"He will try to make himself a king."
"The French will not have a king."
"Do you hear how they cheer him?"
"Vive le Caesar!" shouts the mob of sans-culottes.
"We fought at the Bastille to bring down Louis. The republic must prevail."
"And why should he rule us? Are not all men born free and equal? I tell you, the first time he spoke in the Convention, he fell down in a fit halfway through his report. And now he's the hero of the Revolution, and men like us must speak carefully to avoid catching the Widow's eye."
He looks down from the platform at the people crying Caesar's name; his eye is caught by the two of them, talking together at the edge of the crowd. He steps forward, takes Caesar by the shoulder, interrupting his speech. "Do you see Brutus and Cassius conspiring there? I don't trust that Cassius. He has a hungry look, a dangerous one."
"Antony, everybody in Paris looks hungry. It's nothing. I am Caesar, I don't fear him."
Cassius draws Brutus away from the mob, between two buildings. "What is in the name 'Caesar' that should make it better than 'Brutus'? Noble blood means nothing now. No saint" - a sneer - "will come to his aid who cries 'Caesar'. All Paris reads your pamphlets, Brutus; they love you as much as they love him."
"You flatter me, Cassius."
"You wouldn't notice otherwise."
"Vive le Caesar!"
"You're saying we must stop him becoming king." There, it is out. Too loud: a woman in a Phrygian cap on the fringe of the crowd turns. Brutus hears the muttered "enemy of the people". The two of them do look like conspirators.
Cassius grimaces, seizes Brutus by the cravat and tugs him roughly, suddenly forward. Brutus falls, catching himself awkwardly on the brick wall. He gasps, and Cassius's tongue is between his teeth, and his arm around Brutus's back presses them together.
The woman turns away. There are, after all, more reasons than conspiracy for two men to be alone in an alley.
Cassius releases him. "For France, Brutus."
"Ça ira!"
