Porcia was consumed by anxiety. She tortured herself by continuing to calculate the timing of the act that she knew must be commencing, counting the steps of her husband and the others as they took their places and readied themselves for what was to be. She couldn’t bear the mounting agony of the wait. When one of the maids returned from the Forum, where she’d gone to do the shopping, Porcia demanded news of Brutus. Not receiving an answer that satisfied her in any way, she summoned a servant and ordered him to run to the Curia to see what was happening. When he didn’t return, she sent another.

Time seemed to stand still; no, to stretch out endlessly. She was sure that the lack of news meant that the plan had come to nothing, the enterprise had failed, Brutus and his friends had been captured and would be subjected to public scorn and derision.

In fact, the servants had not returned because they hadn’t even yet arrived.

The tension had become intolerable. She paced back and forth, up and down the atrium,twisting her hands. She felt terribly light-headed and her heart was racing. She thought she would go to her room, to stretch out on her bed for a moment, but her heartbeat had become so irregular that she couldn’t catch her breath. Her lovely lips turned pale, her face became ashen, her legs folded beneath her and she collapsed to the floor.

Her maidservants ran over, screaming in fright. They did all they could to revive her, but nothing worked. Their shrieks alerted the neighbours, who found Porcia in that state, pale and still, showing no signs of life. The word spread that she had died and someone took it upon themselves to run to the Curia and tell Brutus what had happened.

Porcia regained consciousness soon after and was helped to her feet. But none of those present was aware that the news of her death was already travelling towards the Curia, where Brutus was ready, dagger in hand, to strike.

Romae, in hortis Caesaris, Id. Mart., hora quarta

Rome, Caesar’s gardens, 15 March, nine a.m.

Publius Sextius stopped his horse in front of the entrance to the villa and showed his tituhisto the doorkeeper.

‘Announce me to the Queen. I am centurion Publius Sextius. She’s expecting me. Then send someone to pay the boatman waiting at the docks at the Sublicius Bridge.’

The doorkeeper had recognized him and motioned for him to follow. He led him inside the villa towards Cleopatra’s apartment, where the Queen received him at once.

‘You’re wounded!’ she said as he swayed on his feet before her, deathly pale. ‘I’ll have my doctors take care of you.’

‘No,’ replied Publius Sextius. ‘Not now. There’s no time. My lady, you must listen to me. I have completed the task you assigned me and I have good reason to believe that there is a conspiracy under way to murder Caesar. The fact that someone has been trying at every turn to prevent me from reaching the city — even by attempting to take my life — makes me think that the act is imminent. Please, allow me to go to him and warn him in person.’

Cleopatra seemed to hesitate. ‘Are you certain?’

‘No, my lady. I’m not certain, but I believe it’s very probable. Where is he now? He needs me.’

‘He’s meeting with the Senate,’ replied Cleopatra.

‘Take every precaution you can for your own safety. I must go. I’ll explain what I’ve learned later.’

‘Wait,’ said the Queen, but Publius Sextius had already gone.

She called her child’s tutor at once.

‘Prepare the prince,’ she ordered. ‘And have my ship readied for departure. We must be ready to leave at any time.’

The tutor, a dark-skinned eunuch, set off immediately to do as he had been told.

Romae, in Curia Pompeii, Id. Mart., hora quinta

Rome, Pompey’s Curia, 15 March, ten a.m.

Marcus Junius Brutus was trying to quell the pounding of his heart as he sought a glance of reassurance from Cassius. The other conspirators were in no better state. Every movement, any unexpected word, made them jump.

Publius Servilius Casca started when one of the senators took him by the arm, and felt even worse when the man grasped his hand and murmured, ‘You know? Brutus has told me about your little secret. .’

Casca felt that all was lost. He was on the verge of losing control and he began to stutter, ‘No, that’s not possible. He can’t-’

But the man gave a little chuckle and went on, ‘I know you’re planning to stand for aedile. Not an easy affair, is it, to raise the kind of money you’ll need for your electoral campaign. But Brutus told me how you’re going to do it.’

Casca breathed a sigh of relief and regained sufficient control to send the senator on his way with some sharp words: ‘I won’t accept such insinuations. My behaviour has always been beyond reproach.’

Brutus had approached Cassius and was quietly conversing with him when Popilius Laenas, one of the oldest of the venerable assembly, came up to them with a cordial expression. He took them aside and said in a rather loud whisper, ‘I wish you luck in completing your plan. But act quickly. Something of this sort won’t stay a secret long.’

Having said this, he walked away quickly, leaving Brutus and Cassius stunned.

Did Popilius know? And, if he did, how many others? In the meantime, Caesar was already crossing the threshold and walking into the room. Popilius walked up to him as Brutus watched in horror.

‘Look!’ he said to Cassius. ‘He’s approaching Caesar. . It’s over, my friend. We must ready ourselves to die an honourable death. May our blood be on the head of the tyrant! Pass word on to the others.’

With that, he grasped the hilt of the dagger under his cloak. Cassius then spoke quietly to Pontius Aquila, who was standing nearby, and he turned to Rubrius Ruga and to Caius Casca.

Popilius Laenas began to chat with Caesar in a free and easy way, and the two men conversed for a while without paying attention to anyone else. No one could hear what they were saying.

The conspirators, who had all been alerted by word of mouth, seized their daggers and moved towards the companion with whom they’d exchanged the death oath.

But nothing happened.

Popilius had the air of requesting, rather than revealing, something. He kissed Caesar’s hand and was answered with what seemed to be reassuring words.

Brutus cast a soothing look around the room and gave a nod as if to say that their panic had been unnecessary. They all calmed down.

Just then an out-of-breath messenger came asking for Brutus. He caught a glimpse of him, ran over and bent close, still panting, trying to control his emotions.

‘Your wife, master, lady Porcia. .’

‘Speak up, what’s wrong?’

‘She’s fallen ill, or perhaps. .’

‘What?’ insisted Brutus, grabbing him by the tunic.

‘Perhaps she’s dead,’ replied the servant, and took to his heels.

Brutus dropped his head in confusion and anguish. He knew he should go to Porcia, but he couldn’t desert his friends at this moment. No matter how events unfolded, this would be a tragic day for him. Cassius laid a hand on his shoulder.

Caesar went then to his golden chair.

A brief exchange of glances between Cassius and Tillius Cimber was their cue. The plan could go ahead.

Cimber approached Caesar.

‘What is it, Cimber?’ he asked with a touch of impatience. ‘It’s not about recalling your brother from exile again, is it? You know what I think about that and I haven’t changed my mind.’

‘But Caesar,’ began Cimber, ‘I beg of you. .’ In saying this, he grasped Caesar’s toga, which slipped off his shoulders.

This was the second and final signal. Casca stood behind Caesar and dealt the first blow.

Caesar bellowed out in pain and surprise.