"The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves." – William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar

Date: March 15th, 2018

Occasion: Ides of March

Country: Worldwide

Disclaimer: This chapter contains a mixture of information from the certified recount of the incident, Julius Caesar by Shakespeare, and my own interpretation of events.

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XLVI | Et Tu, Brute?

The reign of Julius Caesar was one filled with great power. He and everyone else were aware of this. The years he spent leading wars and gaining more blood on his hands than most men in their lifetimes are often looked past in light of his most famous tragedy. That incident would later be named the Ides of March by modern man, which marked the day of his demise.

Julius Caesar had been holed up in his house for days, clutching his forehead and groaning to himself every time he moved too sharply. He was burdened with a sudden case of dizziness that rendered him unable move without passing out. He was supposed to settle some of his veterans in southern Italy before heading east for a long journey, but in his state, that was impossible.

A knock on the door sent him into another spell of dizziness. He gripped his head and swayed on the spot, before coming back to his senses. With slow caution, he lifted himself off the seat and wobbled over to the door. "Who is there? Declare yourself," he said weakly.

"It is I, Decimus," a voice replied from the other side of the door.

Caesar opened the door at once, but the sudden movement nearly made him collapse. He managed to regain his balance at the last minute, thanks to Decimus, who rushed in at once and pulled him back up to his feet. "Thank you, my friend," Caesar mumbled.

Decimus helped him back into his seat, where he let out another groan of nausea. "What happened to you?" he asked in concern. "Are you feeling unwell?"

"I have been overcome with a spell of dizziness," he quietly replied, gripping the arm of his chair so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "My health has deteriorated significantly in the presence of those lowly plebeians."

"The hygiene in this republic is atrocious," Decimus agreed, taking a seat opposite him and leaning back to inspect Caesar from afar. "But we do not have the means to cure diseases. Only the gods have that power, and we hardly have means of communicating with them."

Caesar knitted his eyebrows together. "I certainly do pray that the gods send me aid. I am exhausted, Decimus. Winning over a republic has taken several years off my lifespan. I do hope I have a few spare years to make change around here, however."

Gaining power over a republic was an exhausting task, he thought. Though he had a number of trusted friends who were eager to do anything he asked them to, such as Decimus, there were also many who distrusted him. He supposed that was a part of the job. Not everyone would support him. Too bad they would have to answer to him once he became dictator.

Being a dictator was the main part of the problem, to be fair. The Roman republic was called a republic for a reason. Rome had been in disarray before his time, bodies buried in the blood of civil war. When the people had regrouped, they decided to have two consuls, who had the highest power of all, rather than one, so the republic would not become a monarchy.

Of course, this made it difficult for Julius Caesar to totally disregard that tradition and slowly gain ultimate power. He had fared pretty well so far, however. He managed to convince the Senate to make him absolute ruler for a year. Then a decade. And in no time at all, he had charmed his way into seizing dictatorship for life. It was surprising how many people were in favour of the idea. Hardly anyone had verbally opposed it. It was actually rather strange.

"Make change? I daresay you mean your position as the sole ruler of the republic?" Decimus asked. He spoke politely enough, but there was a hint of something else beneath his tone. If Caesar was not so focused on passing out, he would have deciphered it as suppressed rage.

"I do," Caesar replied, squeezing his eyes shut and opening them. The room sharpened, before unfocusing again. "I have already been named dictator for life. Now, I must uphold that role and shape the em–" he caught himself. "I mean, the republic, for the greater good."

Decimus leaned forward. "What greater good do you have in mind?"

"I have no ideas as of the moment," Caesar responded, but keeping himself as dictator for many years seemed like a great start to him. Even though there had been no rebellions against him so far, he had to prepare for any future attacks. He would need to discuss protection tactics with the military and his closest friends on the Senate.

"I am sure your empire would thrive no matter which plans you make," Decimus reassured him with the same politeness as before, though his tone was coated with frost. In his weakened state, Caesar did not catch his deliberate use of empire and the way in which he spat the word.

"I appreciate your words, dear friend," Caesar said with sincerity.

He was beginning to feel less nauseous after having a conversation with a human being. Focusing on saying a coherent sentence kept him grounded. He even managed to wobble to his feet and waved Decimus away when he got up to help him walk. Caesar hobbled over to a bench and picked up a loaf of bread, stuffed with dates and glazed with honey.

"Bread?" Decimus asked skeptically as Caesar stumbled back to his chair, setting the bread in front of him. "In your state? Are you sure you should be eating?"

"It is for you as well," Caesar clarified, rubbing his temples to alleviate the pain. "We must both keep up our strength. Go on, have some bread. You know I have the best."

"Fair point," he agreed, peeling a chunk off the loaf. He stared at it as though it contained poison, before hesitantly eating it. "Thank you, Caesar. You give me more than I deserve."

"No matter," Caesar waved away his thanks. "I cannot eat all this bread on my own. I have five more of these loaves, and no one comes to visit except you. I was going to take three of them on my journey but I shall gift one to you. You may also share your bread with the rest of the Senate at the meeting, for I will not be there to do so."

"What do you mean?" Decimus asked, head snapping upwards to stare at Caesar incredulously. He almost choked on the piece of bread he was swallowing. "Why are you no longer attending the meeting?"

"I do not think it would be wise of me to go," Caesar shrugged, instantly regretting it as another wave of dizziness flooded through his head. "In my state, I can barely walk a metre without collapsing. Plus, there are bad omens everywhere. Signs from the gods. I would be testing my fate by attending this meeting against their will."

Decimus wore an expression that looked close to panic, though Caesar was unsure why. Not that he cared much about what Decimus thought, either. He was too busy trying not to throw up on his own feet. "But you must go!" he burst out, but seemed to regret speaking at once.

Caesar winced at his outburst, but raised an eyebrow at him. "Why must I go? Would I be missing something important?"

"I–" Decimus began, clearly unsure of what to say. "I just think it would be an insult for the Senate for you not to attend. After all, you are about to become their supreme leader for life. They would like to salute their leader before he heads off on his long journey."

Caesar considered this for a second. It made sense, the way Decimus phrased it. He always had an uncanny ability to make reason of anything. Plus, the meeting would expend only a small amount of energy. He just had to sit there and pretend to listen to what the Senate had to say. "You make a fair point," he said eventually. "Alright, you have convinced me. I will go."

Decimus let out a faint sigh of relief. The easy smile returned to his face. "The Senate thanks you for your commitment to them, Caesar."

"Of course," he replied, popping another piece of bread in his mouth. Another thought popped into his mind. "I do need to have a chat with Brutus, however, before I leave for my journey. To discuss the leadership of Rome while I am away."

"I arrange for you to speak to Brutus before the meeting," Decimus assured him. "Stay here and rest, you need your strength for the meeting."

"Thank you," Caesar managed a weak smile through what was now a throbbing migraine. "You may leave. We have nothing more to discuss."

Decimus shot him one last forced smile before heading out the door and letting the wind slam it for him. Caesar flinched at the sharp snap and let out another groan. He leaned back in his chair and spent several minutes trying to stabilise his vision, before stumbling to his bed and giving in to sleep. Perhaps the gods would take pity on him and stop his pain by the morning.

The gods had not taken pity on him. As the sun peeked over the horizon the next morning, his head was throbbing worse than ever. However, he did make a promise to Decimus about attending the Senate meeting. At the slowest pace he could go without being late, he slipped on his toga and stuffed some bread in his mouth, before heading out the door.

The sunlight made him wince. He had not seen light for several days, and it was certainly not improving his headache. He made his way over to the Senate house, feebly nodding at passersby who greeted him. At the entrance to the house, he spotted Brutus, who saw him at the same moment. They covertly slipped into a spot of shade to speak.

"Caesar," Brutus greeted in a low voice. "How are you feeling?"

"I will manage," he responded curtly. Brutus quirked an eyebrow, noticing that he had avoided the question. Caesar hurried on before more questions could be asked. Brutus was another one of his close friends, but Caesar could not fully trust anyone if he were to have full power over the republic. "So, I will be leaving later today."

"I am aware," Brutus said cooly. "I assume you wanted to ask me to keep the Senate in check while you are away?"

"Yes, exactly that," Caesar confirmed. He was taken aback at how quickly Brutus caught on, but he hid his surprise with a cough. They had known each other for years, so their synchronicity should not have shocked him. "I wish you well on your temporary leadership."

"I wish you well on your trip," he replied with a courteous nod. When he was out of earshot from Caesar, Brutus muttered under his breath, "what little of it remains, that is."

What Caesar did not know, was that Brutus had been plotting his assassination for months. He, along with the Senate, had decided that Caesar was taking too much power for himself. If they were not to stop Caesar, he would rule and the rest would have empty titles. Thus, they began to brew a plot on how to get rid of him, which lead to the meeting that was about to begin.

As Caesar stepped out of the sunlight and onto the cool marble floor of the Senate house, he was met with hundreds of expectant faces. Their expressions flashed with excitement once they saw him, though Caesar was riddled with pain still and did not register what he was seeing. Instead, he spread his arms weakly and asked, "shall we let this meeting commence?"

"Of course," said Decimus, emerging from the crowd. "After all, this will be the last you will ever attend."

For Decimus was a part of the assassination plot, and was in fact tasked to convince Caesar to attend the meeting. If he did not, then the conspirators would have to wait a long time for their next chance to kill him, since he would soon leave for his journey.

Caesar frowned at the ominous statement. "What are you talking about?"

There was a sudden scuffle and a shout behind him. "Speak, hands, for me!"

"Who–" Caesar began, but he suddenly let out a strangled gasp. With wide, horrified eyes, he looked down to see the tip of a silver dagger protruding from his chest. The Senate was hushed with anticipation. Caesar dropped to his knees, scarlet blood dripping from his pierced skin. The room shifted, and his stabber appeared. "Casca," he choked out.

Casca said nothing as he yanked the knife out of Caesar. The latter shouted out, pain flaring through his body. The betrayal spoke enough, however, and the first stab seemed to awaken the rest of the Senate. They charged at him like bulls let out of their pen, shouting war cries and plunging their daggers into him. Caesar was too weak to defend himself.

Twenty-three times, a knife plunged into him, each one was a deeper betrayal. By the end, Caesar lay in a pool of his own blood, peppered with wounds. The last person who approached him was the worst betrayal of all.

Brutus, his closest friend, wielding a pristine dagger, knelt in front of Caesar, and with a mixture of malice and regret in his eyes. He raised the dagger. The tip quivered above his chest for a second, before it plunged into Caesar's heart.

"Et tu, Brute?" Caesar managed to utter. "Then fall, Caesar," was the last breath which escaped him before his hand thudded to the ground, pale and lifeless.

The events afterwards were messy. The conspirators marched to the Capitoline Hill with a troop of gladiators as bodyguards, in case Caesar supporters decided to take revenge.

Rome had a mixed view on the situation. Some were gleeful upon hearing about the death of Caesar. Others demanded the conspirators were punished. At his funeral, this disagreement turned into a riot, and Caesar's body was instantly cremated in the heat of the moment.

The day marked what is now called the Ides of March. The conspirators had assassinated Caesar for the purpose of ensuring he would not be a dictator, but this backfired on them, for his grand-nephew would later emerge as Augustus, the first emperor of Rome.

The murder of Julius Caesar had ensured the transition of Rome back into a monarchy. The conspirators carried out an act which had the opposite result they expected, and thus began a series of events which would shape Rome into a legendary empire we know today.

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A/N: HAHAHA what is this chapter. Fun fact, I love classical studies and took it (specifically Roman studies) as an elective in high school and university. I guess this chapter was drawing from that knowledge...?