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Rome is in ruins. Chaos sows her seeds in every house, street and field. Throughout the Empire, there is panic. There is torture, bloodshed – justice has no stronghold in this story. Still, in the high city, deep within the citadel, mere days after Caesar’s death, all is quiet. And then, a reedy voice echoes in the very chambers Caesar breathed his last.
Cassius had come to beg for mercy. Under ordinary circumstances, he would prefer to spit at Anthony’s face, rather than plead at his feet. Still, these were not ordinary circumstances.
Caesar was dead.
Cassius was carrying a blade that helped kill him.
Cassius knew what Brutus needed – what he needed. Four days – at least. Their troops could not fight like this. Yet, when he came to beg, fangs sheathed, his meek countenance crumbled in the face of Antony’s condescension. Venom dripped from the grieving man’s words. Sense fled. To hell with the war - Antony needed to be taught a lesson.
“Do you miss him? I suppose you would…you were always rather pathetic. Loyally following behind Caesar when he was alive and still chasing at his heels even now that there are no footsteps to follow. Is the will of a dead man so important to you that you will ruin your own life and mine? Mark Antony, do you honestly think something as petty as revenge justifies the utter destruction that you know this war will bring? Do you think that Caesar would even care? Poor Antony, all alone in the world without his favo-“
“Stop.” Antony interrupted, his voice clear and steady despite the roiling sea of grief inside him and his trembling hands.
Bloody hands.
Scarred hands.
Hands which held a weapon.
Cassius blinked, looking down at the dagger held to his throat. Neither of them moved.
Antony wondered at the difference it would make. What could it matter? Another dagger, another victim, another unending flow of blood, another man driven mad with grief. Julius Caesar is dead and no action committed now will make any difference. He could raze all of Italy to the ground and he wouldn’t care because Julius was dead and nothing mattered anymore.
Antony lowered the dagger.
Cassius remembered himself. His anger drained slowly (like blood). He was not here to fight. Not yet. He had made a promise and for once, he intended to keep it. He owed Brutus that much.
There was silence in the citadel again. Outside, on the streets, a woman was screaming. Neither of the men moved.
Finally, Cassius took a deep breath and spoke, “I come here to ask for you to give Brutus and I, four days to regroup our forces and our men. We should have a fair and honourable fight.”
“Honour?” Antony gave a hollow, brittle sounding laugh. “You conspired against the noblest man in all of Rome, stabbed him in the back like cowards and now you speak to me of honour?!” He paused, breathing heavily. “You have till dawn tomorrow to gather your forces. Do not expect me to be more gracious.”
Cassius swallowed down his words of protest. He knew anything he said now would lead to his death – would leave Brutus alone. He stayed quiet, once cruel eyes now only weary.
Outside, the woman screamed again.
The thin man gave a final nod and then swept out of the room, as swiftly and silently as he had come.
Now alone, Antony looked up, eyes wet. He spoke to the empty, too-large room, facing the bloody walls as though they were alive – as though he could see his Caesar standing there.
“O Julius, I swear here, by my blood and flesh and bones that I will give you your revenge. O Ate! Goddess of Revenge and Vengeance! Breathe your darkness into me. I am hungry for it. Give me the power to avenge my love. I shall not fail.”
He fell to the ground, face towards the sky. Outside, the woman screamed once more, and this time, his scream joined.
Cassius, Brutus, Antony.
Three men, their lives forever, hopelessly intertwined through a figure. A figure which still seemed to haunt them. A figure which perhaps would always remain with them.
Caesar.
He was indescribable. Ethereal, a face that one expected to see in statues, not before their eyes. Words you read in history books, not something you heard. To witness him felt wrong. How could he be human? Only a man, clearly mortal – his corpse was evidence enough. And yet. Yet, he brought Antony to the madness of revenge, brought Cassius to regret, brought Brutus to betrayal.
Tomorrow they would all face war, destruction beyond their most violent nightmares (mothers shall but smile when they behold their infants quartered with the hands of war) but not tonight. Tonight there was only a silence, a scream, a fragile suspense, a quiet sort of mourning.
It was the closest thing to peace they would have for a long time.