Alerted by the shouting, the officer rushed to the door of the command post. He too started yelling: ‘No! Don’t let him go! Stop him!’
The two servants nearest the gate tried to close it, but it was evident they wouldn’t be fast enough.
The officer called again, ‘Wait, I have to talk to you!’
Publius Sextius didn’t even hear him. The pounding of the horse’s hoofs on the pavement was much louder than any voice could be.
An archer on the guard tower that loomed over the entry gate took the man galloping off down the road for a horse thief, so he swiftly nocked his arrow and took aim. When the commanding officer saw this, he shouted out, but the arrow was already in flight and it struck deep into Publius’s shoulder. The centurion looked as though he would fall, but he somehow straightened himself and rode off.
The mansio officer cursed his over-eager subordinate. He had wounded one of Julius Caesar’s men in person! He immediately sent out a squad to intercept him and bring him back so he could be treated. But Publius Sextius took advantage of the darkening sky and took off down a side path. He entered the forest and hid in a dense thicket of yews, brambles and pines, trying to keep his horse as still and silent as possible. He could hear his pursuers galloping by in the rain but the sound soon faded into the distance.
The pain was intense.
The arrow had torn clean through the muscle. He took out his dagger and sawed away at the shaft until he cut it through and could snap off the tip end. Then he drew his sword, laid the flat of his blade against the jagged shaft, clenched his teeth and, using a big stone, knocked against the blade until he had pushed the arrow shaft through his flesh. He pulled it free, bandaged his shoulder tightly with a piece of his cloak and grimly resumed his journey, trying to make his way towards the river.
He walked on cautiously, listening out for the sound of anyone following. He emerged into the open at last and found himself in a grassy clearing that ended at the riverbank. There was an inlet not far away, to his right. A rope ferry was rocking on the water, along with several other moored boats, one of which would be big enough to carry him and his horse. He approached the boatman.
‘Friend,’ he said, ‘I need you to take me to Rome right away, but I don’t have a penny to pay you with. I’m a centurion of the Twelfth and I swear to you, on my word, that upon our arrival you’ll be paid double what you usually charge for a crossing. If I’m lying you can keep my horse. What do you say?’
The boatman unhooked the lantern from the head of the boat and held it up to his face. ‘I say that it looks like you’ve been to Hades and back and that someone had better take care of you or you’re a goner.’
‘Take me to Rome, my friend, and you won’t be sorry.’
‘A centurion from the Twelfth, you say? I’d take you for nothing if I didn’t have a family to support. . Get in and let’s go.’
Publius Sextius didn’t wait to be asked twice. He walked his horse up the gangplank and settled him on board, securing his harness to the mast and the railing. The boatman pulled in the plank, loosened the moorings and set off, following the current. Publius Sextius staggered down to the hold, dead tired and feverish. He stretched out on a pile of fishing nets, pulled his cloak over his head and fell into a deep sleep.
The commanding officer at the mansio saw his men come back empty-handed and flew into a rage. ‘Do you realize what you’ve done? That was one of Julius Caesar’s most trusted men. Not only did you nearly kill him, you couldn’t even catch up with him! A man who hasn’t slept in days with an arrow in his shoulder! So now what do we do? Can you tell me what we do now?’
His men stood there mute and confused.
‘It’s dark out there, commander. . It’s not easy to find someone in the forest.’
‘You idiots! He said he needed money for the ferry. That’s where you should be looking for him. Find him, or otherwise we’re all up to our necks in trouble. Do you understand that? If you see him, talk to him from a distance. Make sure he knows that there was a mistake, that we have an important message to give him. Now move, damn you!’
They sped off, bound for the riverbank, but they still found no trace of the man they were searching for. All they could do was return to the station and report their failure. Black clouds were masking the moon and thunder boomed over distant seas.
Romae, in insula Tiberis, pridie Id. Mart., prima vigilia
Rome, the Tiber Island, 14 March, first guard shift, seven p.m.
At the island Caesar was welcomed by eight drum beats and the honour guard presented arms. Lepidus’s quartermaster received him and accompanied him to the room in which the other guests were waiting, chatting among themselves. Lepidus greeted Caesar with a cup of wine and took him to the dining room, which had been prepared for the thirty or so guests. Caesar was relieved that there weren’t too many of them; that meant he should be able to get away early.
The dinner turned out to be quite pleasant. There was no eccentric or extravagant behaviour on the part of his fellow diners and the conversation actually strayed to interesting topics, philosophy, mainly. Did the gods exist and were they the same all over the world? Were they different aspects of a single god or distinct beings, expressing the various aspects of nature? Was there another world where good actions were rewarded and bad ones punished, as some held, or was the human mind destined to simply go out, like the light of a lantern — with no revelation, no glimpse of eternal truth, only a cruel descent into infinite darkness and silence?
Little by little, the conversation turned to an even more disturbing topic: death itself. Each of the guests found something light and even elegant to say about such a serious subject.
Lepidus turned to Caesar at a certain point and asked, ‘What do you think would be the best way to die?’
Caesar glimpsed an expression in his eyes that he couldn’t interpret. He turned to the other dinner guests, who were awaiting his answer in silence. Then he looked back at Lepidus and said, ‘The best death? Rapid. And sudden.’
18
Viae Cassiae ad X lapidem ab Ocriculo, Idibus Martiis, tertia vigilia
The Via Cassia, ten miles from Ocriculum, 15 March, start of the third guard shift, midnight
The Via Cassia, lashed by the storm, was quite deserted, but Rufus continued his mad gallop under the pouring rain. He was soaked through and his hair was plastered to his forehead. His horse’s laboured breathing, the obsessive pounding of his hoofs on the ground, the lightning bolts themselves, all charged him with a mounting excitement and a flood of powerful energy. All of a sudden he felt the rhythm change and the animal’s breath turned short and wheezing. He tugged at the reins and drew to a stop.
A flash of lightning illuminated the milestone that indicated the distance from Rome. Rufus jumped to the ground and stood there for a while under the angry sky, stroking the horse’s steaming muzzle. He was frothing at the mouth and Rufus was moved at the thought of how much strain he had withstood. He decided to release him and to finish his journey with his other mount.
‘Farewell, my friend. Good luck,’ he said, then he mounted the second horse and dug in his heels, diving into the wall of water pouring down from on high.
The freed animal gave a loud whinny and kicked once at the sky, then stopped, head hung low in the middle of the storm.
Romae, in Domo Publica, Id. Mart., tertia vigilia
Rome, the residence of the Pontifex Maximus, 15 March, third guard shift, one a.m.
Caesar was returning home, accompanied by Antony. He seemed despondent and withdrawn.