TALES OF THE ROMANS
“Make way for the dictator!” cried the officers.
Amid all this noise and movement he had no chance to read the paper in his hand; but on it was written a friendly message, warning him that certain patricians meant to take his life.
He entered the senate-house, and the elders rose to greet him. A statue of Pompey looked down upon the scene. Cæsar took his seat. Brutus, Cassius, and other senators gathered round. One bowed, and said:
“Sir, I beg of you to allow my exiled brother to come back to Rome.”
“It cannot be done. He is an enemy to Rome.”
“Oh, sir, I beg of you!”
“No, I am resolved not to—”
A shout—a scuffle—a fall—Cæsar's cloak was dragged off his shoulders! Swords and daggers struck him. Cassius struck him. Brutus struck him.
And when his friend Brutus struck, Cæsar groaned, and lay down and died at the base of Pompey's statue.
Brutus and the other plotters marched, waving swords, to the Capitol, and crying:
“Freedom! freedom for Rome!”
“Freedom!” replied some of the passers-by; but many kept a gloomy silence.
Cæsar had wished to put an end to the power of a small group of men who boasted of their
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