Brutus had, of course, died by his own sword. He had been solid of conviction – had perhaps been the only one of us with the kind of conviction one can be solid of – and it had been that conviction that had ended in his death. Maybe he deserved it, maybe he didn’t, but he was dead, and I was alive.
I’d done my best. We’d carved the country up into three parts, which made sense not because we were the only three that could be trusted to run the country, but more because we possessed the knowledge of how we came into it. Lepidus was a wet ninny, Octavius a stodgy blowhard, and I was, if I’m being honest, an opportunistic bastard. We divided it up, and then decided to do precious little to stay together.
I went off to Egypt which, in addition to being generally easier to manage my time in, also had a much better woman. Of course, I had to pretend to leave her, or at least pretend to be pretending to. I had to mend fences with the Human Scold over there, and so I married his sister. She’d been Gaius’s wife, which was well enough as far as all that went, but she didn’t have much else to offer besides the undying attention and loyalty of a puppy.
Still, like I said, I was an opportunistic bastard.
I should have been nicer to her. The Gods knew I did plenty of my own puppy-dogging around after Cleo. I see that now. It’s easy to be self-aware when you’re not thinking about that part of your life.
Anyway the marriage did mend the fences it was meant to mend, and the last time it almost came to this, it avoided the actual battle, but, you know. Things are harder than that, mostly.
I couldn’t be married to her anymore. She was tying me down and, besides, Parthia was more exciting, there was more going on. Maye if I had had some time to get over how we got here, I could have spent some more time enjoying what we had, but I couldn’t even do that, because Bunchy Pants won’t even give me all of my land. All of the land that I am entitled to by helping him kill his stupid uncle.
Brutus was right, man. There was just no percentage in any of it. You try to be a bro, you try to be a good friend, and it just blows up in your face no matter what.
Well, there’s one way for this to end, and it’s with soldiers. We definitely aren’t friends now.
This summer, learn the price you pay when you try to live with regret, while also trying to live with your friend.
Learn the peril of being…an Heir’s Bud
Ohio Needs a Train 