Caesar (28 page)

Caesar rose, a little unsteadily, so that he laid his hand on Antony's head. He pulled the shawl away, and let it fall. He pointed his index finger at his naked throat. His mouth moved, but what he said couldn't be heard in the tumultuous din. From his action I deduced that he was inviting any whom his response displeased to cut his throat. The invitation was not accepted. The cheers resounded louder. Caesar swayed, and fell to the ground.

Casca whispered: "I expect he's been choked by their stinking breath, they crowd around him so close."

"No," I said. "It's his old complaint, the falling sickness." A voice close to my other ear said:

"It's not Caesar who suffers from the falling sickness, but us. Yes, and Casca too, we all have the falling sickness."

I didn't have to turn to identify my father-in-law.

"An interesting charade," he said. "We need to talk about it. Come home with me after this is all over."

Caesar had recovered, was on his feet again, very pale, and still trembling. He held up his hand for silence.

He obtained it, which says much for his authority and presence.

"Good people," his voice was faint.

"The poor soul," a sluttish girl near us muttered.

"Good people," Caesar said again, "I apologise for disturbing you with this strange infirmity of mine, which, as veterans of my campaigns will tell you, has often preceded my greatest triumphs. If I have offended any of you in any way this day, think kindly of me, and attribute the offence to the onset of my malady."

Then, leaning ostentatiously on Antony's shoulder, he made his slow, almost regal, way through the crowd in the direction of the Forum.

"The poor soul," the girl said again, "you can see how he suffers."

"He should never have been out today, I could see that as soon as I clapped eyes on the poor man," one of her companions said, "but there it is, he's a martyr to duty."

"Yes," said another, "and he knew how it would disappoint us if he wasn't, with us."

"Poor soul," the first girl said again. "You can see how hard it is for him."

"I'm glad he put the crown aside."

"Oh it was a crown, was it? I couldn't see."

"Aye, I'm that glad, though, mind you, if anyone deserves a crown, it's Caesar."

"Did 'ee hear what he said, though, when someone called him 'King' one day? 'My name's not King, but Caesar.'"

"Oh he's quick. You won't outsmart our Caesar."

"No, he's our boy, we're safe with Caesar."

"I don't know what that Antony was thinking of."

"Drunk, I daresay. He nearly fell on his arse when Caesar gave him that little shove."

"What was it all about then?"

"Well, he was just proving, like, if you ask me, that he doesn't want a crown. It's enough for him to be Caesar." "Too much for most."

"He don't look well. I worry about him, nights, you know." "Poor soul
..
."

Bombarded by such comments, with praise of Caesar ringing in our ears, we made our way to Cassius' house.

"There's a depth of affection for him, you know, love almost, one mustn't forget that," I said.

"I don't," Cassius said. "It preys on my mind."

"Pish and tush," Casca said. "The rabble is fickle. Believe me, I know. With good reason. Today, yes, that was their mood. If Caesar had told them to go home and stab their mothers, they'd have obeyed him. But that's today. Tomorrow they'll scream equally loud for a new hero. That's the rabble. Trash. You don't want to take any heed of them."

"I hope you may be right," I said.

* *

Cassius called on a slave to bring us wine mulled with spices.

"Drink it up. It was cold out there," he said, handing us goblets, and downing his own.

"That's better. Well?"

"That's better, as you say; and again, as you say, well?"

"I had hoped," Cassius said, "that Caesar's popularity would decline. But it still increases."

"Would they have cheered as loud," I asked, "if he had accepted Antony's gift?"

"Every bit," Casca said.

"If his popularity," Cassius said, "is still waxing, then the day threatens when there will be nothing he cannot do, for there will be nothing, not even public opinion, to restrain him . . ."

"So?"

"So, we must do as we have determined. So also, Mouse, it becomes ever more necessary to recruit your cousin Marcus. He must be persuaded. I have sent for young Cato to consult how we may bring matters to the point. Mouse, it's no use turning down the corners of your mouth. Consider the three of us here. I have no illusions about my own standing: I am detested by the common people as the very expression of aristocratic pride. They loathe what they understand - and misunderstand - about the philosophy that informs my actions. You, Casca, are you respected? I think not. And, Mouse, are you popular? If you make a speech in the Forum, will the people cheer? Who will die for you or your cause?"

"The Ninth Legion is devoted to me. I have led them to fame and victory. They stand to in my allotted province of Cisalpine Gaul, and, believe me, Cassius, you couldn't wish for a finer body of men."

"Mouse, Mouse, soldiers, soldiers . . . they will follow whoever pays them."

"No, they have deeper loyalties. Caesar's strength derives from the army. Never forget that."

"Caesar's strength derives from his being Caesar, and from our weakness. No, however much you dislike it, we need Marcus Brutus. He is the only man we can hope to recruit who is held in high esteem by mob and senators alike. He is the only man who can make our cause . . ." he paused, and smiled; there was a sneer in his smile, ". . . respectable," he finished with a bark of laughter.

"We would do better with Antony," I said.

"Antony?" Cassius said. "After that comedy today?"

I argued the case for Antony at length. I dismissed what we had just seen. We couldn't know Antony's motives, not till we had discussed the matter with him, as I was quite willing to do. Antony was consul, I said, and that alone gave our cause authority. It meant we could take whatever measures were necessary to secure order, and do so legally. I emphasised the importance of legality. It was true, I admitted, that Antony had been a devoted partisan of Caesar's — but no more than I myself; he had rarely questioned Caesar's actions. Well, how many of us had? But he was not infatuated with Caesar; he had resented Caesar's refusal to support him in his quarrel with Dolabella the previous year. Antony was popular with the crowd and, as consul, could legally take command of the legions. I admitted his frailties, but insisted that they were outweighed by his ability. We ought at least to sound him out. If he adhered to us, our cause would be immeasurably strengthened.

"Antony is not respectable," Cassius said.

"The same charge could be levelled at me, old fruit," Casca said.

"Your case is different, and not only because you can keep a secret in your cups, which Antony can't. Mouse, even if I agreed with everything that you have said - and you have argued the case for Antony with an eloquence of which Cicero might be proud — there remains one insuperable objection: we will never secure Marcus Brutus if he thinks Antony is engaged in the enterprise, for Antony is everything Brutus despises and detests."

"Bugger Markie," I said.

"Not me, old boy," Casca said. "You'll have to find another candidate for that job."

My doubts grew when young Cato arrived, fresh-faced, handsome, incurious. He brought good news, he said. His sister Porcia was exercising all her charms ("Bloody few, I'd have thought," muttered Casca) to persuade her husband. Brutus was half-convinced. He had written some pages of an essay on the virtues of the Republic. It was provisionally entitled
Against the Government
of
a Single Person.

I remarked that this did not really take us any further.

"Besides, the Republic is easier to applaud than to achieve."

"But I must tell you something else," Cato said. "Supporters of Caesar have crowned his statues with royal diadems. And the mob cheered them as they did so."

"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.