#p: julius caesar

[eighttwotwopointthreethree]

who lives, who dies, who tells your story: a write up of new swan shakespeare's julius caesar

it's been a while since i watched a live production of shakespeare! and i hadn't really expected to spend this interval of my summer doing so, but the new swan shakespeare festival at UCI was doing julius caesar, which, if you know anything about this blog, is like my number one most favourite shakespeare play. so of course i had to go see it. and you can go see it, too, if you're in socal, alongside their production of as you like it, and the complete works of shakespeare (abridged) (which, if you've ever seen the reduced shakespeare company's filmed version, is really hilarious).

why is julius caesar my favourite play? i mean, besides the homoeroticism in the text between brutus and cassius (#brutecass4lyfe), julius caesar to me is just one of the most human of tragedies, one of the most prescient political dramas ever done. back in 2017, shakespeare in the park did a JC production that, controversially, portrayed the man as a donald trump-type figure. and you know what, they've got a point. julius caesar was a populist. literally, his faction was called the populares; he claimed to represent the will of the people, but ultimately was taking power for himself.

granted, brutus and cassius themselves were not scrappy revolutionaries trying to change the world for the better, for all that brutus likes to cloak himself in honour and high-minded ideals. their faction, the optimates, were of the ruling class in rome. they represented the people in power who disliked caesar's broader appeal. shakespeare (via cribbing from plutarch) points out that many of the optimates were simply mad they did not seize power the way caesar had. cassius was indeed born as free as caesar, with as many of the privileges and ruling rights as caesar; why should cassius bend the knee to caesar when the bitch can't even swim?

brutus, idealist that he is, also could not justify bending the knee. he did not want to lose his own power, though he couches it in shakespeare as a wish to remain free. it's through brutus' rhetoric about freedom that we get the idea of brutus and cassius as revolutionaries, when in truth all they wanted was to return to the pre-caesar status quo. and when they determined that the best way to usher in the revolution is through violence and bloodshed, they set forth the main tragedy of the play: that a revolution begun in blood will end in blood. we've seen this play out throughout the centuries: the french revolution, the russian revolution, pretty much every violent coup that ends in repressive regimes. as long as there are despots, there will be fodder for julius caesar productions. (cassius was onto something when he wondered how many times their actions would be played out in the future "in states unborn and accents yet unknown"!)

this timelessness was felt in the new swan production. the costuming was at parts roman-inspired, though not all the way through--people wore tunics reminiscent of southeast asian clothing, or hoods and masks, or--in the second half of the play--military camo atop their tunics marking their allegiances. one notable setting was the one for octavian and antony's conversation, set in what looked like a public bath. another notable costuming choice was caesar's majestic outfits--flowing, regal, queenlike.

the production notes mentioned a deliberate casting decision of 50-50 male-female roles, with antony, caesar, and cassius notably played as female, with their pronouns changed in the text to refer to them as female. calpurnia, caesar's wife, is taken out of the text and her lines given to lepidus instead, and the characters refer to him as caesar's husband--which does cause an interesting dynamic when lepidus says non-calpurnia lines in the bathhouse scene with antony and octavian. other roles were also condensed--cinna the conspirator was taken out of the text except in the scene with cinna the poet, titinius (our beloved plothole man) had his lines given to metellus cimber, and some of strato's lines were given to casca. also, strato's role in holding brutus' sword is entirely excised, which means that brutus stabs himself at the end, rather than implicate someone else in his death.

all in all, these changes led to a tighter-paced production, where the side characters like casca and metellus cimber were given more of a character arc than in the original. giving titinius' role to metellus cimber, for example, made cassius' death make more sense, because there was already established rapport between metellus cimber and cassius in the first part. (i would argue that in this production casca and cassius had more chemistry, though...)

another notable doubling choice was giving caesar's actor the lines for cinna the poet. i think that was striking for the production, because it made cinna the poet's death at the hands of the mob have a striking implication for this caesar's. who deserves to die, and who was just an innocent caught at the mercy of mob justice? was it only cinna? or was it caesar and cinna? if you ask mark antony, of course, she would say it was both of them. this production's mark antony did an excellent job in taking control of the narrative after caesar's death. i'm used to JC productions going to intermission after caesar's burial, but new swan deciding to do so after the dogs of war monologue certainly told me that that was the turning point--that by letting antony have any share in the narrative, brutus had signed the death warrant for his ~perfectly justified~ revolution. his idealism--his persistence in "civility" and "playing fair", was his fatal flaw.

a couple other scattered thoughts:

i could see that the production was more firmly on the 'bromance' side of the brutecass debate.

which, fair, yes, that is how people have traditionally read the dynamic, but i'm always a good sucker for a cassius obsessed with brutus to the point of dragging him down the path of destruction with her, and would love to see a bit more of this cassius' manipulative ability.

this cassius is fiery, sarcastic, and i do love the way she sinks to her knees in the tent scene when she offers her heart for brutus to stab, but...

i don't think this brutus is quite picking up what cassius is setting down. he's a liiiiiittle bit too heavy on the stoicism. the passion that he showed portia in her ONE scene with him? that's what i would have liked to see out of him in the tent scene, and in that forever and forever farewell cassius scene.

maybe i've just got deranged brutecass brainrot, but i do feel like the devotion that the two characters express to one another in the text itself is part of shakespeare's sympathetic portrayal of them.

i mean, otherwise, all we've got of cassius and brutus is that dante thinks they're such horrible betrayers that they're now forever being chewed on by satan in the ninth circle of hell, next to judas freaking iscariot. brutus and cassius are, as far as classic lit is concerned, sharing the afterlife together.

that's why their devotion to one another in shakespeare's play is so compelling. it's like cassius' one redeeming feature, that he's so unerringly loyal to brutus and only thinks the best of him. while brutus allowed himself to be seduced into cassius' conspiracy, and his own devotion to honour ends up signing away their lives.

and yet when cassius tries to warn him against letting antony take control of the narrative, cassius was still too in love with brutus to actually put his foot down and say no and stop it.

also this production's portia stole the show. in her one scene she was just incredible. badass. girlboss. 100/10 no notes.

according to the dramaturg, who was sitting near us during this showing, this show's caesar was an understudy because the other actor got covid? you literally couldn't tell because this caesar was spectacular. such mean girl energy. regina george would've been proud.

anyway, go see the production! or go see new swan's as you like it, or the complete (abridged) works of shakespeare. there's plenty of showings for the rest of this summer, and you'll be in for some solid acting and good fun.

[quiiescenza]

Interesting

[calimera62]

Me: I like my favourite historical character a normal amount.

The books on said character that I’ve read and/or that I own:

[brutusjustifier]

cassius everytime marc antony / caesar does anything

[weatheredpileoftomes]

true-fix’d and resting quality

For FFxivWrite2022 Day 25, a free day, for another take on Day 20, “anon” (got the idea of playing with the soon/later/now meanings too close to the deadline to do it right, and even as it is my perfectionism is still screaming at me). Ambiguously onesided Frydlona/G’raha, post-A Realm Reborn, ~4400 words. Spoilers through the end of the Crystal Tower raid series; attendant warnings. Overlaps with (and gives a little more insight into) this fic from last year.

He had never expected the Warrior of Light to be quite like this.

Raha hears about Minfilia Warde’s new protegée from Krile, initially. Minfilia liked her; Krile trusts Minfilia’s judgment; he himself trusts Krile’s judgment. And thus, he knows that this Frydlona Merlgeimwyn is courageous, considerate, and talented. She is an asset to the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, who have a much, ah, broader pool of talent than the Students of Baldesion to consider.

By her name she’s almost certainly a Roegadyn. They do have a tendency to use their size and strength to best advantage, in Raha’s experience, often maximizing their natural assets by focusing on drawing attention to themselves in combat to allow their companions to work freely.

The Frydlona that Minfilia described is reasonable and scrupulous; while he can hardly picture her waving an axe wildly, the thought of her standing with sword and shield at the forefront of an attack seems reasonable enough. Heroic, as well, like a knight in an Ishgardian chivalric romance. He considers the image of a primal’s attack blunting itself against her shining armor, of her shield outstretched between some smallfolk and a Garlean blade, and nods to himself in satisfaction.

Well, it should be a great pleasure to meet her and learn about all her adventures if he ever happens to find himself in the area—Minfilia had only been able to tell Krile so much, and of course they had had their own things to talk about. Raha is hardly going to demand Krile interrogate her on his behalf, but there is an archaeological expedition he had already had some interest in at Saint Coinach’s Find in Mor Dhona, and perhaps…

He had had that vague image of Frydlona Merlgeimwyn as silver and gold, all armor and resolve. And, perhaps, he was curious, and wanted a good look at her on his own terms before she got a good look at him, and he knew Rammbroes would be sending someone after him if he didn’t turn up promptly with the aethersand, and whom but the adventurer now helping the expedition (thank you, Minfilia; thank you, Krile) would he send?

The air shimmers with summer heat. No sunlight strikes clean down to the thick mosses of Urth’s Gift, but the whole secret place is softly aglow as light from sun and sprites alike filters gently through the trees and the haze.

Frydlona Merlgeimwyn is green as the Twelveswood around her is, no remote silver or gold about her. She had come prepared to mine the ore herself, and that is where the rest of Raha’s thoughts slide out of his grasp to crash against the forest floor.

She wears a miner’s shirt in plain muted brown, her arms bare from the tops of her worker’s gloves clear up past her shoulders. The misty light gives no contrast, and still when she lifts the pickaxe with the grace of long familiarity Raha can see the muscles shift in her arms. He needs to say something, quickly, especially when she sees the hog’s corpse and draws the—oh, that’s a longbow, Minfilia hadn’t mentioned that to Krile.

He finds himself so distracted by the thought that the Warrior of Light uses the same weapon he does that he actually manages to sound reasonably impressive. He thinks. He would like to see her use that bow before he has to speak to her face-to-face, though, and perhaps a little hunt through the Shroud might prove entertaining to them both.

And annoy her, of course, but what’s to be done? He’s curious.

Fortunately, it is not until after he dismisses her—a fine jest, if you like, him dismissing her—that he notices the other thing. It’s stifling hot for him, after spending so long in Sharlayan, and even the Gridanians and the adventurers have noticed that summer is here. Frydlona’s miner’s shirt is open what feels like halfway down her chest, and—and he’s not looking. He is not looking, he isn’t.

With a whistle to her chocobo, she takes off before his resolve can fail. Again.

Well, he is the one who decided to tell her it was a race. He had best not lose it completely, after that.

She is dressed ready for combat when he sees her again in the North Shroud, but he was, if possible, even less prepared for that. Her arms are covered with a mail so fine and light it fails to slow her movement at all, and her tabard covers her almost up to the collarbones, but she passes through the Ixal like the wind: sometimes avoiding them completely, sometimes bringing them down, quick and smooth as thought—smoother than Raha’s own thoughts, stuttering as he watches her draw and nock and shoot in what seems a single motion.

Raha has known a few bards who barely deserves the name before, skilled archers who wanted to provide utility in combat but had no particular gift for music, and quite a few more who needed an instrument built into their bow to work their magicks.

When Frydlona gets close enough to where he’s waiting, he can hear her singing, and he almost falls out of the tree. Her voice is warm and sweet, deep as fine velvet and shockingly clear for its pitch; it melts his bones like honey, even as she shoots three arrows on three successive notes and twists away from an Ixal warrior’s sweeping talons without fumbling either bow or song.

Not until she snatches up the aethersand and looks around, bow still drawn, does he remember that he was supposed to be racing her.

Very well. Very well, if he simply gives her the other aethersand, maybe that will…distract her? It will be well, Raha tells himself. He can still salvage this. When he meets her properly in a little bit, at least she can have been the one to bring both of the remaining varieties to Rammbroes.

He can already hear Krile laughing at him.

Jumping off a scaffold to try to impress the Warrior of Light was a terrible mistake, not least because she must know he was trying to impress her, but also because even once he straightens back up she is still so much taller than he is. There’s a sliver of bare thigh between her skirt and the top of her boots that he is desperately trying not to look at.

“Frydlona Merlgeimwyn,” she says coolly in response to his introduction. “…A courier, as you say.”

He did this to himself. She is just—she is so— For just a second, hearing himself confess to her that he had forgotten their race entirely just watching her, he’d felt as if the air itself had gone electric, and ever since then he has found himself tripping over his own words in a panic.

Well. He cannot entirely rule out the possibility that if when he actually met her properly she had smiled at him, and spoken to him in a voice as warm as it is when she sings, he would have collapsed to the ground at her feet babbling his admiration, and if that had happened someone most certainly would have told Krile. He does have to work with all of these people here, besides.

He can strive to earn her good opinion, and then, much later, once he has hopefully managed to earn it, then it will be time to remember how to talk to people he admires.

Raha was not speaking merely to hear the sound of his own voice when he said he intended to improve his martial skills while the expedition worked to gain access to the Tower, nor that when the time came he meant to venture into it with Frydlona and the others. He practices, earnestly.

Things are even going reasonably well, giving him faith that he might, once they do venture on another foray, be able to accompany them. And then he makes another mistake.

“Frydlona!” he calls, when he sees her heading, armed, toward the same section of shoreline he himself has found well-suited to archery practice. “Might you be willing to spare me just a moment of your time?”

She stops and turns, letting him catch up.

“In addition to your innate talent, you obviously have much more experience with the bow than I do,” Raha begins, as flatteringly as he can. Asking for a favor usually goes better when he sweetens it with compliments, but Frydlona is once again not impressed. “I was…wondering if, perhaps, you might be able to offer me a word or two of advice.”

“You’re really interested in Allag, aren’t you.” Frydlona sounds thoughtful.

Raha has no idea whether this is a good thing or a bad thing—he is, of course, interested in Allag, not only because of the Allagan Eye but also because of the staggering scope of this civilization that still overshadows their own. He wants to enter the tower and discover whatever secrets it holds for himself, and that would be true regardless of any other circumstances. Without understanding the past, how can one seek to improve the future?

However, he is also interested in being of use to the expedition itself, by sharing the knowledge he has accumulated before coming here. And he is furthermore interested in not saying yet more incredibly stupid and embarrassing things in front of Frydlona herself, when he would so much like to be able to accompany her on her next adventure.

She shrugs. The opalescent light glints off her mailed arms. “Sure. Get your bow and show me what you’re having a hard time with, and I’ll see if I can think of anything that might help.”

He was not inventing the difference in their experience, though he may have exaggerated a little. He had picked up the bow in the first place because it is well for a traveler to have some means of defense, and some way to be of use, and he has a fondness for music. He is hardly someone who would even attempt to cut through a Garlean castrum and help bring down the Ultima Weapon itself with his bow, let alone succeed.

Still, he does his best to show her his form, and not to be self-conscious as she watches.

“All right,” Frydlona says, sounding even more thoughtful, when he’s taken a few shots with moderate success. “There are a few things, I think. I’d like to take a look at your arrows—I think I can make them a little easier for you to nock at speed—but your angle is a little off. Here, watch.”

She lifts her bow, nocks the arrow, starts to draw it, and then stops.

Then she sets the bow down and starts unhooking her tabard. Raha opens his mouth to—question, or protest, or something; even he isn’t entirely sure—and stops because he has no idea what he might say. She shrugs the tabard off and drops it in a clinking of leather and chain, leaving her in a close-fitting camise.

“Okay,” Frydlona says, shrugging her quiver back on and picking up her bow again. She is not wearing even so much as an armguard, only a pair of fingerstalls on her right hand. He knows more about her now: not just archery and collecting her own ores, but smithing and forestry as well. Her arms are finely sculpted, from bare shoulder to wrapped fingertip, for both power and skill. “Aim and power are really both centered in the shoulder. So if you watch mine…”

Instead of watching her settle the arrow, Raha fixes his gaze to her shoulders. It is hardly a struggle, especially when she draws the bow. The string snaps free, the arrow flies, and she asks, “You see?”

“Er,” Raha says.

She pulls another arrow from her quiver. “All right. This is what you’re doing.” This time she holds the draw longer. It is a heavy bow, as befits a woman of her height and strength, but there is barely a tremor in her muscles.

The string flies forward and the arrow sings.

“If you turn your elbow a little more down,” Frydlona says, “it’ll take a little bit of practice to get used to the release, but you’ll have better control over the shot. Like this.”

She is turned away from him, the better to show off the archer’s position. He watches her right shoulderblade draw back toward the left when she draws the bow and ease forward when she takes the shot.

“You might need a lighter armguard,” she says thoughtfully, setting the bow down and turning back to him, which leaves him once again staring directly at her breasts in that tight undyed camise. “Could I take a look?” She holds out a hand.

Raha fumbles the buckles on his armguard twice trying to get it off.

The breeze off the lake is mercifully cool on the newly-bared skin. He picks his own bow back up while Frydlona is looking at the armguard and nocks an arrow with shaking fingers.

He hesitates for just an instant at full draw, knowing this is going to hurt but unable to think of a better way to jar himself out of this melting haze, and then lets go. The bowstring snaps against the unprotected skin of his inner forearm; he hears the crack before he feels the sting, and then it hits, burning acid-hot all along his arm.

“Oh no.” Frydlona actually sounds guilty. “No, that was—a little too far, I’m sorry. Here, hold on, I’ve got my wand—”

“Please,” Raha says quickly, “there’s no need for you to go to the trouble.” He can hear the strain in his voice—it has been some time since he last hit himself with the bowstring, and he had managed to forget just how much it hurts—but the pain is already beginning to fade. It will, admittedly, bruise.

The Cure sinks into him, washing the rest of the pain away, before he can make another protest.

“Can I show you?” Frydlona asks.

She still sounds guilty, and so Raha doesn’t dare tell her that he would actually prefer to practice quietly on his own after all. “If you wish,” he says instead.

”Aim at that one, just past the rock shaped like a chocobo beak.” She points at a dead tree along the shoreline, a little further than the one he’d been aiming at. Its crystallizing bark glitters in the shifting light. “Hold the draw as long as you can.”

He has no idea why, but he does. Nock the arrow—more slowly, this time, and without looking at her. Draw the string, and aim, and hold the draw—

Frydlona’s hand settles around his arm, warm even in the summer heat, and he only barely manages not to release the arrow with the shock of it. “Like this,” she says from so close behind him that surely if he leaned back just a little they would be touching, and turns his arm, just a little, changing the angle of shoulder and bow together before she releases him.

This time when he hits himself with the string it’s entirely by accident.

She makes a soft sound of distress and Raha blurts, “It seems today is not my day. You may be sure I will find the time to practice again later, though!”

“I can make you a thinner armguard, if you’d like,” Frydlona says, picking his up off the ground and handing it back to him. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to rattle you by having you try shooting without one. Let me know if you’d like to practice again someday, if I’m in the area.”

“Certainly,” Raha says, more or less without thinking. It is, at least, better than correcting her assumption.

The worst of it is that, as far as he can tell, Frydlona Merlgeimwyn is simply like that, all the time. She is kind and helpful to everyone, she is a tremendously skilled artisan—the armguard she makes him is half the thickness of his old one yet barely takes a scratch when he swings at it experimentally with a meat knife—, and she combines the two by spending every moment the Scions can spare her helping resettle refugees in Revenant’s Toll.

She doesn’t like fighting. She likes archery, and if he were brave enough to ask her if she might have any interest in a performance (perhaps even a duet) he suspects she would say she likes singing as well, but she is always more animated and enthusiastic speaking of the resettlement than she is speaking of her adventures.

It is…not what Raha expected from a hero, but it is, unfortunately, better. She clearly has no interest in or experience with governance, but he suspects that if there were more people like her who were placed in positions of power, everyone’s situations would be vastly improved. To have more leaders, and more heroes, who see violence as a necessary evil when it cannot be avoided, and devote the greater part of their time to plain everyday things that bring peace and comfort…

Raha is still thinking about peace and comfort some few moons later, as he realizes that the Crystal Tower, that beacon of hope, is somehow still obeying the commands of that revenant of Xande that they all believed Frydlona had vanquished.

He is still thinking about it the next day, when Frydlona answers Rammbroes’s summons and Cid Garlond makes ready to call forth a voidgate. Heroism weighs heavy on his mind—the helpless struggle of mighty warriors against Xande, the futile clashing of sword and spell, the sheer and sacrificial cost of their struggle. The courage it must have taken, to fight when so outmatched in the hopes that someone, later or far off or perhaps even right then, would benefit even if you fell.

The memories feel almost like Krile has described her Echo, though not quite: thoughts gleaned not from study but from…elsewhere, somehow.

He is still thinking about it when he asks Frydlona to let him accompany her into the rift, and when she agrees with only a little hesitation. He has been practicing, in truth, even if he had been prepared to stand out of the way when she ventured into the Crystal Tower. He knows her well enough that he knows she would not ask anyone to follow her into the World of Darkness itself, that she will go alone if no one volunteers, and no one else here can volunteer.

He thinks about it the whole time the two of them fight their way through this shifting, dreamlike world.

Xande’s bargain was made with a dweller in a palace not unlike, and yet nothing like, his own. Instead of sky-blue crystal, it is made of opaque dark stone, with carven balustrades and crumbling archways. They travel as quickly as they can, staying in the shadows, avoiding as many of the palace’s denizens as they can.

There are beasts not unlike some of those in their own world, and revenants, and creatures Raha has never seen and Frydlona seems not to recognize either. Some of them respond to sound; some seem to sniff the two travelers out with no help from the breeze.

All seem ravenously hungry. Frydlona had thought to bring dried fruit and meat, both more flavorful and more toothsome than archon loaf. Raha tries offering one of the denizens a strip of the meat, but it lunges for his arm instead; he and Frydlona have to kill it.

Their foes here all dissolve into bruise-black fog, with no corpses to be sure of. Raha strongly wishes it were otherwise, but after the first few, or few dozen, fail to chase them down again immediately he lets himself start to believe that they are in truth dead. Still, this is nothing like any fights he knows, and Frydlona seems as uneasy as he does.

They take turns singing, as is only sensible. Frydlona’s voice is shocking, here in this unnatural gloom surrounded by mists and monsters. It reminds him of nothing so much as late-afternoon sunlight, something to curl up in.

When one of them is hurt, Frydlona has potions.

“I thought you were a conjurer!” Raha whispers, watching the unnatural stiffness of the way she holds her injured right arm and the awkwardness with which she lifts the potion vial with her left.

“Not a very good one yet! If we get ambushed while I’m trying to heal I’m a liability, especially since this armor dampens my healing abilities instead of enhancing them.” She hesitates, corking the bottle clumsily and one-handed. “I did bring my wand, in case…in case.”

In case potions aren’t enough, Raha finishes for her. In case she needs to risk her own life to save his. He will not be allowing that.

When they tire, they find an alcove and huddle against the wall. “I’ll take first watch,” Frydlona breathes.

The sky above is starless, but bright with aurora like the skies over Old Sharlayan. “Wake me up after,” Raha says, and wraps his tail around himself and goes to sleep at her side.

Doga and Unei’s sacrifices have illuminated something Raha would rather not see.

“Are you all right?” Frydlona asks. While he has been brooding, she has found a plain dress to replace her blood- and ichor-soaked armor with.

He manages a smile for her, he hopes. The sun is setting over Silvertear Lake, flooding all of Mor Dhona with copper and gold. “I had planned to go for a brief walk in thanks before I return to help Rammbroes. Have you a moment to join me?”

Her frown is purely concerned, now, warm and without irritation as once it might have been.

More and more often over the past few moons he has thought: perhaps someday, perhaps in a little bit, perhaps even now she might be coming to return his affections, when she listened to him tell her about Allag or let him help wind yarn. But perhaps ever he was only imagining it, and in any case it is too late. Best for both of their sakes if he has been wrong.

He would still like to walk along the shores of Silvertear Lake with her one last time, even so.

“Of course,” she says.

Summer is fading into autumn, and the afternoon light is the color of fire. She slows her steps to keep pace with him.

“I wonder what Cid intends to do next,” Raha says, almost at random. “The Ironworks…” The sentence slips away from him. “It is a good organization.”

“It is. He’s a good man.”

Raha nods.

A breeze stirs his hair and tugs at Frydlona’s skirts. The water laps gently at the shores of the lake, its sound almost too soft to hear.

Frydlona is watching him again, and he can think of nothing easy to say. “And what of you? What are your plans, now that the mysteries of the Crystal Tower have been revealed?”

“Hope Moenbryda’s plan to deal with the Ascian threat works, I suppose,” she says with a sigh. “Find out what Severian’s mysterious project is. Alphinaud and the Crystal Braves have their own troubles, and I’m sure Ishgard isn’t done with us yet either.”

“But what of you,” Raha presses. It is suddenly, terribly urgent. “For yourself. More work with the Domans?”

She brightens a little at that. “The construction is just about done, but I’ve been invited to help teach some of the older children about how to get started in a trade in Eorzea. Fufucha is working on a project that needs botanists to travel around every region learning about how common crops have adapted to grow in slightly different climates. I’d love to help with that. And I’ll be visiting my family again soon, as well.”

It does sound wonderful, and more than that it sounds as if it would suit her. He is glad she’ll have all that.

She asks, “And…what about you?”

Far out over the water, a bird cries into the deepening gloom. Twilight is falling fast, now, the sky already past orange and into a muted red. If he turned he would see the Crystal Tower gleaming at them, an unwinking eye. “Ah, well,” Raha says. “If our paths should happen to cross again…”

He cannot, quite, bring himself to finish the sentence. He knows his voice will not be steady for it.

Frydlona stops and looks down at him. There is no moon to brighten her, but he could draw her face from memory in the dark, let alone read her features in this blood-tinged dusk. “I’d like that,” she says. “I…”

For an instant, for the length of one sharp-drawn breath, he thinks she might mean to reach out for him. If she does all his resolve will crumble.

“Let me know, if you happen to be in the area,” she says instead. “Just leave word at the Adventurer’s Guild, or send me a letter here at the Rising Stones. I’ll tell you all about crop development in the area, and you can tell me about the ancient empires that have been ploughed over to grow them.”

It sounds wonderful. Raha hopes her eyes are not as good in the dark as his are. He swallows and says, “Of course.”

There will be no later. This, right now, is all he can have, and when they turn to walk back to the Tower he walks as slowly as he dares.

[dragonsarenoice]

.

[didoofcarthage]

Denarius with head of Julius Caesar (obverse) and Venus holding Victory (reverse), minted under P. Sepullius Macer at Rome

Roman, Republican Period, 44 B.C.

silver

British Museum

[kingaegond]

Young Gaius Julius Caesar x Reader (Eros)

Warnings: Innacurate history, Injury, Blood, P in V sex, +18

Gaius woke up in the middle of nowhere, from his calcullations, he assumed he was in Greece... The battle had been lost, but he would try again and again until he avenged his father Caesar, and then he would accomplish so much more. He wouldn't rest until he was Emperor.

He suddenly felt the warm liquid on his forehead and realized he was bleeding so he rested upon a tree, trying to gain strenght and come up with a plan.

-

She went out to pick up some berries, the sun was glowing in the sky and the day looked as peaceful as any other. She was walking around when she saw him. Eros. He was absolutely beautiful, he was dressed as a roman soldier, but his beauty was so, that she thought he must be divine. She hid behind a tree, she thought if he saw her, he would dissapear.

Then she saw the snake going closer to the man. She wanted to tell him, but if he was Eros, he was immortal, it surely wouldn't be a problem... But then the snake bite him and he winced in pain, he steadfastly held his sword and cut the snake in two, but the poison was already in his bloodstream.

She realized he was a human and ran to help him.

-

-Fuck… fuck...

The poison hurt, his leg felt on fire. He thought he was allucinating when he saw her. Suddenly, in front of him a goddess to take him to other realm. Her long hair traced all the way to her waist as the fabric of her white dress clung desperately at her every curve.

-Allow me... I can help...- She spoke sweetly.

He murmured a soft yes and the lady fell to her knees and started sucking the poison. Her hands on his leg and her mouth on his thight, he thought it must be a fever dream.

She sucked the poison and drank the blood, as she knew such thing could not harm her.

Gaius couldn't help himself and started caressing her soft hair as she drank him, his leg starting to feel better, the burning pain turning into burning pleasure as she drank more and more.

She suddenly stopped, sure he was no longer in danger.

-Thank you - He said as he caressed her face and cleaned his blood of her plump lips with his fingers.

-It's alright, you'll be well in a few days...- She smiled at him.

She help him stand and they walked to her place. It was small, cozy and near the sea.

She poured a glass of wine for Gaius and he drank.

-

A few days passed as they layed on the beach, drink wine and talked to eachother about things they wouldn't tell anyone else.

He knew he would have to return to Rome, but staying with her was all he wanted.

-

-May I take you to Rome? - He whispered behind her ear.

- I'll go anywhere you want me to. -She smiled.

Gaius kissed her hungrily as he had been wanting to do since he first saw her. She kissed him back, parting her lips as to allow his tongue. Soon, their clothes were on the floor and her hips were around his.

He put her on the table and started sucking her right nipple, she whimpered as he sucked and lapped at each of her breast. Then, he took her, using the table as leverage, he pounded into her. Both of them kissing away their moans as they pursued their peak again and again.

[eighttwotwopointthreethree]

Eyyyyyyyy happy Ides of March! - From Cassius

Happy Ides of March! Here's to saving the Republic from the tyrannical clutches of Caesar! -Brutus

[mania-sama]

Fyodor Dostoyevsky and Crime and Punishment: Short Bungou Stray Dogs Analysis

Finally finished Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky. i might do a post talking about my actual thoughts on the book, but not right now because I'm INSTEAD gonna talk about BSD Fyodor because, if I'm gonna be honest, a large part of the reason I read this book was to see if I could get an insight on what his ability could be (obviously I also read it because I know it's an extremely influential book to the psychological thriller literature genre, and it's made me want to read more of his books because I am absolutely entranced by his writing style).

SPOILERS: This book did NOT give me a single damn clue to Fyodor's ability.

However, I do have a better understanding of why Asagiri chose to write Fyodor in that specific way, with the added effect of making Fyodor much more understandable. I have a better appreciation, I think, for Asagiri's character writing. Let me explain:

The large, overarching theme of C&P is the idea that some people are naturally born with the right to kill. That is, people are naturally born into two categories: "Ordinary" and "Extraordinary". The majority of the population falls into the former - they live their lives in submission to the law and to those above them. In essence, they do not have the "right to kill"; they are otherwise overcome with guilt, regret, or simply caught for their wrongdoings.

The latter category has very few people in it, and for a simple reason - they are the ones who are, essentially, above the law, and therefore, the lawmakers. They are the ones who lead the revolutions, sit on the throne, and most importantly, kill when they need to kill and do not hesitate to "step" over their crimes as nothing more than the necessity to power. They are not caught. In fact, they are hailed as the greatest leaders. Alexander the Great, Julius Caesar, and his most constantly referred example, Napoleon. These are the born with the "right to kill".

The main character, Raskolnikov (of whom I will be calling the affection Rodya because I am NOT spelling his name over and over again), believes himself to be a "Napolean". Rodya is the one who came up with this theory in the book, after all. However, he finds out, near the end, after several blunders and mental breaks, that he is not one of the people who can "step" over their crimes. He hesitated before killing his target. His guilt for his two murders sent him into a feverish state for days on end. He walked to the police station to confess his crimes a million times before finding some reason, right before he was meant to do it, to chicken out and continue living life under this ever-evolving notion that he was sorely mistaken about himself. Rodya is not the "Napolean" he thought he was born to be.

How does this relate to the Bungou Stray Dogs character? I believe that Fyodor is, essentially, the embodiment of the "right to kill". He is everything that Rodya thought he was, which is an excellent analysis on the part of Asagiri. One of the first things Fyodor does is kill Ace, then a relatively innocent child, Karma. He does this without blinking, without a hint of remorse, and proceeds with his day. He knows that this is his right, that he is the one above others, that he can kill and he cannot be caught for it. He claims to have mastered and tamed his own ability. Why? Because he is the "Extraordinary."

Another theme that I find quite intriguing is religion. In truth, it really isn't that prevalent (though there are a great many Biblical quotations and references throughout) until the last part, Part 6, of Crime and Punishment. Rodya has a near-constant epiphany with religious belief, even at one point stating, point-blank and in irritation, that God isn't real and He certainly isn't helping anyone in the mortal plane. He oscillates between claiming that the "Devil" forced him to kill, to saying that believers are frantic and stupid, then to kissing the dirty ground in repentance for his crimes. He state of mind ends in that repentance state, a supposed believer and eager to start his life anew.

To make Fyodor a devoted believer in God, with a set viewpoint and acting as an executor of God's will, is, once again, an excellent choice. Rodya's irritation and inner turmoil were one of the many reasons why he failed miserably in maintaining the secret of his crimes. Fyodor is none of those things: he is calm, cool, collected, and set in his ways. Interestingly, in Crime and Punishment, the vilest character also seems to have no particular issues with religion himself. And he, for the most part, gets away with his heinous crimes completely. This battle of belief, and relating it to God, provides a healthy insight to why Fyodor has obtained the "right to kill", versus Rodya, who was born "Ordinary."

The last point I want to seriously touch on is less about Crime and Punishment and more about the author himself. However, I did learn about this through reading the translator's notes (the translation I read is by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky, Second Edition (2021), Vintage Classics). Dostoevsky was hugely indebted to Nikolai Gogol as a successor to Gogol's ingenious literary developments in "fantastical realism" and satire. Dostoevsky made several references to Gogol's works in C&P, and none in a critical manner. In the animanga, the roles are completely reversed; Nikolai is the one chasing after Fyodor, admiring his intellect and "ingenious" with the eventual goal of setting himself free. This idea of flipping authors' relationships on their heads is part of what makes Bungou Stray Dogs so entertaining to consume, and it takes a great deal of research and effort to be able to adjust these relationships so that they clearly reflect the real-life ones.

As for one afterthought, the name "Rats in the House of the Dead" appears to be a clever play on the Dostoevsky book Notes from the Dead House. I haven't read this book yet, but I want to (along with Notes from Underground). I'm curious to see if there is any further correlation, but I would assume not, considering the contents of the book.

NO. I did NOT find literally anything that could help me decipher Fyodor's ability. Rodya literally confesses his crime like a week and a half after he commits it. No character in this novel, nor theme, reflects whatever the h e double hockey sticks Fyodor has going on in BSD. I have theories, but they have literally nothing to do with Crime and Punishment outside of the base fact that his ability has something to do with killing (which we already knew). Woe is me. I'll get over it, I guess.

[just-late-roman-republic-things]

Periodic reminder that the Roman republic and empire were extremely genetically diverse, and had as much blood in common with Greek, Anatolian, and Middle Eastern folks as they did with western Europeans. The first African-born emperor came to power in 193 CE, another was ethnically an Arab, and we've even found evidence of Romans of East Asian descent.

Rome's military system, economy, and geopolitical strategy depended on its ability to integrate non-Romans into the empire, and at any given time at least half of its army was made up of non-Roman auxiliaries (Mary Beard, SPQR, ch. 4-5). By the age of Julius Caesar, most of Rome's citizens had non-Italian ancestry (Erich Gruen, The Last Generation of the Roman Republic, p. 360-361).

Rome had a lot of problems, and it was not progressive by modern standards, but it's impossible to separate the growth of the Roman empire from its immigration (including transport of slaves) and ethnic diversity.

[artifacts-archive]

Aureus (Coin) Portraying Emperor Maximianus Herculius

Roman, minted in Trier, Germany, 303

Portraits of important people appear on local currency all around the world. The same was true in ancient Rome, which began producing its first coinage in the late 4th century BC. Early coins depicted the heads of gods and goddesses on the front side, often in profile, while the back depicted animals, natural resources, symbols, and references to historical events. It was not until 44 BC that the portrait of a living person—Julius Caesar—appeared on coins. Thereafter, profile portraits of rulers or other members of the imperial family became the standard subject on coins throughout the Roman Empire. On the front of this well-preserved coin is a portrait of the Roman emperor Maximianus Herculius (reigned 286–305). He was one of the four men (called tetrarchs) who together ruled the Roman Empire at this time, after its division into east and west halves under Diocletian. Maximianus is identified by the inscription that encircles his portrait—MAXIMIA - NVS P F AVG. The phrase P[ius] F[elix] Augustus indicates that he is a “dutiful” and “happy” emperor. Diocletian gave Maximianus the title of Herculius, a reference to the great hero Hercules, who is depicted on the back of the coin with his characteristic club and lion skin.

[lightblindingme]

A thought that's been running 'round my mind for a couple of days:

Young Gaius could GET IT! He has an aura about him that lures you in and makes you believe he can and will do whatever he wants. He's got that Big D energy, if you will.

He's cute, flirtatious, attractive, fierce, smart, funny! He loves, he lusts, he hates. He schemes and plots, forges alliances and breaks them, outsmarts his foes and is streets ahead of them.

HE CAN GET IT 👏👏👏👏

And from the first moment he and Livia meet, even the moment he sees her wearing a veil and walking towards Nero, as a viewer you can just sense how intrigued and curious he is about her. And when they actually meet there's fire and lust and passion there - in their body language, their gazes, the unspoken. It makes you feel like you are there with them as well or at least wish to be - that's how charged their energies are. Of course they used each other for political and financial reasons, but the Passion (yeah, with capital P) was there, so palpable and real.

I mean, look at this!

On the other hand, older Gaius just doesn't have the same appeal. He can get it, but only because he's the Emperor and can't be refused. Not once have I thought 'What a stud'... I don't get any sense that he was this 'young Gaius Julius Caesar' who conquered and destroyed and rebuilt Rome and whom others fear or have feared. I feel like older Gaius could never end up with young Livia, that is, she wouldn't consider him as any option other than for political benefit. It's like he's not the same man and the fire that drew her to him initially is missing.

In that regard, to me at least, Agrippa has also changed but towards becoming more open and showing more of his emotions as he was getting older. I can totally buy that young and older Agrippa are the same person because they are both exuding with that strength, passion, and fierce resolution only amplified with age.

As a viewer I knew he had feelings for Livia when he was just a young man and I know he loves her now that they are older because the feelings and actions and his body language show it every.single.time! And regardless of his age, he can get it 👏👏👏 no question!

I'd always root for young Gaius and Livia because they burnt with kin flames, but the only fire, that unbridled passion and actual love years and years later are harboured by Agrippa.

[macabremoons]

Project Rivalry Library

♡ "Thus lies the question: who are we?” ♡

General info

Standalone or Series: Standalone

Progress: drafting 

Tropes/Ao3-esque Tags: morally grey character, family of choice, rivals, fluff, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, humor

Working title: Rivalry Library 

Main character names: Julius and Arsione

Summary:

The history books lied to you, and the lies aren’t what you think. They’ve been rewritten to appear as if mere consequence, the causers of most events were two people: Julius Caesar and Arsione. Two vampires locked in the eternal battle of creation and destruction.

After millennia of fighting, Arsione decides to offer an olive branch to Julius and allow him to run a dungeons and dragons campaign and the library she works out. After growing close to the children in the DND group, the two are thrusted into the new life of parenthood. Even worse: co-parenthood. 

Now coupled with responsibility, Julius and Arsione must navigate through life as enemies, family, and familiar strangers. Will they be able to work together for their children, or will centuries of bloodshed drown them all?

Quotes:

Author Notes

Why such an odd premise?

I am but a simple woman. Sometimes I write things for fun.

Will you publish it?

No. At most I might upload it to the public when I’m done, but I might just share snippets. This is, again, a for fun project.

Julius Ceaser?? Arsione???

Yes, the real life people. Why? Because I thought Arsione’s character destroying Rome would be funny, so I knew Julius would be Julius Cesar. Something then suggested Arsione, which worked in my favor so much.

Where can I see what you've posted so far?

I try to put all my writing snippets (and finished works but they have a separate tag) under #my writing, though rambles and writings can be found under the #project rivalry library tag.

All the character tags are #p. rl: (character name.)

Can I be on your taglist?

This question is highly presumptuous, but yes hypothetical stranger, you can! Just ask in the replies or tags.

[hamliet]

Hello, Hamliet.... is it true that the Bible said homosexuals should be punish in new testament? If I'm not wrong remembered (yes, I'm from christian household) is it not that king david have 'special feelings' for jonathan?

My mother has really strong belief in religion (christianity) and she is an anti-LGBTQ+. But do you believe that her brother (my uncle) who is definitely a queer (wear make up, dresses really feminely, and sometimes called himself as she, never married until he's in sixties), my mother said he is normal ?????

That's why I want to know more about LGBTQ+ (eventhough in my country it is still a taboo topic).

Do you think it's weird Hamliet, if I prefer to read mlm & wlw instead of het romance? I just felt fed up with reading or watching het romance (wlm)....

Thanks to you Hamliet, I know more about myself, eventhough there are still a bit if feeling guilty every time I read or watch LGBTQ+ contents....

No, it doesn't say it should be punished in the New Testament.

It does get mentioned once, arguably three times, but really for certain once, and that context has nothing to do with punishment.

I'm going to give a very bare bones explanation of my understanding of it below! There are also lots of theology papers on it and I'm like, skimming the surface here.

The arguable ones lists a word that is often translated as "homosexuality" in a list of sins that "won't inherit the kingdom of God." However, the two words that get translated as such need more looking at.

One is always translated literally as "softness," but is always used in reference to prostitution. Most likely (given the letters it appears to and the communities they were a part of and the prevalence of temple prostitution there) temple prostitution (which should not be thought of as largely consensual in this context, either). There are also some fair arguments based on the words used and the known history of these cities that it's referring to ritual p*do abuse of children.

The other of the Greek words that gets translated as such is extremely unusual. So unusual that it's never seen elsewhere.

Yeah. It's a made-up word.

Now, the word arsenokoitēs certainly had meaning to the specific community to which the letter it appears in is addressed, but it's not like a word that can be translated with 100% certainty. What we do know for certain is that parts of the word are taken from words that refer to "men" and "bed/sex." So I see why people translate it that way. The thing is, though, it occurs in two lists, and these lists consist of issues concerning idolatry and slave dealers. Hence, the context strongly indicates that it's condemning some form of exploitation involving men who have sex with males.

The larger historical/cultural context also indicates this. If you read ancient Greek texts, like, say, Plato's Symposium, you'll get a very distinct view of exactly which same-sex relationships were normalized in those days, and you'll also be somewhat horrified. Basically the idea was that mentors (adult men) would mentor teenager boys, and the teen boys would be receptive to the adult man having sex with them. Does it sound creepy and exploitative? Because it is!

Yes, even for the time period. It isn't unique. Julius Caesar--yes, THE Julius Caesar--had to deal with rumors that he was one of those boys to an older mentee (Nicomedes). Because clearly, being on the receiving end of male-male sex means that you're actually a woman, which as everyone knows is the WORST thing you could possibly be (sarcastic). Anyways, this type of exploitative bs was extremely common, and even back in those days, it was known to be somewhat, y'know, f*cked up.

The other time it's talked about in the NT is in Romans 1, during which the main theme of the passage is that giving yourself over to lust is a bad thing. Paul cites women having sex with women and men with men as examples of overabundance of lust. I think most Christians, even sex-positive ones like myself, would agree that being consumed with lust (or with anything) to where it controls you and you start losing control of your life is unhealthy.

Now, that said, you can make an argument that Paul's view seems to be that homosexual tendencies stem from over abundance. But we know that's not true nowadays. And that gets into how you read the Bible as a whole.

I love the Bible. I see it as God's word to humanity, divinely inspired. I also think that to truly see it as God's word, you have to acknowledge what it is.

It's literature.

That doesn't mean it's fiction or whatever. It just means that God chose literature as a means to communicate with human beings, and that means that God knew that the whole point of literature is that people wrestle with the concepts and debate the themes. It enhances my respect of Scripture and my love of God to do precisely this, to dig into the text and its historical context and discover the timeless themes. To call it "inerrant" where every word can be taken out of context and seen as a command does a disservice to the writers God used to craft poetry, histories, stories, measurements, and letters to friends. To view the Bible as God when the Bible itself says that Jesus is the Word of God personified misses the forest for the trees, the spirit of the law for the letter.

The other really cool thing that genuinely excites me about Christianity is that God works with human beings. Individuals, yes, but also communities. He works within cultures, too. Despite modern evangelicals claiming "No Compromise!" Scripture is FULL of God compromising with humans, bargaining with them, accepting that they are flawed and working with us. He worked within human limits so much he became one to save us from death; it's kinda the premise!

So, God working to deliver his very message to us through human writers of literature is kind of amazing to me, awe-inspiring. But that also means human beings are limited by what we know and our own time periods, our own cultures. And, that's okay. Yes, keep working to do better, but it means that we can have grace for ourselves and one another. Even now, when we know a lot more about the world as a whole, we are still very limited by our own experiences, cultures, and time period. There's this attitude that modernity has reached the stage of ultimate enlightenment and boy have we not.

Hence, yeah, Paul's writing in Romans 1 especially might be kinda homophobic by today's standards. The ultimate premise--don't let yourself be under anything else's control--is a good one, but him using homosexuality as an example as if potentially all of it emerges from lust is not exactly woke, but also not necessarily abnormal for his time period and his culture. He's a flawed human being, after all, but God himself still worked with him to do some pretty great stuff, and to write some pretty cool letters that still have beautiful resonance today (the love passage in Corinthians? That's him!)

(Also, funnily enough, people--even the strictest evangelicals--actually do accept this about Paul and culture when he's writing about slavery. Because Paul doesn't endorse slavery and instructs masters to be kind to their slaves and treat them well, but he doesn't outright say "you're sinning by owning slaves" whereas today we'd definitely think that. Funny how that doesn't apply to gay people though.)

Lastly, your mom sounds like my mom. She claims she thinks it's a sin because she believes the Bible says so, but she genuinely is happy for friends who are gay and happily married and wishes them well. It's like she feels she has to believe it, not that she actually does in her core. And of course that's not an excuse, and I would never tell a gay person they should not be upset with her. Even within our modern cultures, it can be hard to unlearn things too especially if you grew up in such environments.

But reading mlm or wlw stories is actually a great tool for helping people empathize with others. Fiction absolutely helped me leave the cult I was raised in. I don't think it's inherently weird at all; curiosity exists, empathy exists, good stories exist, and also there's something to be said about people who exist in cultures that are very non-accepting seeing themselves in stories where a relationship that might often be condemned is accepted. Even if the person is straight and cis, they might have parts of themselves they see as something society would hate, and so they see themselves in the characters.

Oh actually, the real last lastly. Jonathan and David. Er... yeah. I mean, yes, people do have extremely close, extremely intimate, brotherly platonic friendships, even between men. But their relationship is certainly up for interpretation considering they literally refer to each other as having love for them that is "better than that of women." The words and phrasing used mirror those used in like, the Iliad to describe Achilles and Patroclus, and Gilgamesh between Gilgamesh and Enkidu.

David also married Jonathan's sister and didn't treat her very well, but did go out of his way to protect Jonathan's own children. Also, there are several other passages where the ancient Hebrew used could contain sexual nuances, although it doesn't necessarily have to. You can't definitively state either way what it is--the writers clearly wrote in plausible deniability. Still, there's enough to raise eyebrows even within that old ancient context that, whether or not it was ever physical, Jonathan and David were not platonic.

(Personally? David invented the Disaster Bisexual archetype.)

[whencyclopedia]

The Last Years of Julius Caesar’s Life in Five Coins

Written by Sebastian L. Harris

Gaius Julius Caesar (100-44 BCE) is considered one of history’s greatest generals and statesmen, who famously defeated the Germanic king Vercingetorix during the Gallic Wars (58-50 BCE) and his former ally Pompey during the Civil War (49-45 BCE). However, he might also be described as one of the best self-promoters, as seen through his and the Caesarians’ coins. Coinage provides a wealth of knowledge on the history and motivations behind the individuals who minted or authorised them, so let us examine a sample of five coins from the final years of Julius Caesar’s life.

CIVIL WAR. After Julius Caesar crossed the Rubicon in 49 BCE (both literally and figuratively), his ally-turned-enemy and senatorial champion, Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus, fled from Brundisium to the East, leaving Rome and the Roman Senate exposed, both of which offered little opposition. While fighting Pompey over the next two years, he established a moving mint where he minted the first coinage to bear his name. The denarius (RRC 443/1) depicts symbols of the pontifex maximus (“chief high priest”) on the obverse, a position he used to emphasise his connection with the gods. The reverse represents the perpetua discordia between elephants and snakes, where a cornered snake (Caesar) will triumph over the larger elephant (Pompey). SPOILER: Caesar did win and was given his most prominent title as a result.

Silver Denarius of C. Julius Caesar (49 BCE) [RRC 443/1]

DICTATOR. Although declared dictator (traditional Republican magistrate) for eleven days in early 48 BCE, he was later named dictator for one year, then ten further years after successfully ending the Civil War that year. During his time as dictator (48-44 BCE), he changed the number of magistracies and reformed the state, minting a coin portraying himself as dictator for the first time, an aureus in 47 BCE (RRC 456/1). It depicts an axe, culullus (ritual vessel), jug and lituus (military trumpet), all symbols of the pontifex maximus, and the legend DICT ITER (“Dictator for the second time”). While he also held other positions (consul, augur, pontifex maximus) [RRC 467/1], he advertised his dictator position most frequently on coins (17 times). There is, however, a more peculiar title he gave himself.

Gold Aureus of C. Julius Caesar (47 BCE) [RRC 456/1]

MORALS. In 46 BCE, Julius Caesar established a new office that was very similar to the censors'. This office was known as prefect of the morals. He added this position so he could wield the censorial powers and not be constrained by limitations, using this prefecture to fill the Senate with his own faction and minimise opposition. Although minted by the moneyer Publius Sepullius Macer after Caesar’s death in 44 BCE (RRC 480/21), the denarius depicts the image of Caesar as moralistic. The coin features a tetrastyle temple with the legend CLEMENTIAE CAESARIS (“Caesar the Clement”) on the obverse, with a desultor (skilled horsemen who lept from one horse or chariot to another) and moneyer’s name on the reverse (a reference to Caesar’s Games at the Parilia). He does, however, go from being moral to being authoritarian in two years.

Silver Denarius of P. Sepullius Macer (44 BCE) [RRC 480/21]

PERPETUO. Dictator is a word with a negative connotation, as someone who has complete and absolute power, and we can trace this use back to when Julius Caesar was named dictator perpetuo (“dictator for life”) in 44 BCE. He chose every representative in Rome, strengthening his support, so it is no surprise most coins minted in 44 BCE are pro-Caesar, including a range of silver denarii with the DICT·PERPETVO legend by the same Macer above. This coin (RRC 480/10) depicts the wreathed head of Caesar, matched by Venus (holding Victory, sceptre and shield) on the reverse; Venus being the mythical ancestor of the Julii (see RRC 458/1). It would, however, only be a matter of time before Caesar would be ‘stabbed in the back.’

Silver Denarius of P. Sepullius Macer (47 BCE) [RRC 480/10]

EID OF MAR. A day marked by several religious observations and notable as a deadline for settling debts (ironically), March 15th has become synonymous with Julius Caesar’s assassination. Ignoring a warning by the seer Spurinna to “beware the Ides of March,” Caesar entered the Curia of Pompey and was stabbed 23 times by 60 senators, led by Marcus Junius Brutus and Gaius Cassius Longinus. To celebrate the death of Caesar, the conspirator Brutus authorised the moneyer L. Plaetorius Cestianus to mint a denarius in 43 BCE (RRC 508/3). The coin depicts the head of Brutus, and the reverse features a pileus (“cap of freedom”) between two daggers with the legend EID MAR. As to whether killing Caesar benefitted Rome or not is still debated, but arguably it was crucial for Rome’s development as an Empire.

Silver Denarius of L. Plaetorius Cestianus (43 BCE) [RRC 508/3]

Coins are sometimes the overlooked keys that are crucial to understanding history. These artefacts support the narrative presented in written sources (both ancient and modern), and it is through these coins that we can see the changing “face” of Caesar. We see what he stood for and how he effectively used his titles and honours to promote himself to Roman society. As to whether he was the good stateman or bad tyrant in the last years of his life, I will leave that up to you to decide.