Outside the city, there were legions of young men gathering to march against the Parthians. His unease vanished in the presence of so much youthful hope. They had not been made cynical. They carried more than a sword and shield for Rome, he thought, groping for the idea. When they left, they carried a distilled form of the city with them, the purest part. It took them through pain and exhaustion. It kept their discipline when they saw death coming and suddenly knew it would not pass them by. By pledging their strength, each one of them gave a value to what they left behind. They were saying, “This is worth my life.” And they made it so. There could be no value in a city without those young men to stand in the Campus.

Julius remembered what Brutus had said about the spring air raising his head, and he smiled as he walked. It was true that the thought of another campaign had stirred his blood. His time in Rome had been everything he had wanted it to be. His Triumphs would be remembered for generations and the Senate had honored him as no one else in history. Scipio would have given his right arm for the titles they had bestowed. Marius would have loved every moment.

Before Julius reached the bottom of the hill, he saw a lone figure in a toga so white it looked like winter frost. He frowned as the man began to walk in his direction. Could they do nothing until he had arrived? What new problem was so vexing and difficult that they must interrupt his thoughts before the day had even begun? He recognized Cassius as the man drew closer and bowed his head.

“Caesar, the Senate is meeting in Pompey’s theater this morning. I have stayed to let you know.”

“Why, what has happened?” Julius said, his calm evaporating.

“The ides of March fall on the anniversary of Pompey being made consul, sir,” Cassius replied. “It was decided to honor his family in this way. The resolution was passed in your absence. I was worried it might not have reached you, and—”

“All right, enough,” Julius snapped. “I do not have time to read every line of the speeches.”

Cassius bowed his head again and Julius repressed his irritation at the intrusion. They fell into step together as they crossed the road on stepping-stones and took a right turn that would take them over the Capitoline hill.

Without warning, Julius stopped suddenly.

“Sir?” Cassius asked.

“No, it’s nothing. I was just thinking of an old man I knew, a long time ago.”

“I see, sir,” Cassius replied automatically.

“You are sweating, Cassius,” Julius observed. “You should walk more often, for fitness.”

“It is a chill, sir, nothing more,” Cassius replied, staring ahead.