by Tony Bradman
‘Be careful what you say, Antony,’ hissed Cassius. He nudged his horse forward, too, and now the two Roman nobles glared at each other, their faces inches apart. ‘If I’d had my way, you wouldn’t be alive to talk to us at all.’
‘Shall we get to the point?’ said Octavius. He suddenly drew his sword and held it high. The guards with Brutus and Cassius drew their swords, too, and one of them quickly rode forward, pushing between Cassius and Mark Antony. Octavius, however, sat motionless in his saddle, his face stern. ‘I swear my sword will not rest until Caesar has been revenged,’ he said. ‘Or I am dead.’
‘I’d be happy to oblige you, young man,’ said Brutus, scowling. ‘And don’t forget, being killed by the noble Brutus would be quite an honour.’
‘Really?’ said Octavius. ‘I don’t think I was born to die on your sword.’
‘Being killed by Brutus is too good for you,’ said Cassius. ‘You’re nothing but a bad-tempered schoolboy, and your companion is a drunk and a loser.’
‘Just watch your mouth, Cassius!’ yelled Antony, drawing his own sword. There was a lot of yelling and swearing and jostling and horses neighing. But then Octavius grabbed the bridle of Antony’s horse and pulled him away.
‘We hurl defiance in your teeth, traitors!’ he called out, his voice ringing clear. ‘Let’s get this battle started – if you have the courage to fight us, that is!’
With that, both groups rode back to their own lines. Orders were given, the great Roman battle trumpets were blown, and the front ranks moved forward, the rhythmic thumping of their iron-shod sandals making the ground shake.
Cassius wheeled his horse round behind the lines of advancing soldiers, and found himself beside Messala. The grizzled veteran sat rigidly on his horse, his dark eyes narrowed beneath the iron rim of his helmet. ‘Now comes the storm of steel, and everything depends on our luck in what happens next,’ Cassius murmured, watching Brutus ride over to speak to one of the other officers.
‘I’m sorry, Cassius?’ said Messala, turning to him. ‘What did you say?’
‘And it’s my birthday today,’ said Cassius, lost in thought, his voice quiet. He pulled himself together. ‘Listen, Messala, I want you to be my witness,’ he said, taking the other man’s hand. ‘I was against staking everything on just this one battle – I think it’s a grave mistake. I never used to be superstitious, but have you noticed the sky above us is full of ravens and crows waiting for us to die?’
‘Surely things aren’t that bad,’ said Messala, trying to reassure him, but Cassius refused to be cheered up.
After a while, Brutus rode over to them. More orders were given, and Brutus sent Messala off with some new instructions, leaving the two allies to talk. Cassius was still in a sombre mood.
‘I hope things go well today, Brutus,’ he said at last. ‘But this could be the last time we speak to each other, so we should think about the worst that might happen. What are your plans if we lose? You know Octavius and Mark Antony will drag you in chains through the streets of Rome if they capture you.’
‘I won’t let them, Cassius,’ said Brutus, smiling and shaking his head. ‘I will never go bound to Rome – I’m too good for that. Today we will end the journey that we began on the Ides of March, and I have no idea whether you and I will see each other again. So let’s say goodbye now. If we do meet again, why then we’ll smile. But if we don’t, then we can say that this was the best way to part.’
‘Farewell then, Brutus,’ said Cassius, and the two friends shook hands.
‘Lead on, Cassius,’ said Brutus. ‘If only we could already know how this day will turn out. But it will certainly end one way or another… And now, to battle!’
At that moment the two front lines came together with a great CRASH! of steel on steel. Swords rose and fell, men and horses screamed and died, and blood covered the dusty ground. Brutus had spotted that Octavius’ troops seemed raw and untested, and had ordered his men to hit them as hard as they could. His tactics soon paid off, and Octavius was forced to give ground.
Cassius, however, was not having quite so much success. His troops met fierce resistance from Antony’s legions, which were packed with veterans of Caesar’s wars – all of them tough men with a deep grudge against the plotters. Soon Cassius and his men were being pushed back, and then the line broke. Panic-stricken soldiers threw away their weapons and shields and ran to the hills. Cassius tried to stop them, and even cut one of them down himself. An officer on his staff – a certain Titinius – found him standing over the body.
‘I had to do it, Titinius,’ he groaned. ‘The cowards have let me down!’
‘It was all Brutus’ fault,’ said Titinius. ‘He gave the order to advance too early. That split our forces and allowed Antony’s legions to encircle us.’
Suddenly another man appeared – Pindarus, a slave who belonged to Cassius. ‘Run, my lord!’ he yelled. ‘Mark Antony’s men have captured our camp!’
Cassius and Titinius peered into the distance and saw a column of smoke and flame rising from their tents. Cassius could see another column of troops, too.
‘Titinius, ride over there and see whether they’re friends or enemies,’ he said. Titinius nodded, jumped onto his horse, and galloped off. ‘Pindarus, go a little further up the slope and watch him. Tell me what you see.’
Pindarus squinted into the sun, a hand sheltering his eyes. ‘Titinius has been surrounded by horsemen, my lord,’ he said. ‘I think they’ve captured him!’
Cassius sighed, his shoulders slumping. ‘Come down again, Pindarus,’ he called out. The slave did as he was told, and soon he was standing in front of his master, a puzzled expression on his face. ‘I saved your life when I captured you,’ said Cassius. ‘And in return I made you swear you would do whatever I told you to. Now it’s time for you to keep your oath.’ Cassius drew out his dagger and pressed the hilt into the slave’s hand. ‘I want you to kill me.’
Pindarus looked into his master’s eyes for a moment. Then Cassius turned his face away and Pindarus drove the dagger into him. Cassius staggered, then fell to the ground, his life’s blood pumping out. ‘So, now you are revenged on me, Caesar,’ Cassius moaned. ‘And with the very dagger that helped to kill you…’
Pindarus threw down the blade and ran. But not long after, Titinius rode up, with Messala beside him. The two men jumped from their horses.
‘Cassius is no more,’ groaned Titinius, looking down at the blood-soaked corpse. ‘Our day is done … he must have thought that I had been captured.’
‘I’d better go and tell Brutus,’ said Messala. He climbed back into the saddle and galloped off, but Titinius was kneeling by Cassius now, and took no notice.
‘I met our friends, Cassius!’ moaned Titinius. ‘We were coming to meet you, but now we’re finished, and I can stand it no more.’ He picked up the weapon from beside Cassius’s body. ‘I’ll plunge this dagger into my own heart…’
Messala came thundering back with Brutus and several other officers, but it was too late. Titinius lay dead, his body across that of Cassius. ‘Oh, Julius Caesar, you are still mighty!’ said Brutus, looking down at the two bodies, his horse restless beneath him. ‘Your spirit must be haunting us, making us take our own lives. Are there two Romans as great as these who lie before us?’
‘Come, sir, we must get back to the battle,’ said one of his officers.
‘Yes, you’re right,’ said Brutus. ‘I don’t have time to mourn you now, friend Cassius, but I will, I promise.’ He wheeled his horse around and held up his sword, the steel blade glinting in the afternoon sun. ‘Follow me, men!’ he roared. ‘The day is not over yet, not by any means. We can still win this!’
But Brutus was wrong. His men were outnumbered now, Antony’s legions having come over from their flank to support those of Octavius. Soon Brutus’s men were being pushed back across the battlefield, men dying with every bloody backward step, until finally Brutus’s legions broke, too. They ran, and were hunted down
in the ghastly red twilight, like rabbits fleeing from hunters.
Brutus fled on foot like the rest, his horse having been killed. Only a few men were with him now – Dardanius, Clitus, Volumnius, Strato – and they hurried into the hills, keeping to the shadows, looking for somewhere to hide. Brutus, however, knew there was no escape. ‘Let’s rest here, by this rock,’ he said at last, and the fugitives huddled in the shadows, grateful for some rest.
But Brutus had a rather longer rest on his mind – one that would last forever. He quietly asked Dardanius and Clitus if they would help him to die, but they were horrified and refused. So then he turned to Volumnius.
‘You know, I saw the ghost of Caesar last night,’ he said. ‘I should have known then that we were going to lose. The hour of my death has come.’
‘That’s not true, my lord,’ said Volumnius, tears on his battle-stained cheeks.
‘Oh, but I’m sure it is, Volumnius,’ said Brutus. Trumpets sounded in the distance, and they could hear the men hunting them calling to each other. ‘Our enemies have pushed me to the edge of the grave,’ Brutus murmured. ‘And it would be far better if I leap myself rather than wait for them to push me in.’
‘I just can’t do it, my lord,’ said Volumnius. ‘It’s not a job for a friend.’
‘Quick, run, my lord!’ Clitus hissed suddenly. ‘They’re almost upon us!’
‘You go,’ said Brutus. ‘Don’t worry, I will follow you in a moment.’
Dardanius, Clitus and Volumnius ran off, but Brutus stayed where he was, and held Strato’s arm. ‘Stay with me, Strato,’ he said. ‘You’re a good man, an honourable man. Will you hold my sword for me so that I can run on to it?’
‘Very well,’ said Strato. ‘But give me your hand first.’ Brutus did as he asked, and then handed Strato his sword. Strato held the blade straight out in front of him. ‘Farewell, my lord,’ he said, turning his face away.
Brutus threw himself forward, gripping Strato’s wrist to guide the sword into his own body. ‘Farewell, good Strato,’ he moaned, and sank to the ground, his hands round the bloody blade. ‘I hope you’re satisfied now, Caesar,’ he said as his eyes glazed over. ‘I’m killing myself far more willingly than I killed you…’
Then Brutus died, his last breath leaving him like a sigh of regret. Strato stood beside him, his head bowed, and barely looked up when Octavius and Antony arrived with their men. Messala was with them, having already been pardoned by Octavius, as were all the other surviving members of the plotters’ army. Messala walked over to Strato and put an arm round his shoulder.
‘Tell me, Strato,’ he said, his voice gentle. ‘How did Brutus die?’
‘I held his sword,’ said Strato, almost choked. ‘And he ran onto it…’
‘This was the noblest Roman of them all,’ said Mark Antony, taking off his helmet, the others doing the same. ‘The other conspirators were just jealous of Caesar, but Brutus believed he was acting for the good of Rome and its people. He lived a good life, and we could look at him and say – this was a man!’
‘We’ll give him the burial a man like him truly deserves,’ said Octavius. ‘We’ll put his body in my tent tonight, where he’ll lie like a brave soldier.’
So six soldiers raised up his body, took the noble Brutus away.
And a lone Roman trumpet sounded the end of this terrible day.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Tony Bradman was born in London and still lives there. He has written a large number of books for children of all ages, including 25 titles about his most popular creation, Dilly the Dinosaur. Dilly the Dinosaur was made into a long-running TV series and one of the books was shortlisted for the Children’s Book Award. Tony has also edited many anthologies of poetry and short stories.
Tony loves reading about the classical world and Roman history, and also going to see Shakespeare plays performed at the restored Globe Theatre on London’s South Bank. So doing an adaptation of Shakespeare’s famous play about Julius Caesar was the perfect job!
SHAKESPEARE TODAY
SHAKESPEARE TODAY
SHAKESPEARE TODAY
SHAKESPEARE TODAY
This electronic edition published 2011 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
Text copyright © 2011 Tony Bradman
First published 2008 by
A & C Black
Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
50 Bedford Square, London, WC1B 3DP
www.acblack.com
Illustrations copyright © 2011 Mark Oldroyd
The rights of Tony Bradman and Mark Oldroyd to be identified as author and illustrator of this work respectively have been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
eISBN 9781408163795
A CIP catalogue for this book is available from the British Library.
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