‘I loved him too,’ said Antony, ‘regardless of what you may think. Those who killed him will pay, I guarantee that. Go to him now. The time has come to say farewell.’
Silius gave him a bewildered look, his eyes glistening, and made his way slowly towards the door.
Antony left a couple of men from his escort to guard the villa and returned with the rest of the entourage to the other side of the Tiber, bound for home.
Romae, in Colle Capitolio, Id. Mart, hora duodecima
Rome, the Capitoline Hill, 15 March, five p.m.
Caius Casca, on guard with several other armed men on the north side of the Capitol, could not believe his eyes when he saw the surviving consul, Mark Antony, walking up the Sacred Way with his sons, preceded by the flag of truce.
Casca ran back uphill to find his brother Publius.
‘Antony is willing to negotiate. He’s at the end of the street and he has his sons with him.’
‘What’s happening?’ asked Brutus as he saw them speaking.
‘Antony is willing to negotiate and has his sons with him,’ repeated Caius Casca. ‘Strange, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Go and see what he wants.’
The two brothers exited on to the north landing and began to make their way down, preceded by a flag of truce as well and by two armed men. They soon found themselves face to face with Antony. He was the first to speak.
‘Each one of us imagined that we were right to do what we did, but we must acknowledge that Rome is now in a state of utter confusion. The city could easily slide back into civil war, a disaster that must be avoided at any cost. The full powers of the republic must be restored, but in order for this to happen, we all have to return to the Senate, call a regular session and discuss how these matters can be dealt with.
‘I hereby propose that the Senate be convened to discuss the future order of the state. We have an entire legion camped outside the walls. We could use military force to decide the issue, but we prefer a rapid return to normality and an end to bloodshed. This very evening, I am expecting Cassius to join me for dinner at my house, and Brutus has been invited by Marcus Aemilius Lepidus. As a token and pledge of my good will, I will leave my sons with you.’
Publius turned to his brother. ‘Go and report to the others. I’ll wait for you here.’
Caius Casca nodded and returned to the top of the hill. Every now and then he turned to take in the two little groups halfway up the ramp who faced each other without moving, in total silence. The two boys sat on a little wall to the side and chatted with one another.
Cassius, Marcus and Decimus Brutus, Trebonius and the others accepted the conditions and Caius ran back down to where his brother was waiting to report that the proposal was acceptable. Antony bade his young sons farewell, embracing them and instructing them to behave well in his absence. He then mounted a horse and rode off.
Romae, in Domo Publico., Id. Mart., prima vigilia
Rome, the residence of the Pontifex Maximus, 15 March, first guard shift, seven p.m.
Silius entered with a hesitant step, as if he were crossing into the other world. The door jambs were veiled in black. Cries and laments rose from inside. He walked through the atriumand reached the audience chamber, where Caesar was lying in state. Antistius had had his body washed and laid out, and his features had been composed by the undertakers to convey the solemnity of death.
Calpurnia, dressed in black, was weeping softly in a corner. Her eyes were swollen and her cheeks were pallid. She too had been defeated by a death that she had felt coming, that she had practically announced — unheeded, like Cassandra, by gods and men.
Antistius looked up but said nothing, because the stony expression on Silius’s face allowed no words. He walked away and went to sit on a bench leaning against the wall, his head low. Every attempt to stop this from happening, he thought, had been thwarted. He turned over the small, bloodied parchment scroll he held in his hands. It was Artemidorus’s warning, along with the complete list of the conspirators: the message that had never been opened, that had not saved Caesar’s life, due to a cruel trick of fate. Had Caesar found an instant to read it, the destiny of the world would have changed.
On the bench beside Antistius was a tablet with his notes, along with another message, the one that Artemidorus’s young friend had carried. In vain. On the tablet the doctor had diligently noted, as was his habit, a description of every wound. Caesar had suffered many of them, but the cuts that had penetrated his flesh, those that had drained him of the last drop of blood, were twenty-three in number.
Only one of which was mortal.
A wound to his heart.
Who had it been? Who had cleaved the heart of Caius Julius Caesar?
Thoughts flitted through his mind continuously. Elusive, indefinable, useless thoughts. ‘If only I had realized. . if only I had told. .’
At least he was used to seeing Caesar dead, to considering him gone. But not Silius. Silius was seeing him for the first time in that state. The composure of his features lent a total absurdity to his silence and immobility. He, Silius Salvidienus, could neither accept nor believe that Caesar’s arm might not rise, that his eye might not open, bright with that imperious expression. He could not believe that Caesar’s face, so intact, so recognizable, could not suffice to call his limbs back to life.
In the end, he surrendered to the extreme, inescapable violence of death, this death, and then the tears fell from his dull, dazed eyes and scalded his ashen face.
He remained on his feet, still and silent, for a long time in front of the bier, then, with a distressed expression, he stiffened into a military salute, his voice ringing metallic from behind clenched teeth: ‘Front-line centurion Silius Salvidienus, second century, third maniple, Tenth Legion. Hail and farewell, commander!’
He turned then and walked out.
He wished he had a horse on which to gallop far away, to another world, over endless plains; to be carried off by the wind like a leaf dried up by the long winter. He stopped, instead, after a few steps, incapable of going on. He sat down on the Domus stair that opened up on to the Sacred Way. Not much later, he saw two people leaving the House of the Vestals on his right. People he knew welclass="underline" Mark Antony and Calpurnius Piso, Caesar’s father-in-law. What were they doing at this time of day, in such a situation, at the House of the Vestals?
They stood in front of the entrance and appeared to be waiting for someone. A servant soon came up with an ass-drawn cart holding a box. They set off again all together and he lost sight of them in the darkness.
Silius realized that Antistius had come out of the Domus as well and had witnessed the scene.
Antistius said, ‘They went to get Caesar’s will, without a doubt. The Vestalis Maxima herself is responsible for holding his will and testament, and can release it only to the executor, Piso.’
‘What about Antony, then? What does Antony have to do with Caesar’s will?’
Antistius reflected a few moments before answering. ‘It’s not inheriting his worldly goods he’s interested in. It’s his political inheritance. Brutus and Cassius were deceived. Caesar demonstrated that it is possible for a single man to rule the world. No one had ever wielded such unlimited power. Others will want what he had. Many will try to take his place. The republic, in any case, is dead.’
Romae, in aedibus M. Antonii, Id. Mart, secunda vigilia
Rome, the home of Mark Antony, 15 March, second guard shift, after nine p.m.
Antony received Cassius as promised, while his sons were being held hostage on the Capitol. At the same moment Brutus was dining on the Tiber Island, at the headquarters of Marcus Aemilius Lepidus. Everything had been planned, down to the last detail.