The battle done, Julius Caesar turned his attention to dictating messages for his supporters back in Rome. In his tent sat his favourite scribe, Didius, scribbling on one papyrus after another, frantically keeping pace with Caesar’s thoughts. Beside Didius sat two teenage lads, similar to each other in build and facial features, but with an important exception: one was bald, while the other possessed a lush growth of curly, black hair.
“I have to send a message to the Senate urgently. That is the most important of all,” Caesar said, as he hurriedly concluded his speech to a prominent wine trader in Rome.
The papyrus on which Didius had been written was instantly whisked away by one of the lads and replaced by a pristine one. He had trained the lads well.
Caesar sat with folded arms, deep in thought. Having served Caesar for more than five years, Didius knew not to interrupt when he was planning. He was aware that Caesar was mulling upon his choice of words that would produce a favourable impact within the Senate.
Caesar had a good many enemies in the Senate, and being an immaculate statesman, he exerted the full capacity of his literary prowess, aided by Didius’ stylus, to silence any loose tongue that might have the temerity to wag against him.
A sudden clang outside and a rush of feet brought an end to Didius’ train of thoughts. Caesar had already leapt off his chair, and was halfway out of the tent.
“Light the torches,” he shouted, as he dashed out of the tent into the fading light of dusk.
