by Tony Bradman
JULIUS CAESAR
Retold by Tony Bradman
Illustrated by Mark Oldroyd
CONTENTS
List of characters
Act One The Eagle Soars
Act Two Strange Dreams
Act Three Murder and Mischief
Act Four Armies on the March
Act Five The Noblest Roman
About the Author
List of characters
Julius Caesar, Roman statesman and general
Octavius, Triumvir after Caesar’s death
Mark Antony, friend of Caesar and a Triumvir
Lepidus, third member of the Triumvirate
Marcus Brutus, leader of conspiracy against Caesar
Cassius, instigator of conspiracy against Caesar
Casca, conspirator
Trebonius, conspirator
Caius Ligarius, conspirator
Decius Brutus, conspirator
Metellus Cimber, conspirator
Cinna, conspirator
Calpurnia, wife of Caesar
Portia, wife of Brutus
Popilius Lena, senator
Cicero, senator
Flavius, tribune
Marullus, tribune
Lucilius, supporter of Brutus
Titinius, supporter of Brutus
Messala, supporter of Brutus
Volumnius, supporter of Brutus
Clitus, servant to Brutus
Strato, servant to Brutus
Lucius, servant to Brutus
Dardanius, servant to Brutus
Pindarus, servant to Cassius
A soothsayer
The ghost of Caesar
ACT ONE
THE EAGLE SOARS
The people of Rome laughed and sang as they crowded through the streets of the city. It was March, the month when the Festival of Lupercal was held to mark the beginning of spring, always a good excuse to have fun. But something else had helped to make the people even happier. The war between Rome’s great men for control of the ancient city and its growing empire had just ended, leaving a single winner, the mighty Julius Caesar. And now he had returned to celebrate his victory with feasts and special games laid on for the masses.
Not everyone was cheerful, though. Two nobles stood at the side of a street, their long white togas bright in the gloom of an overcast day, their faces hard and bitter as they watched the crowds enjoying themselves. Flavius and Marullus were supporters of Pompey, the general who had been Caesar’s enemy in the war. But Pompey was dead, and Caesar had no more rivals.
At last, Flavius could stand it no more. He stepped out in front of a group of labourers who were chanting ‘CAESAR! CAESAR!’ as they strolled along.
‘What are you doing?’ said Flavius. ‘Have you no shame?’
‘None at all!’ they grinned. ‘We’re going to see the mighty Caesar!’
‘Have you forgotten Pompey already?’ snarled Marullus. ‘There was a time when you would have waited all day just for a glimpse of him. Now you put on your best clothes and cheer the man responsible for his death! Be gone, and pray the Gods don’t punish you for being so cruel and hard-hearted.’
The labourers simply laughed and jeered, and Flavius drew his friend away into the shadows. ‘Let’s tear down the decorations that have been put up to honour Caesar,’ Flavius whispered. ‘He thinks he can soar above us like an eagle, but he’ll fly a little lower once we’ve plucked some feathers from his wings…’
They hurried off, and soon Caesar himself came into the same street. At first glance he was much like any other balding Roman noble – he certainly wasn’t tall or handsome. But look more closely and you could see the strength in his face, the steely determination to get whatever he wanted, the aura of power.
He was accompanied by his wife Calpurnia, his second-in-command Mark Antony, and several others – important Romans such as Brutus and his wife Portia, the great orator Cicero, the senators Cassius and Casca. Behind them all was a large crowd of people jostling each other and yelling Caesar’s name.
One voice was much louder than the rest, and caught the general’s attention.
‘Who calls to me?’ he said. ‘What do you want? Caesar will listen!’
Caesar often spoke in this way, using his name to refer to himself rather than saying ‘I’ or ‘me’. Some thought it was to show that he was better than other men, while some even suspected he did it to make himself sound like a god.
‘Do as he says, whoever you are!’ Mark Antony roared. ‘Caesar must be obeyed!’ Caesar’s second-in-command was a solid, muscular man, a soldier from head to foot. But there was a spark of passion in his face, too.
An old man stepped forward. He had a mop of wild white hair and wore a long, ragged robe. ‘Beware the Ides of March!’ he hissed, his eyes rolling.
The Romans had special names for some dates – the 15th day of March was always called the ‘Ides’.
‘What is he talking about?’ said Caesar.
‘Tomorrow will be the Ides of March,’ murmured Brutus, a man with a dark, brooding face. His toga was made of the finest wool, and so white it seemed to gleam. ‘He must be a soothsayer,’ Brutus continued. ‘I think he’s giving you a warning of some kind.’
‘Well, he’s obviously mad then, a dreamer,’ said Caesar, laughing and confident. ‘Tomorrow has no fears for Caesar. This way, everyone…’
Caesar moved on, heading for the Forum, the great open space that had always been the heart of the ancient city. Most of the crowd followed him, but Brutus didn’t, staying behind instead, his face thoughtful. Cassius saw him stop, and hung back, too. They ended up standing together by one of Rome’s many temples to the gods, its tall white columns rising high above them.
‘Aren’t you going to watch any more of the fun, Brutus?’ said Cassius. He was thin and bony and had the face of a hawk, his nose like a sharp beak.
‘No, I’m not interested,’ said Brutus. ‘Don’t let me stop you, though.’
He turned to leave, but Cassius held his arm. ‘Wait, Brutus,’ he said. ‘I’ve wanted to speak to you for a while. You’ve seemed rather … distant recently.’
‘I’m sorry, Cassius,’ said Brutus, sighing. ‘It’s just that I’ve had a lot on my mind. But don’t worry, I still think of you as a friend.’
‘That’s good, because what I have to say is very important,’ Cassius said quietly, glancing over his shoulder to make sure nobody could overhear their conversation. ‘Many of the best men in Rome have enormous respect for your judgement, Brutus, and wish you could see the truth of what’s going on.’
‘Are you leading me into danger, Cassius?’ Brutus said, glancing over his shoulder, too. ‘Perhaps my judgement isn’t as good as you think.’
‘You’re too modest, Brutus,’ said Cassius. ‘And you know me too well to think I’m trying to trick you. I don’t flatter men to gain their confidence then betray them afterwards to all and sundry. Now that would be dangerous…’
Suddenly, there was a clamour of people cheering in the distance. Brutus and Cassius exchanged a look, but they both knew the noise came from the Forum.
‘What does that shouting mean?’ Brutus murmured, gripping Cassius by the arm himself now. ‘I fear the people may have chosen Caesar as their king.’
‘Oh, so you fear such a thing, do you?’ said Cassius, his eyes glittering, a smile on his lips. ‘Then I’m guessing that you don’t want it to happen.’
‘I don’t, even though Caesar and I have always been friends,’ said Brutus, his face clouded, his eyes downcast. Then he looked up and frowned. ‘Just what are you getting at, Cassius?’ he said impatiently. ‘Come on, out with it.’
‘Very well,’ said Cassius, shrugging. ‘It’s simple. I’m tired of being
made to live in awe of somebody who is no better than me. I was born just as free as Caesar, and so were you, Brutus. Did you know he once challenged me to a swimming race across the River Tiber, and would have drowned if I hadn’t saved him? I saw him shaking with cold and fear, and I heard him whining like a sick girl. I can’t believe the same man now lords it over the rest of us.’
There was another burst of shouting in the Forum, much louder this time. ‘It seems even more honours are being heaped on Caesar,’ Brutus muttered.
‘Why, he strides over our little world like a giant, while we tiny men dodge his huge feet,’ said Cassius with a sour laugh. ‘But we should be masters of our fates. It’s our own fault if we allow ourselves to be ruled. Your name is as good as Caesar’s, so why should his be spoken more? When has Rome been a city big enough for only one man? Was there not another Brutus in the past, a great ancestor of yours, who rose up against a tyrant king? I think there was…’
Once Rome had been ruled by kings, but the people had thrown them out. Since then it had been a Republic governed by the Senate, a body of men who debated important issues and appointed the chief officers of the state. The senators were mostly rich, older men, but they considered each other as equals. At least they had until recent years. But then individuals like Pompey and Caesar had begun to grow in power and influence – something Brutus didn’t like at all.
‘Enough, Cassius,’ said Brutus. ‘I’ll consider what you’ve said, and I’ll let you know what I think in due course. Although you should know this – I would rather leave Rome forever than live under a tyrant. Wait, here comes Caesar again…’ The crowd had returned, filling the street once more. ‘Something must have happened,’ said Brutus. ‘He is upset, and the others look shocked.’
‘Yes, you’re right,’ said Cassius, his expression one of cold calculation. ‘Let’s grab Casca as he goes past. He’ll tell us what’s been going on.’
The two men retreated further behind the temple’s columns and waited for their chance. But Caesar had seen them, and turned to Mark Antony. ‘That Cassius has a lean and hungry look,’ he said, his eyes narrowed and suspicious, and his face as pale as a corpse’s. ‘He thinks too much. Such men can be very dangerous.’
‘Oh, he’s not someone you should fear, Caesar,’ said Mark Antony.
‘Caesar fears no one, but men like Cassius are always jealous of those who are greater. Come, tell me everything you know about him…’
Brutus and Cassius had heard nothing of this, intent as they were on catching Casca. Cassius tugged Casca’s cloak and pulled him into the shadows behind the columns. The crowd flowed on, everyone’s eyes still focused on Caesar.
‘What has happened, Casca?’ said Brutus. ‘Why is Caesar so moved?’
‘He was offered a crown, that’s all,’ said Casca. ‘And he turned it down.’
‘Good,’ snapped Brutus. ‘But why did the crowd raise another clamour?’
‘Because Caesar was offered the crown again,’ said Casca, with a snort. ‘In fact, he was offered the crown three times. I’ve never seen anything like it.’
‘None of us have,’ said Cassius, glancing at Brutus. ‘Who offered it to him?’
‘Why, Mark Antony, of course,’ said Casca. ‘But I think it was all just play-acting. Each time Mark Antony offered Caesar the crown, Caesar made a big show of waving it away, although the last time he let his eyes linger on it for quite a while. The crowd thought this was all wonderful, of course, and might even have made him accept the crown in the end. But then Caesar fainted.’
‘What do you mean, he fainted?’ said Cassius, surprise in his voice.
‘He fell down and foamed at the mouth, and couldn’t speak,’ said Casca.
‘That wasn’t play-acting,’ said Brutus. ‘Few people know it, but Caesar has the falling sickness, and often has fits. What did he say when he recovered?’
‘Only that his illness was to blame if he had done or said anything wrong,’ said Casca, shrugging. ‘And he asked everyone to forgive him. Which they did, of course. There is some other news, though. Flavius and Marullus have been arrested for taking down the decorations that were put up to honour Caesar…’
The men talked for a while longer, but at last they said their farewells. Brutus went home, and Casca to dinner with some friends, leaving Cassius alone by the temple. It was almost evening and the sky had clouded over, but Cassius barely noticed. He was thinking about his conversation with Brutus, and working out what to do next. Cassius had long known that Caesar was suspicious of him, and also that Brutus and Caesar were friends. But now it was clear that Brutus wasn’t happy with the way things were going. Cassius smiled. A little more effort and Brutus would be on the right side, no doubt about it. ‘Caesar might think he’s safe now,’ Cassius murmured. ‘But we’ll shake him before we’re done.’
Cassius strode off. There were people he had to see, plotting to be done.
Thunder boomed and lightning flashed as darkness fell, chasing the tired crowds from the streets. Strange things were seen, too – fire dropping from the sky, a slave holding up a hand that seemed to burn like twenty torches but left the man’s skin unharmed. And on his way home later that night, Casca met a lion by the Capitol, the building where the Senate met. It stared at him, then walked on by.
Later, Casca bumped into Cassius in a dark street, and told him all about it.
‘What a dreadful night!’ he said. A cold breeze swept around them, and Casca shivered. ‘It’s almost as if the gods are trying to tell us something.’
‘They’re warning us, Casca,’ said Cassius. ‘I could name a certain man who is like this dreadful night, a man who has become dangerous and difficult…’
‘You mean Caesar, don’t you?’ murmured Casca. Thunder cracked above them as if to answer his question, and a spear of lightning split the sky. ‘I heard at dinner that he is going to the Senate tomorrow to be made our king.’
‘I’ll need to wear my dagger then,’ said Cassius. ‘Caesar is a wolf, and that’s because he thinks we Romans are sheep. But at least some of us are going to do something about it. Give me your hand if you’re willing to join us.’
‘Gladly,’ said Casca, and they shook hands. ‘But what about Brutus? Our cause would be much stronger if such a respected man were on our side.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Cassius. ‘He’s three quarters persuaded already. But come, it’s past midnight. Let’s meet again before sunrise, at Brutus’ house.’
They parted once more and went their separate ways, knowing that tomorrow would be the most fateful of days.
ACT TWO
STRANGE DREAMS
Brutus paced up and down in his garden, unable to sleep, his mind racing, a couple of small oil lamps casting a fitful glow and keeping the shadows at bay. He went over his conversation with Cassius again and again, teasing out all its hidden meanings and implications. Although the truth was he’d been thinking the same thing as Cassius for some time. Caesar was a huge problem for the Republic, and something would have to be done about him. But what?
‘He must die,’ Brutus said quietly to himself at last. He stood still, holding that thought for a moment. He had nothing personal against Caesar. Anything he and Cassius did would be for the good of Rome. But how could they justify such an act to the people? The masses loved Caesar, and up until now they had no reason to complain. He had been very careful not to play the tyrant to them.
But of course all that might change if Caesar became their king. Men often put on a show of being meek and mild as they climbed the ladder of ambition. Then, once they reached the top, they revealed their true selves. They had to stop that happening with Caesar. They would tell the people he was a baby serpent in its egg, waiting to hatch into a monster. Far better to kill him now while still in the shell…
Suddenly, Brutus heard a noise, someone knocking on his door. He looked up, but the sky was full of storm clouds blotting out the stars and he couldn’t tell how soon it would
be day. It was certainly too late, or too early, for visitors.
‘Lucius!’ he said, calling out to his servant. ‘Go and see who that is.’
The servant scurried off to do his master’s bidding, and Brutus went back to his dark thoughts, brooding on what he knew had to be done, uneasy with his decision. It felt as if his mind was at war with itself, and he was trapped in a strange dream. But he was determined to carry this through.
Just then Lucius returned. ‘It’s your friend Cassius, sir,’ he said. ‘There are others with him, but I don’t know who they are. They’ve all half-covered their faces with their cloaks.’
‘So, the plotters have arrived,’ said Brutus. ‘They must be very nervous if they feel the need to disguise themselves even at night… Let them in, Lucius.’
A few moments later Lucius showed the men inside, and they uncovered their faces. Brutus knew Cassius, of course, and Casca, and he recognised the others, too – Decius and Cinna, Metellus and Trebonius, all members of the Senate.
‘We’re sorry to trouble you at this time of night, Brutus,’ said Cassius. The others looked on, saying nothing. ‘Can you and I talk privately for a moment?’
‘Of course,’ said Brutus. ‘And don’t worry, I wasn’t in bed.’
Brutus and Cassius went off to a dark corner of the garden and whispered together for a while. Eventually Brutus gave a small nod. He had thrown in his lot with the plotters – Caesar was to die that morning in the Senate, and Brutus would be one of the assassins. He and Cassius soon returned to the others.
‘Let us shake hands,’ Brutus said solemnly. ‘Each man with all the rest.’
‘We should swear an oath,’ said Cassius. But Brutus shook his head.
‘We don’t need to, Cassius,’ he said. ‘We’re Romans, and our word should be our bond.’ Brutus talked for quite some time, explaining why Cassius had been wrong. Cassius flushed slightly as he waited for Brutus to finish.
‘Well then, who else shall we try and persuade to join us?’ Cassius said, changing the subject. ‘What about Cicero? He would be a real asset.’
