"The passions are like fire, useful in a thousand ways and dangerous only in one, through their excesses."

I. Cassius

"The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings."

It did not surprise me that he made himself Dictator, but even his most obdurate enemies marveled at how joyfully the people acclaimed their tyrant. The wolf to their sheep, the lion to their hinds. Perhaps they were tired of continuous civil war, and would have cheered Pompey just as heartily as they used to, had he been the victor of Pharsalus. Oh, how it galls me to watch the rabble hail this man as a god, though they hailed him even more when he refused the crown. We were born as free as he, Brutus and I – is Marcus Junius so blind that he sees not Caesar for what he is, and blind to the fact that we need him to bring this Colossus down? He is still tied to Caesar by Servilia, as mindful of his mother as of Caesar's mercy to us after Pharsalus. It will take more than a pardon before I forget that he marched on Rome and manipulated the Senate (his creatures, and the captives of his "mercy") into making him master of us all. He is no more than a man, as weak as any of us, perhaps weaker now that he is subject to fits like the one that took him suddenly today; the whole of the Forum is still talking about it. I sensed that Brutus, too, was disturbed by the events of the Lupercal, and moved by my words to him. One more nudge, and he will be ours.

II. Caesar

"Cowards die many time before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once."

I have been weary of late, and wearier of the politics and infighting in the Senate. But as always, I am Caesar, and I will never admit to being weaker than that name. Mark Antony no doubt meant to flatter me, the dear foolish boy (always with an eye to his own advancement), but can he not see that Caesar's name is above that of a king, that to many, Caesar is no less than a god? Though the gods themselves, as Calpurnia seems to be trying to tell me through her hysterics, appear to be warning me of disaster. She and the augurs are convinced that it is my death that the omens foretell, that I must not attend the senate meeting today. They say that just a few nights ago someone asked what kind of death was best, and I apparently answered without hesitation, "Unexpected". I have no recollection of that, and I fear this absence of mind is a manifestation of what men call my "falling sickness"; certainly the attacks have been more frequent of late, most recently at the Lupercal where, thankfully, it could be attributed to the shock of being presented with a diadem by Antony.

Brutus looks slightly worried today, perhaps he too is thinking of the warning about the "Ides of March"; after all, he was the one to convey the senile soothsayer's message to me, and one of the first to ask about my health after the fainting spell. I have always treated him as a son, even to the extent of pardoning his friends after Pharsalus, though many of them (especially Cassius) would as soon have killed themselves, or me, rather than ask for mercy directly. Ah, the others have come to fetch me: Decius, Casca, Ligarius, Trebonius and the rest. I will go, though today is the Ides of March, for I am Caesar, and must be Caesar.

III. Antony

"Here was a Caesar! When comes such another?"

My servant tells me that the people have burned the conspirators' houses with brands from Caesar's pyre, and the murderers themselves are run like madmen through the gates of Rome. The response of the mob to my speech was gratifying beyond expectation. The conspirators must regret that they had not killed me when they had the chance; they probably thought I was too much Caesar's man to think for myself – that's what a reputation for nightly carousing and running naked at public festivals will do for you. In a sense, they were right; for I never would say no to Caesar, but neither could any of the yes-men around him in these last days.

I mourn for Caesar: he was my friend and mentor, and my king, had he wished it. Those so-called republicans like Brutus and Cassius professed their horror at the mere idea, so much so that they killed him to prevent it, but I wouldn't have minded being ruled by him, so long as I was his successor. But Octavian is Caesar's heir, and there must be a way to come to terms with this situation. An alliance, perhaps, to take a leaf from the Great Man's book – with a third party to share the burden of the world.

IV. Titinius

"O setting sun, as in thy red rays thou dost sink tonight, so in his red blood Cassius' day is set."

You were my best friend, my lover, and my lord. To most people, you were sharp, unsmiling, critical, a lean and hungry malcontent. The few who knew you in private saw otherwise, and I like to think that you were most contented with me. In my heart of hearts, I know you did it because you were envious of Caesar, but you envied Brutus too, for his easy ability to love and be loved. It is a great irony that Caesar was the ultimate cause of your quarrel; Lucilius and I heard it all while standing guard outside Brutus' tent that night. Forgive me if I confess that it pleased me in some strange way to hear Brutus himself tear down your illusions of him, almost as much as it hurt me to hear the pain in your voice when you offered you the dagger and your life. But I am tarrying with these meaningless words, just as I stayed too long before coming to you. Alas, you misconstrued everything!

Here is the victory garland for your brow; all that remains is to mingle our blood with the same sword that killed Caesar. Wait a little while, dear Cassius; I will find you again.

V. Brutus

"My heart doth joy that yet in all my life I found no man but he was true to me."

The shadows lengthen and fall across the poor remains of our forces. Statilius has been gone more than an hour, and he will not return. That it should come to this, I might have known after Caesar's ghost appeared to me at Philippi, but just as before, I ignored my instincts and trusted to the advice of others. Such is the power of words and friendship. Perhaps further reflection might have shown me that Cassius' picture was an illusion, but I thought I saw clearly that Caesar had to die in order for the republic to live. Cassius, in his way, was true to me; so has it been for all whom I have known. Portia died because of this, Caesar in spite of it.

Even when I had made up my mind, at the point when I sank the blade into him, when he said those words to me – looking into his bloodied eyes with the gore streaming down that ruined face and pooling around our feet – I felt as if I was watching a play with an actor who looked and spoke like me, but all the time a voice within was crying out against the murder of my friend. Everything since then has been a reaction to the deed – the Forum speech, the muster of the armies, even the quarrel with Cassius. I do not think I was wrong, but I regret my harsh words to him, which I can never take back now. What is done cannot be undone. But what I do now, I do with no regrets. Caesar, now be still – I killed not thee with half so good a will.

Note: The opening quote is from Christian Bovee. All other quotes are from Shakespeare.