Beware the Ides of March!

Marcus rubbed sleep from his eyes, considering. Why would Decimus Brutus be intervening to get Caesar to the Senate? That sounded suspicious.
Hackles raised, he threw the coverlet off.
“What day is it?” mumbled Fulvia, stretching and turning over.
“The ides of Martius,” Marcus replied, yawning. “Eros, get my toga. It seems I must look like a consul today after all.”

In Roman times, the calendar often had several terms signifying a particular date. The 15th of March, May, July, or October was considered the “ides”. All other months had an “ides”, as well; theirs landing on the 13th day of the month.

During Gaius Julius Caesar’s dictatorship, the ides in the month of March was to change Roman history permanently. In fact, it was a date so ingrained in the history of western civilization, that the Ides of March connotes a day of infamy—of bad luck. Each March 15th in Rome, actors descend upon the area where Caesar was killed to “replay” the deed. And then, people with a real fascination for Caesar’s history still deposit roses on the very place his body was cremated—within the ruined remains of the Temple of Caesar. (see photo at left)

If Caesar is so well-remembered today, then when why was he killed in the first place?

In 44 BC, Caesar had been granted the title of “Dictator for life”. This was a pretty big deal. Ever since Rome had first become a Republic, the mere thought of single-man rule was abhorrent—in fact traitorous. When the Senate allowed Caesar this honor, it was beyond anything that had been done before. Caesar was given a political permanence that no other dictator had been granted. However, one must remember that he won that permanence by military force. Once his final rival, Pompeius Magnus was dead, Caesar had full control over Rome.
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Compared to his predecessors, Julius Caesar held a more worldly, global-based view of the Roman world. The exclusivity of Roman citizenship was now available for Gallic people and people in the east. But Caesar took it a step more, granting senatorial status to Gallic-born men. For hard-core Romans like Brutus, Cassius, and others, this was like swallowing poison. And Caesar had pretty much claimed divine roots by this time, too. He had always boasted that his family was descended from the goddess Venus Genetrix (Venus of the family—meaning his) and shortly before his death, he had a temple completed and consecrated in Rome, dedicated to her. But the juiciest tidbit about that, which turned into a raging scandal, was that the cult-statue inside the temple had a high-profile model—Cleopatra of Egypt, Caesar’s mistress!  Ruins of this very temple can still be seen today in the Forum. (see below left)

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Good ol’ down-home, strait-laced Roman senators just couldn’t take any more.

A group of them, led by Gaius Cassius Longinus and Marcus Junius Brutus began to plan an assassination. On the day they chose to strike, it was assumed that Caesar would actually be appointed “king” over all Roman possessions, only excluding Rome itself. That fateful day?

The Ides of March.

Though Caesar was stabbed twenty-three times, it’s estimated that as many as sixty men were in on the plot. One man, Decimus Brutus (no big relation of Marcus Brutus, by the way) was actually a beneficiary in Caesar’s will! There’s some argument of whether or not Marcus Antonius (Marc Antony) was involved. However, Antonius was well-known as Caesar’s “right-hand man” by that time and he was also known for his loyalty to friends and family. 

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So what exactly happened on the Ides?

Strangely enough, Caesar nearly missed his own assassination! Romans were a very superstitious people, and because of some dark portent, Calpurnia’s nightmare, or perhaps a real warning, he opted NOT to go—at first. However, the senator Decimus Brutus may have been the one to intervene and convince Caesar to attend.

Antonius was usually at Caesar’s side. Because of his physical size and reputation as a fine soldier, the assassins came up with a plan to separate Antonius from Caesar. As soon as Caesar and Antonius entered the Theater of Pompeius’s curia (where the Senate was meeting at the time), a friend of Antonius insisted he speak with him. This “friend” was Gaius Trebonius, a military colleague of Antonius. Both had fought for Caesar during the Gallic Wars at the final, bloody siege at Alesia. The two had shared a tent and as soldiers often do, had formed a close bond. Little did Antonius know that Trebonius was no longer his friend!

Once Caesar had taken his place in the Senate, “deliberations” of a sort began, with some petitions. Servilius Casca was the first to strike a blow and Caesar—always a fighter, even in encroaching age and illness—fought him off with a writing utensil known as a stylus. Ah, the power of the pen!

Sadly for Caesar, the pen didn’t save him. It’s generally accepted that Marcus Brutus was the last man to stab the dictator. Brutus probably did have a lot of conflicted feelings. His mother had been Caesar’s mistress, he had also served Caesar in Gaul, and had even been pardoned by him after the civil war with Pompeius.
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Regardless of whether Brutus’s jab finished the job, Caesar died shortly thereafter of multiple stab-wounds. Later, Brutus had a coin issued, commemorating his participation in the deed. (see below) One side of it features two daggers surrounding a cap. This was the type of cap that freed slaves often wore upon their liberation.

Thus, all of the conspirators, who at this point termed themselves as “liberators” fled to the Temple of Jupiter. It was located on the highest hill in Rome—the Capitoline—not an easy place to approach from a military standpoint. History tells us that Antonius was pretty slick during the days that followed. He walked the fine political line between civil unrest (again!) and keeping the peace, doing an admirable, if not wily job of it. And he gave his stellar funeral oration that not only stirred the plebians into a frenzy by cremating Caesar themselves, but spooked Brutus and Cassius all the way to Greece!

At this, the plebs became frenzied, chanting oaths to Caesar’s shade, jumping up and down in unison and lifting hands or balling fists in emotion. Their fervor encouraged Marcus, and in a daring move, he kicked the lid off of the basket at his feet. Inside was Caesar’s bloodied toga, and he whipped it out to thousands of gasps. One of his lictors stepped forward on cue, and Marcus took up his fasces, draping the stained garment over the axe. He lifted it high, striding back and forth across the Rostra, displaying it like a banner.
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                                                    Italicized samples are from Brook Allen's newest novel, Antonius: Second in Command