They were, most of them, military men. Terse and disciplined, but not averse to a night of boisterous revelry after a major victory. Some broke into song when news reached the villa that the Senate had voted to forgive its Liberators, and the wine flowed even as an uncharacteristic rain poured down the streets outside.

Trebonius drank beer, of all things, although that was not the only reason everyone else wished he would leave early. His foot tapped nervously against the floor, and his eyes stared into the distance, and his voice sounded as if he’d barely reached puberty. “Who told him to beware the Ides of March, I wonder.”

Cassius shrugged and poured himself another cup. “The soothsayer?”

“Aye, but who told the soothsayer?”

“Soothsayers know things,” said Decimus. “They just do.”

“Not unless someone tells them.”

Cassius considered this. “I suppose the gods told him.”

“Precisely. If the gods themselves tried to prevent it…”

“Then I will take the brunt of their ire,” said Decimus. “You were not the one who convinced Caesar to ignore the omens.”

“Are you not the least bit afraid?”

Decimus laughed it off, but as he went to slap Trebonius on the shoulder, his smile faltered for a moment.

Tillius Cimber, who had been sulking in a corner all evening, shouted across the atrium. “Ever the coward, Trebonius. It’s no wonder you missed the event!”

The crowd sneered and whistled. Trebonius hissed in response.

“I missed nothing!” he said. “Someone had to distract Antony while you all flailed about with your pugiones. How many of you stabbed each other?”

He pointed dramatically as a few of the men quickly hid their bandaged limbs.

“Are those glorious war wounds? Why, if it weren’t for me, you all would be dead and the tyrant still alive!”

Cassius raised his voice above the growls. “You played your part wonderfully, Trebonius,” he said, and reached for the beer. “Now give me that, you barbarian, and get yourself a proper drink.”

Cassius watched as Trebonius waddled away. Once he was satisfied that the scrap had been averted, he moved to Cimber’s side and, with knowing eyes and a relaxed posture, extended a quiet invitation.

Cimber mumbled a curse. “That he should dismiss my petition in so offhanded a manner.”

“You knew that was only a pretext to approach. You knew he wouldn’t live to grant it.”

“I knew, yes. Should that lessen the sting?”

“Your brother deserved better,” said Cassius.

“That he did. That he did.”

Cassius raised his cup. “To Cimber’s brother, whose unjust exile may have saved the Republic! To Publius!”

The crowd echoed. “To Publius!” And although they were inebriated enough to have cheered for Caesar himself, should it have been suggested with enough verve, the gesture seemed to improve Cimber’s mood somewhat.

As the night went on, Cassius found he did not enjoy the company of these men quite as much as he’d hoped. They had little in common beyond what they’d just done. Most of them were ambitious, jealous, and short-sighted. Most of them cared little for Rome and much for themselves.

It wasn’t long before Cassius detached himself from the group and wandered the villa until he found Brutus alone at the entrance, staring out at the storm.

“You look to be in need of a listening ear. Is Porcia well?”

Brutus moved not an inch. “Well enough. The anxiety frayed her nerves, but she has mostly recovered from the fainting spell.”

“That’s good to hear.” said Cassius.

He said nothing of his own nerves, or the fainting spell that had threatened to take hold of him in the moments before, with word of their plan spreading through the Curia like wildfire and the man himself conveniently absent.

Brutus knew.

“He spoke to me, Cassius.”

“Caesar did? I heard nothing.”

“You heard nothing because the words weren’t meant for you.”

Cassius’ curiosity was piqued. “What did he say?”

“καὶ σὺ τέκνον.”

“Lost his Latin, did he?”

“And you as well, my boy.”

“He was surprised to see you draw your dagger. What of it?”

Brutus sighed. “I don’t regret it. It was the right course of action.”

“But you’re feeling … remorse?”

“I had no hatred for the man.”

“I might be inclined to believe you if you hadn’t stabbed him where you stabbed him.”

Brutus’ nostrils twitched with a short laugh. A soft giggle waved between the two of them, then died under the hammering rain.

“Since we’re sharing concerns,” said Cassius, “do you know that Antony plans to speak to the people?”

Brutus became at once more animated. His shoulders rolled back, and his chin jutted forward. Cassius thought he seemed taller by an inch or two. “I would expect no less of him!” he said. “I intend to speak too.”

“Antony is a strong orator,” said Cassius.

“Stronger than me?”

“Stronger than most.”

Brutus huffed. “Caesar was a power-hungry despot. Anyone could see that. The Senate saw it.”

“Ah, but the people of Rome are no senators. They see a great military leader who has done much for them. They see a man of the people who refused the diadem of kingship.”

“And the difference, Cassius, between king and dictator? An empty gesture. That’s all that refusal was.”

“I know this. You know this. Do you think the public does?”

“I will convince them.”

Cassius threw his hands up. His wine threatened to spill. “You are certainly stubborn enough!”

Brutus did not answer. Cassius cleared his throat. Both agreed, without a word, that the argument was over.

“Well, we’ve certainly done it, haven’t we?” said Cassius.

“We certainly have,” said Brutus.

“Come, won’t you rejoin the party?”

Brutus inhaled deeply. The air was pleasantly cool. It was late.

“In a moment.”

They shared congratulations by way of reassurance that neither the respect nor the fondness between them had been lost.

Cassius took his leave, then, suddenly pensive, paused in the doorway. “Has it occurred to you, τέκνον, that he could have been wishing the same fate upon you?”

“Pardon?”

“καὶ σὺ. And the same to you.“

A shadow came over Brutus’ face.

From the atrium, someone exclaimed, in a mocking exaggeration of Caesar’s accent: “Why, this is violence!” Cassius raised his cup once more as he backed into the villa. “To violence, then, and long live the Republic!”