"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
Let 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.
"Caesar," I said, and hesitated, like a fisherman gazing on a turbulent sea, and uncertain whether to launch his boat or stay safe on shore. I swallowed twice and cast myself upon the waves.
"Caesar, I have come to urge you to a course from which I fear you will immediately recoil."
"This is portentous stuff, Mouse."
"I have fought long and hard at your side, upholding your cause. You have been kind enough to praise my efforts. No battle required of me the courage I need now: to tell you what you do not wish to hear."
"I've never doubted your courage. Carry on. They say it's good for all men to hear unwelcome opinions… from time to time. So carry on. How have I offended you, Mouse?"
"You have offended Rome, Caesar."
"Be careful what you say."
"You have offended Rome, Caesar. Every conversation I have, with men of our own rank, yes, and with inferiors also, leads me to that conclusion. Your monopoly of power is increasingly resented. It is resented even by your dearest friends. And that's not all. The other day, I was writing a letter. It doesn't matter to whom. And I found myself writing this sentence: 'It is a rare felicity to be allowed to think what you like and say what you think: how long will this still be permitted us?' I crossed it out, did not despatch the letter. Caesar, I know you as well as any man can claim to know you, and I know that you are not a tyrant. Many men who know you less well than I, think you are. That may not matter, though I cannot be certain, all the less because of your refusal to surround yourself with a personal bodyguard. But you are erecting a system which will breed tyranny. You control the army. You have in effect abolished the elections. All public appointments are in your gift. You will have a successor who will cement your system. He will have successors who will not consider that there could be another way of governing the Republic and the Empire. They will not have your virtues. Liberty will be no more, and we shall no longer enjoy the rare felicity of being permitted to feel as we please, and speak our minds."