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indeed, Caesar can clearly see the scroll Tillius holds in one hand, but not the dagger he clutches in the other.
    It is easy enough for Caesar to guess what Tillius wants. The brother of the veteran senator has been sent into exile, and the petition is most likely a request for a pardon.
    The group of senators mill around Caesar’s chair, their numbers growing by the second, until he is ringed by a small mob. They lean down to offer kisses of respect on his head and chest, which has the effect of pressing the dictator even farther down into his seat.
    Caesar grows furious at their aggressive behavior and rises violently to his feet.

The murder of Julius Caesar
    This is the moment the assassins have been waiting for. Tillius grabs the top of Caesar’s robe and wrenches it down past his shoulders, pinning the dictator’s arms to his sides. At the same time, the Liberator named Publius Servilius Casca Longus— “Casca”—plunges his dagger into Caesar’s shoulder. The thrust is feeble, and the wound draws little blood, but the sudden flash of pain as he is stabbed makes Caesar cry out. “Villain Casca,” Caesar says in Latin while firmly grabbing the handle of Casca’s dagger, “what do you do?”
    As he turns to face his attacker, Caesar sees not one knife, but sixty. He feels not one stab wound, but dozens. Each of the senators has pulled a pugio from beneath his toga. Caesar sees the faces of enemies, but even more faces are those of friends, including Decimus Brutus and that of another Brutus—Marcus, the arrogant forty-one-year-old Stoic who is also rumored to be Caesar’s son. The conspirators thrust their sharpened blades into the defenseless Caesar, hacking at him again and again. Such is the depth of their frenzy that many of the senators mistakenly stab one another, and all are soon covered in blood.
    Meanwhile, Caesar attempts to fight back.
    But then Marcus Brutus delivers the killing blow. Instead of aiming for the heart or the great artery of the neck, the bastard son Marcus thrusts his blade deep into Caesar’s groin. It is an act of murder, but also an act of emasculation, meant to humiliate the man who would not claim Marcus as his own. Blood drenches Caesar’s tunic, flowing down the pale skin of his bare legs as he collapses back onto the throne.
    “You, too, my boy?” Caesar says despairingly, staring at Marcus.
    Not wanting anyone to see the death mask that will soon cross his face, Caesar pulls the fringe of his toga up over his head. A great pool of blood oozes across the marble floor as Caesar’s limp body slides from his throne and comes to rest at the foot of Pompey’s statue.
    Head covered, death arrives. Only after he dies does Julius Caesar achieve the ultimate power he so desired, when the Roman Senate posthumously deifies him as Divus Julius.
    Julius the God is quite mortal, as his murder clearly shows.

CHAPTER THREE
    PHILIPPI, NORTHERN GREECE
OCTOBER 23, 42 B.C.
MORNING
    The son of god thinks himself immortal. 1 He is also fighting a very bad cold.
    Gaius Julius Caesar Octavianus, or Octavian, as he is also known, has been sick for what seems like forever. The fact that his army is camped next to an enormous swamp certainly hasn’t helped matters. This young man who has affected the title Divi Filius (“son of god”) now pulls his cloak tightly around his shoulders and intently studies the cloudless blue sky, hoping for some good news to offset the misery of his illness. Above him, two golden eagles fly in tight circles with talons extended, engaged in midair combat. The eagle is the symbol of the Roman legion, and to witness these great predators dueling on the eve of his own battle is surely an omen.

    But an omen for whom: Octavian or the Liberators who killed his uncle?
    Their two powerful armies, consisting of more than three dozen legions and two hundred thousand men combined, face each other across this flat Balkan plain. It is a broad expanse, anchored by low