Текст книги "The Ides of March"

Автор книги: Valerio Massimo Manfredi

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

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.

The roar of the wounded lion thundered in the hall and outside of it.

He shouted, ‘This is violence!’ and before the dagger could strike him again he twisted around, stylus in fist, ready to plunge it into his assailant’s arm. Casca’s hand trembled and the second cut was only skin deep. But there was no escaping the daggers that surrounded Caesar now, everywhere he turned.

The entire Senate was afire with shouts and cries. Someone called out Cicero’s name.

Absent.

Outside, Antony turned instinctively towards the door, but Caius Trebonius’s hand nailed him to the wall.

‘Don’t. It’s all over by now.’

Antony pulled away from him and fled.

Caius Trebonius took his own dagger in hand and entered.

Caesar was still trying to defend himself, but they were all upon him. He was struck by Pontius Aquila, then Cassius Longinus, Casca again and Cimber, Ruga and Trebonius himself. .

Each of them wanted to sink his dagger into Caesar’s flesh and they ended up hindering – even wounding – each other. Caesar was writhing about furiously, still roaring and spouting blood from his wounds. His garments had turned red and a vermilion pool was widening at his feet. With each move he made, the conspirators closed in further, slashing at him as at an animal caught in a trap. The more their victim became incapable of defending himself or even moving, the more their ferocity grew.

A last stab from Marcus Junius Brutus.

To the groin.

Caesar whispered something, looked him in the eye and gave up.

He pulled his toga over his head then, like a shroud, in a final attempt to save his dignity, and collapsed at the feet of Pompey’s statue.

The conspirators raised their bloody daggers high, shouting, ‘The tyrant is dead! You are free!’

But the senators were scrambling to get out, overturning their chairs and seeking a way to escape.

The few who remained, most of them part of the conspiracy, followed Cassius and Brutus through the city streets towards the Capitol, shouting to the odd frightened bystander, ‘You’re free! Romans, we have set you free!’

No one dared join them. Doors and window were bolted shut and shops were closed. Shock and panic spread.

An old beggar glanced up with rheumy eyes, his skin pink with scabies. It made no difference to him.

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

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

Publius Sextius rode up at a gallop and leapt to the ground in front of the Curia stair. A trickle of blood came from the hall.

His heart contracted in his chest.

He walked up the steps one by one, certain of what had already happened, overwhelmed by a sense of infinite despair.

All his efforts had been in vain.

He took in the scene at once: Caesar’s disfigured body, his garments heavy with blood; the impassive expression of Pompey’s statue.

Silence. A bloody silence.

From behind the pedestal appeared Antistius, who had recognized him. His eyes were full of terror and tears.

‘Help me,’ he said.

Three of the four litter-bearers entered then, carrying the folding stretcher that was always kept inside the litter, in keeping with Antistius’s instructions. They set it on the floor.

Publius Sextius lifted the corpse by the shoulders and eased it on to the stretcher, as Antistius took the feet. They covered it as best they could with Caesar’s blood-soaked toga.

The litter-bearers then raised the makeshift bier and walked towards the exit.

Publius Sextius unsheathed his sword and thrust it into the air. He stiffened in a final salute to his commander as he was taken out of the Senate hall. At that same moment Caesar’s arm slipped from the stretcher and dangled in the air, swaying with every movement the bearers made. And that was the last image impressed on the mind of Publius Sextius, known as ‘the Cane’: the arm that had conquered the Celts and the Germans, the Hispanics and the Pontians, the Africans and the Egyptians, hanging limply from a lifeless body.

Viae Cassiae, ad VIII lapidem, Id. Mart, hora decima

The Via Cassia, eight miles from Rome, 15 March, three p.m.

Rufus careered into the station at the eighth milestone, having pushed his steed to the limit. His destination, finally, after such a long struggle. He jumped to the ground and rushed past the two sentries, displaying his speculatorbadge.

‘Where is the commanding officer?’ he asked as he raced past.

‘Inside,’ replied one of the two.

Rufus entered and reported to the young decurion on duty. ‘Message from the service. Top priority and maximum urgency

The decurion rose to his feet.

‘The message is: “The Eagle is in danger.” ’

The decurion regarded him darkly.

‘The Eagle is dead,’ he replied.

20

Romae, in insula Tiberis, Id. Mart, hora undecima

Rome, the Tiber Island, 15 March, four p.m.

Lepidus, barricaded inside army headquarters, was meeting with his chiefs of staff to decide on the best way to proceed when Mark Antony was announced.

Filthy and sweating, dressed in a ragged cloak and looking like a beggar, the only remaining Roman consul was brought before Lepidus.

‘We know everything,’ said Lepidus. ‘I had hoped you would come here. Where have you been until now?’

‘Around. I was hiding. I saw what happened afterwards. Those idiots thought that if they went around shouting, “Freedom!” the people would run to their sides and applaud them as tyrant-killers. Instead, they came close to being murdered themselves when they started ranting against Caesar. They had to turn tail and run back to the Capitol, and as far as I know they’re still there, with the crowd outside calling for their blood. In any case, I’ve understood something important: they don’t know what to do. They don’t have a clue. None of them even started to think of what would happen afterwards. It’s incredible but it’s true.’

‘Fine,’ was Lepidus’s response. ‘The Ninth is camped just outside the city, in full combat order and in a state of alert. All it takes is one order from me and they’ll descend on Rome. We’ll rout them out one by one and-’

Antony raised his hand. ‘We need none of that, Marcus Aemilius Lepidus. It would be a grave mistake to use the army. The people would be terrified and the Senate even more so. We’d find ourselves directly in a state of civil war, which is exactly what he strove to end once and for all. We’ll negotiate.’

‘Negotiate? Are you mad?’

‘I’m perfectly lucid and I’m telling you it’s the only sensible way to proceed. The people are completely disoriented and the Senate is panicking. The situation is on the verge of mayhem. We have to take the time to turn things around, in our favour, to fight the spread of terror, blood, despair. We must make Rome understand that Caesar’s legacy is still alive and will be perpetuated. Sending the army into the city would signal that the institutions are no longer capable of governing the state, and that would be a very bad message indeed. I say that tomorrow you have dinner with Brutus and I with Cassius.’

Lepidus listened incredulously as Antony explained exactly what he would ask from Brutus and what he could concede. He continued in a resolute tone, ‘We have to put them at ease, make them believe that we respect their ideals of liberty. More, that we share their ideals. Only when we are sure that the city is on our side will we go ahead with the counter-attack.’

Lepidus thought over Antony’s words in silence as his officers – six military tribunes in full battledress – looked on. At last, he said, ‘How am I to greet my guest, then? “Hail, Brutus, how did it go in the Senate this morning? Lively session, I hear. Do you want to wash your hands?”’

‘This is no joke. If we make it known that the heads of the two opposing political factions are at dinner together, negotiating for the good of the people and the state, the situation will return to normal. Caesar’s legislation will be passed by the Senate – his allocations for the veterans and all the rest. And when the moment comes, we will make our moves. Don’t worry. Our time will come. You tell Brutus that we can share their point of view, at least in part, but that Caesar was our friend and that we have duties that must be performed, duties towards the army and the people. I’ll take care of the rest. Tomorrow I’ll be back and we can start planning our strategy.’

Lepidus nodded. ‘You are the consul. Your authority stands. We’ll do as you say, but if it were up to me-’

‘Fine.’ Antony cut his words short. ‘Send a maniple of legionaries immediately to garrison the Domus Publica. No one who is not a member of the family will be allowed access to Caesar’s body before the funeral. Now, give me some decent clothes and a mounted escort, of at least ten men.’

Lepidus had him accompanied to the officers’ quarters and provided him with what he needed.

Antony left with his escort and headed for the other side of the Tiber, where Caesar’s private villa was located.

He found it abandoned. Even the servants had fled. He crossed the atrium, then the peristyle and entered the servants’ quarters. He stopped in front of an iron door locked from the outside. He took a key from the hook above the door and opened it. Silius Salvidienus stepped out, looking uncertain and suspicious.

‘Caesar is dead,’ said Antony. ‘Nothing else matters any more.’

‘What?’ asked Silius incredulously, his eyes wide.

‘He was murdered, this morning at Pompey’s Curia. A plot hatched by Brutus and Cassius. They thought up a pretext to keep me outside. There was nothing I could do.’

Silius dropped his head without managing to say a word. His eyes filled with tears.

‘I loved him too,’ said Antony, ‘regardless of what you may think. Those who killed him will pay, I guarantee that. Go to him now. The time has come to say farewell.’

Silius gave him a bewildered look, his eyes glistening, and made his way slowly towards the door.

Antony left a couple of men from his escort to guard the villa and returned with the rest of the entourage to the other side of the Tiber, bound for home.

Romae, in Colle Capitolio, Id. Mart, hora duodecima

Rome, the Capitoline Hill, 15 March, five p.m.

Caius Casca, on guard with several other armed men on the north side of the Capitol, could not believe his eyes when he saw the surviving consul, Mark Antony, walking up the Sacred Way with his sons, preceded by the flag of truce.

Casca ran back uphill to find his brother Publius.

‘Antony is willing to negotiate. He’s at the end of the street and he has his sons with him.’

‘What’s happening?’ asked Brutus as he saw them speaking.

‘Antony is willing to negotiate and has his sons with him,’ repeated Caius Casca. ‘Strange, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Go and see what he wants.’

The two brothers exited on to the north landing and began to make their way down, preceded by a flag of truce as well and by two armed men. They soon found themselves face to face with Antony. He was the first to speak.

‘Each one of us imagined that we were right to do what we did, but we must acknowledge that Rome is now in a state of utter confusion. The city could easily slide back into civil war, a disaster that must be avoided at any cost. The full powers of the republic must be restored, but in order for this to happen, we all have to return to the Senate, call a regular session and discuss how these matters can be dealt with.

‘I hereby propose that the Senate be convened to discuss the future order of the state. We have an entire legion camped outside the walls. We could use military force to decide the issue, but we prefer a rapid return to normality and an end to bloodshed. This very evening, I am expecting Cassius to join me for dinner at my house, and Brutus has been invited by Marcus Aemilius Lepidus. As a token and pledge of my good will, I will leave my sons with you.’

Publius turned to his brother. ‘Go and report to the others. I’ll wait for you here.’

Caius Casca nodded and returned to the top of the hill. Every now and then he turned to take in the two little groups halfway up the ramp who faced each other without moving, in total silence. The two boys sat on a little wall to the side and chatted with one another.

Cassius, Marcus and Decimus Brutus, Trebonius and the others accepted the conditions and Caius ran back down to where his brother was waiting to report that the proposal was acceptable. Antony bade his young sons farewell, embracing them and instructing them to behave well in his absence. He then mounted a horse and rode off.

Romae, in Domo Publico., Id. Mart., prima vigilia

Rome, the residence of the Pontifex Maximus, 15 March, first guard shift, seven p.m.

Silius entered with a hesitant step, as if he were crossing into the other world. The door jambs were veiled in black. Cries and laments rose from inside. He walked through the atriumand reached the audience chamber, where Caesar was lying in state. Antistius had had his body washed and laid out, and his features had been composed by the undertakers to convey the solemnity of death.

Calpurnia, dressed in black, was weeping softly in a corner. Her eyes were swollen and her cheeks were pallid. She too had been defeated by a death that she had felt coming, that she had practically announced – unheeded, like Cassandra, by gods and men.

Antistius looked up but said nothing, because the stony expression on Silius’s face allowed no words. He walked away and went to sit on a bench leaning against the wall, his head low. Every attempt to stop this from happening, he thought, had been thwarted. He turned over the small, bloodied parchment scroll he held in his hands. It was Artemidorus’s warning, along with the complete list of the conspirators: the message that had never been opened, that had not saved Caesar’s life, due to a cruel trick of fate. Had Caesar found an instant to read it, the destiny of the world would have changed.

On the bench beside Antistius was a tablet with his notes, along with another message, the one that Artemidorus’s young friend had carried. In vain. On the tablet the doctor had diligently noted, as was his habit, a description of every wound. Caesar had suffered many of them, but the cuts that had penetrated his flesh, those that had drained him of the last drop of blood, were twenty-three in number.

Only one of which was mortal.

A wound to his heart.

Who had it been? Who had cleaved the heart of Caius Julius Caesar?

Thoughts flitted through his mind continuously. Elusive, indefinable, useless thoughts. ‘If only I had realized. . if only I had told. .’

At least he was used to seeing Caesar dead, to considering him gone. But not Silius. Silius was seeing him for the first time in that state. The composure of his features lent a total absurdity to his silence and immobility. He, Silius Salvidienus, could neither accept nor believe that Caesar’s arm might not rise, that his eye might not open, bright with that imperious expression. He could not believe that Caesar’s face, so intact, so recognizable, could not suffice to call his limbs back to life.

In the end, he surrendered to the extreme, inescapable violence of death, this death, and then the tears fell from his dull, dazed eyes and scalded his ashen face.

He remained on his feet, still and silent, for a long time in front of the bier, then, with a distressed expression, he stiffened into a military salute, his voice ringing metallic from behind clenched teeth: ‘Front-line centurion Silius Salvidienus, second century, third maniple, Tenth Legion. Hail and farewell, commander!’

He turned then and walked out.

He wished he had a horse on which to gallop far away, to another world, over endless plains; to be carried off by the wind like a leaf dried up by the long winter. He stopped, instead, after a few steps, incapable of going on. He sat down on the Domus stair that opened up on to the Sacred Way. Not much later, he saw two people leaving the House of the Vestals on his right. People he knew well: Mark Antony and Calpurnius Piso, Caesar’s father-in-law. What were they doing at this time of day, in such a situation, at the House of the Vestals?

They stood in front of the entrance and appeared to be waiting for someone. A servant soon came up with an ass-drawn cart holding a box. They set off again all together and he lost sight of them in the darkness.

Silius realized that Antistius had come out of the Domus as well and had witnessed the scene.

Antistius said, ‘They went to get Caesar’s will, without a doubt. The Vestalis Maxima herself is responsible for holding his will and testament, and can release it only to the executor, Piso.’

‘What about Antony, then? What does Antony have to do with Caesar’s will?’

Antistius reflected a few moments before answering. ‘It’s not inheriting his worldly goods he’s interested in. It’s his political inheritance. Brutus and Cassius were deceived. Caesar demonstrated that it is possible for a single man to rule the world. No one had ever wielded such unlimited power. Others will want what he had. Many will try to take his place. The republic, in any case, is dead.’

Romae, in aedibus M. Antonii, Id. Mart, secunda vigilia

Rome, the home of Mark Antony, 15 March, second guard shift, after nine p.m.

Antony received Cassius as promised, while his sons were being held hostage on the Capitol. At the same moment Brutus was dining on the Tiber Island, at the headquarters of Marcus Aemilius Lepidus. Everything had been planned, down to the last detail.

Cassius, the victor, was even paler than usual. His gaunt face spoke of nothing but sleepless nights and dark thoughts.

The two men reclined on dining couches facing each other. Only two tables separated the triclinia,set with a simple meal: bread, eggs, cheese and beans. Antony had chosen a dense, blood-red wine and he mixed it personally in front of his guest, lingering deliberately at the task, taking care not to spill a single drop.

Antony began to speak: ‘Caesar dared too greatly and was punished. I. . understand the significance of your gesture. You did not mean to strike the friend, the benefactor, the man whose magnanimity spared your lives, but the tyrant, the man who broke the law, who reduced the republic to an insubstantial ghost. I understand you, then, and recognize that you are men of honour.’

Cassius gave a deep nod and a fleeting, enigmatic smile crossed his lips.

Antony continued, ‘But I am incapable of separating the friend from the tyrant. I’m a simple man and you must try to understand me. For me, Caesar was first and foremost a friend. Actually, now that he’s dead, lying cold and white as marble on his bier, only a friend.’

‘Each man is what he is,’ replied Cassius coldly. ‘Go on.’

‘Tomorrow the Senate will meet at the Temple of Tellus. Pompey’s Curia is still. . a bit of a mess.’

‘Go on,’ insisted Cassius, fighting his irritation.

‘Order must be restored. Everything must return to normal. I will propose an amnesty for all of you and you will be given governmental appointments in the provinces. If the Senate wishes to honour you they may do so. What do you say?’

‘These seem like reasonable proposals,’ replied Cassius.

‘I want only one thing for myself.’

Cassius stared at him suspiciously.

‘Allow me to celebrate his funeral. Allow me to bury him with honour. He made mistakes, it’s true, but he expanded the dominion of the Roman people enormously. He extended the confines of Rome to the shores of the Ocean and he was the Pontifex Maximus. What’s more. . he loved Brutus. Now he’s dead. Fine. His punishment was commensurate with his error. Let us deliver him to his final rest.’

Cassius bit his lower lip and remained silent for a considerable length of time. Antony gazed at him serenely with a questioning expression.

‘It’s not in my power to grant your request.’

‘I know, but you can convince the others. I’m sure you’ll succeed. I have done my duty and I’ve given proof of my good faith. Now you do your part. I won’t ask for anything else.’

Cassius stood, nodded in leaving and walked out of the room. The food was still on the table. He hadn’t touched a thing.

Portus Ostiae, Id. Mart., adfinem secundae vigiliae

The port of Ostia, 15 March, end of the second guard shift, midnight

Antony arrived at the port accompanied by a couple of gladiators, who remained at a distance.

A plank was lowered from the ship and he began to walk up it. The still water in the basin gave off a putrid stench and made Antony feel nauseous. The ship was about to set sail, the Queen on board, about to make her escape. The whole world was breaking up.

Cleopatra suddenly emerged from the aft cabin.

Regal even in this situation, she stood haughty, garbed in a pleated, transparent linen gown, her forehead crossed by a fine gold-leaf diadem, her arms bare, her lips red, her eyes lengthened with shadow nearly all the way to her temples.

‘Thank you for coming to bid me farewell,’ she said. She spoke softly, but in the silence of the night her voice rang out clearly nonetheless.

They were alone. There was no one else to be seen on the deck. And yet the ship was ready to set sail.

‘Where is he now?’

‘At home,’ replied Antony. ‘Watched over by his friends.’

‘Friends? Caesar had no friends.’

‘We were taken by surprise. No one could have imagined it would happen that day, in that way.’

‘But you were prudent, as I had asked.’ The Queen s voice was calm but ironic, like that of any powerful person satisfied at having corrupted a man, or brought him to his knees. ‘What will happen now?’

‘They are in trouble already. They have no plan, no design. They are dreamers and fools. I am the surviving consul. I’ve convened the Senate for tomorrow and I’ve urged them all to show up. Before his ashes are placed in the urn, they’ll be reduced to impotence. There will be a new Caesar, my queen.’

‘When that happens, come to me, Antony, and you will have everything you’ve always desired.’

Light as a dream, Cleopatra turned and vanished.

Antony went back to the shore.

The ship pulled away from the harbour and was soon swallowed up by the night. All that could be seen, for a short time, was the sail being raised at the helm, fluttering in the dark air like a ghost.