF A PLOT

  THE PLOT TO KILL CAESAR began when Gaius Cassius Longinus walked across town to visit his brother-in-law. He had not spoken to Marcus Junius Brutus in months, even though Cassius was married to Brutus’s sister, because he was angry over losing a plum job to him. Now, however, Cassius needed Brutus. The conversation began with a friendly exchange and an agreement to reconcile. Then came a long and serious discussion. Finally, Cassius threw his arms around Brutus in embrace. And with that, the life of Julius Caesar lay in the balance. It was February 44 B.C.

  Or so the best-known source tells the story. It is plausible, but, in truth, we don’t know just how the conspiracy began or with whom. Shakespeare tells us that Brutus and Cassius were at the heart of it, but the Bard was only following one ancient tradition. Other sources state that three men, not two, headed the conspiracy—and that Decimus, in fact, stood beside Brutus and Cassius as its leaders. Our earliest in-depth source for the conspiracy even names Decimus first among the conspirators.

  Decimus is no mere detail; he is the key. Brutus and Casssius fought for Pompey and the Republic but Decimus had been loyal to Caesar for more than ten years. Why change now? Although Decimus said later that he acted to save the Republic, he was a hard-nosed man, the sort to be moved by fear, honor, and self-interest. And Decimus wasn’t alone—other friends of Caesar also joined the conspiracy. That took more than a public relations misstep on Caesar’s part—it took a crisis of trust. Caesar abused their friendship by breaking the unwritten rule of Roman life, that loyalty would be rewarded. Indeed, he convinced important friends that they were better off without him.

  It was predictable that the Roman nobility would never accept a perpetual dictator. Ever jealous of their own privilege, they would sooner conspire to kill him than submit, as long as they thought they had a chance of getting away with murder. In winter 44 B.C. signs of the people’s discontent gave them confidence. They might have hesitated but Caesar’s imminent departure for the Parthian front forced their hand.

  In 49 B.C., Caesar seemed to some like a second Hannibal—the great commander who rode in from the West and invaded Italy. In 44 B.C., Caesar seemed like a second Alexander the Great—like Pompey but more dangerous—on the cusp of a great war in the East that would bring him back in triumph as a king. Those who rode out with him, like Octavian, would reap glory and power. Those who stayed at home feared eclipse, even if they were loyalists. Caesar left several of his experienced generals at home. We do not know why, but he had a history of ditching supporters when they were no longer useful or if they threatened to outdo him.

  All hope was gone that he would restore the Republic. Caesar was already Perpetual Dictator, already declared a god, already dismissive of both Senate and people, and already guilty of protesting too much that he didn’t want to be rex. Now, it seemed as if he would be Lord of Asia like Alexander. Julius Rex was a far cry from the proconsul of Gaul. Many Romans feared the man who had installed the queen of Egypt and perhaps the son she claimed was his in his villa across the Tiber, the man who planned a massive expedition to conquer the same ancient Iran that Alexander had conquered—they feared that he would replace the Republic with a monarchy. Who doubted that a man who loved blood, grandeur, and power as much as Caesar was capable of it?

  SOURCES OF EVIDENCE

  Before turning to the conspirators and crime, a word is needed about our sources of evidence. If there ever was a full contemporary investigation report, it has long since disappeared. Cicero’s correspondence includes a few dozen precious letters between him and a half dozen of the conspirators. They are fascinating but provide only limited evidence about the motives or the deed itself. Several of the conspirators issued coins that provide great clues. Archaeological remains in the city of Rome also add important information about the events of the Ides of March.

  Several contemporaries wrote accounts of the assassination. Asinius Pollio (76 B.C.–A.D. 4) wrote what was probably the best history of the years from 60 B.C. to 44 B.C. This excellent historian was a friend of Caesar but was aware of his defects. Unfortunately, Pollio was not in Rome on the Ides of March. Livy (59 B.C.–A.D. 17) was born in Patavium (modern Padua) but came to Rome to complete his education. If he wasn’t in Rome for the Ides, he was there a few years afterward, when the tale was still fresh. He included the death of Caesar in his monumental history of Rome. Strabo (ca. 62 B.C.–ca. A.D. 23), the famous geographer and historian, was born in Anatolia (Turkey) and came to live in Augustus’s Rome. He included the death of Caesar in his history of the years ca. 145–30 B.C. Caesar’s associate Oppius wrote a memoir of Caesar, and Brutus’s stepson Bibulus wrote a similar book about Brutus. Brutus’s friend Empylus
wrote a short book on the death of Caesar. It would be instructive to be able to read these books today but, unfortunately, none of them survives. What remains of Livy includes only a capsule summary of his chapters on Caesar. Fortunately, some of the later ancient writers on the subject did read these books. Even more fortunately, two contemporary accounts do survive.

  Cicero wrote one of those accounts in 44 B.C., possibly only a few weeks after the Ides. Cicero was an eyewitness. Unfortunately his account is just a brief paragraph. It confirms certain details in later versions while also containing several exaggerations.

  Far more important, although somewhat later, is another, more detailed account by a contemporary, found in the Life of Caesar Augustus—that is, the life of the Emperor Augustus, the former Octavian, written by Nicolaus of Damascus (born in 64 B.C. and died on an unknown date but well after 4 B.C.). It is one of five surviving detailed ancient accounts of the conspiracy, the Ides, and the aftermath—our most important sources of information today. Nicolaus’s account is often perceptive but it is not without problems. Although he was an adult in 44 B.C., Nicolaus wasn’t in Rome then or even a Roman—he was a Greek from Syria. He wrote several decades afterward; exactly when is uncertain. He was biased—he drew in part on Augustus’s autobiography, and, in fact, he worked for Augustus so he had a motive to defame the conspirators. On top of that, we don’t actually have Nicolaus’s work but only a version by a later abridger. Still, what survives is fascinating. More than any other ancient source, Nicolaus promotes the idea that private grudges rather than public duty moved the conspirators, with Brutus as an exception.

  Plutarch, the famous author, a native of central Greece (ca. A.D. 45–before A.D. 125) narrates the conspiracy and assassination in three of his Roman biographies, Caesar, Brutus, and Antony. Although he wrote more than a century later, Plutarch was a scholar and he consulted earlier works. But he was also a student of Greek philosophy like Brutus, whom he makes his hero. Brutus played a very large role in the conspiracy against Caesar but Plutarch probably exaggerates it. Since Plutarch looms so large in the sources, and since he was Shakespeare’s main source, we need to keep that in mind. Nicolaus, who was not under Brutus’s spell, offers a counterweight.

  Suetonius (ca. A.D. 70–well after A.D. 128) wrote in Latin the famous Lives of the Twelve Caesars, including one of Julius Caesar. Alternately gossipy and astute, admiring and critical, it includes a detailed account of the conspiracy and assassination. Like Plutarch, Suetonius was widely versed in the earlier sources. He admires Caesar enormously as a general but criticizes him as a politician and a man. A brilliant writer, Suetonius is seductive but not always right.

  Appian (ca. A.D. 90–A.D. 160), a Greek from Alexandria, Egypt, lived most of his life in Rome. Among his several works is a history of Rome’s civil wars. Of the five sources, his offers the longest connected historical narrative of Caesar’s assassination. Like Plutarch and Suetonius, he too probably consulted Asinius Pollio. Also a good writer, Appian sees Caesar as first and foremost a soldier.

  Finally, there is the latest source, Cassius Dio (ca. A.D. 164–after A.D. 229), a Greek senator who wrote an eighty-book history of Rome. He read widely in earlier histories but displays independence and astute analysis of his own. Unfortunately, he also makes errors of fact. A strong supporter of monarchy, he has little sympathy for Caesar’s assassins.

  By the standards of ancient history it’s not a bad lineup, but by modern measures it’s thin gruel. The evidence is based almost entirely on secondhand accounts and most of it is late. None of it is impartial—each author has an ax to grind. Supporters of the Roman emperors had little use for the conspirators, while the emperors’ opponents looked back to the conspirators as role models if not secular saints.

  Still, the five accounts are in basic agreement about the conspiracy and the crime. They disagree about certain important details. Faced with such sources, the historian has to exercise imagination, ingenuity, and caution. Above all, he or she needs to weigh the evidence at every point. So armed, let us turn to the men who had strong motives to kill Caesar.

  CASSIUS

  In January 45 B.C., Cassius accepted Caesar as an “old easygoing master.” A little over a year later, in February 44 B.C., Cassius resolved to kill him. Brutus underwent a similar conversion, perhaps independently, or perhaps Cassius was the spark that set Brutus on fire.

  It’s unlikely that the conspiracy was in place before February. One reason is incentive—Caesar did not depose the tribunes and turn down the diadem until February. Another reason is danger—the many conspirators could not have kept the secret for long.

  Gaius Cassius Longinus was an impressive man. Slightly older than Brutus, Cassius (born on October 3, around 86 B.C.) boasted several consuls in his family’s history, including his father, a man defeated in battle by the rebel gladiator Spartacus. The name of Cassius’s mother is not known, but a politician once mentioned her advice in a public speech, suggesting that she was someone to be reckoned with.

  During his teenage years, Cassius had a fistfight at school with the son of the late dictator Sulla, who boasted about his father’s power. Later writers took the fight as a sign of Cassius’s lifelong hostility to tyrants. What it also shows is that he had a temper. Cicero once described him when angry as looking like the war god Mars, eyes flashing with courage. Caesar called Cassius pale and lean, a phrase he applied to Brutus, too. Shakespeare took the description of Cassius further. His Caesar says:

  Yon Cassius has a lean and hungry look,

  He thinks too much; such men are dangerous.

  There is nothing hungry about a Roman portrait bust that has plausibly been identified as Cassius, but it is lean, as well as vigorous and determined. The marble bust shows a commanding figure in midlife. He has close-cropped hair, a prominent nose, angular cheekbones, sunken temples, and a rounded chin. He looks straight ahead with a tight-lipped and unsmiling appearance.

  As far as the schoolboy fight, Pompey patched up the quarrel, which points to the political friendship between him and Cassius. Besides Pompey, Cicero was another important influence on young Cassius, who sought the statesman’s company. Cicero described him as talented, industrious, and very brave. Also like Cicero, Cassius studied philosophy. He was a student on Rhodes and became fluent in Greek.

  But Cassius thrilled to the sound of the trumpet. War was his forte. In that sense, he was more like Caesar than Brutus. Nor did Cassius suffer from any lack of interest in his own dignitas. Cicero once wrote to Cassius and called him “the bravest of men, one who, ever since you first set foot in the Forum, have done nothing unless it was filled to the brim with the most abundant dignitas.”

  The man found his moment in 53 B.C. in the Roman East. Cassius served as lieutenant governor and deputy commander to Marcus Licinius Crassus, governor of Syria. Crassus was eager to fight Parthia and win glory but he blundered into disaster—a crushing defeat near Carrhae (today, Harran, Turkey). His force of around forty thousand men suffered massive casualties. The Parthians added insult to injury by capturing several legionary eagles. Crassus was murdered in a postbattle conference with the Parthians.

  The only bright spot in Rome’s tarnished honor belonged to Cassius. He vainly urged caution before the battle and played a key role afterward in marching the survivors to safety in Syria. An estimated ten thousand men owed their lives to the worthy lieutenant governor.

  From 53 B.C. to 51 B.C., Cassius served as virtual governor of Roman Syria. In 51 B.C. he ambushed a Parthian army raiding the province and fought a battle in which the senior Parthian general received a fatal wound. As a result, the Parthians withdrew from Syria. Cassius was able to claim victory. He wrote home that the Parthian War was over, and his report was read in the Senate.

  It was vindication because earlier the senators had scoffed at him. When Cassius first wrote to them about the Parthian invasion of Syria, the general opinion was that he was concocting a cover story for his own lootin
g. It was all a phony war, the senators said, with Cassius merely letting some neighboring Arabs into the province and then claiming they were Parthian invaders. In Rome, they said that Cassius was greedy. But then came an independent report from a Roman ally, confirming the Parthian attack, and people took Cassius seriously.

  But the senators were right about Cassius’s greed. Like most Roman governors, Cassius fleeced the provincials. Roman aristocrats looked down on commerce, but Cassius bought and sold Syrian merchandise with abandon and, if we can trust a late and gossipy source, earned himself the nickname “the date,” in a reference to the fruit of the local palm tree. It was not a compliment. In this same period, Cassius invaded Judea and is said to have enslaved about thirty thousand Jews—and slaving was a big and profitable business.

  When civil war came, Cassius supported Pompey. In 48 B.C. Cassius received command of a fleet that he used against Caesar’s forces in Sicily and southern Italy. Caesar describes the two campaigns in his Civil War and praises Cassius’s speed, aggressiveness, ingenuity, flexibility, energy, and overall effectiveness. By writing so warmly, perhaps Caesar was trying to attract Cassius to his camp or perhaps Cassius had already joined it. In any case, about a year after Caesar’s victory at Pharsalus, Cassius defected to him.

  The reconciliation took place in southern Anatolia, eased by support from Cassius’s brother-in-law, Brutus. Later Cassius claimed that he almost assassinated Caesar then and there, but that sounds like a tall tale.