‘Gods!’ exclaimed Artemidorus. ‘Quickly, take me to an unguarded exit.’
As the boy went out into the hall, Artemidorus put a scroll into his pocket and rapidly wrote out a few words on another:
The day of the conspiracy is almost certainly today.
I will provide a list of the conspirators later.
He then followed the boy to one of the rear doors.
‘Take this,’ he said, pressing the note into his hand. ‘Run as fast as you can and give it to Caesar before he gets to the Curia. I’ll try as well to get to the entrance of the theatre before he does. One of us has to succeed. If you can’t find Caesar, go to Antistius at the Domus and give the scroll to him. Give it to no one but him! Tell him that I’m going directly to the Senate to bring Caesar the same message.’
The boy cut down a side road and started running as swiftly as he could, eager to reach Caesar before he arrived at his destination. Artemidorus set off for the Curia by another route. The boy caught up with Caesar’s entourage as they were about to enter the Campus Martius. He tried to get close, but there was an enormous crowd thronging around Caesar. Everyone wanted to talk to him; everyone had a petition they wanted him to hear. Although he tried as best he could to push his way through, the boy was shoved rudely out of the way and nearly trampled on. He tried again, but found himself blocked by an impenetrable wall of human bodies. Out of breath and disheartened, he ran back to the Domus. When he arrived he asked one of the servants where Antistius was, only to be told that he had left. The boy curled into a corner of the kitchen. ‘I’ll wait here until he comes back,’ he said. ‘I have to give him a personal message.’
Artemidorus was still pushing his way through the crowds that were milling around the streets and squares, not even sure why he’d taken on such a daunting task. Perhaps he’d realized that destiny had given him the chance to change the course of events and he couldn’t miss the opportunity.
Romae, ad Pontem Sublicium, Id. Mart, hora tertia
Rome, the Sublicius Bridge, 15 March, eight a.m.
The boat drew up at the dock on the far side of the bridge and the boatman descended below deck.
‘We’re here, commander!’ he exclaimed. ‘You’ve had a good rest.’
Publius Sextius opened his eyes and covered them at once with his hand to protect them from the glaring light of the sun. He slowly made his way to the deck as the boatman finished mooring the vessel and lowered the gangplank. The centurion untied the horse and led him carefully to dry land.
‘Wait here,’ he told the man. ‘I’ll send someone to pay you. I need the horse.’
‘Don’t worry,’ replied the boatman. ‘I can recognize a man of his word at first glance. Ill wait.’
Publius Sextius mounted his horse and headed towards Caesar’s gardens.
Romae, in Curia Pompeii, Id. Mart., hora quarta
Rome, Pompey’s Curia, 15 March, nine a.m.
Caesar stepped down from the litter shortly before it arrived at the Senate, preferring to arrive on foot as he always had. But there was yet another crowd of people awaiting him at the entrance to the Curia. Antony, who had been standing on the stairway, spotted Caesar and went towards him to guide him in. Decimus Brutus never left his side, determined to protect him from the pressing throng. One man reached out to grab him by his tunic, a second tried to hand him an appeal, another a petition. Others merely wanted to touch him because he was everything they would have liked to be.
Caesar stopped suddenly in his tracks because he had spied, among the crowd, a face he knew well.
The soothsayer.
He called out, ‘Spurinna!’
The man turned and the throng parted, somehow aware that nothing could come between their locked eyes.
‘Spurinna,’ said Caesar then with an ironic smile. ‘Well? The Ides of March have come and nothing has happened.’
The seer stared at him intensely as if to say, ‘Don’t you understand?’
He spoke aloud. ‘Yes, Caesar, but they are not yet gone.’ Then he turned and disappeared among the crowd.
Artemidorus ran up at that moment, panting, feeling as if his heart would burst. He calculated the spot that Caesar would reach within a few steps and was there waiting for him, having pushed and shoved his way to the front of the mob. As soon as Caesar was close enough, he thrust the scroll into his hand, saying, ‘Read this now!’ He ran off as quickly as he could, frightened by his own boldness.
At this point Caesar was practically being carried along by the ebb and flow of the populace towards the entrance to the Curia. He tried several times to open the scroll, but the press of the petitioners prevented him from doing so. Some of the senators came forth and created a kind of corridor through which Caesar could calmly make his entrance. Antony had kept up with Caesar all this time and Decimus Brutus looked over and made eye contact with him. Caius Trebonius had just stepped up and he took Antony aside, apparently to tell him something important.
Caesar passed the two men, so closely they could have touched him, and entered.
Romae, in aedibus Bruti, Id. Mart., hora quarta
Rome, the home of Brutus, 15 March, nine a.m.
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 tituhis to 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.