Julius Caesar: The Novel (Digital Download)
The Drama of Ancient Rome as Never Before

Ever imagined diving into a Shakespearean tale that reads like an enthralling, edge-of-your-seat novel? Now, you no longer need to wish!

While Shakespeare's theatrical masterpieces dazzle on stage, translating that vibrancy to the written page can be challenging. Enter the world of "Julius Caesar" like never before—with the electrifying pace of a modern novel. Experience the intrigues of ancient Rome, the tense conspiracy against the formidable dictator Julius Caesar, the very moment of his shocking assassination, and the consequent showdown at the Battle of Philippi, all in immersive modern prose.

Part of an ambitious series that breathes fresh life into Shakespeare's classics, this retelling of "Julius Caesar" fuses the Bard's genius with the accessibility of contemporary fiction. Whether you're a Shakespeare aficionado, a lover of historical fiction, or a newcomer to the world of classics, this rendition will grip you from the first page to the last.

Discover Shakespeare's tales with renewed excitement. Step into the turbulent world of Julius Caesar and witness a story of ambition, betrayal, and power in a way you've never seen before.






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Chapter 1             

             Flavius and Marullus were suddenly being shoved about by a group of drunken men who had been carousing and drinking through the streets of Rome since early afternoon.

            “Hey! Go home you lazy bums,” said Flavius as he pushed back and stopped the rabble. “Is this a holiday? What’s going on? This is a work day.” Flavius turned to a red-cheeked man. “What is your occupation?”

            “I am a carpenter, sir,” the man replied.

            Marullus joined the interrogation. “Where is your leather apron and your ruler? What are you doing in your best clothes?” He turned to another in the crowd “What is your occupation, sir?”

            “I am a cobbler, sir,” said the second man.

            “But, what do you do? Answer me, honestly.”

            The cobbler grinned, already amused at the witty answer he was going to give. “I mend bad soles, sir. That is my trade.”

            “That’s not a trade, you liar. What kind of trade do you do?”

            “Please don’t be angry, sir. I can show you.”

            “What do you mean? Show me? Are you getting smart with me?”

            “I mean fix your shoes.”

            “Oh, you are a shoe repairman,” said Flavius.

            “Yes, sir, I live by the awl. I am not a political man. I am like a doctor to old shoes. I save their lives when they are in danger. I have mended many a proper man’s shoes.”

            “Why are you not in your shop, today? Why are you leading these men around?”

            “I am hoping to get more work for myself by wearing out their shoes.” The crowd laughed. “But, sir, we have all taken off work to see Caesar and celebrate his success.”

            “What is he celebrating?” said Marullus. “What has he done to receive such adoration? You idiots! Once, you did whatever you could to cheer on Pompey as he rode through the city of Rome. Now, you put on your best clothes and take off work to celebrate Pompey’s murderer. Go home and pray to the gods to keep the plague away you deserve for such a showing of ingratitude.”

            “Go on my fellow countrymen,” agreed Flavius, “and to make amends for your wrongdoings, go to the river Tiber and cry until its banks overflow.”

            Seeing that the they ran into a humorless pair, the group walked away, starting to laugh as soon as they turned a corner.

            “Look at those morons leaving, speechless,” said Flavius. “Let’s go down towards the Capitol and take the decorations from the statues.” He began walking and Marullus went along.

            “Can we do that?” asked Marullus. “You know it is the feast of Lupercal.”

            “It doesn’t matter,” said Flavius. “I don’t want any of the statues decorated for Caesar. Make sure you disperse any of the crowds. If we take away his supporters, maybe he will be more realistic and start treating us fairly, instead of using fear.”

Chapter 2             Caesar entered Rome with his retinue, cheered on by a large crowd.

            “Calpurnia,” Caesar called out for his wife.

            Casca, a tribune, attempted to quiet the crowd. “Be quiet, everyone! Caesar speaks.”

            “Calpurnia!” Caesar called again.

            “Here I am, my lord,” Calpurnia answered.

            “Stand in Antony’s way when he runs the race,” Caesar said, then turned to Antony. “Antony...”

            “Yes, my lord?” answered the young general.

            “Don’t forget to touch Calpurnia when you begin to race. The old men say if a childless woman is touched in this holy race, she’ll become fertile.”

            “I won’t forget. When you tell me to do something, it is as good as done.”

            “Okay, then. Get going, and don’t leave out any rituals.”

            The trumpets sounded again and the crowd continued their cheering. The crowd and retinue moved forward, when Caesar heard someone calling his name in a panicked voice.

            “Caesar!” said the voice. At first, the ruler ignored it, but it was repeated again and again.

            “Who’s calling me?” Caesar asked.

            Casca quelled the crowd again. “Be quiet everyone!”

            “Who’s calling me? I hear a shrill voice over the music crying, “Caesar!” Speak, I’m listening.”

            A lone voice spoke up. “Beware the ides of March.” The voice belonged to an old man, whose toga dirty features were only outmatched by its wearer's face. His white, stringy hair wavered, though there was hardly a breeze to speak of.

            “Who is that?” asked Caesar.

            Senator Brutus recognized the old man and spoke up. “A soothsayer is telling you to beware of March 15th.”

            “Bring him to me. I want to see his face.”

            “Fellow, come out of the crowd. Look at Caesar,” said Senator Cassius.

            The old man walked forward. With a closer view, Caesar could see that the old man was blind in one eye that had a pale, milky look to it.

            “What do you want to say to me now?” Caesar asked. “Speak again.”

            “Beware of March 15th” said the soothsayer.

            Caesar stared at the man for a bit, the declared “He’s crazy. Let’s leave.” The trumpets sounded once again and the crowd moved.

             Brutus slowed his pace down until most everyone was ahead, letting him leave the occasion.

            “Are you going to watch the race?” Cassius asked Brutus, who had spotted his friend.

            “No, not me,” responded Brutus.

            “Oh, please do.”

            “I don’t care for sports like Antony, but don’t let me stop you, Cassius. I’ll leave.” Brutus again attempted to leave, but Cassisus caught up to him.

            “Brutus, I have observed lately that you don’t seem to have the same feelings towards me, you once had. You have been stubborn and unfriendly to me, your friend who loves you.”

            “Cassius, don’t be fooled. If I have looked differently lately, it has nothing to do with you. I have been preoccupied with personal affairs. So, don’t worry about our relationship. Just know, that I am at war with myself and haven’t been myself.”

            “Well then, let me tell you I have been keeping some very interesting thoughts to myself. Brutus, can you see your face?

            “No, Cassius, the eye cannot see itself, except in its reflection.”

            “True, but that’s too bad. I wish you could see what others think about you. Many respect you almost as much as Caesar. They wish you could do something about the tyranny of today’s government.”

            Brutus laughed. He was uncomfortable with this line of questioning and hoped to put it off as a jest. “Cassius, to what are you alluding? It sounds like something dangerous. I don’t have it in me.”

            “Good Brutus, listen to what I have to say. Let me be your mirror. If you don’t believe me to be genuine in my observations, then consider me dangerous.”

            In the distance, the trumpets sounded again and the people cheered.

            “What does the shouting mean? I am afraid the people choose Caesar for king,” said Brutus.

            “You fear it? Then, I must believe you would have it otherwise.”

            “I wouldn’t, Cassius. I love him very much. So, what do you want to tell me? What is so important? If it is good for everyone, then I will listen even if it means death. I love honor more than I fear death.

            “I know you are honorable, Brutus. I also know you are loyal to Caesar. But, my point is honor. I cannot speak for other men, but for me, I cannot live worshiping a man no more special than myself. Both Caesar and I were born free men. We were friends, once, and I saved his life in the river Tiber. I have also seen him cry out like a sick little girl when we were in Spain. Now, he is looked upon as if he was a god, and I am a mere worker.”

            Once again, the sound of trumpets and cheering.

            “There’s another shout. I believe they are for Caesar,” Brutus said.

            Cassius thought for a moment. He wondered if his appeals were working and decided to use his sophist training. “He does walk around the world like a giant, while we petty men walk under his huge legs and look around until we are in our graves. Men may be the masters of their own fates, but sometimes they do themselves an injustice. Why should Caesar be any more important than you? Your name is just as good as his. They are both easy to say. What makes him better than you? What has happened to Rome? Once, Rome bred many great men. Now, it seems there is only room for one. You know what our ancestors said. They would have let the devil rule Rome before a king.”

            “I know you love me, but I am not jealous. I think I know what you want me to do. I have thought of this before, but for now, I ask that you say no more. Listen to me. I had rather be a nobody than a Roman living in these conditions.”

            “I am glad my simple words have moved you.”

            People started to exit the stadium.

            “The race is over and Caesar is coming back,” Brutus said. In the distance, Caesar and his retinue could be seen approaching.

            “As the crowd passes by, get Casca’s attention. He will tell you what happened today.”

            “I will, but look, Cassius. Caesar looks angry and the rest look like a broken train. Calpurnia looks pale and Cicero looks angry, like he does in the Capitol when senators disagree with him.”
            “Casca will tell us what’s going on,” Cassius repeated.

            “Antony!” Caesar yelled.

            “Caesar?” Antony replied.

            Caesar stared at Cassius, who stood aloof far off, leaning against a pillar. “Surround me with fat, lazy men. See Cassius over there. He has a hungry look about him, and he thinks too much. Men, like him, are dangerous.”

            “You needn’t fear him. He’s not dangerous. He is a well-known and noble Roman.”

            “I don’t fear him, but I wish he were fatter! Cassius, if I were fearful, his the kind of man one should fear. He is well-read and watches everything closely. He has no joys, like plays or music. He rarely smiles, and if he does it’s at something he said. Men like Cassius are never at ease, especially around someone greater than themselves. Therefore, they are dangerous. I am just telling you what should be feared; not what I fear, for I am Caesar. Now, come on my right side, because my left ear is deaf and tell me what you think of him.”
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