Julius Caesar (5 page)

‘No, I left her alone in Rome, and the growing power of Octavius and Mark Antony frightened her,' said Brutus. ‘She lost her mind … and killed herself.'

Cassius put a hand on his friend's shoulder, and just then Brutus' servant Lucius came in with a jug of wine, and Messala behind him. Messala was a grizzled old soldier, and chief of staff to the army of the plotters. Lucius poured wine into cups for the three men, then Brutus asked the servant to leave them.

‘Our intelligence reports tell me our enemies are making for the town of Philippi, Messala,' said Brutus. ‘Is that right? It isn't very far from here.'

‘That seems to be their plan,' growled Messala. ‘We've also heard that Octavius and Antony have had a hundred senators put to death in Rome.'

‘As many as that?' said Brutus. ‘I'd heard it was only seventy, including Cicero… Anyway, I think we should march on Philippi and confront them.'

‘Oh no, I don't agree,' said Cassius, horrified. ‘We should let our enemies tire themselves out trying to find us, while we keep rested and stay nimble.'

Brutus shook his head once more, over-ruling him. ‘Their army is still growing, and ours won't get any bigger. Besides, we're ready to fight now. If you leap into the flood when the tide is going your way, it will take you to glory. But if you miss that moment, all that happens
is you drown.'

As usual, Cassius gave in, defeated by Brutus' firmness and eloquence, and it was decided that the army should set off at first light. Night had already fallen, and now Cassius and Messala shook hands with Brutus and left. Brutus made ready to sleep, asking Lucius to sing him a song to calm his racing mind.

Lucius sat at the end of the couch, playing his lyre and singing in a quiet voice. But he fell asleep first. Brutus smiled, then picked up a roll of papyrus and started reading. After a while, he looked up – and his blood ran cold.

The ghost of Caesar was standing over him, its bloody wounds gaping.

‘Why … why have you come?' whispered Brutus, his heart thumping.

‘To tell you that you'll see me at Philippi,' the ghost murmured, its face unforgiving. Brutus opened his mouth to say something else, but it was too late. The ghost vanished, the tent flapping wildly as if there were a storm outside.

Brutus shook his head, trying to get the image out of his mind.

But it haunted his dreams, and no rest could he find.

 

The rival armies found each other at last, near the town of Philippi in Illyria. Both sides took up position, the morning sun glinting off weapons and armour, the dusty air full of the sounds of soldiers shouting and horses neighing. But no one crossed the open ground between the armies as yet. Now was the time to organise and prepare for the coming battle, and to observe the enemy, too.

Octavius and Antony were in the centre of their line, sitting astride their horses, their officers flanking them, scanning the troops opposite. ‘Well, it looks like you were wrong, Antony,' said Octavius, the tall red crest on his shiny helmet rippling in the light breeze. ‘You thought they wouldn't be willing to face us and would stay in the hills. But here they are, ready to take us on, it seems.'

‘They're trying to show us they're not scared,' said Antony. ‘But if you ask me, they'd rather be anywhere else. You will advance on the left, Octavius –'

‘Oh no, my men will advance on the right,' Octavius said firmly, and Antony glared at him, obviously quite cross at being contradicted. The
two allies were just beginning to argue with each other properly when a messenger rode up.

‘Small party approaching on horseback under a flag of truce, sir!' he said, saluting Octavius. ‘It's Brutus and Cassius, and I think they want to talk.'

Octavius and Mark Antony rode out of the line with a few guards to protect them. Brutus and Cassius, who had also brought their own guards along, were waiting in the open ground halfway between the two armies.

‘I thought it would be a good idea to talk a little before we come to blows, my fellow countrymen,' said Brutus. ‘Perhaps we could settle our differences…'

‘I don't think so,' said Octavius. ‘We're not so fond of talking as you.'

‘Lying, more like,' growled Antony, moving his horse forward. ‘Aren't you the men who walked up to Caesar crying “Hail, Caesar! Long live Caesar!” and then stabbed him to death? You're nothing but a bunch of murderers.
You two were practically kissing his feet while that dog Casca crept up behind him.'

‘Be careful what you say, Antony,' hissed Cassius. He nudged his horse forward, too, and now the two Roman nobles glared at each other, their faces inches apart. ‘If I'd had my way, you wouldn't be alive to talk to us at all.'

‘Shall we get to the point?' said Octavius. He suddenly drew his sword and held it high. The guards with Brutus and Cassius drew their swords, too, and one of them quickly rode forward, pushing between Cassius and Mark Antony. Octavius, however, sat motionless in his saddle, his face stern. ‘I swear my sword will not rest until Caesar has been revenged,' he said. ‘Or I am dead.'

‘I'd be happy to oblige you, young man,' said Brutus, scowling. ‘And don't forget, being killed by the noble Brutus would be quite an honour.'

‘Really?' said Octavius. ‘I don't think I was born to die on your sword.'

‘Being killed by Brutus is too good for you,' said Cassius. ‘You're nothing but a bad-tempered schoolboy, and your companion is a drunk and a loser.'

‘Just watch your mouth, Cassius!' yelled Antony, drawing his own sword. There was a lot of yelling and swearing and jostling and horses neighing. But then Octavius grabbed the bridle of Antony's horse and pulled him away.

‘We hurl defiance in your teeth, traitors!' he called out, his voice ringing clear. ‘Let's get this battle started – if you have the courage to fight us, that is!'

With that, both groups rode back to their own lines. Orders were given, the great Roman battle trumpets were blown, and the front ranks moved forward, the rhythmic thumping of their iron-shod sandals making the ground shake.

Cassius wheeled his horse round behind the lines of advancing soldiers, and found himself beside Messala. The grizzled veteran sat rigidly on his horse, his dark eyes narrowed beneath
the iron rim of his helmet. ‘Now comes the storm of steel, and everything depends on our luck in what happens next,' Cassius murmured, watching Brutus ride over to speak to one of the other officers.

‘I'm sorry, Cassius?' said Messala, turning to him. ‘What did you say?'

‘And it's my birthday today,' said Cassius, lost in thought, his voice quiet. He pulled himself together. ‘Listen, Messala, I want you to be my witness,' he said, taking the other man's hand. ‘I was against staking everything on just this one battle – I think it's a grave mistake. I never used to be superstitious, but have you noticed the sky above us is full of ravens and crows waiting for us to die?'

‘Surely things aren't that bad,' said Messala, trying to reassure him, but Cassius refused to be cheered up.

After a while, Brutus rode over to them. More orders were given, and Brutus sent Messala off with some new instructions, leaving the
two allies to talk. Cassius was still in a sombre mood.

‘I hope things go well today, Brutus,' he said at last. ‘But this could be the last time we speak to each other, so we should think about the worst that might happen. What are your plans if we lose? You know Octavius and Mark Antony will drag you in chains through the streets of Rome if they capture you.'

‘I won't let them, Cassius,' said Brutus, smiling and shaking his head. ‘I will never go bound to Rome – I'm too good for that. Today we will end the journey that we began on the Ides of March, and I have no idea whether you and I will see each other again. So let's say goodbye now. If we do meet again, why then we'll smile. But if we don't, then we can say that this was the best way to part.'

‘Farewell then, Brutus,' said Cassius, and the two friends shook hands.

‘Lead on, Cassius,' said Brutus. ‘If only we could already know how this day will turn out.
But it will certainly end one way or another… And now, to battle!'

At that moment the two front lines came together with a great CRASH! of steel on steel. Swords rose and fell, men and horses screamed and died, and blood covered the dusty ground. Brutus had spotted that Octavius' troops seemed raw and untested, and had ordered his men to hit them as hard as they could. His tactics soon paid off, and Octavius was forced to give ground.

Cassius, however, was not having quite so much success. His troops met fierce resistance from Antony's legions, which were packed with veterans of Caesar's wars – all of them tough men with a deep grudge against the plotters. Soon Cassius and his men were being pushed back, and then the line broke. Panic-stricken soldiers threw away their weapons and shields and ran to the hills. Cassius tried to stop them, and even cut one of them down himself. An officer on his staff – a certain Titinius – found
him standing over the body.

‘I had to do it, Titinius,' he groaned. ‘The cowards have let me down!'

‘It was all Brutus' fault,' said Titinius. ‘He gave the order to advance too early. That split our forces and allowed Antony's legions to encircle us.'

Suddenly another man appeared – Pindarus, a slave who belonged to Cassius. ‘Run, my lord!' he yelled. ‘Mark Antony's men have captured our camp!'

Cassius and Titinius peered into the distance and saw a column of smoke and flame rising from their tents. Cassius could see another column of troops, too.

‘Titinius, ride over there and see whether they're friends or enemies,' he said. Titinius nodded, jumped onto his horse, and galloped off. ‘Pindarus, go a little further up the slope and watch him. Tell me what you see.'

Pindarus squinted into the sun, a hand sheltering his eyes. ‘Titinius has been surrounded
by horsemen, my lord,' he said. ‘I think they've captured him!'

Cassius sighed, his shoulders slumping. ‘Come down again, Pindarus,' he called out. The slave did as he was told, and soon he was standing in front of his master, a puzzled expression on his face. ‘I saved your life when I captured you,' said Cassius. ‘And in return I made you swear you would do whatever I told you to. Now it's time for you to keep your oath.' Cassius drew out his dagger and pressed the hilt into the slave's hand. ‘I want you to kill me.'

Pindarus looked into his master's eyes for a moment. Then Cassius turned his face away and Pindarus drove the dagger into him. Cassius staggered, then fell to the ground, his life's blood pumping out. ‘So, now you are revenged on me, Caesar,' Cassius moaned. ‘And with the very dagger that helped to kill you…'

Pindarus threw down the blade and ran. But not long after, Titinius rode up, with Messala beside him. The two men jumped from their horses.

‘Cassius is no more,' groaned Titinius, looking down at the blood-soaked corpse. ‘Our day is done … he must have thought that I had been captured.'

‘I'd better go and tell Brutus,' said Messala. He climbed back into the saddle and galloped off, but Titinius was kneeling by Cassius now, and took no notice.

‘I met our friends, Cassius!' moaned Titinius. ‘We were coming to meet you, but now we're finished, and I can stand it no more.' He picked up the weapon from beside Cassius's body. ‘I'll plunge this dagger into my own heart…'

Messala came thundering back with Brutus and several other officers, but it was too late. Titinius lay dead, his body across that of Cassius. ‘Oh, Julius Caesar, you are still mighty!' said Brutus, looking down at the two bodies, his horse restless beneath him. ‘Your spirit must be haunting us, making us take our own lives. Are there two Romans as great as these who lie before us?'

‘Come, sir, we must get back to the battle,' said one of his officers.

‘Yes, you're right,' said Brutus. ‘I don't have time to mourn you now, friend Cassius, but I will, I promise.' He wheeled his horse around and held up his sword, the steel blade glinting in the afternoon sun. ‘Follow me, men!' he roared. ‘The day is not over yet, not by any means. We can still win this!'

But Brutus was wrong. His men were outnumbered now, Antony's legions having come over from their flank to support those of Octavius. Soon Brutus's men were being pushed back across the battlefield, men dying with every bloody backward step, until finally Brutus's legions broke, too. They ran, and were hunted down in the ghastly red twilight, like rabbits fleeing from hunters.

Brutus fled on foot like the rest, his horse having been killed. Only a few men were with him now – Dardanius, Clitus, Volumnius, Strato – and they hurried into the hills, keeping
to the shadows, looking for somewhere to hide. Brutus, however, knew there was no escape. ‘Let's rest here, by this rock,' he said at last, and the fugitives huddled in the shadows, grateful for some rest.