"This is the question that I put to you tonight: are you not ashamed, as I feel shame, that we have come to this abject condition? Or are you ready to bow down and worship Caesar, call him God, even King, regard him as a creature of a wholly different order from ourselves, his fellow nobility of Rome?"
Then he was silent, very pale, sipped wine, looked hard at each of us in turn. One by one eyes fell away, unable to hold his gaze, and there was silence. It was broken by the one man who had not met his gaze, had not done so for the excellent reason that his eyes were closed as he lay on his couch, in apparent indifference: Casca, of course.
"Words, words, words, Cassius, Cassius, Cassius, you have out-Ciceroed Cicero. There was no need indeed to ask the old man here tonight, for he couldn't have given a better exhibition of rhetoric than you have treated us to . . ."
"Do you think I mean nothing but words?"
"Can't say for sure, old thing, can't say." Casca hauled himself half upright, slapped his belly. "I am fat, fat, fat. That was a good dinner you have given us, Cassius. Caesar thinks only lean men are dangerous, and I am fat."
Metellus Cimber interrupted:
"Enough of this comedy. You have given us much to think of, Cassius. If it is any satisfaction to you, you have brought the blush of shame to my cheek."
"And to mine."
"And mine."
"And mine . . . alas."
"Well, Casca?" Cassius said.
"Put away shame a long time ago, old dear. Give me comfort, wine and a bit of slap and tickle - kill my creditors or let them live as long as you keep them off — and what more could Casca seek from life? I am fat, you see. Words, words, words. Well, I'll reply in words - the proof of the pudding's in the eating -how's that for a proverb? Your cook has a light hand with the pastry, Cassius. Congratulate him from me on those lobster patties
..."
Again Metellus Cimber broke the silence:
"What you have said, Cassius, can only be a beginning. I would wish Marcus Brutus had stayed. That's a man whose opinion I value. But you have given us all much to think of. Therefore I invite all here tonight to dine with me in seven days' time. Meanwhile we shall ponder these matters, consult our hearts, consciences, interests, whatever; and observe the oath of silence which we swore. Casca, you will find my cook, an Armenian, has a light hand with pastry too, and a deft imagination when it comes to the filling. So, shall we conclude here, and resume our discussion as I have invited?"
We all assented, but, as we made to leave, Cassius beckoned to me, and laid a restraining hand on young Cato's shoulder. When the three of us were alone, he said:
"An interesting response, better than I had dared hope for. But if we could have another word before you follow our friends, I should be grateful."
So we resumed our couches. Cassius poured more wine.
"Mouse," he said, "you know Caesar better than any of us."
"I owe him much."
"He is as greatly in debt to you."
"Well, I won't deny that."
"You knew what I was driving at . . . and yet you stayed."
I spat out an olive stone.
"There are loyalties and there is loyalty."
"What do you mean?" Cato said.
"One owes something to one's friends and benefactors, one owes more to oneself, one owes most to Rome." "Precisely my thought," Cassius said.
"Oh, you made that clear. I do no more than echo what you said. For months I have been seeking an alternative. I see none."
"If Caesar takes the name of King," Cato said, "the people themselves will quit us of responsibility. They will tear him apart."
"They might," I said. "In any case, he will not assume the title, not yet, not here, not in Rome. If he sets off for Parthia, then, yes, somewhere in the East he will permit himself, with a deprecating smile, to be called King. Perhaps there he will share a throne with the Queen of Egypt. It would be a long campaign, two or three years. In that time the people may grow accustomed to the title. Who knows? But he may never use the name in
Rome. Caesar is indifferent to mere words. He suggested to me recently that the name 'Ca
esar' might itself come to have
a grander sound than the name of 'King'. He may well be right. When I said I saw no alternative to what you, Cassius, did not quite bring yourself to propose this evening, that is because I have already explored the possibility of abdication, that he might follow the example of Sulla, and retire into private life. I did not mention Sulla to him, of course, since we all know that he detests the very name, but even the hint displeased him. He is determined to keep hold of power. He is determined to conquer Parthia."
"He might not return from Parthia," Cato said.
"He might not," Cassius said, "but it is a risk we cannot take, for if he did return, in triumph, then . . ."
He swept his hand, palm uppermost, before him, then turned his thumb down.
"Rome, all of us, in his grip for ever, liberty dead for ever. Cato, you and I stand in the same relation to Marcus Brutus . . ." This was true, for as Cato's sister was married to Brutus, so also Cassius himself had taken Brutus' half-sister as his own third wife the previous summer. "If you are committed to the enterprise I have suggested, Cato, I wish you would urge it on Brutus. I shall myself in private conversation. His nature is slow, reluctant, I was not surprised when he left us tonight. But we must have Brutus. Will you speak to him?"
"Certainly. I shall speak to my sister Porcia also. As you know, she was devoted to our father, has indeed made almost a cult of his memory. Consequently she loathes Caesar more than anyone I know. And she has great influence on her husband."
"Excellent," Cassius said. "I would trust few women with our intentions, but I am ready to make an exception of Cato's daughter."
When young Cato had left us, my father-in-law looked on me with something approaching affection.
"You are ready to bear the accusations of treachery that will be levelled at you?"
"Yes," I said.
"I know you don't share my regard for your cousin Marcus, nor the general high opinion in which he is held. I believe you underestimate him. Sometimes indeed I wonder if you are jealous of the golden opinions he wins."
"Jealous of Markie? No. But I question his capacity, and I don't see why you think him so essential."
"You have chosen the right word. I do think him essential. So much so that I believe we have no chance of success if he refuses to join us. Oh, we might succeed in our immediate aim. We don't need him for that. But it is precisely because he is held in such high esteem by the people."
"Oh yes, as the model of 'antique Roman virtue' - Markie. Yes, it baffles me."
"And by the senators
...
so I truly believe that his adherence is necessary if we are to succeed in what must be our wider aim — the restoration of the Free State. If he joins us, our act will be considered disinterested. If he refuses, our own regard for the Republic will not be credited. So I must ask you to lay aside your prejudice, and woo him also."
"It goes against the grain."
"Nevertheless
..."
"And he will blunder, I warn you."
"Nevertheless . . ."
"Very well, I submit, reluctantly, to your judgment." "Thank you. How is Longina?"
"Blooming, and a joy. Indeed, we are now so happy that I could easily be tempted to subside into contented domesticity."
"No, son-in-law, you are too much the Roman. And it is the noblest and most Roman of enterprises to which we have now committed ourselves."
We both rose. He embraced me, and I departed into the cloudy night.
Chapter 17
L
et the dice fly high." Caesar's words came back to me many times in the days that followed. "Let the dice fly high" - no matter how they land. It perplexed me - I had never been a gambler. Mark Antony used to mock me for my reluctance to take chances. I replied that that was all right for a genius like Caesar, but even a genius required sober men like Labienus and myself to keep him straight. "And what about me?" Antony said.
It was a question I could never answer. I never knew Antony's capacity. He fascinated me, I suppose, because he seemed so careless in all he did, careless of everything he did, careless of reputation, careless of consequences. Now I argued with myself, argued with Cassius, whether we should invite Antony to join us. He was consul that year. That was a point in favour, for it would mean that we had the legally constituted authority to back us. On the other hand, I could not be sure of his answer. He was incalculable. Besides there was the danger that he would reveal things in his cups. Cassius made two points: first, that Antony's adherence would repel Markie whose participation he was still eagerly seeking; second, that we would find it easy to approach Antony after the deed.
"He will be alarmed for his own safety. He will have no choice but to assent."
I wished I could be as certain.
Longina kissed me soft on the lips. My fingers danced on her belly, scarcely swollen yet.
"My father . . ." she said, ". .
. it worries me that you and he
. . . I don't know how best to put this. My father pretends to detachment. What does his philosophy say? Moderation in all things, isn't that it? He assents to that only in his mind, you know. He's impetuous, impulsive, dangerous. He always finds a respectable reason for anything he wants to do, but the real reason is different. Don't forget I've studied him all my life. I'll tell you something else, something I never . . . he's always frightened me. It's because he's bitter, disappointed."
"Don't worry," I said, and tried to kiss her fears away.
"It's because I don't want to lose you," she said, "and that's what's dangerous about my father. He costs other people things they prize."
For a little her tenderness unmanned me. Then I thought of the son we would have. I thought of the two avenues before him: the free life of a Roman noble: the subservient existence of a subject.
"Citizens!" Thus had Caesar addressed the mutinous soldiers of the Tenth.
But it was an honourable title too. How long could it survive in Caesar's Rome?
The
tramontana
continued to blow harsh from the north. Caesar occupied himself with the planning of his campaign. He was as ever meticulous in his arrangements for the legions' supplies -or he saw to it that others were meticulous.
He said to me: "I know you are due to take up the governorship of Cisalpine Gaul, and of course I have marked you down for the consulship in forty-two. But, we may have to find a substitute for you as governor. I think I shall need you in the East. Now that we no longer have Labienus, you are the only General I can trust with an independent operation."
"There's Antony," I said.
"Yes, there's always Antony. But I never know when I can trust Antony and when I can't. I have always been able to trust you, Mouse. That's why I've named you in my will as guardian to my nephew and heir, Octavius."
"There are rumours that you intend to acknowledge the Queen of Egypt's son as your child."
He frowned.
"Silence these rumours, pl
ease. They would only upset Cal
purnia."
"I have always been able to trust you, Mouse." The words returned to me at night. I stretched my hand out to my sleeping wife, and woke her, to drive the memory away.
Calpurnia still insisted that I find her Bithynian magician.
"I know he's not left the city."
"Perhaps he's in hiding on account of his crimes."
"I don't believe you have really tried to find him. It makes me wonder if you are not on Cleopatra's side."
Her distress had made her scrawnier, more yellow in complexion than ever. I could not pity her, looked on her only with dislike, wondered yet again why Caesar tolerated this unequal marriage. Her nagging caused him irritation. Almost alone in Rome, she would not even pretend to see him as a godlike figure. She insisted on his frailty. Perhaps he kept her by him as a salutary reminder that the image he presented to the public was false. That thought made me pity him. Then it offered itself as a spur. Perhaps Caesar could still be redeemed. If, in his innermost being, he retained such doubts, then indeed he might be diverted from the course that promised disaster to him, unimaginable consequences for Rome.