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to the Forum…’
    Mark Antony hurried out of the chamber now, too, heading for his house, where he had armed men to protect him. Things were tense on the streets of Rome. The news had spread like wildfire, and soon angry crowds stood on corners, some talking in hushed voices, others shouting, all of them hardly able to believe that Caesar had been murdered. Word went round that Caesar’s body was being taken to the Forum, and that Brutus and Mark Antony weregoing to speak. By mid-afternoon it seemed that everyone in Rome was there.
    Brutus stood at the top of the steps of the Temple of Jupiter to address the huge crowd. Caesar’s body was laid out on a bier just below him, and legionaries in battle gear stood on either side, low sunlight glinting off their armour and shields, the red crests of their helmets like splashes of blood.
    â€˜My fellow Romans,’ Brutus began. ‘You know me as a man of honour…’
    He spoke for quite some time, explaining that he and the others had killed Caesar because they loved their country, and that he would kill himself then and there if anyone thought he had done it for another reason. There was some heckling, but not that much, and it seemed that Brutus had them on his side.
    â€˜And now the noble Mark Antony, Caesar’s friend, would like to speak,’ he said at last. ‘Although I would add that he only does so with our permission. Anyway, I would urge allof you not to leave until you have heard what he has to say.’
    Brutus gestured for Mark Antony to step forward, and then left. Antony stood at the top of the steps as Brutus had done, and remained silent for a moment, looking down on the crowd below him. ‘Friends, Romans and countrymen,’ he said at last. ‘Lend me your ears… I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.’ But he did praise him, reminding the Roman people of everything that Caesar had done – the nations he had conquered for them, the treasure he had brought back to fill the empire’s coffers, the glory he had brought to Rome’s name.
    The crowd cheered Caesar’s memory, but they fell silent again when Antony talked of the conspirators, and how Brutus had claimed that Caesar was too ambitious. ‘Brutus is an honourable man,’ said Antony. ‘But you all know I offered Caesar a crown three times, and three times he turned it down.’
    The crowd murmured angrily, and Antonyworked on them, whipping up their fury against the murderers. Soon the crowd was yelling, calling out for their deaths.
    Antony’s face lit up with a grin. Now let the mischief truly begin…

ACT FOUR
ARMIES ON THE MARCH

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    The streets of Rome were filled once more with restless crowds, although perhaps mobs would be a better word. Until Antony’s funeral speech, the people had been frightened by what had happened, uncertain what to believe or who to support. But Antony had made things easy. Now they were sure Caesar had been a hero, and that the plotters should pay dearly for what they’d done.
    The mobs knew where Brutus and Cassius and the others lived, and by the evening their houses were burning, the flames lighting the sky over the city. Most of the plotters managed to escape, fleeing with little more than the clothes they wore, but some were caught and torn limb from limb. One man – the poet Cinna – was unlucky enough to die because he had the same name as a plotter.
    Mark Antony stood at the window of his grand villa watching the blood-red sky. Lying on couches behind him were Octavius and Lepidus, a man older than the other two,and much richer as well. Lepidus wore a toga, but Antony had changed into his military uniform, his breastplate reflecting the distant fires, his short sword – the
gladius
of the legions – in a scabbard at his side. Octavius was in uniform, too, but he was still covered in the dust and dirt of his journey.
    Antony turned and walked over to