XVII Martius DCCX
(March 17, 710 AUC (by the Roman Calendar), 43 BC (by ours))
Portia is dead, my darling wife who was innocent of all conspiracy- dead! I had a suspicion when my letters were unanswered, and soon enough I found out the truth from multiple sources. The latest was but hours ago from Messalia's lips. Oh lips! Where Messalia's lips are healthy, Portia's lips, if they still exist, are badly scarred and the color of black charcoal, so unlike the lips that used to great me with their pink rosy perfection! I shall miss her so, and if I had not such loved ones as Cassius, and I didn't have the burden of protecting Rome, nothing could prevent me from going into battle with the mindset of someone who can risk it all. For how can life be worth living without my friend, who I killed, and my darling wife?
I had to keep my outward expression hard in front of the troops when the news came to me again. My grief was still fresh, and I think it was the most difficult thing that I've ever done. But it was necessary, for who would follow a person to battle that was always crying? The people don't want to follow mere mortals; they want to follow great men… that's how Caesar became so powerful.
Tomorrow is when we march on Philippi to confront Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus. It is the point of no return, it is the day the Fates will reveal their plans, will Rome live on as a Republic? Or shall it fall into tyranny?
I must sleep for now, so on the morrow I may devote all my attention to the crushing of mine - and Rome's - enemies.