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Authors: Craig Smith
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senate to session for the purpose of voting immunity to those involved in Caesar’s death?’
After a long, thoughtful pause Brutus asked, ‘You would do that?’
‘If I were still a consul I would. Of course, if you want to declare me illegitimate and arrange elections at once, I cannot help you. You want a Republic and that, I’m afraid, comes with courts and the right of Caesar’s family to bring the charge of murder against all of you.’
‘Caesar was a tyrant!’ Cassius answered.
‘Perhaps he was, but he was also a citizen. Under the laws of our Republic his family can make you answer for his death in court. You know how it goes: lost fortunes, exile…’ He gave a shiver. ‘Juries can get very testy about the murder of a man they once loved. But as you like. I’ll not worry about it. It’s your court date, not mine.’
The agreement that followed was the sort of sham only Mark Antony could have conjured, as worthless as a roll of wet papyrus in the long run but sufficient to keep the peace for the next few days.
Antony, in his role as consul, called the senate to session next morning before dawn and got a unanimous vote on a single measure, the details of which had been negotiated the night before. Antony’s and Dolabella’s consulships were confirmed. Lepidus received his pontificate. Caesar would have a funeral at public expense, and the assassins were all immune from civil and criminal prosecution. Should anyone care to protest the senate’s decision Lepidus stood ready to advance his legions into the city.
The city was still quiet when I arrived on the Camp of Mars. I left Hannibal and my pack mule at a stable and walked into the city with a hired slave pushing a rickety cart filled with my gear. This was the evening before Caesar’s funeral. Rather than seek out a public house or my family’s Tuscan friends, I went directly to the great house of the Cornelii, for I had promised Dolabella I would report to him before the third day after the Ides of March.
As soon as I had identified myself, Dolabella’s steward informed me that I would walk with Dolabella’s party next morning. This actually meant I would serve as part of Dolabella’s security force, though we didn’t use terms of that kind. A client walked with his patron as a show of respect. He might carry a gladius and dagger concealed beneath his toga and even a stout walking staff with a steel point on it, but it was not appropriate to appear in the city in military armour. Good friends in great numbers? Well, who is not envied his popularity?
I joined some fifty friends in a makeshift barracks inside Dolabella’s house. Not all the fellows were busy when I entered, but a great number of them were honing the blades of their weapons.
As a consul, now officially appointed by the senate to his office, Dolabella had an escort of lictors to accompany him in public; these men surrounded a standing consul as a mark of honour. They were sworn to protect the consul with their lives, but their numbers might not be sufficient against determined assassins. With another fifty friends close by, Dolabella would be far safer. My patron’s anxiety for his personal safety seemed out of all proportion to any danger I could imagine until I saw the mass of people gathered in the Forum next morning.
In the wake of Caesar’s assassination, the mob had stayed quiet, but that is not to say they were content. On the morning of Caesar’s funeral they filled the Forum, spreading across the steps of all the temples and crowding along the basilicas Julia and Aemilia to the north and south of the great plaza. Even the rooftops and alleyways surrounding the Forum were filled. Man or woman, it made no difference: wherever I looked, I saw a murderous scowl.
Caesar’s corpse had been set atop the speaker’s platform with only a solitary squad of lictors posted around his funeral litter. Directly behind him was the dreary old Temple of Saturn, black with
After a long, thoughtful pause Brutus asked, ‘You would do that?’
‘If I were still a consul I would. Of course, if you want to declare me illegitimate and arrange elections at once, I cannot help you. You want a Republic and that, I’m afraid, comes with courts and the right of Caesar’s family to bring the charge of murder against all of you.’
‘Caesar was a tyrant!’ Cassius answered.
‘Perhaps he was, but he was also a citizen. Under the laws of our Republic his family can make you answer for his death in court. You know how it goes: lost fortunes, exile…’ He gave a shiver. ‘Juries can get very testy about the murder of a man they once loved. But as you like. I’ll not worry about it. It’s your court date, not mine.’
The agreement that followed was the sort of sham only Mark Antony could have conjured, as worthless as a roll of wet papyrus in the long run but sufficient to keep the peace for the next few days.
Antony, in his role as consul, called the senate to session next morning before dawn and got a unanimous vote on a single measure, the details of which had been negotiated the night before. Antony’s and Dolabella’s consulships were confirmed. Lepidus received his pontificate. Caesar would have a funeral at public expense, and the assassins were all immune from civil and criminal prosecution. Should anyone care to protest the senate’s decision Lepidus stood ready to advance his legions into the city.
The city was still quiet when I arrived on the Camp of Mars. I left Hannibal and my pack mule at a stable and walked into the city with a hired slave pushing a rickety cart filled with my gear. This was the evening before Caesar’s funeral. Rather than seek out a public house or my family’s Tuscan friends, I went directly to the great house of the Cornelii, for I had promised Dolabella I would report to him before the third day after the Ides of March.
As soon as I had identified myself, Dolabella’s steward informed me that I would walk with Dolabella’s party next morning. This actually meant I would serve as part of Dolabella’s security force, though we didn’t use terms of that kind. A client walked with his patron as a show of respect. He might carry a gladius and dagger concealed beneath his toga and even a stout walking staff with a steel point on it, but it was not appropriate to appear in the city in military armour. Good friends in great numbers? Well, who is not envied his popularity?
I joined some fifty friends in a makeshift barracks inside Dolabella’s house. Not all the fellows were busy when I entered, but a great number of them were honing the blades of their weapons.
As a consul, now officially appointed by the senate to his office, Dolabella had an escort of lictors to accompany him in public; these men surrounded a standing consul as a mark of honour. They were sworn to protect the consul with their lives, but their numbers might not be sufficient against determined assassins. With another fifty friends close by, Dolabella would be far safer. My patron’s anxiety for his personal safety seemed out of all proportion to any danger I could imagine until I saw the mass of people gathered in the Forum next morning.
In the wake of Caesar’s assassination, the mob had stayed quiet, but that is not to say they were content. On the morning of Caesar’s funeral they filled the Forum, spreading across the steps of all the temples and crowding along the basilicas Julia and Aemilia to the north and south of the great plaza. Even the rooftops and alleyways surrounding the Forum were filled. Man or woman, it made no difference: wherever I looked, I saw a murderous scowl.
Caesar’s corpse had been set atop the speaker’s platform with only a solitary squad of lictors posted around his funeral litter. Directly behind him was the dreary old Temple of Saturn, black with
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