A Different Blue(8)
Chapter Three
“When Julius Caesar crossed the Rubicon, he knew what it would mean.” Mr. Wilson was looking at us all somberly, as if Julius Caesar was his homey and he had just crossed the Rubics Cube yesterday. I sighed and tossed back my hair, slouching even further into my seat.
“It was considered treason to bring a standing army into Italy proper. The senators in Rome were intimidated by Caesar's power and his popularity. They wanted to control him, see, and it was fine if he was winning battles for Rome, conquering the Celtic and Germanic tribes, but they didn't want him to become too rich or too popular, and that was exactly what was happening. Add to that Julius Caesar's own political ambitions, and you have a recipe for disaster . . . or the very least, civil war.”
Mr. Wilson walked down the aisle, and I noticed in surprise that he seemed to have the attention of my classmates. They were watching him closely, waiting for what he would say next. He didn't use notes or read from a textbook or manual. He just talked, like he was relating the highlights of a killer movie.
“Caesar had some friends in high places. They snooped around, whispered in a few ears, and blatantly tried to influence the Senate. But the Senate wanted no part of it. They told Caesar to disband the army and resign his position, or risk becoming an 'enemy of the state.' We use the same term today in the US government. It basically means the government finds you guilty of crimes against your country. People who sell national secrets, spy for another country, that kind of thing, are deemed 'enemies of the state.' Very 007 without the glamour or the amazing stunts or the fit Bond girls.”
I found myself smiling as the rest of the class laughed, and I marveled that I'd forgotten for a moment that I didn't like Mr. Wilson.
“Plus, can you imagine what that label would do to someone? Some would argue that such a label is used as a political tool – a tool to repress or intimidate. You charge someone with being a traitor to their country, an 'enemy of the state' and their life is over. It's like accusing someone of being a child molester. It wasn't any different in Ancient Rome. So we have Julius Caesar, ambitious, angry that he is being told he can't lead his army anymore, and basically being threatened with ugly labels and treason.
“Long story short, he brings his army to the banks of the Rubicon, which doesn't exist today, so no one really knows if it was just a little stream or a substantial river, and he stands there, thinking. He says to his men. 'We can still retreat. It's not too late, but once we pass this bridge, we will have to fight.'”
“You said he was rich, right? Why didn't he just take his money and go. Say to hell with the Senate, let them run the army, conquer people, whatever. They didn't appreciate him, fine. What was the point? What did he have to prove?” I found myself asking the question before I even realized I was saying the words out loud. I felt the heat of embarrassment travel up my cheeks. I never asked questions in class.
Mr. Wilson didn't act surprised that I was participating, and he immediately answered. “He was rich, he was powerful. He could have retired to Gaul, lived in the lap of luxury, and been fed grapes for the rest of his life.” Everyone laughed. I scowled. Mr. Wilson stopped in front of my desk and looked down at me quizzically.
“Why do you think he took his army into Rome, Blue?”
“Because he was a bloody peacock, and he wanted to be king,” I responded immediately, trying to mimic his accent. The class burst into laughter once more. “And because he didn't like being used or controlled,” I finished more quietly, without the accent.
“I think you're right on both accounts.” Mr. Wilson shifted away, drawing the rest of the class into the conversation. “It ends up that Julius Caesar grabbed a trumpet and ran to the bridge. He sounded the advance with a blast of the trumpet and cried out . . . and I am quoting, 'Let us go where the omens of the gods and the crimes of our enemies summon us! The dye is now cast.' What do you think that means? The dye is now cast.”
The classroom was silent. Of course there were kids who knew the answer, but, per usual, no one raised their hand.
“The deed is done, your goose is cooked, the milk is spilled, your bed is made,” I droned in a very bored voice.
“Yes,” Wilson ignored my tone. “It was in the hands of destiny. He had crossed the Rubicon and there was no turning back. We all know what eventually happened to Julius Caesar, yes?” No, we didn't. I did, but I was through being the star student.
“Julius was murdered – a murder plotted with the help of his friend. Shakespeare wrote a wicked play called Julius Caesar, which you have all been assigned to read and which you will be tested on this Friday.” Moaning commenced, but Wilson just smiled. “I told you, literature tells the history so much better than the text books, and it's infinitely more enjoyable to learn it that way. Quit your whingeing. You'll thank me someday.” Whingeing? That was one I hadn't heard before.