‘I hope we shall not regret this. The responsibility you assume in taking this decision is enormous,’ was Cassius’s response.

Brutus dropped his head without saying a word.

‘Now let me continue,’ Cassius said. ‘There have been various signs that lead us to believe that someone is aware of our plan, or is getting dangerously close to the truth.’

The men looked at each other in dismay.

Cassius went on in his flat voice, ‘For this reason it is vital that we are ready to face any turn of events. We mean to prepare an ambush, but we may be falling into a trap instead.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Petronius. ‘Speak clearly.’

‘We are men of moral strength and of noble lineage. We hold important military and political offices. We have enjoyed important privileges and, when necessary, have run great risks to defend our ideas. We are ready. What I am about to propose may seem terrible, but I feel it represents an honourable, necessary pact.’

‘Speak,’ said Brutus.

The others nodded.

‘If our plan is uncovered while we are inside the Senate hall, there will be no way out for us.’

‘No,’ agreed Pontius Aquila. ‘There will be no escape.’

‘Well, then?’ demanded Rubrius Ruga.

‘Well, then, each one of us will have a dagger and I propose that we use them to kill each other rather than fall into the hands of the tyrant, rather than humiliate ourselves at his feet, rather than accept his loathsome pardon. We have done so once and the burning brand still stings, still marks us as if we were runaway slaves. My proposal is that each one of us should choose a companion, a friend, with whom to exchange this pact of blood. One will kill the other. We will all fall together and our lifeless bodies will be the symbol of our supreme sacrifice, made in the name of freedom.’

The murmuring that had met his proposal died down all at once and a profound silence fell over the room. The slave boy hiding in the closet held his breath so as not to be heard. If he so much as bumped into anything he would immediately be discovered and his life would not be worth living.

Cassius looked around, staring each of the conspirators directly in the eyes. He concluded, ‘If any of you don’t feel you can go ahead with this, you are free to leave. As long as you do so in time. No one will blame you and you will have nothing to fear from the rest of us. I’m certain none of us would ever betray another. I’m asking you to perform an act of heroism, but no one is obliged to make such an arduous choice. I’ll say this again: if there is anyone who’s not up to it, leave now.’

No one moved. Some because they believed that what Cassius proposed would be a fitting end for those who failed in an undertaking of this sort. Others because they feared what would happen if they were taken prisoner; death would be a liberation rather than suffering such pain. Others still because they thought it would never come to that, so sure were they that their plan would succeed. Even they preferred the risk of a disagreeable death to the shame of abandoning their companions and being branded as cowards.

After waiting long enough to allow anyone who so wished to desert the cause, and seeing that no one had decided to leave, Cassius took the initiative and walked towards Brutus.

He stopped directly in front of him and held out his dagger. ‘I choose you, Marcus Junius Brutus, to aid me in my journey to the hereafter.’

Brutus reciprocated by handing Cassius his own dagger. ‘I hope that fortune will assist us in our enterprise, but if fate decrees otherwise, I will do what is asked of me. I am sure that Cassius Longinus will be an excellent travelling companion.’

Fascinated and swayed by such a powerful example, the other conspirators, one after another, exchanged daggers with the man each considered his best and most trusted friend.

‘None of us have ever made a similar pact,’ Cassius said then, ‘but I saw it done one day at Pharsalus after we lost the battle. I saw father and son kill each other and their deaths were instantaneous. They fell to the ground in the same moment, one alongside the other.

‘This is how we’ll proceed: one of the two will signal by nodding his head, and the blades will penetrate in the same instant. The friends who are absent this evening will choose a partner with whom to share an honourable death as well. I’ll tell them myself.

‘Now let us return to our homes,’ he said finally. ‘We shall sleep soundly knowing that we fight for a just cause.’

He regarded each of his companions again, a haggard look in his cold, grey eyes, then left them.

Romae, in Domo Publica, a.d. III Id. Mart., prima vigilia

Rome, the residence of the Pontifex Maximus, 13 March, first guard shift, seven p.m.

Caesar was getting ready to meet with his officers. He was wearing a simple knee-length fatigue tunic, like the one he used during his military campaigns, cinched at the waist by a leather belt with an iron buckle. A servant was just lacing up his boots. He gave him a quick look to make sure his clothing was in order, then asked, ‘Anything else, master?’

‘See if you can do something to my hair,’ replied Caesar, looking at himself in the mirror.

The servant combed it slightly forward to partially hide the early stages of baldness.

There was a knock at the door and Silius Salvidienus appeared.

‘Are they here?’ asked Caesar.

‘Yes, they’re all downstairs. Calpurnia is offering them drinks. Aemilius Lepidus, Decimus Brutus, Mark Antony, Caius Trebonius and the others. They appear to be in a jolly mood.’

‘Have places been assigned at the table?’

‘As you’ve requested. Decimus Brutus at your right, Mark Antony at your left.’

Caesar seemed to ponder this for a few moments.

‘Is something wrong, commander?’

‘If Labienus were here, he would be sitting at my right.’

‘Labienus is dead, commander, and you paid him the respects due to a faithful friend and a valiant enemy.’

‘Fine, then. We can go downstairs.’

Caesar could see in Silius’s face that he had something more to say, so he dismissed the servant.

‘What is it?’ he asked warily.

‘It’s not pleasant, I’m afraid. It’s going to irritate you.’

‘Well, let’s have it, then.’

‘There’s someone who is passing around an interpretation of the Sibylline Books which claims that only a king can defeat and subjugate the Parthians.’

Caesar shook his head and sat down, crossing his arms. He sighed. ‘So that’s how far it’s gone. This I would never have expected.’

‘It’s a serious matter, commander. Another bit of slander meant to alert the people to your presumed intention of establishing a monarchy in Rome and in the empire. Whoever it is is trying to isolate you and thus weaken you. A king would be loathed by the people and the Senate alike. Remember the Lupercalia festival. You told me yourself that most of the crowd were scandalized when you were offered the royal crown.’

‘Do you know the source of this falsehood?’

‘No.’

‘Which means it will be attributed directly to me. I am the Pontifex Maximus and thus the custodian of the Sibylline Books, from where this oracle is said to come.’

‘Commander, the intention of harming you is explicit. You must defend yourself.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘That your enemies are preparing something. Rumour has it that in one of the coming senatorial sessions a proposal will be put forward to proclaim you king.’

Caesar said nothing but his eyes were like those of a lion being stalked by hunters. From downstairs came the voices of the high commanders of his army, those men who were preparing to conquer the rest of the world.

Silius sensed that it was time to make his move. ‘May I ask you a question?’