villa. When Caesar is forced to return to war, Cleopatra and the child remain behind with Calpurnia, who, not surprisingly, despises the Egyptian woman. But Caesar has ordered her to stay in Rome, even as rumors swirl throughout the city about her and Caesar possibly getting married one day. Caesar has not helped matters by having a statue of a naked Cleopatra erected in the Temple of Venus, portraying her as a goddess of love.
For reasons known only to him, Caesar allows Caesarion to use his name but refuses to select him as heir. Instead, his will states that upon his death his nephew Octavian will become his adopted son and legal heir.
Cleopatra is a shrewd and ruthless woman. She knows that she will lose her hold on Egypt should her relationship with Caesar end. She has quietly begun to plot a betrayal—an Egyptian overthrow of Rome. It all depends on Caesarion’s being named Julius Caesar’s rightful heir and successor—and that means somehow getting Caesar to change his will.
Or maybe there is another way: should Caesar be named king of Rome, he will need a queen of royal birth to consummate a true royal marriage. So Cleopatra’s plan is simple: continue pushing Caesar to accept the crown of king of Rome. Then they will marry, and her son will rule as legal heir when Caesar dies.
Everything seems to be going Cleopatra’s way. It’s clear that the Senate is about to name Caesar as king. This will all but ensure their marriage and the removal of Octavian as a threat to Caesarion’s eventual claim to the thrones of both Egypt and Rome.
Caesar, the master statesman, is being outmaneuvered by a woman less than half his age, and with no army at her disposal. Thousands of men have died in Rome’s civil war, all in an attempt to control the Roman Republic. But Cleopatra is on the verge of accomplishing the same feat solely through seduction.
It’s all so brilliant. So perfect. Then, of course, comes the Ides of March. Not only will there not be a Roman Republic by the time the battle for succession comes to an end, but there will no longer be a Caesarion, either.
Nor, for that matter, will there be a Cleopatra.
* * *
The “friend” who has stepped forward to engage Julius Caesar in conversation as he climbs down from his litter and enters the Senate chamber is Popilius Laenas, a man descended from a centuries-long line of landowning Roman noblemen known for their cruelty and treachery. So, as the conspirators look on from a distance, unable to hear what Popilius is saying, they are justifiably worried. Only moments before, Popilius had wished Marcus Brutus good luck in the conspiracy, but perhaps that was all a ruse. The Liberators can see that his conversation with Caesar is earnest and friendly. Their stomachs churn with fear that Popilius is informing Caesar of their plot. “Not being able to hear what he said, but guessing by what themselves were conscious of … and, looking upon one another, agreed from each other’s countenances that they should not stay to be taken, but should all kill themselves [instead of Caesar],” the historian Plutarch will write of this moment.
Popilius ends his conversation by kissing the hands of Divus Julius and walking away from the Theater of Pompey. Caesar does not seem to be agitated. Relieved, they settle back into their seats to await his arrival.
The great statue of Pompey glowers down on Caesar as he glides into the Senate. Cassius, who, along with Brutus, is the lead assassin, turns to the statue of Pompey and prays, hoping to invoke courage from Caesar’s former enemy.
The entire Senate rises as Caesar enters the chamber. They have been conducting state business all morning and now watch as he takes his seat in a gilded throne. Almost immediately, a large group of them walk toward Caesar, led by Lucius Tillius Cimber. There is nothing ominous in their behavior, for it is common for senators to approach Caesar with personal petitions—and,