"You call for reforms, Mouse. I have no reform to offer. Once, perhaps, I too thought things might be restored simply by the eradication of abuses. No longer. Such hopes are but an idle dream. You imply that there is resentment because I have appointed consuls, praetors and other magistrates, and made the elections into a merely formal ceremony of confirmation.
But you know, in your heart, that for longer than our lifetime, these elections have been either fraudulent or farcical. They have also been dangerous, for they have provoked the violence which government should restrain, and which the Republic has failed to restrain.
"And so, I say… the Republic is dead. You cannot breathe life into a corpse. What is left is a sham, and a dangerous sham.
"Things must change. But they will change gradually, as men grow accustomed to new realities. The first reality is that power now rests with the army and whoever controls it. Well, fortunately for Rome, Caesar controls it. As long as Caesar controls the army, Caesar controls Rome. That is the reality against which Cicero's dreams shatter themselves like a piece of pottery thrown against a wall. Time, that is the watchword. Time and I against any two; that is my faith.
"Yes, I shall go to Parthia, because it is necessary. What I choose to call myself is immaterial. In Rome, I am Caesar, and Caesar rules. In the provinces Caesar may be king, even a god, it is not important. What Rome needs is a period of calm, free from civil strife. Only Caesar can provide it, and Caesar can do so only while he controls and commands the army. That is reality, Mouse, I insist on it.
"So, don't listen to Cicero, there's a good chap. He represents the past. The future is quite different, because it will be based on an understanding of the ultimate reality of power: the sword. Naturally the Senate will survive; has Caesar not refreshed it, even as you admit yourself? So will the magistracies for there is necessary work for them to do. But remember: the strong govern the world, and Caesar is the strongest, while he commands the strength of the legions.
"Nobody will ever hold power in Rome again unless he commands that support. If he relinquishes command to others, he will perish. Rome is an Empire, not a city-state. Tell me, in your heart, don't you find it absurd that a mob of greasy unwashed plebeians should be entrusted with the choice of their government, when that government has the responsibility for the whole Mediterranean world… and after my next campaign for the government of Parthia also…"
I left in despair, for he had sketched a future in which liberty was dead, and in which honour was at the disposal of whoever had seized power… It was not for that reason, not to achieve this, that I had fought from the Rubicon to Greece and saved the day at Munda.
A lthough the year began traditionally on the Kalends of March (a date altered by Caesar's reform of the calendar) my father-in-law, Caius Cassius, was accustomed to throw a party at the January Kalends, for, as he rightly said, "Janus, the guardian spirit of entrances and the god presiding over the beginning of all things and all deeds, deserves our respect." The fact that the party, coming so soon after the debauchery of the Saturnalia, had been known to revive the spirit of that festival and thus degenerate into something which might fairly be described as an orgy, didn't alter my father-in-law's determination to honour the god.
His party in this momentous year took on an unusual significance, for Cassius had pruned his guest-list of all those who were known to be the most devoted to Caesar, even though, as a precaution, he felt it necessary to invite the dictator himself.
Perhaps my presence reassured Caesar that he was not among enemies for he was in genial form throughout his fairly brief stay at Cassius' house. Some say it was the presence of my cousin Marcus Brutus which calmed the agitation he revealed when he first looked round the room, but this is not so: he was on bad terms with Markie on account of rumours that my cousin was ambitious to replace him in the dictatorship.
"Surely Brutus can wait till the breath is out of this frail body," he said.
Besides, any of those present — and alas, some are no longer among us — could confirm that it was to me that the dictator directed most of his conversation that evening. Cassius had asked me to make sure that Caesar was happily engaged, and of course I was delighted to obl ige. My father-in-law knew very well that the dictator neither liked nor trusted him; and so, after a brief and ceremonious greeting, he was pleased to see me take him off his hands, as it were.
Caesar departed early, saying that, however festive the occasion, he had work to do.
"Work with the Queen of Egypt," young Cinna sniggered, as soon as the dictator was out of earshot.
After we had eaten and drunk — the sucking-pig was especially delicious, I recall, because, Cassius assured me, the sows on his farms near Tivoli were fed a milk diet which ensured that their own supply of milk was both plentiful and rich — Cassius dismissed the slaves, having first ascertained that they had left an ample supply of wine, both white and red. It was one of his maxims that, in honour of Janus, it was proper to drink alternate glasses.
There were some twenty of us left, reclining on couches and all at our apparent ease. Yet, when the slaves departed, a tremor ran round the room, as if we all sensed the imminency of something of great moment. I may say that my father-in-law had given me no warning of his intentions, which is proof of the confidence in my virtue which he had learned to feel.
We were a varied party. Let me stress that from the start. Cassius himself and Markie had been Pompeians; they had fought (or, in the case of Markie, found safer occupation) at Pharsalus. Quintus Ligarius was a Pompeian, pardoned (as I have related) as a result of Ci cero's eloquence. Decimus Turul lius and Quintus Cassius (from Parma), more obscure figures, had also fought in Pompey's army. There was the young Cato, less gloomy and uncouth than his father, more intelligent too, as devoted to the Republic, but with a truer appreciation of what was possible; a young man indeed of some charm with his chestnut hair and melancholy expression. He was of course now Markie's brother-in-law, though I had observed with some amusement earlier that he had removed himself from my cousin's conversation, and not only, I was certain, because of Markie's unfortunate habit of occasionally spitting in his interlocutor's face; this was due to a childhood infirmity which he had never overcome, rather than to bad manners. Probably Cato knew this; so he had, I imagined, removed himself simply because he was bored. I couldn't blame him for that. Another Pompeian was Lucius Cornelius Cinna, married to the Great One's daughter.
But I had old colleagues of my own there: Casca, of course, Lucius Tillius Cimber and Caius Trebonius, men with whom I had fought side by side. There were others whose position was more dubious, and whom I would be disinclined to trust: Ser Sulpicius Galba, well-born, skilled in the military art, but of a sour and truculent disposition. I knew he hated Caesar because Caesar had refused his request to be nominated as consul for any of the immediately succeeding years. More disreputable was Lucius Minucius Basilus, whom Caesar had denied the governorship of a province on the grounds that he was unfit for the responsibility; instead the dictator had offered him money. Basilus claimed to have been insulted, but he took the money all the same.